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harmonysanreads · 1 month ago

Text

Chiaroscuro

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Dr Ratio x [ Gender Neutral ] Reader

Synopsis: There is a wilted daffodil resting between the pages of Ratio's memories. Tags: POV Dr. Ratio, Fluff and Humor and Angst, Hurt/Comfort (?), Slow-burn (oh my), Right Person Wrong Time (oh dear), Strangers to Friends, Reader is Older than Ratio, We speak in the Language of Flowers here, Literary References and Allusions, Exploration of Academic Struggles, Jealous!Ratio, Exploration of Grief, Slight Yandere!Dr Ratio, My Interpretations of Ratio's Past and Ideologies (because hyv won't tell me), Brief Aventurine Appearance TW(s): Toxic Relationships, Toxic Family Dynamics, Implications of Physical Abuse (not condoned by Ratio) Author's Note: At long last, my ‘thesis’ on Dr. Ratio is finished :') I've been working on this fic since June 2024 and finally gathered enough willpower to push through the rest of it. I started this fic with the sole goal of torturing Ratio but ended up falling in love with him halfway through this fic- as such the direction may have shifted orz Please forgive any unintentional errors and get cozy <3

「 Word Count : 11k 」「 Artwork Credits 」「 Read On AO3 」

i. Panorama.

They say, the best years of a human's life are spent before boards painted with chalk scribbles and around those of one's ages, filled with careless laughter and weaving hopes for the distant future.

Veritas Ratio has always disagreed with this belief and backed his own with a multitude of reasoning. For one, those so crowned ‘best years’ are not to be wasted through wishing your fantasies would come to fruition on their own. Secondly, his experiences run contrary to the images illustrated by the majority of the population. Which, fall as it might within the grounds of personal grudge, has enough weight to not be disregarded entirely, he'd argue if necessary.

If confronted on his bitter feelings regarding the schooling years of a person's life, there is a possibility that the erudite Doctor will falter and then incoherently mutter something about it not being a downright horrifying experience.

The chances of receiving further clarification from that point decreases significantly and will be entirely dependent on Ratio's mood, which, isn't perceived to be the most agreeable on most days.

In the rare case that luck shines upon the inquirer and Veritas Ratio's stern edges soften with nostalgia, there will be but one name that'll leave his lips in an uncharacteristically somber cadence.

If certain events had transpired differently, the recollections of that day would've been far sweeter than it is now — but still, the parasite known as nostalgia begs to alter his memories. It attempts to soothe the cuts gained from reaching towards aspirations far beyond his capabilities with cursory glances from the sun, and daisy petals hidden in the crevices of dusty tomes.

In the days Veritas Ratio treaded in an environment where nearly everything was twice his height, carrying expectations no one would bother to understand, he'd pledged to himself to not fold before irrational demands just because he wasn't a sight one would normally see in an institution full of burgeoning adults.

He was no stranger to the attention his genius brought, far more so the unwanted part of it.

Which was why he'd stubbornly made his goals clear to his titular peers within the first week of his attendance, much to their bewilderment.

Any suggestions for free ‘assignment completion service’ was shut down curtly and neither did the prodigious new student bother to partake in other youthful activities — but surprisingly, Veritas's distant countenance hadn't succeeded in putting a dent to his overall popularity.

Perhaps that is the reason the requests for private tutoring sessions and borrowing of notes never did cease, because despite his attitude, no one could deny his intelligence. And that, ultimately became his label in that university. Consequently, no one went out of their way to seek him out unless it concerned academics — except one person.

Ratio thinks he might've been witnessing a meteor streak the night sky instead, because relatively speaking, he couldn't trace where you appeared from with just his bare eyes.

(Though now that he thinks again, it might've been because he'd not bothered to look beyond the white board of the lecture halls, haughty as he'd been.)

—And as momentary as said event, you'd stunned him with an inquiry that did not match any of the others that'd preceded your kind.

“Why are you all alone during lunch, little boy? Whoa, you're studying even now?”

He’d barely missed the astonished gleam in your eyes when he parted from marking an important section from his book in a flinch. The unacquainted sight beside his desk had put the functions of his brain at a temporary standstill, before resuming with a barrage of questions as you observed him rather amusedly.

The small smile that appeared on your face next halted any of those inquiries from gaining voice as Veritas's reflexes worked to catch the objects tossed his way.

“Take these for now. Skipping meals isn't good for you, you know? You can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of your health first.”

Veritas blinked owlishly at the apple and sandwich now resting on his lap, the words of advice you stated in a rather sing-song tone barely registering in his head as he vacillated between demanding your identity and scoffing at your audacity.

Much to his chagrin, you evaded his burning stare and waltzed out of the vacant lecture hall before he could even open his parched mouth, again.

(What he recalls first before this peculiar interaction now is how the usually mundane sunlight had embraced your form that day.)

He only saw more and more of you from then onwards, much to his initial displeasure. For some mysterious reason, you'd made it your hobby to nag at and subtly coddle him in ways that made any other passing student raise eyebrows.

Whether it be dragging him to places and sometimes forcing him to eat lunch or separating him from his beloved books to 'refresh his mind' at some other corner of the campus, you never faltered ; despite all the scowls and passive aggressive quips he sneaked in.

Only after some research did Veritas discover you to be one among the seniors and, he'd admit it somewhat begrudgingly, you were a senior in every sense of the word.

Although, that knowledge did not aid him in answering the most begging question: why were you going out of your way to guide him through the perilous terrains of university? He'd initially suspected you to demand recompense in the same ways the others coveted.

Perhaps you were an expert manipulator, struggling to wrap up your last year in the institute and as a result, decided to prey on the genius through teasing words and coddling.

Ratio was fully prepared to face you when you showed your true face — except, his hypothesis ended in utter failure as that expected unravelling never came.

So, on another of your usual kidnappings meetings under the old oak tree at the far end of the campus, Veritas decided to soothe the scorching paranoia in his head.

“It’s because you remind me of my little siblings! It's been such a long time since I've seen them and I just really miss them, you know?”

He doesn't know. Neither the sentiments that are apparently driving you to take care of him nor whether you're being sincere.

Here's the most annoying thing about you: despite how much of a genius Veritas is crowned to be, he's experienced repeated failures in deducing what lies beneath that benign smile of yours.

At least there are formulas and theories to explain or, get closer to the enigmas of the universe. But whatever and whoever moulded you into your present state had clearly forgotten to leave a loophole behind for curious minds like his to decipher.

“Besides, I understand how you must be feeling in this environment where everyone is half a decade older than you — even though you like to act tough. I know that there's a seed of loneliness that's ready to burst into a giant tree with the right incentive and you're just holding onto the last of your sanity to not let that happen.”

Ratio's fingers halt midway through flipping to a different page of his book. Your observation silences him long enough to make the rustles of leaves permeate the atmosphere, before he forces his brows to furrow and his lips to quirk down.

“It’s rude to make assumptions about someone you barely know.”

The purple head watched as you leaned against the palm of your hand, as though the sneer on his face was nothing worth fretting.

“Aww, did I catch little Veri off guard? No need to be in such denial, I saw you gape like an owl at my words. But owls are my favorite bird, don't worry!” The hostile expression on his face morphs into surprise as you ruffle his hair with your free hand with more enthusiasm than required.

“Rest assured, I'll take care of you for as long as I'm here, little Veri.”

“I’d appreciate it more if you don’t.”

That earned him a laugh and messier hair.

ii. Anamorphosis

Little Veri.

If there was something he despised more than the shrill voices of his classmates, it'd be that nickname. You might've been accurate in your choice of words in a literal sense, but for the first time, honesty had bruised his ego.

The prodigy was not accustomed to being treated his age, he was always commended as ‘mature’ and being ‘beyond his years’. Yet you had never even bothered mentioning this and instead, always poked at the suppressed child that slumbered at the deepest corner of his heart.

What he loathed even more was how every repeat of that ridiculous nickname actually made him feel quote-on-quote ‘little’. No, how you allowed a leeway for that teenage heart to peek through from under a canopy of knowledge and caution.

Intentionally or not, you carved a shelter for that little boy to crawl beneath in moments that no one would care to glance at.

It was a matter of great shame although, while his teachers had handed him the basics to deciphering the laws of the universe, no one had bothered to teach him how to respond to such kindness.

Upon further digging, the genius was surprised to find that your merit resided in the top five of your entire year. While he hadn't taken you for a dimwit (he'd rather eat dirt than utter such sacrilege) his astonishment stemmed from the fact that he'd never seen an academic material accompanying you on campus.

He’d even thought your sole task was to bother him with your half-a-decade years old wisdom upon a particular session of agitation. But after clarity grasped his mind, he realized that his suspicions were simply baseless in an institution as competitive as Veritas Prime.

Instead of journals and papers concerning your major, Veritas often saw you seeking refuge in musings soaked in fantasy and your rationale behind such escapades puzzled the mind of his younger self greatly.

“And then the male lead gave a bouquet of bluebells to the female lead, declaring his feelings! Isn't that so romantic?”

Ratio scrutinized your form hunched over from giddiness derived from materials that appeared alien to his eyes, stacks of textbooks wept at the corner of the table in abandonment.

“Bluebells? I thought people gave roses for matters like this?” sunset orange eyes swept over the incredulity blooming on your visage.

You sighed as though he was the most exasperating person you had the misfortune of dealing with, “It’s because bluebells are the symbol of eternal and undying love. Roses are undoubtedly lovely but as you said, if anyone was to give roses to someone, everyone and their grandmas would have an inkling about what is happening between them! Giving someone a bouquet of bluebells on the other hand, is far more secretive and exciting.”

“I don't really understand but alright.”

Ratio almost drops his pen at the flick to his forehead, “So unromantic! You're never getting a girlfriend if you continue being like this, kid!”

His free hand whips up to shield his skin against further damage, he feels the muscles of his temple twitch in profound irritation. “I don't need—”

“Yes yes, you're too preoccupied with the pursuit of knowledge to bother with fickle things like romance blah blah blah.” Ratio's eye roll almost synchronizes with yours.

Veritas knows and he isn't ashamed to admit that he's not a romantic person. The path he walks on has no necessity for abstruse emotional attachment and sentimentalities.

On the contrary, what he abstained from seemed to be the centrepiece of your interest.

Your eyelashes flutter as you rest your elbows on the table, eyes searching for a trace of your wishes among the litany of bookshelves, “But if anyone was to confess to me, I'd want them to give me a bouquet of bluebells instead of trying to articulate their feelings.”

Ratio raised a brow as your sigh echoed throughout the grand library, “And how, pray tell, would they know of your preference?”

“That’s the thing, little Veri!” you snapped your fingers as though you'd solved the greatest dilemma plaguing mankind, “I wouldn't talk about these fantasies to just anyone. If someone was to give me a bouquet of bluebells, it'd mean that we're close enough to know these secrets and then there'd be a high chance that the feelings are mutual. No awkward moments, we'd know what we are without even speaking!”

The purple head observed as you rambled, the light from the sinking afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass shone on you. A scoff escaped him before he could stomp it down, his arms crossed almost derisively.

“And is that your sole ambition in life?”

“Of course not,” your reply was brisk and simple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You met Ratio's perplexed gaze with an unusual calm, “If by ambition, you mean what I want to do after all this studying, well — I want to be a teacher.”

Veritas couldn't hold back the surprise from soaking his words this time, “A teacher? Why?”

But you seemed to find great entertainment in his reaction, if your twinkling eyes was anything to go by and the genius isn't even taken aback this time; your sources of amusement would never be the guesswork of anyone.

Your shoulders shifted as you shrugged, “Why not? Teaching is one of the most noble professions out there, but it warrants great caution and wisdom. Hmm, come to think of it— what do you want to be, Veri?”

Ratio nearly flinched as you expertly shifted the attention to him, glossing over it with a fake cough. “I…” his throat constricted as you leaned in ever so slightly, “—don’t know.”

“Whaaaat?” you backed away just as quickly, dragging the syllables of that word to emphasize your disappointment. “Tsk tsk, so you're just studying blindly without any clear goal? That isn't going to get you far, regardless of how intelligent you are.”

He knows that, but what is he supposed to do if his mind blanks when he tries to envision himself in any conventional field? In fact, he considers it as one of the flaws of the educational system. How a student is always urged to find their place in the grand scheme of matters but never guided through them ; or, at least, given clear pointers.

It'd also be careless to label Veritas completely clueless about his situation. What he does cradle, or was compelled to bear was not borne of his personal wishes. But with time, his mind accepted it as his own, though a part of his heart always ached with emptiness.

You cleared your throat upon noticing that a great conflict had rendered the genius speechless, “Well... as for the reason as to why I want to be a teacher, it's because I want to help those students who struggle to find their way in this vast world. Regardless of where they rank in the merit position or what ‘status’ society has assigned them. Granted, this struggle may continue even after someone has graduated and while I may not be able to help every single person, I still want to try my best. After all, that should be the goal of our educational system — in my opinion, at least!”

You chuckled somewhat bashfully afterwards, remnants of it settled on the way your lips curled. There was something so succinct yet undoubtedly natural about that smile, like petrichor and he felt a pang of regret hitting his ribcage for not noticing it before.

Although it might not appeal to some, to many it brought solace even before the sun could sweep aside the canopies of darkened clouds.

Something that's appearance was preceded only by the tears of the skies, it stunned the mind that such beauty could be unearthed from a phenomenon so seemingly insignificant.

And that realization appalled the young scholar.

iii. Tenebrism

Ratio did not comprehend the value of your presence until he was deprived of it.

Due to certain circumstances, the genius had learned to be contingent with the fact that he'd have to navigate the majority of his life all by himself. Of course, ignoring simpletons and self-centered personnel came easy to him as well.

What the scholar wasn't conscious of, or was too prideful to acknowledge was the harrowing vacancy in some obscure corner of his heart that yearned for a deeper connection. It would take little effort for him to rationalize this longing with his age and return his attention to far more pressing concerns.

But it seemed that the more he tried to silence the wails of his feelings, the more cacophonous they became.

You'd spoiled Veritas a good amount, with your willing enthusiasm to tail after him whenever you had the reprieve.

So, when you abruptly stopped your usual pursuit in exchange of accompanying another person whose face he couldn't bother to remember, the young scholar was left to deal with a surge of emotions he had little control over.

Said emotions, were tame enough to be kept under check within the first few weeks as he learnt that the purpose of this sudden acquaintance had been for the completion of a group project.

Where the scholar's composure did start to falter was when you maintained your distance from him even after the fulfilment of said project.

And Ratio despised the sparks of resentment that'd flare up in his chest each time you'd pass him by while chatting so deliriously with that no-name stranger.

He was thrown in a limbo the first time he witnessed someone else in the position that he held and although he stubbornly convinced his mind that it was for the best ; each time the scene would replay in the corridors and crevices of the university, Veritas could see yellow hyacinths bloom in his peripheral.

He's certain now that he must've been losing his mind, or at least was on the verge of (and for such a childish cause at that) because he took shelter in a superstitious practice and ignored as many meals as he could in the futile hope that you'd come back and reprimand him again.

Ratio would have applauded you if he hadn't been so consumed by all those unsavory chemical reactions in his mind.

It didn't help his case that the first time he'd bothered to take in the environment, he was reminded of the fact that, you had others who'd accept you, but he only had you.

His frustration must've reached a new peak, because not even the most persistent of his irritable classmates were brave enough to approach him as he continued to brood hopelessly.

It wouldn't be long until he would gather the motivation to finally propel himself out of that dark space, but the method his younger self employed to do so, embarrasses the present him to no end.

“They did what?”

Veritas needn't open his eyes to picture your visage colored in shock, he opted instead to maintain his somber facade, arms folded, and brows furrowed to complete the act.

“But I never thought them to be that kind of person, quite the opposite, in fact.” followed your reluctant admission.

Ratio outstretched his palm as though enticing you to accept the news, “One can deduce so much about the ocean by gazing at its surface. The facts are before you, with substantial evidence. Whether you believe them or not depends entirely on you. I only thought I should inform you before it reaches the Principal, that is.”

He could envision your eyes oscillating between his firm countenance and the unseen prospects proposed by his words. Discreetly, he peered at your fidgeting and unconsciously held his breath.

He'd done the calculations before approaching you, the worry oozing from your gaze confirms that you've heard word of it from his ‘associates’ already and the fact that you didn't try to defend the person further tells him you've done some digging through the news portals of the university yourself.

Step by step, you've unknowingly assisted in concluding this problem.

The young scholar silences the quivers of his conscience before they can rage and foil all progress. As for this friend of yours, there were embers left behind from misdeeds of long ago. He merely reignited that flame so that those crimes would face proper punishment — although which was not his principal goal. To make sure you don't get caught in the inferno was, or at least, that's what he tells his conscience.

A half-resigned hum from you saves the scholar from spiralling, “I’ll believe you and will avoid them for the time being. Though I have my own theories, you have a point. There is no telling what is beneath a person's exterior.”

Veritas simply nods to that conclusion.

Your eyelashes flutter as you drift into a brief reverie, before fixating on his rigid person. “Ah, but what is going on with you, kiddo? You've been skipping meals again, haven't you?”

The young scholar blinks in stupefaction at the shrunken proximity between you two, the single finger beneath his chin with which you scrutinize his visage nearly burns his skin. He can hardly process what observation you're making through the dizzying fragrance of jasmines.

“I am in perfect health, as you can see—”

“For so long! It's only a matter of when that you'll faint while calculating nonsense.” you sharply interject and withdraw the searing contact. Strangely, Ratio makes no face this time.

“Come to think of it, it's been a while since we've had lunch together. Oh, I have so much to share with you! Let's not waste anymore time, let's go!”

There is good cause for why the wise warn against temptations. Bit by bit, piece by piece, oh so painfully obstinate — you fed him that poison, rendering his sharp mind a mess of inebriating chemical reactions.

You were none the wiser to the impact your fickle gestures made on him and soon, Ratio's biggest weakness, curiosity silenced the prodding of his conscience.

He gained little incentive to step far away from the leering shadows, as the brilliance of the sun made it so his fixation wouldn't stray towards the darkness.

iv. Tachisme

“Suffering is part and parcel of extensive intelligence and a feeling heart. A man who is really great, it seems to me, must suffer considerably here below.”

Your sigh weighs down on the silence of the university's library, a dull thud causing a crack on it as you set down the tome on the dark wooden table.

“I couldn't help but think of you while reading this novel.” bright orange eyes watch the way you cushion your cheek against your knuckles minutely.

“Suffering, misery, sadness, whatever you name it is inconsequential to any human being. But I feel like, those who are labelled as being ‘different’ than the majority experience a certain kind of those challenges. The ones that are weighty on the tongue when they attempt to express it, perhaps inscrutable to even themselves.” Ratio mulls over your musings, briefly closing his eyes.

“Everyone’s experiences are bound to be different.” comes his easy response.

The furrow in your brows suggests the conflict his words stirred instead of assurance, “You take everything so coolly, but I can't help but worry for you. You may be calm and certain about everything now but there's no guarantee you'll always be this way. On top of it all, you reject close relationships, thus narrowing your options to lean on someone should a sizable problem come.”

Ratio catches himself before his eyes can roll sideways, “Surely you didn't drag me out of a lecture just to nag me again?” his subconscious notes the reduced exasperation that prospect stirs within himself.

You often worry for a future that has yet to seize anyone. While the young scholar commends your far-sightedness, he really cannot understand the use of losing one's mind over events that haven't happened yet.

Thinking ahead is helpful, turning that habit into an obsessive frenzy is not.

He observes the way your frown expands, deepens and ultimately loosens up with a sigh. You refrain from broaching the topic further, another quality he appreciates.

Though you don't make an attempt to defend yourself, you refuse to voice out anything else as well, settling your eyes to a distant point in existence.

For once Veritas is ruffled by the silence, so he makes an attempt to change the subject — because counting your eyelashes isn't the most productive thing for a scholar to do.

“It’s not everyday I see you carrying something that doesn't have hearts and glitters on the cover page.” his eyes settle pointedly on the book before you.

You scoff, “One does not survive in Veritas Prime simply from reading light novels.” there's a trace of pride in your admission.

“Oh? So, what does ‘one’ do to maintain their spot in the top five?” Ratio quirks a brow, holding your gaze.

The witty response he anticipates gets replaced by another sigh, puzzling him for an instance, “I’m assuming this is about me never studying within campus. Well, I just like keeping my study space and my socializing space separate. Listening to lectures here and doing the heavy lifting in my room. It's what works for me, in any case.”

There's genuine interest in his next questions, “And what do you do when you get bored while studying? Or when you feel like you can't concentrate anymore?”

You twirl a stray lock of your hair, cheek still resting on your knuckles, “Take a bath to sober myself up, I guess. When your mind is full of garbage, your body will likely not be the cleanest either.”

You shrug, your nonchalant attitude renders his mind to a blank slate. For a while he does nothing but think about your words, though the response he gives matches none of the context.

“I feel like there is so much I don't know about you.”

It's your turn to be surprised, but unfortunately for Ratio, the sight is still too brisk. You break into a fit of laughter, wiggling your brows as though you know something.

“Silly little Veri, let me tell you something. People are like icebergs! We can only see their tips with our bare eyes but to know them in their full capacity, we have to dive down.”

“But the waters are cold.” the young scholar pushes.

Your giggles soften to a smile, “That’s exactly the point.” and you refuse to elaborate further, again.

To reach the heart of the iceberg, one must push through the freezing depths of the ocean. Whether Veritas Ratio has that willpower, is a question left for his future self.

v. Sotto in su

As the days lapsed, more and more memories anchored themselves in Ratio's mind. They brought with them a different seed of emotion, every exchange with his enigmatic senior nurtured and coaxed it to sprout tender leaves.

Before his syllabus could be replaced, the fact had been known to everyone regardless of their relation to the prodigy. If your recurring appearances in Ratio's life and his noticeable tolerance for your presence was anything to go by, it was apparent to anyone with a conscious mind that his opinion of you was at a level above everyone else's.

Exchanges between different years wasn't an uncommon phenomenon, but a friendship with the notoriously detached prodigy was an understandable bewilderment. Though, the students at Veritas Prime quickly learned to use it to their advantage rather than criticizing it — a unanimous realization that Ratio was just a bit more agreeable in your presence.

Not that Ratio was unaware of their schemes, the fact that they construed that he'd tolerate them solely because of your connection further cemented his belief that all these wannabe researchers were still light-years away from the truth they speak to seek.

Albeit, after noticing that he'd been more approachable for students who genuinely wanted to learn rather than to fulfill some pecuniary purpose — he begrudgingly admitted that, there was an influence taking place.

Veritas swiftly ignored the rumors. While not one to waste his time, being with you brought along perspectives that challenged his thinking style. To him, truth has always been beautiful because it will not change, even through the failures in understanding it.

But you're a human being, change is rooted in your constitution.

The cycle of erosion and accretion that makes you you hinders even a brilliant scholar like him in grasping the characteristics of your soul. This form of beauty he was not acquainted with before, admittedly.

Relying too much on either rigidity or malleability will pose problems. It is through the search of a balance can we discover the answers.

It may not be obvious at first glance, but you aspire to guide others through the murky depths of ignorance while pondering this apparent equilibrium — since neither extremes can be eliminated. As strange as that selflessness initially appeared to him, Ratio has developed a sense of respect for your ambitions.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for him, it seemed as though you knew exactly what was transpiring.

In fact, you were conscious of a lot of things ; it's just that you preferred to pretend that you didn't for reasons that he hasn't comprehended yet.

For the longest time he interpreted that thoughtful sparkle in your eyes as just another play of light. Whenever his reactions to your teasing would come off as more animated than last and the flush that he'd try so hard to not let extend to his cheeks do just that — you'd have that nearly imperceptible realization reflected in your eyes. It scratched at the parchedness Ratio hadn't even recognized to be there.

His fear was confirmed to be true one afternoon in a vacant lecture hall, though not through words.

“Is this for me?” sunset orange eyes shone against the shadows that fell on his back.

“Well, do you see anyone else here?” your huff and his eyeroll synchronize.

You patiently held the book covered in elaborate illustrations of flowers for his taking, though what captured the scholar's attention most was the single yellow bloom tied atop with a violet ribbon on the book. He recognized the book to be a copy of the floriography manual he often saw tucked between your collections.

“You’re probably wondering ‘what value will this book bring to you’. Well, as I've said before, studious scholars should never limit their perspectives.” you almost shove the gift into his hands in response to his stunned countenance.

“And,” an accidental brush of your fingers against his hand sends an unwanted shudder through his arteries, “Happy birthday, little Veri.”

You withdraw just as quickly, the hues of the setting sun softening the smile on your face.

Ratio forces himself to look elsewhere, "You're still going to use that ridiculous nickname, huh? What a way to welcome me into adulthood." he mutters, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste that he tries to mask with sarcasm.

He feels your chuckle probing at his heart, taunting the quickened pace in which it revolts against its cage. You shift your gaze to the golden petals resting atop the book, a somber sigh tumbling from your lips.

“— Fair daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon ;

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not yet attained his noon.”

Many see fit to celebrate their first step into adulthood with enthusiastic celebrations, Ratio's eighteenth birthday brought with it a clinging bittersweetness — not that he allowed himself to dwell on it for long, his future plans taking precedence over sentiments.

The lone daffodil had been tucked between a random section of the book you gifted, hidden away from his sight. The border between cowardice and courage was thin, nearly translucent in the manner the result dictated what it would turn out to be.

The journey of uncovering the mysteries of the universe is a similar pursuit. Emerge victorious and you'll be brave, fail and you'll be heralded foolish. Ratio was far from a coward or a foolish man, sometimes not going head-fast into uncertain territories is the mark of intelligence.

He allowed the daffodil to wilt and turned not a page, for he knew in some deep crevice of his subconscious that it'd blight the clarity of his mind with another flood of emotions he did not have the capacity to process.

Luckily, his agony met a premature end as you departed from Veritas Prime by the end of the year with a certificate in hand.

Who knows how many sleepless nights and crushed dreams paved the path for the ink lines on that single piece of parchment. Ratio had been there as the first to congratulate you, it was the least he could do.

He did not proceed farther than that, as you'd made it clear that there would forever be a line he would be unable to trespass.

Ratio was fully aware of the limitations the silly crush that accumulated over the time in your acquaintance brought and he expressed no interest in pushing those boundaries either.

He found solace in the fact that he'd met you at all. He wouldn't say you illuminated his life, for even you always believed it was the individual themselves who possessed that power.

You nudged him towards the path to find his light and that lesson, he wanted to honor all his life.

The memories of your time would stay treasured in his mind and the curve of your smile would be preserved in marble. Without the echo that his ears yearned to capture, he saw fit to isolate his senses from unnecessary stimulation.

Though you'd never grace the corridors of Veritas Prime again, the footprints of your presence etched deep in the genius's memories would never fade.

vi. Trompe l'oeil

His next encounter with you was a tad unexpected, just at the horizon of Ratio putting the full stop to his years at the university.

Veritas’s fingers slackened around the handle of his umbrella, a page or two of the manuscript of his thesis slipping past his grip and drifting along the roaring wind — but his eyes couldn't chase after them. Much too fixated on the way your shoulder bumped with theirs, not at all by accident.

The rain soon cloaked your figures from his spying gaze, the droplets soaking the ends of his clothes failed still to snatch his attention away. In spite of the thunderous cries of the sky, the echo of your laugh was all he could hear.

—

Time never ceased its relentless march; life followed its direction and events moulded more memories.

For the sake of productivity, he had no choice but to push back his curiosity and stay away from your life. His studies and workload helped generously in keeping his mind from wandering to frightful territories at inconvenient instances, though a certain spark nestled deep somewhere in his subconscious.

Before long, his name resounded far beyond the gates of Veritas Prime.

Veritas Ratio, now Dr. Ratio, felt his nerves flare again as he looked at the latest discussions on the university’s online forum, the words “Dr. Ratio Will Surely Snag A Place At The Genius Society, Won’t He?” in bold only tickled his annoyance further.

Ordinarily, he would stay as far away as possible from discussions concerning himself — which was easier said than done.

Aggrandizing anything always leads to disappointment. Ratio's surroundings loved to goad his path, but he knew, such chatter would morph to whispers the moment their expectations were proven false.

Dr. Ratio’s brooding came to a halt at the collision, his reflexes acted and he clasped onto the stranger’s arm before they could fall. He heard leaves crunching under his boots, strangers threw cursory glances at the near-accident.

His lips parted in what a spectator could assume to be the beginning of an apology, but paused upon noticing the words resignation letter on the paper in the stranger's grasp.

Orange eyes flickered, trailing upward, within the fabric of scarlet you burrowed deep in search of comfort from the scare.

You mimicked his earlier attempt, craning your neck for a second to meet his gaze and halting in recognition.

“Veritas… Ratio?”

The addressed scholar blinks, blurting out before he could think, “That’s not what you used to call me.”

There's a scintilla of surprise in your eyes at his unintentional jest, he anticipates a laugh next, but only an awkward quirk of your lips greets him.

Your eyes dart around your environment, before returning to his grasp. Feeling the weight of your stare, he releases his hold with a fake cough.

“I… apologize.” his hand found refuge on the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay, accidents... happen, you know.” you wave him off with your free hand.

A breeze passes through the gap between you two.

It might've just been Ratio’s misjudgement, but he felt as if you were about to run away for a millisecond. Your fingers tightened around the paper in your hold, you gathered yourself with a deep inhale.

“Congratulations on obtaining your fourth doctorate degree! I often discuss your papers in my classes, you are an inspiration to so many people.”

A flicker of sunlight filtered through the leaves above fell and there appeared that smile he knew. Years had gone by, yet the mystery in it remained still out of his reach.

“Thank you,” he tilted his head downward, “I’m glad to hear that you pursued your dream.”

Ratio sneaked a glance, your nod faded into silence. His gaze lingered on your face, the concentrated flush on your right cheek made his brows furrow.

He was no fool to the tension in the air and your unusual fidgety demeanor. He briefly contemplated if he should just depart.

However, he couldn't deny the fact that questions had accumulated throughout the interval of your absence from his life. The differences between the you before him and the you from his memories begged him to probe, to study and learn.

He felt himself drawn to the paper in your hand again, a glint on your ring finger caught his eye. Among the myriad of inquiries battling to escape his lips, the one that’d warred the longest emerged victorious.

“Did they…” he began, uncertain.

“Give you a bouquet of bluebells?”

Your flighty gaze froze to confusion for a moment as you tried to decode his words, Ratio mirrored your gaze as you failed to answer. You quickly blinked away any hints of shock, a forceful bite stopped the trembling of your lips.

(He felt a twist somewhere in his heart.)

“Can we… talk somewhere else?” you suggested. Despite it being the middle of autumn, there's a storm brewing in your eyes.

—

Veritas could see splinters on the cup in his grip, the dark beverage within threatening to spill.

A passing waitress threw the table a concerned glance, but could not find the courage to intervene. The sight of your antsy wringing of hands in his peripheral alerted him to breathe. He loosened his grip on the poor cup of coffee just in time, a burdened exhale following suit.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “So, what do you intend to do now?”

You fiddled with the band on your ring finger ; within the vacancy of the cafe, to Ratio, it felt as if even such an insignificant gesture gained voice.

The insistence of your silence prompted him to continue, “The culmination of your hard-work, one that stole almost all of your life ; all of those sleepless nights, unsaid sacrifices for the sole wish of helping others — all of it, you're going to let go, just like that? Just because an idiot claims they know better?”

Dr. Ratio could not understand, no matter which angle he looked at it from. The answer to your dilemma was crystal clear to the scholar, he’d be willing to bet it’d be clear to anyone with a functioning brain — and yet, you hesitate.

You continue to shuffle and avert your gaze, sometimes parting your lips to speak but withdrawing the next second.

A person that's found the tunnel’s end should run towards it, but you remain at the precipice of darkness.

“I…” The purple head straightens up at the sound of your voice, it is weak, hopeless ; a complete stranger to who you once were.

You abruptly gather your things, “I’m sorry, please forget I ever said anything —” an innocent glass is knocked off in your haste.

Cold, your hand is chillingly cold as Ratio grabs it, preventing you from running away. The unnatural temperature of it temporarily unsettles the man, but the situation at hand prompts him to push the observation back.

You try to force your wrist out of his grasp, but he presses on, “Can’t you see, that they are ruining you? This is not who you used to be! Your so-called 'fiance' is destroying you, they’ll not stop until you're nothing but a shell of yourself and they can reshape you to their liking!”

“I really have to go —” a vein pops on Ratio’s forehead, the wanton glass hits the floor.

“And why go? To receive another slap from them?” he feels your palm dampen from sweat, pieces of shattered crystal splaying across the tiles.

You look at him in disbelief and he blinks, the sharpness of his words finally cutting him.

The incipiency of an apology gathers at the tip of his tongue, but you halt it from escaping.

“Whatever happens between us, is none of your business, Veritas Ratio.”

If your hand was simply cold, your glare is freezing. It stuns the scholar enough to make his clasp loosen, you quickly snatch your hand away.

You’re two steps in when Veritas rushes to add, unwilling to back down, “But it was still you who reached out to me.”

The scholar hears the pause in your heels, you don't turn to address him and he doesn't move to obstruct your path either.

The bell signals your departure as the waitress from before rushes to clean the broken glass, leaving Ratio alone with his thoughts.

—

Veritas Ratio has had scarce attachments to worry about in his life.

For better or for worse, it appeared as though the direction of his life was steered towards one particular destination, everything else proved to be transient.

While his surroundings eroded and flourished within the touch of mortal delights, he remained but a spectator, destined to observe but never indulge.

Love. A simple word, yet any singular meaning behind which could still not be agreed upon.

He saw it in the way parents cradled their children, in the eyes of a couple that brushed past him in the streets. Flighty like the union between another pair of his former classmates, strengthened like the wrinkly hold of that couple that sold flowers down the street ; its form, just like its definition, is infinite.

The scholar thinks he's felt it somewhere in his past, or at least the vestiges of it — within the glow of a cryptic smile and a mind that did not yield.

Troublesome as it’d been, it did not conquer him. Ultimately, he wielded enough willpower to move on.

Some say, brilliant minds that toil too long in the territories of the unknown, become dense to the simpler aspects of life. Ratio did not see the inconvenience in this notion for a long time, not when it aided him more than burden him.

That is, until the encounter at the cafe.

If nothing else, it was clear to the prodigy that you had changed, for the worst at that.

The 'you' he’d known would know how to pick yourself up, or more accurately, that ‘you’ wouldn't have allowed things to escalate this far at all.

You would've left this rotten excuse of a relationship the first time they raised their voice, you would never concede to that fatal act of disrespect, under no circumstance would you let such an excuse of a human have such control — he… he hoped.

Ratio leaned back in his chair, a frown creeping in to his face.

For all these outrageous claims that he's been making of the you he was familiar with, how much did he actually know?

Is a year’s observation enough to grant him that badge of familiarity?

It is as you said, who is he to judge you at all?

Within the gloom of his study, his eyes unconsciously met with those etched in marble, the curve of a sun-kissed smile. He hand moved on its own, turning the table-lamp towards the sculpture and indeed, the light has always suited you more than him.

His recollections backtrack to the hazy gaze he saw that day, the encumbrance in them hoisting him up to chase after the itch for answers.

An uncounted number of hours passed, only after perusing a decent pile of tomes did it finally click in his head.

Ratio had no excuses or motivation to defend himself, he most certainly handled the situation poorly.

When the average attempts of leaving such relationships is between seven and twelve, it was insensitive of him to confront you like that.

Cognitions clouded in rage, he ignored the questions he should've asked, the sense of security he should've provided — the one you sought from him — and cornered you abruptly.

Foolish foolish foolish — he felt his fingers tug at his hair, breaths stuck in his lungs. Rationale does not always succeed in helping others see reason, how could he be so careless with you, of all people?

He didn't even know what stage of this hell you were at, how many times you’ve attempted to leave and what leverage they have over you.

Well, it would be most accurate to say he didn't know anything at all and yet, he arrogantly told you to 'just leave'.

The purple-head forced himself to breathe, the self-loathing could be shelved for a later day, what's more important now is finding you again.

He stood up from the heap of tomes, only to pause, does he deserve to seek you out again?

He betrayed your trust and you shut him off for good, should he even bother now?

A distant tug held him back.

Much like before, there is that line between you two that he cannot cross, must not cross.

He’s no longer a teenager in documents, but he doubts you see him as anything more than that ‘little Veri’.

—

The echoes of passing vehicles ricocheted around the streets, but Dr. Ratio’s attention stayed transfixed on the ivory petals in front of him.

A week or so had passed, the ruminations of those doubts kept him away from the confrontation and stole his nights.

It would be easy to cure this ailment, finding you would be but a matter of a few swipes. But that uncertainty, the ghost of a past insecurity, clung to his resolve. As such, peace abandoned him for a while.

A zephyr whispered to him, “Asphodels,”

He hummed without much thought, sunset orange eyes tracing the dulcet lines in those blooms.

“ ‘My regrets will follow you to the grave’, it's not everyday you see someone looking at these flowers with such care.”

If anyone looked straight into the scholar’s eyes at that moment, they'd for sure be able to witness the cogs turning in his brain in them.

Ratio finds you startled once he whips to his left, your presence finally registering in his head.

A prayer, a yearning, your name escapes his lips. But any further speech is obstructed from taking shape.

You’re the first to recover, “I apologize for running away like that the other day. It… was cowardly of me to tell you to mind your own business when I was the one who confided in you first.” your head lowers in appeal.

He’s sure of it now, you must be on the quest of giving him a heart-attack, what with these continuous surprises you’re throwing at him.

Well, if not a fatality, they're at least doing a wondrous job in preventing him from processing the fact in its entirety — you're here, you’re here, you're here.

You found him, again. Just like all those years ago in the lecture hall, all those times he was skipping lunch, on his eightieth birthday and that other day ; it was always you finding him.

(Has he ever broken through his pride and cowardice and tried to find you instead?)

The scholar hastens to join you, “No, it was my incompetence in failing to understand your situation that pushed you to leave. I completely failed to provide you with safety when you trusted me. For that, I beg your forgiveness.”

He couldn't see it, but he could picture your disbelief at his behavior. Your fist mirrored his, “No, it was clearly my stupidity—”

“Nonsense!” his exclamation earned him a flinch from you. He subconsciously straightened up to drive his point across, “It was me who —”

In the hurry and flurry of emotions, your head bumped with his, ending his tirade prematurely.

Your eyes settle on him, a car runs past your perplexed figures and then, the streets get cloaked in quietude ; before being filled with your giggle.

Against his control, his lips twitch and laughter bubbles in his chest. He allows them to gain voice and join yours.

You fan your face with your hand as the chuckles skid to an end, Ratio feels his cheeks warmed when he inhales. But none of you bother addressing the previous argument, its result apparent.

You take a deep breath and exhale. The scholar sees sun-glitter in your pupils, “I left them, by the way.”

That sobers him.

“Your…”

“Fiancé, yes. Or well, ex-fiancé now.” as if on cue, Ratio catches your now vacant ring finger.

“They tried to beg me to stay. But to be honest, it was not the first time they appealed to my sympathy.” you find interest in the pavement, searching for the remnants of your memories in their cracks.

“... But I really put my foot down this time. And oh, I didn't quit my job either, in case you were wondering.” you heave, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“And where are you residing now — if you don't mind me asking?”

“I’m temporarily staying at a friend's house. Don't worry, I’m at a safe place.” you reassure, detecting the underlying concern in his inquiry.

Ratio’s shoulders sag as he exhales, the receding adrenaline dulling his worries. Turns out you didn't really need his help, not that he's astonished. It was in your nature to extend help towards others but thinking twice before asking for help.

(Although he's in no position to criticize, he so wished that you’d find it in yourself to rely on him a bit more.)

“If you ever need anything, just give me a call or a text. You still have my number, correct?” he glances down to gauge your expression.

When you nod, he murmurs a faint ‘good’ and silence takes over. He contemplates if he should add anything else, but the serenity in the atmosphere prompts him to push back those concerns.

“Well, goodbye for today?” you suggest, snapping him back to reality.

He raises his hand to do just that, but a different thought alarms him.

“Let me walk you home.” he pushes back the cringe at the excess firmness to his tone, rushing to add, “Please?”

For a blink or two, you looked at him as though you’ve just sighted an alien. He assumes it's the ‘out-of-character’ tendencies he’s been portraying that has you double-check. It seems that he was not the only one comparing the present and the past.

Luck appeared by his side — or perhaps it was just your pity — and you conceded without any complaint, letting him join your steps. The scholar barely hid his glee through his gait.

The planet that housed Veritas Prime would get decorated in the lovely shades of ripened maple leaves around this time. Civilians gathered in groups beneath these scenes, some enjoying a leisurely picnic, others focused on getting their desired pictures.

Ratio noticed your wanton glance at a pair on a picnic mat, his lips tugging down at the tell-tale signs of where your thoughts ran towards.

But before he could do anything, you turned away and picked up your pace ; the pair’s laughter but background noise.

With some haste, he caught up to you. Racking his brain to distract your mind, he found himself empty-handed.

Four doctorates and yet, his mind goes blank when he needs it the most. He couldn't be any more disappointed in himself.

Just as he’s about to start a mental berating though, you side-step a rock and Ratio’s hand bumps with yours, their frigidity alerting him.

He stops in his tracks, and you do too, looking up quizzically at him.

He extends his palm, “Give me your hand,”

Your confusion only increases, “What? Why?”

“It’s too cold. Are you certain you aren't sick?” he thinks back to the encounter he had with you at the cafe, the chill he felt when he grasped your hand. He initially thought it a coincidence, but now, he was really concerned.

“Ahh, this, you see,” you flex your fingers, a feeble attempt at warming them up. “My hands kind of respond to the temperature? Don't ask because I don't know exactly why either, during winter, they're usually cold like this. But in summer, they're very warm.”

Ratio quirks a brow, “Just the fact that it tends to happen doesn't make it any less uncomfortable, does it?”

“No…” you trail off, “But! That's what my fiance— I mean, ex-fiance would always tell me, to just get used to it.”

Your eyes flicker back to Ratio’s, the disbelief in them telling you enough of what you need to know.

The scholar ran a hand through his hair, he shuddered to ponder what other garbage they had fed your brain.

His sigh is carried by a passing breeze, “It’s okay. They aren't here to dictate your life anymore.” he once again offers you his hand, another hope-filled prayer.

You look at his extended palm and back to his patient gaze, your fingers fisting in themselves for a moment before loosening.

He sees the ebb and flow of doubt and hope in their movements, inching closer and closer to his.

He cradles your hand when it reaches him, your fingers slipping easily through the gaps of his. The difference in temperature alerts his reflexes for a second before he calms them down.

He stuffs your intertwined hands in his coat pocket — your gasp fades behind you as he resumes his gait.

Ratio does not dare glance in your direction, but he knows you're watching, scrutinizing him. It reminds him of the look you had at the end of your university days, the memory of the incident that followed makes his throat parched.

Your grip is unusually weak, combined with the knowledge of your situation, the scholar can't stop himself from adding.

“Have you been eating well? Tell me if you haven't, I'll take you to have a proper meal. But don't lie about these matters, you can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of yourself first.”

You freeze at his words and Ratio makes the mistake of returning your stare.

Seeing no change in his serious expression though, you shake your head with a chuckle, assuring him of your health.

The clicking of both of your shoes against the pavement is the only thing keeping his heart-beat at bay, his attention from focusing too much on the feel of your hand in his and the myriad of chemical reactions flooding his reward system.

When the coldness in your hand has been completely replaced with the warmth from his, you gesture to him that you’ve reached your destination.

He feels an unexpected reluctance in letting you go, something in his gut pushing him to hold on — but he ignores it.

You pause before opening the gates, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

He looks up in time to see your smile, it's not like all those times you’ve smiled before — no, no. This time, lilac petals cling to its corners.

Ratio covered his mouth with his hand, hiding the stupid curve of his lips from anyone's eyes. The lingering warmth from your hand finally allowed his heart to beat with fervor.

He wanted nothing more than to give you a bouquet of bluebells at that moment.

vii. Sfumato

The day Dr. Ratio returned to your side with the pledged bluebells, was beautiful.

The canopy of winter had begun to be swept aside as nascent leaves heralded spring, twitters of birds ornamented the breeze.

When fresh fountain ink meets parchment, it spreads with a thin halo of blue — the sky of that moment brought back this image in his mind. The sun found amusement in steering behind ivory clouds ; a cheeky, one sided game of hide and seek played with light and dark.

The sun made a mistake, a sidestep allowed rays to escape and fall on the lace ribbon of the bouquet.

Sun-glitter followed the lead of Ratio’s arm, over the arch of his wrist, finding their way from beneath the crevices of his fingers — shining, glimmering, as lapis petals caressed the tombstone.

How strange, didn't it usually rain and roar for scenes like these in those light novels of yours?

Veritas could not feel his breaths, it's as if the mechanisms of his respiratory system halted for that matter, he couldn't even feel his eyes flutter.

Idiocy.

He contemplated turning away altogether, what was he even thinking, bringing bluebells to the cemetery like a young lover?

A dead leaf crunched from his retreating step, the note stunning him in place.

Perhaps he should've brought the chopped off, bleeding excuse of a skull of that man — if only, if only if only any being, any listening existence in this wretched world would reassure him that it’d bring you back.

The scholar felt his fingers lax from their cocoon, but he knew, that would be impracticable. If a life for a life resurrected the other, his fingers wouldn't tremble in usurping that leverage and bringing justice to your final moments.

But he knew, oh how the erudite scholar despised knowledge for the first time in his life — that it’d soothe him, but leave a hollow far worse in his heart.

A sigh forced its way past his lips, onerous was its euphony. Windswept locks of violet poked at the way crystalline orange held onto the engraving on the silver stone ; the name, once his boon, now his bane.

Splinters of marble flew, papers, pens, innocent objects were tossed aside like fickle trash. Rouge flecked once pristine alabaster. Midst the carnage, a book fell betwixt Veritas’s path.

A withered daffodil lamented rationality’s fall.

Newspapers and channels boldly flashed the incident for a week — individual apprehended for the charge of murdering their ex-fiancé — before being swallowed by other, more fascinating pieces of events.

Ratio found himself scoffing at their tone, picking apart their every word and spacing, frowning at how quick people's interest moved on.

Indeed, the world waits for none. The ones lingering are always tormented.

With the last person in close association with you behind the bars of the psych ward and your acquaintances grieving, the scholar took it upon himself to deliver your files and belongings to your family.

But that decision turned out to be a lesson, the universe once again pointing out without mercy the mediocrity of his knowledge.

“Does that mean we’ll have to turn to the streets now?” whispered a little too loudly, a little too carelessly, your step-mother to your father.

Ignorance.

Perhaps Ratio’s disbelief had been too loud on his face, for your father shushed her quickly and attempted to smooth over the slip-up with a barely-strung lament.

But the scholar had learned what was to be surmised from this family, all of their next speeches effortlessly ignored by him.

So the reason you ultimately didn't quit your job was for them, Veritas's eyes dimmed. Feelings were never his forte, this messy heap of them he had no clue what to do with.

And the siblings you used to so dearly miss back in your university days? The second-oldest after you put back her headphones after he finished delivering the news and the youngest couldn't even recall your name.

Ratio seldom used the phrase, but it was truly a miracle he left that fetid establishment without causing damage.

He decided against disclosing your remaining belongings to them and instead, gave them away for charity as written in a journal he accidentally stumbled upon while sorting through them.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew this would happen.

But you refused to confide in anyone, tolerating the farce of a content life.

Ratio could not understand, did not even know where to begin in decoding what was going through your head when you lied to him and what had coerced him into believing it.

Of course you didn't leave them, that would've been too perfect and too merciful an end and clearly, the universe would not allow it. Of course he needed to be shown how much of an idiot he still is, the extent of his wishful thinking.

Ratio concurs he deserves it.

But did you deserve to meet such an end? No, your life shouldn't have been shaped this way to begin with! And yet, it had been.

For long did he stare off into vacant space, casting aside the need for slumber, attempting to answer what was to be done now. The silence beckoned him, that it was nothing.

Perhaps, you were at peace now at last.

Perhaps the craving for this serenity was what had prompted you from not fighting off that axe.

Perhaps, you had closed your eyes without any regrets.

When the haze in his head cleared a bit, he visited your grave again. Dust had gathered on the lifeless petals of the bluebells he’d left, the scholar tenderly rid them from the surface.

He dug a section beside your resting place and planted fresh asphodels. An elderly woman saw the scene in passing but did not comment, pity clung at the edges of her eyes.

Foolishness.

In fear of the tides of time burying the traces of your foot-steps, Ratio chased after them. The places you spoke so fondly of, the flowers and stories you cherished and the students you stood proud beside.

They spoke of your passion, your vision and your resilience to him.

They say, even a lifetime of ‘knowing’ someone is not sufficient in knowing them.

Although he’d known you for a miniscule timeframe, he squandered no effort in trying to understand you. Only at this juncture, did your nature become clear to him. You were an expert in keeping your lips shut, a seasoned performer of half-truths and no stranger to the art of survival.

It was no coy act, you trusted no one with your actual thoughts and motivations — that was the naked truth.

So then, it begs the question, what exactly did you try so hard to eradicate?

Supposing that this universe suffers from a common ailment, and it is so persistent, so adhesive, so elusive that it plagues the dullest to the most brilliant mind — that despite all attempts at curing it, only its surface has been scratched. And this truth had been so frustrating, even you could not stand back.

Ratio tapped his fingers against his desk, what other malady does an educator aspire to cure other than ignorance?

Foolishness? Idiocy? Stupidity? All synonymous, yet capable of clasping and corrupting irrespective of a person’s standing in the path of life.

To rid them, scholars, researchers and teachers attempt to disseminate knowledge with the vow of indiscrimination.

But Dr. Ratio knew, the oasis of knowledge is but a mirage in the desert of ignorance. For the populace to reach that base awareness, to recognize that mirage — that, is what is needed.

The scholar saw the early light of dawn from betwixt the crevices of his window, the hinges groaned as he pushed them open and for the first time — the sun embraced him and the shadows fell behind his form.

But the meteor that briefly illuminated his sky, is gone — as tends to be their destiny. He can do nothing but carry the memories of its glow.

—

Light glinted over the edge of the cone, approaching footsteps reminded the doctor to tuck it away from prying eyes.

Ratio tsk-ed upon feeling the absence of his headpiece, cracks on the alabaster had demanded a remake.

The scholar’s eyes met with the ones cradling the remnants of a bygone sunset, melting into hues of ocean blue.

“Doc! Didn't expect to see you here.” drawled an unfortunately familiar man. Ratio offered a blink in greeting.

“Yes, how astonishing it is to see a member of the Intelligentsia Guild in its corridors.” the doctor muttered plainly, the Stoneheart in the spotlight merely maintained his smile.

Ratio noticed his other hand to be occupied, “And what about you? Busy squandering your time as usual, gambler?”

Contrary to his expectations, the quirk of Aventurine’s lips widened as though he’d struck gold, he smoothed over the lapels of his suit. The erudite scholar subconsciously braced himself for whatever trick was to be brought next.

“Now now, it's not squandering if you're spending it with a dear person.” he winked.

Veritas caught a silhouette peeking from behind the blonde, “Meaning?”

“Ah, how uncourteous of me.” though there's a note of glee in his voice. “Allow me to introduce you to…”

Dr. Ratio observed as a figure emerged from Aventurine’s shadow, the passing question of how he hadn't noticed them sooner was pushed aside as they joined the Stoneheart in the spotlight.

“My dearest, precious jewel or— how did you prefer it again? Hmm I can't seem to remember~” an elbow to his side and huff broke through his theatrics ; the vacant halls gained life through laughter, petrichor bloomed in their notes.

“Just kidding, my bluebell.”

A meteor crossed the orbit of Ratio’s life again.

Thank you so much for reading!

TAGLIST : @abyssmal-skies @danijaci @birdloverr @teabutmakeitazure @cherriiirose @bleh09 @scurfi @justcallmemidnight @mochinon-yah @feral-ish @lavandulawrites @persicipen @stickyspeckledlight

#dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere dr ratio #yandere dr ratio x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr ratio angst #right on the one year anniversary of ratio's first in-game appearance bro—

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just-a-sewer-goblin · 3 months ago

Text

Collars of Duty 1

Hybrid!Simon x reader - Chapter 2 -

When a new problem hybrid is brought to the rehab center, you're called in from medical leave. Having been through hell he's classed as dangerous but you believe he deserves a chance. Hopefully you both can heal each other without adding to old wounds.

I dedicate this story to @kiwiimochi because they said they'd be interested in a story like this. I hope you enjoy and you're welcome to tell me what you think.

Content: hybrid AU, brief description of wounds, allusions to torture

The call comes through in the middle of the night, ripping you from deep slumber that for once was peaceful.

You wake with a gasp, heart immediately racing to outrun the invisible danger. It takes you a few seconds to blink the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. You’re at home, in your bed. There is no danger around, except the phone that rings impatiently in your bedside drawer.

You recognize the ringtone. It’s your work phone, which hasn’t rung in weeks even though you always keep it on and charged. It’s slightly unsettling to hear it ring at such an ungodly hour. It’s freeing too, to realize that your heart slowly calms down and you do not spiral into a panic attack.

Yawning your reach into the drawer and open it, getting the angrily vibrating phone and hold it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“We need you here.”

You’re stunned into silence. Everyone knows you’re on medical leave. They should know better than to call you in randomly during the night. They -

“Like right now.” You recognize Elizabeth’s voice and your heartrate skyrockets again.

“Liz, you know that I’m on leave. You know wh-“

“They want to put him down.” Her voice interrupts you, full of urgency.

That has you sitting bolt upright. Putting down hybrids has been illegal for years now and the center mostly adheres to those laws. Mostly, not always and when they don’t they usually have a damn good reason not to.

Working at a government managed rehabilitation center for hybrids meant that sometimes they put their decisions above the law.

You’re already out the bed and stumbling around the room while trying to get dressed one handed.

“I’m coming. Anything I should know?”

You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your ear so you can use both hands to pull on your pants. The short pause strains your nerves. She wouldn’t have called you if the others could handle whatever was happening.

“Liz?” You prompt her.

“Belgian Malinois hybrid. Military. They found him after he was MIA for moths. Severely malnourished, signs of torture all over him. No idea how they managed to get him into a chopper and bring him here, but he is here.” She rattles down and if you didn’t know her better you’d think that she doesn’t care. But you do know her better. Staying professional helps her not to break down with cases like this.

Hectically you tuck a shirt over your head, gather your things and basically run out the door. When you started working at the center you moved as close as possible to your new workplace and because you were lucky that meant living just down the street.

Running along the sidewalk you urge her on. “What more, Liz. I need everything you can give me.”

The silence speaks volumes. She hesitates, then goes on.

“He attacked and killed one of the soldiers that brought him here. They sedated him but said if no one wants to work with him, they have to put him down. I’ve seen hybrids go animal before but not like this.”

You grit your teeth at that. You hated the term ‘going animal’ even if it was a widely accepted term when working with hybrids. Just because they we’re genetically part animal didn’t mean, that them going berserk was less human that an ordinary person losing it.

And if what she told you was true, he had more than enough reason to lose his marbles.

Before you can ask another question you reach the fence of the rehab compound and to your surprise Liz is there, already opening the door for you so you won’t have to use your access card. You end the call and pocket your phone when you approach her.

“I want to say it’s good to have you back but the circumstances make the whole thing slightly less cheery.” She greets you and then engulfs you in a heartfelt hug.

Damn, you missed her. Liz didn’t work with the hybrids as a handler. She was part of the office team but she was one of your favorite coworkers here. Liz got shit done while taking none and still she was the nicest, sweetest person around.

You nod, returning her hug. Then you breathe deeply, preparing yourself to actually step foot into the facility again. The very reason why you were on medical leave in the first place. It doesn’t feel as bad as you feared but you’re not sure how you will react to the hybrid.

“Where is he? What’s his name?”

Liz sighs deeply. “He’s in the cell. The others refused to work with him when they heard the details from the soldiers. Honestly, I don’t blame them but I thought it was worth calling you.”

You nod grimly and let her lead the way. The facility worked with aggressive hybrids a lot. Problematic cases were nothing new. But one who had murdered mere hours ago was new territory. You’re not sure this is the best decision.

Was this the kind of case you were ready to come back for? After what happened? This had the potential to ruin any progress you had made during your leave.

No. You couldn’t let him be put down just because you were scared. He deserved a chance and if all the others were too worried then you’d give him the chance. Even if it might cost you the stability you’d gained back.

Liz comes to a halt before the cell and turns to you. Her hands clasp onto your shoulders, looking at you through her glasses.

“Thank you for trying.” She hesitates briefly. “Don’t destroy yourself over it though. If he’s lost, he’s lost. You can’t save everyone.”

Her words make your throat tighten and swallowing seems like an impossible feat. You nod, despite the unease bubbling up in you.

He’s a person, you remind yourself. It’s not like you’re meeting a wild animal.

Finally you turn to look through the small window into the cell. The large hybrid nearly steals your breath. He’s still unconscious, lying on the mattress at the far end of the otherwise unfurnished cold cell. The dark pointed ears that peek out of his shaggy hair twitch every now and then.

“His name?” You ask again, your voice a whisper, even though you’re not entirely sure why you feel the need to quiet down.

He is dirty beyond belief; his hair unkempt and you can make out a slight beard on his strong jaw through the bars of his muzzle. You grind your teeth at the sight of it. Using muzzles of that type on hybrids has also been forbidden and you wonder if they found him like this or put it on him.

The fact that he doesn’t wear a shirt, only ripped and sullied pants, grants you an unobstructed view of his torso. There are various wounds in different phases of healing and his ribs are overly visible beneath his skin.

The twin wounds on his left draw your eyes. They seem almost circular and are located between his ribs. Already crusted over messily they seem to not be the newest ones; still you shudder with how painful they look. Over the ribs that lay between those wounds the skin is blackish blue and bruised.

You decide to not look closely at his other wounds as to not make you feel shakier than you already do. Instead you look at his face again. That too is covered in shallow cuts but those do not make your insides want to turn over.

His hair seems to be a deep, dark brown, matching the ears and you wonder how he’ll look, once he’s clean and not on the brink of starvation. Liz’ voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Simon Riley. Lieutenant.”

You both know rank means almost nothing when it comes to hybrids but you don’t comment on the information. You’re about to ask something else when he starts stirring and you hold your breath. Even though you’re outside you feel the tension rise along with his consciousness from the artificial sleep.

Two figures, that were obstructed from view before because they stood so close to the wall, step forward. Soldiers, you realize and they have their weapons trained on the slowly waking hybrid. On Simon.

As soon as he’s halfway conscious he scrambles to his feet, slightly swaying in his spot. He tries to bring his arms to the front but they seem to be tied behind his back. His tail grows stiff behind him, the ears tilt back and his upper lip curls into a snarl revealing his canines while his eyes fixate on the soldiers.

You can hear his deep resounding growl through the door and everything in you wants to run. This is a military hybrid, all right. Everything about him is big and intimidating, the aggression rolling off of him in waves along with the resounding growl.

Instead of running you set your shoulders and breathe deeply. “Let me inside and get the soldiers out.” You say a lot more confidently than you feel. Evidently their way of handling him is not working.

Liz raises her eyebrows but communicates with the guards inside. Slowly they back towards the door, keeping their guns pointed at the hybrid while Liz unlocks the door. Quicker than you can comprehend you changed positions with one of the guards, the other staying with his gun still pointing at Simon.

“”Out.” You command. You wish your body was as unwavering as your voice but you can feel a subtle shaking start in your legs.

The soldier seems conflicted but Elizabeth keeps the door open and he backs out too. Everyone at the center knows that working with hybrids comes with a lot of risks. If this goes south all you’ll be is a small stack of papers on Liz’ desk, waiting to be signed. And maybe a body to be buried.

You’re alone with him now, the heavy door closing behind you and the hostility rolling off Simon nearly suffocates you. His eyes are now fixed solely on you and he seems to be weighing his options, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to attack you.

You pray that he doesn’t.

You study him for a moment longer and you see the sheen on sweat that appears on his skin. This is not only aggression. He’s scared. Scared of you and somehow the fear being mutual calms you down. This hybrid must have been through hell and now he woke in a strange room after forcefully being sedated. You’d be scared shitless too and growl at people.

“Hello.”

You hold the eye contact and the way his ears perk forward for a second before going back again would be adorable in any other situation. The growl stutters before returning stronger than before. He reacted to being spoken to. Liz’ had exaggerated, maybe they’d misinterpreted him, because this hybrid was not on a murder spree.

Yet he’d killed earlier, you have to remind yourself. Just because you were a softie didn’t mean he’d spare you.

Slowly you raise your hands. “I’m just going to sit down, here. Do you know where you are?”

You can see the confusion on his face at the fact you talk to him and you mentally curse the soldiers that brought him in. Despite his display being more animalistic than human he is still a person before all else. How come they hadn't had the common sense to talk to him?

His keen eyes don’t miss even one of your movements as you settle down and cross your legs.

“You were found just north of the border in Texas.” It’s difficult to keep your voice as soft as possible with the way your throat is so tight. For a second you hate yourself because you’re thankful that he is muzzled and his arms are restrained.

Then you remind yourself that he is not Phillip and despite what Liz told you, you will judge him based on his behavior not on the stories. Like you should have with Phillip.

Something about what you said makes his ears perk up. He’s still careful but the previous stifling aggression is gone. Once again you try to suppress your anger at the soldiers not talking to him. This isn’t nearly as bad as they made it out to be.

“They brought you to a rehabilitation facility for hybrids that work with the authorities or the military. You might have heard of it before. It’s called “Rehybrid” which is a stupid name if you ask me but I wasn’t born when they decided on that so…”

Now he cocks his head at you and you try to keep from smiling. You know you’re rambling but it seems to help so you keep going.

“Not everyone is gifted in name giving.” Without much of a pause and consciously casually you continue on. “Mind if I take the handcuffs off of you?”

That makes him stiffen, reflexively his lip curls up again a small growl starting up. Of course he doesn’t trust you. But you’re also very aware of how unfair it is to have him shackled and muzzled when he feels threatened already.

“I know. I wouldn’t want anyone near me too if I were in your position but I think it would only be fair.” You’re very aware of the fact, that Liz, and the soldiers probably too, are watching through the window, most definitely thinking you’ve lost your mind.

Simon shakes his head and even if it is disappointing it makes you feel incredible that he interacted with what you said. Your chest expands and you suddenly feel like a big boulder lifted off your shoulders. That’s a good start.

“It’s okay, I won’t do it then. Just give me a sign when you’re ready.”

Once again you briefly glance at the state his body is in and you slightly wince. Yeah, maybe you would have to press a little harder.

“Listen. I really want to give you the time and space but I think your wounds and your body are on slightly tighter schedule than I am. I won’t force you but I don’t want you dying on me.”

His eyes widen at that and in that moment you’d pay to know what he’s thinking. It’s interesting to watch him as he seems to mentally take note of his body. He nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Take the cuffs off?”, you ask again just to be sure. Simon nods again.

Keeping it slow and easily predictable you stand up again and raise your hand to the latch in the door, opening it and sticking your hand through it. If Liz and the soldiers listened, they’ll give you the key, hopefully.

For a few agonizingly long heartbeats nothing happens, then a key is dropped into the palm of your hand and you close the latch again.

“I’m going to take a step towards you and then you can come to me. Sound good?”

Simon nods again and you take the step. His body tenses but then he crosses the small space and turns his back to you. His chest is heaving and his back is damp with cold sweat. It’s almost unnerving the way he has his head tilted as far to the side as possible, watching you out of the corner of his wide eye. If you make one wrong move he could still easily put you on the ground.

This close you can smell him and the stench coming off of him almost makes you gag. You try to breathe through your mouth at the smell of something rotten assaulting your nose. There's also the underlying smell of piss and filth along with other scents you can't identify. You concentrate on the task at hand in order not to imagine what might have happened to him.

Trying not to stress him out more, you talk him through the short process of taking off the handcuffs. His fast breathing makes you slightly worried that he’ll hyperventilate.

The moments the cuffs are on the floor he’s on the other side of the room again and his hands are tearing at the muzzle on his head. His fingers are frantic and a nail on his already damaged hands breaks, a little bit of blood welling up.

“Wait, please!” You call out desperately but his movements only grow more hectic. The muzzle he has on is designed so the hybrid is unable to take it off without seriously injuring themselves. His nimble fingers flit all over the piece, grabbing and tugging until he decides to just start pushing it upwards off his face.

Immediately the metal cuts into his cheeks and you know he’ll do it anyway. He doesn’t care about cutting his skin in the process. Panic swells in your chest at the thought of him shredding his face just to be muzzle free.

“Please, Simon, Stop!” You say desperately in a last attempt before he pulls it off his face. Against everything you expected he freezes, eyes going wide.

“Simon, that’s your name, right?”, you question your hands outstretched as if you could keep him from hurting himself further by sheer force of will.

You’re shaking and you know he can see it. Swallowing is almost painful. “Please don’t hurt yourself, I’ll take it off of you but please stop hurting yourself.”

His eyes narrow but this time he hesitates less before nodding and stepping towards you. God he is big. You’re all too aware of how incredibly vulnerable you are right now. He could probably rip you apart with his bare hands if he wanted to.

He’s a fully trained soldier and you… you’re just an ordinary person who helps hybrids to get back on their feet. You specifically chose this line of work because you’re soft and stupidly selfless. Using those traits for work seemed like a good option to turn them into strengths.

Now you’re all too aware of how little your softness would guard you against Simon’s brute strength. Even on the brink of starvation the fact that he’s a weapon remains.

Achingly slow your hands reach up to the muzzle, feeling along it for the mechanism to unlock. His eyes stare into yours and this close you can see that they’re the color of dark honey. Nothing about the expression in them is sweet though and you have to consciously swallow against the lump forming in your throat.

You unlock the mechanism and Simon stays in your personal space for a second longer. You don’t break the eye contact and slowly he moves backwards until there is enough room to breathe between you two again.

He flexes his jaw for a moment to test it and this time you smile. His eyes narrow at that but you don’t let it deter you.

Until now he hasn’t made a move to hurt you and you decide to introduce yourself. When you tell him your name he still doesn’t answer but he’s attentive and you think that maybe it will be fine after all.

#the sewer writes #hybrid au #simon x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #hybrid!simon #hybrid!simon x reader #gn!reader #simon x gn!reader #simon riley x reader #hybrid

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casualhedonists · 1 year ago

Text

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter four)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, roughhousing, overstimulation, insane amounts of teasing, some mild dubcon scenes/allusions to dubcon, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 4/?

SERIES MASTERLIST

words: 6.3k (🫠)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: thank you for your patience while i got my shit together (christmas edition). enjoy, this filth seems to get longer with each chapter. i’ll be gone for a few weeks over the holidays, so no chapter updates for a bit, but have no doubt i’ll be back for more in the new year <;33

Coriolanus Snow was not a patient man. He’d played the long game enough times in his climb to the top of Panem to know that once he got up there, he wouldn’t be sitting on the sidelines anymore, waiting for life to happen to him. He would take what he wanted from whoever he wanted, with no delay.

Who were you to tell him what he could and couldn’t have? Who were you to deny him, walking away like you’d won, like you’d just played him like a fiddle and left him out in the dust? He replayed your self-satisfied smile as you disappeared from his view and he stood there, considering his options. The most tempting would be to follow you back to your room, to shove you up against a wall, to tear off his jacket and watch that smug look melt right off your face.

The second would’ve been to send for the whore, but it would’ve been a cheap thrill and besides, you’d made a point of getting rid of her.

He’d almost had you, he could see it. Could see the quiver in your lip as your blown-out eyes had rolled open, before you’d climbed off his lap. He was certain that if he chipped away at enough of your resolve, you’d give in. The thought of having to work for this incensed him, who were you to make demands from the President himself?

But the calculating part of his brain decided, with disdain, that he would have to be patient for once. He doubted you could go very long before giving into him; he’d seen it in your eyes, it had taken everything in you to leave him that night.

You wanted to go on a power trip? Fine. Snow knew it would be short lived, and you were making enough of a spectacle of yourself that it should prove entertaining to him. He decided he was going to let you have your fun, brief and fleeting as it may be. He always did enjoy a chase, and he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

You wanted to play? Fine.

He closed his door, leaving it unlocked.

Let the games begin.

Breakfast was a sweet kind of torture. You’d wrapped a short, silk dressing gown around your underwear set from the night before, confident after your first good night’s sleep in weeks. Headed downstairs early, so you could be there when he walked in.

“Morning, sweetie.” You smiled as you sipped at a cup of coffee.

Snow’s eyes narrowed. He sat opposite you without a word, pouring himself a cup and buttering a piece of toast. His morning paper was neatly folded on the side, and you eyed it quickly, before taking him in.

It was subtle – something probably only you could pick up on, knowing what you did – but it was there, in the slight crinkle of his usually perfect shirt, in the way he took coffee instead of tea, in the way he focused carefully on spreading the butter to every edge of his slice of toast. You glanced down again, a mischievous sense of pride filling you up.

You’d gotten under his skin.

Finally.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “I don’t know about you, but I slept like a log. You?”

His eyes met yours heatedly, but he didn’t reply. One of his footmen stood posted by the door, eyes straight ahead.

“No?” You faked pity. “You look a little tired, Coriolanus. Rough night?”

Nothing. He didn’t respond to your taunts, but instead took his paper, unfolding it, and you watched intently with a glint in your eye as you saw him react to something slipping out of the pages and into his lap.

He let out a surprised scoff, lowered the paper, and looked straight at you. Your eyebrows raised in response.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, with a lilt in your voice.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.

“Leave us, please.” He said to the footman, without breaking off his stare once. The footman obliged, closing the door behind him. His eyes bored into you with a similar intensity as they had the night before.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He asked, but it was flat like a statement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You batted your eyes, feigning innocence.

He lifted his hand from his lap, holding up the pair of white lace panties you’d tucked between the folds of his newspaper. Raised his eyebrows in a question.

“Oh,” you smiled. “Whoops. I’d been wondering where I left those.”

His stare remained unfaltering, and you rubbed your legs together.

“Very cute, sweetheart.”

You smirked.

“You think so? Just something to remember me by. Lucille said you’ll be gone until tomorrow for work, I wouldn’t want you forgetting about last night.”

His eyes darkened, never leaving yours as you stood, making your way down the table.

“It’s a shame, really. I feel a little guilty about what I did. I got you all worked up for nothing.”

He scoffed, watching as you got closer.

“Yeah, you seem all torn up about it.”

You hummed, reaching him, and nodded at his lap, where his hand gripped the white lace.

“May I?”

“Be my guest.” He said tightly.

You straddled his lap again, and he looked up at you. You felt another surge of that power, standing over him with very little between you, as you ran your palms over his jacket, smoothing it out, then plucking the white rose from his breast pocket, and tucking your panties inside. As you pushed the rose back in, you smiled, satisfied.

“I should be more careful about misplacing things,” you mused, “Could’ve sworn I threw those in the laundry. You want to know something funny?”

“What?” Snow watched your hand pull away, and you met his gaze again.

“I’m not even sure I’m wearing a pair right now.”

It happened so quickly, it knocked the breath out of you. One second, you were balanced with your legs either side of his, and the next, you were pushed back onto the table as he stood, grabbing your waist, and leaning over you. A plate shattered on the floor, but Coriolanus didn’t flinch.

You squirmed but he gripped your hips harder, sliding one hand up to support your back and stop you from toppling straight onto the table. The cold wood pressed into your bare legs, and a glass dug into your back. You realised with a shaky breath that your dressing gown had fallen open. He was stood flush between your legs, pinning you down.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He snapped.

“I told you, didn’t I?” A hum as his hips rolled into yours. “Whatever I want.”

“I could force your hand, you know.” He commented. “Right now.”

“You think I wouldn’t want you to?”

His face was unreadable. His head dipped towards yours, and when he spoke it brushed against your lips.

“You really are a whore.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I know you’re all bark and no bite. You want to know why I know that, Snow?”

He huffed.

“Why?”

“Because I think you like chasing me.” Your eyes lowered to your legs, pressed apart by his hips. Your ankles wrapped around his lower back and pressed him in further. His jaw clenched.

He followed your gaze, and you felt his breath hitch when he saw that you weren’t lying, there was nothing between the two of you except his pants.

“Fuck.” He whispered.

It did something to you, hearing him so desperate. You pulled him in again with your heels, and he looked back at you. He rocked his hips, velvet cloth rubbing against your bare cunt, and you gasped at the feeling, still sore from last night.

Any time now.

“You want to fuck me, Snow?” You whispered. “Do it. Right now, I won’t stop you.”

His breaths were heavy as he rocked his hips again, firm, and it was obscene, really, how you could feel the outline of his cock pushing against you through the thick material, and his breath was getting laboured.

Almost there.

“Knew you’d give in.” His voice was rough as he pressed in harder, and you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, “So fucking desperate. Didn’t expect you to open your legs this soon, though. Thought you’d rile me up for a few days first. But look at you,” he rambled, “giving up so easily. Where’s all that fight now, sweetheart?”

A loud rap sounded at the door.

There it is.

You couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across your face as he stopped still.

“Oh,” you blinked innocently at him, “I wonder who that could be.”

“President Snow? We’re ready for you, sir.” The footman’s voice was muffled through the door.

“Well, would you look at the time? I guess duty calls, Mr President.”

He scowled, shooting ice cold daggers at you.

“You bitch. You knew.”

“And you fell for it.” You smirked, digging your heels into his back again. “Who’s desperate now?”

He scoffed, meeting your eye again.

“You think you’re so smart, little girl. You really think I’d mind if they walked in on me fucking you into the table?”

“I know you’re not against having an audience, Snow. But what are you gonna do, hang the health minister if he walks in? I know you’re not above it, but it’d be a slight inconvenience. Surely there are wiser ways to spend your precious time.”

“Yeah? Try me.”

His nails dug into your back as he pulled you in closer. For just a second, you had a doubt. But not long enough.

“I’m calling your bluff, Coriolanus Snow.”

He shook his head. Peeled himself off you with a huff, and tried to smooth out his shirt, glaring at you the whole time.

“I’ll be right out.” He called.

You slid off the table and stood, tying your gown, then reaching to fiddle with his collar. He batted your hand away.

“Let me.” You reached out again.

“Fine.”

Your hands smoothed over the material, straightening it out, then once you were satisfied, they rested on his chest for a beat.

“You look handsome.” You confessed quietly, not meeting his eye as you spoke. You could feel his stare burning into you as you did. When you finally looked, his expression had shifted to something unreadable again. Confusion, perhaps. It was times like these when you wished you could read his mind.

The moment finally passed and you cleared your throat, trailing a hand over his breast pocket, a physical reminder of the game you were intent on winning.

“This was fun.” You declared with a smile, putting the mask back on. “Hurry back. What time shall I expect you?”

“No later than noon.” He watched as you stepped away.

“I look forward to it,” you smiled, playing with the string of your gown, “sweetheart.”

With Snow out of the house, you jumped at the chance to head straight upstairs, making a beeline for his room. Something inside you just knew the door would be unlocked, that he wouldn’t be able to resist. You were right.

At last, you were able to take a good look around the room, touring it as if it was some art museum. And it wasn’t far from it; with wood panelled walls and strong beams on the ceiling, plush velvet throw pillows and bedsheets, with crisp white linen tucked underneath. You wandered around for a while, brushing your fingers over the sides, taking it all in. It was perfectly neat, almost jarringly so. You wondered if he always kept it like this, or if it was for your benefit. Since he’d probably guessed you’d be going inside, you took little guilt in peeking into a few drawers, and flipping through the pages of the book on his nightstand.

Your curiosity then took you into the bathroom, where, after scanning the shelves, you decided to undress and take a shower, steam and the smell of his soap filling the large room. You took the opportunity to slide your hands between your legs and replay the morning’s events, filling in what you’d have had liked to have happen instead of him leaving. When you were finished, you wrapped yourself in a soft towel, and walked out, spotting a glass bottle of cologne on the edge of the sink. With a smile, you gently sprayed a little on your wrist, breathing it in, sighing deeply as the smell of him went to your head.

You got dressed again, thumbing through his closet, basking in the buzz you had from being in his space. You sat on his bed, taking his room in from a new perspective. When you were satisfied, you headed back to your own with a smile, only coming back that evening with a handful of your things, before falling into a peaceful sleep under his sheets.

A few days passed after that morning, and you barely saw Snow. He’d come back, but gone straight to his office, where he proceeded to spend long hours on the phone, stuck on some important business you had no business nosing about.

So, you waited, your games paused and painfully anticlimactic. You hated feeling like a helpless housewife, but this was apparently what you’d been reduced to. You saw your friends some of the evenings, and your family on others. Then you’d come home to hover outside Snow’s locked study to listen to the sounds of pen on paper, peppered with the occasional sigh. You would have waited for him to come out, but you gave up as the hours drawing longer. He stayed holed up in his office, night after night, and by the time he’d finished the evening’s work, sleep had long carried you away.

It hadn’t all been dull; you’d fallen into a habit of sneaking pairs of your underwear in with the clean laundry that was carried up to his room, and that had earned you a little attention, but it was merely in passing. A few heated glances at the dinner table, a brush past each other in the hallway. You’d go so far as to say it was almost like flirting, only laced with the undertones of something far heavier. It wasn’t enough for you now that you’d tasted what you could have if only you reached for it, and you started to go a little stir crazy again.

One of these nights, you’d slipped into his empty room after dark, and lay in his bed, trying to stay awake as long as you could, but sleep caught up to you and by morning, you woke alone, wrapped in soft sheets, no sign of Snow except for a slightly warm dent on his side of the bed that had long been abandoned.

You got nothing. Not a touch, not an argument, not a kiss. For a week and a half, until he was called away again. Your annoyance had started to creep back up on you tenfold by then, and you were practically crawling out of your skin.

You saw your family for dinner more and more, making a habit out of filling the empty space he'd left with small talk and laughter. It was on one such night, when you'd been silently mulling over what move to make next, that your mother mentioned a name you hadn't heard in years, and you knew right away what to do. You were done hiding away, you wanted to make yourself known. Make every second Snow spent in your presence a living hell, and a reminder of what you’d denied him. You'd hoped for something outrageous, something that would push him to the very edge. And if this didn't work, nothing would.

Nathaniel Greene was an old flame of yours. He’d always been good to you, warm and well-meaning; and he was handsome, in a gentle, boyish way. When your mother mentioned him, a beautifully cruel idea struck you. You weren’t naturally as cold-hearted as Coriolanus, but as the weeks had gone by, you’d begun to believe that maybe, in order to win this, you needed to be. Nathaniel would be perfect; the two of you had been school friends, you had history, something Snow couldn’t compete with, and you knew that would drive him insane. He was all soft edges, smiles, and pleasantries, everything that Snow wasn’t.

You felt a sliver of guilt as you began putting your plan together, but you reasoned that you and Snow had bruised each other, and low blows were what it would take for you to press into his the hardest. This was always never going to be simple; it was a messy game, and you needed to get your hands dirty.

Besides, he’d paraded a whore around the house for you to watch him fucking for weeks on end. It was fair game, you reminded yourself. So with that decided, you rose to the occasion, and the plan was set into motion.

That was how it came to be that on the day Snow returned, he walked in to find a guest sat in his living room. You were all false smiles and batted eyelashes when you saw him.

“Coriolanus, you’re back. I’d like you to meet Nathaniel, he and I used to be friends at school.”

Nathaniel rose from his seat on the sofa, and leaned toward Snow to shake his hand.

“Mr President, sir, it’s an absolute honor to be in your company. You have a lovely house.”

Nathaniel missed the slight tick in Snow’s jaw, but you didn’t. He offered his hand in response.

“The pleasure’s mine. Any… friend of my girl is always welcome here.”

My girl. The words went straight to your head, and Coriolanus pulled you in for a kiss that lingered half a second longer than usual, like he knew.

“Would you like some tea, sweetheart?” You asked, “Nathaniel and I were just catching up.”

“I remember that summer.” You laughed. “Your aunt took us to the coast, and we swam in the ocean at least twice a day. It was so cold one morning, your cousin’s lips turned blue. And on the way home, we had to stop at that inn, do you remember it?”

“With the owner and his crazy beard.”

“The crazy beard owner!” you exclaimed. “And the room you and I stayed in was so laughably small, the bed touched three of the walls all at once. Cozy, though.”

Nathaniel glanced awkwardly between the two of you, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, those were, uh… good times.”

Fire ran rampant through Snow’s eyes. You didn’t look directly at him, but your peripherals gave you plenty of satisfaction.

He was enraged. Good. You’d been mercilessly torturing him for the better part of an hour.

“Oh, Nathaniel, that reminds me, I’ll go get the book I was telling you about earlier.”

“Book?” He frowned, “I don’t-”

“You know the one! I’ll be right back.” You interrupted, then practically bounced out of your seat and walked toward the library. At the far end of the large room, you paused, pretending earnestly to scan the spines for a particular title.

You were quiet, making sure you could hear the echo of Snow excusing himself, followed by steady footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Something wrong?” You asked, keeping your back turned.

He grabbed your waist and spun you around. Backed you up until you were pressed to the wall, wooden shelves digging into your spine.

“Give me one good reason,” he spat, “why I shouldn’t kill that boy right now.”

You blinked.

“What’s wrong, Snow? Can’t take a little jealousy? Surprising, given your recent choice of company.”

“So that’s it? All this to get a rise out of me? You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.” he scoffed.

You smiled, meeting his eye.

“Oh, but maybe I should. See, Coriolanus, here’s the thing.” you leaned towards him, running a finger down the front of his dress shirt, catching over each shining button as it glided down. “I haven’t decided if I should fuck him, yet. What do you think I should do?”

“I think,” he snarled, grabbing your wrists and pressing them against the wooden shelves, then dropping his voice down to a whisper, his breath mixing with yours, “that I should fuck you right here while he listens in the next room, and show him who you really belong to.”

You faltered, if only for a few moments. Your pride wavering as you heard the want drip from his voice, still getting used to his eyes skating across your skin the way you’d hoped and prayed they would for months. If you wanted it, you could take it right now, and you almost folded. He moved in ever closer, and your head dropped against the bookshelf, letting his lips graze your neck, blonde curls dusting your shoulder. You stayed there, suspended, letting it roll over you like water.

“What would your little friend in there think, if he could hear how much of a whore you really are? I wouldn’t even let you cover your mouth. I’d just hike up your slutty little dress and send you back out there with cum dripping down your thighs. How do you think he’d like you then?”

Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes closed, pressing your legs together. Tried to rationalise the logic of throwing your plans to the wind and letting him stake his claim on you.

You considered it. Briefly.

But you were already in so deep, you had to see this through. Snow had fucked with you, then left you out to dry, and you had to make sure he would never do it again. So no, you wouldn’t be the one to fold. He would, on your terms. And now wasn’t the time, not yet.

So you collected yourself. Pulled away, batting your pretty eyes at him.

“Oh, but I’m having so much fun.”

“Don’t test me. You’ve proved your point.” he seethed, stepping closer, and one more inch and you might burst-

“Nathaniel’s waiting. I’ll see you at dinner, Coriolanus.”

With that, you slipped away, silently catching your breath.

You’d just finished dinner alone, no Snow in sight, and you were walking back towards the hallway when the doors swung open.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your hands were above your head as Snow pushed you into the dining room wall. This was starting to become a habit. A sly smile pulled at your lips.

“Stings, doesn’t it? Getting a taste of your own medicine.”

He got in close, rage burning hot in his eyes.

“What you did was different, and you know that."

"I don't know, Coriolanus, was it? I've just been so bored, lately. Idle hands, I suppose."

If looks could kill, you'd be a goner.

"That's your excuse? At least I had the decency to fuck a stranger. Tell me you didn’t-”

You laughed.

“You really think I’d do anything without making sure you watched? God, Snow, you don’t know me at all.”

He moved in closer.

“If you ever do that again, if you so much as look his way, I’ll have him whipped in the middle of the city. Or maybe I won’t bother. I’ll just have him hung, and I’ll make sure you’re there at the front of the crowd to watch him drop, knowing his blood is on your hands. Do you understand me?”

You set your jaw. Shrugged.

“Okay.”

He frowned. You took pride in the way you could see it, him trying desperately to figure you out.

“Okay?” He repeated.

“You heard me. You think I really care enough about him, that I’d invite him into the house just to make you jealous, then expect him to end up alive? How stupid do you think I am?”

You did care about Nathaniel, at least enough to not want him dead, but Snow couldn’t know that. Not for this to work.

“You’re bluffing.” But you could hear in his voice that he wasn’t sure.

“Am I? Your threats don’t phase me, Coriolanus. Do your worst, I don’t care anymore. What, did you think I’d try to talk you out of it? You think I’d beg?”

His bewilderment caused him to drop your wrists, and you took the chance to push yourself away from the wall.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I won’t fold. I meant what I said that night. You want me to be yours, you want to own me? You have to earn it. My way. You’re not going to get anywhere trying to scare me into submission. It won’t work.”

Disbelief flashed across his face. You stood your ground, raising your head up high, leaning in.

“I don’t want to fight you, Coriolanus.” You confessed. “Your room. An hour. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Say what you wanted about Coriolanus Snow, but when you asked him to be on time, he obliged. You didn’t even need to hear his footsteps to know he’d come, which you’d grown finely attuned to by now, enough to hear them leave his office two rooms away and walk the short distance to his room, swinging open the door you’d left decidedly ajar.

And you made sure what he walked in on was a sight to behold; you, sprawled out on his bed in nothing but a white shirt of his, unbuttoned all the way down, falling to your sides. Your head pressed into his silk pillowcases, legs parted lazily as your hand rubbed slow circles on your clit beneath the red lace of your underwear. You could tell from the look on Snow’s face when you rolled your head to the side and looked at him that you’d had the desired effect, that you’d orchestrated this perfectly, because he couldn’t take his eyes off your hand, hips rocking into it, the visual made all the more lewd by the scrap of fabric hiding your movements, leaving his brain to fill in the blanks.

You slowed.

“Glad you could make it.” A small smile formed on your lips.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“I have. Your bed’s a lot softer than mine.”

He hummed, crossing his arms.

“Why did you ask me here, sweetheart? This is my room, after all.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and even that small motion wasn’t lost on him. Your hand stilled.

“I waited for you.” You said quietly.

He let out a sigh, ragged and tired.

“I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. If you knew how badly I wanted to see you-”

“Don’t. I don’t want your apology.”

His expression gave way to confusion for a split second.

“Okay. What is it you want?”

You paused, gaze flitting between his eyes and his mouth. Then you swallowed, your voice an embrassing whisper.

“I want your mouth on me.” It almost hurt to hold his stare, but you did.

“That so?” was the response. You cleared your throat.

“You say you’re sorry, Snow? Prove it. I’m right here.”

He paused, like he was mulling you over. Like he was figuring out just how to play his cards. Then a small smile pulled at his lips.

“Take your hand away.” His voice was rough, and it gave him away.

You obliged, watching him step towards the bed, towards you. He rolled up his sleeves, eyes on yours and your stomach twisted.

There he is.

“If you’re going to be making demands, it’s only polite that you ask nicely. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You nodded, flushing under his stare.

“You want me to take these off?” He smoothed his hands up your thighs, thumbs hooking into the band of your panties. You'd missed feeling his hands on your skin.

You nodded again, and he tutted.

“Yes.” You corrected. “Please.”

“Good. It was about time you learned some manners.” He slowly slid them off, and you lifted your hips to help him. His gaze slid between your legs, and you shifted your knee so you were covered.

“Not getting shy now, are you? Open your legs for me.” He instructed, and you obliged, burning under the heat of his gaze as he unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off before moving in towards you, kneeling on the ottoman. You were already soaked, and you could feel the heat building even more, just from having him near you, having him see what a dripping mess you were.

“Shit.” It was no louder than a whisper, but your perked ears caught it and you pressed your lips together.

He tentatively pushed his thumb through your folds and you whined, a look on his face like he couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at. Did it again, and it caught on your clit, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Please.”

“Good girl. You know how many times I’ve thought about this over the past week? I’ve lost sleep over it.”

“Coriolanus.”

He smoothed his hands over your thighs again, and you yelped as he suddenly pulled you forward, hooking your legs over his shoulders. He kept staring, and you couldn’t take it, blood rushing from your head, so you dropped it back onto the pillows.

“Look at me.” He squeezed your thigh.

You did. You felt a sliver of pride as you noted the slight flush in his cheeks, like maybe he was more worked up than he was letting on.

“You know how many times I came all over those pretty panties of yours, wishing you were wearing them? Think I lost count.”

You couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped you as his breath brushed over your folds, wound so tight you thought you would burst.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Say it again.”

“I want your mouth on me. Please, put your mouth on me.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice, because with a sharp inhale, he pressed his mouth onto your cunt and dragged his tongue over your clit, slowly, firm and deliberate, like he had an itemised list of exactly how to cause your undoing. You gasped at the sudden contact, and your hips bucked off the bed, before his fingers gripped into your hips the way they had the other night, and slammed you back down.

“So fucking needy. Were you really that worked up? Parading your little boy toy around will do that, huh?”

“I’m sorry.” You gasped, as he worked his tongue over your clit again, tracing slow, firm circles that made your legs weak. You grabbed a handful of his hair, blonde locks twisted between your fingers as he pulled away again. You whined.

“See, that’s the thing. I don’t think you are. But you will be.”

You didn’t have time to wonder what that meant, because his tongue was all over you again, lapping at your entrance, lips sucking loudly at your clit as you moaned, free hand twisting creases into his bedsheets.

“Fuck.” You keened as your hips bucked harder, searching for friction that was so close to being enough. Your heels pressed into his back and your hand tightened in his hair, to which he retaliated by digging his nails into your thighs, scraping against the almost-healed bruises that were left from the previous week. The pinch brought you further into that headspace, where you could feel yourself slipping away, crying out as you thrashed under the pressure of his tongue on your cunt.

You kept rocking your hips, hopelessly trying to grind against him, but his hands held you down firmly, keeping the pace torturously slow. You couldn’t help your spaced-out brain from slipping back to weeks ago, when you’d watched him do the same to his whore on this very bed, and you made a sound of protest that just melted in with the rest of your noises, going unnoticed.

You didn’t want to feel this way, to feel disposable, like he could just have his way with you and throw you out. You knew that if you didn’t do something, you’d lose yourself altogether. And you couldn’t bear that thought, of having to give in. Not like this. Not when he held all the cards again.

“I want to sit on your face.” You breathed without thinking, strung out and desperate. Coriolanus pulled back. A smirk on his lips, which were swollen red and covered in your slick. You whimpered as the soft light caught him, showing you the mess you’d made of his face, dripping down his chin.

“Do you now?”

“Please. I’ll ask nicely, I’ll – I’ll beg, if you want me to. Just please, let me sit on your face. I can’t take it anymore, I’m so-” You broke off, gasping as he pressed a soft kiss onto your clit, causing your legs to jolt.

“Poor thing. You really want it, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please, I’ll do anything. Just… please.”

“Good girl.” He murmured, trailing soft kisses down your thigh. “Since you’ve asked so nicely, I’ll let you. Just for a few minutes, okay? Think you can cum that fast?”

“Fuck, yes. Thank you.”

A messy tangle of limbs as he pulled his shirt off, sliding flat onto the bed, hands guiding your shaking legs as you inched over his torso. It was nearly too much, watching his pretty face as you lowered yourself onto him, but you couldn’t look away, hands grabbing the headboard to steady yourself. You couldn’t help but think back to that night, riding his thigh like you were being paid for it. As he carefully eased your hips down, thighs either side of his face, you knew this was going to be a hundred times better than that. And Snow didn’t disappoint, lifting his head to nuzzle your clit as you sucked in a breath, hips jolting forward. You dropped a hand to grab onto his hair, and he didn’t retaliate this time, letting you wind your fingers around his curls as you started to move slowly, rocking your hips against his mouth.

This was much better. The angle was perfect, pressure everywhere you needed it, and you tipped your head back as you moved, one languid lick causing it to drop forward again to look at Snow.

The only time he really moved was to pull you in firmer, and the motion reminded you of how he’d pulled you into his thigh, and before you knew it the ache in your stomach was growing into a throb, burning you up until it felt molten, until you felt drunk from it. The coil tightened further as you got into it, rolling your hips, tugging Snow’s hair to the point where you were sure it must’ve been hurting him, but he either didn’t care or just didn’t stop you. As your hips bucked faster and you looked down at his face, eyes hazy as he ate you out like he was starved, you couldn’t help it, you just started talking, rambling near nonsense and it wouldn’t stop.

“Fuck, that’s it, right there. You’re gonna make me cum all over your face if you keep that up. Holy shit.” Your grip in his hair tightened, so hard it was pulling his head back so you could grind against him just right, clit catching on his nose, cunt spasming against his tongue, and he winced, a broken sound escaping the back of his throat, but it only egged you on. Your voice breathy but taunting, getting cockier by the second.

“Does that hurt, baby? Am I pulling too hard?” His eyes narrowed, but his tongue only fucked into you harder. “You can take it though, can’t you? Fuck. You’re being so good for me, letting me fuck your face like this. Feels so fucking good. Shit, I thought you’d take more convincing, but look at you, eating from the palm of my hand.”

His hands gripped into your hips again, nails digging crescent moons into your skin, and you tightened your thighs around his head which only made him dig harder, the pain tipping you over the edge as you shouted out, hips jerking as your thighs shook, and Snow only pressed in firmer with his tongue as you came, riding out your high with a strangled sob.

He didn’t give you chance to come down from your orgasm, instead pushing you off his face and flipping you over. You landed on your back, scared for a second that you’d be punished for getting carried away, but his lips met yours in a sudden battle for dominance. You moaned into his mouth as you tasted yourself on his tongue. He’d never kissed you like this before. It lit another fire in your stomach, just when you thought you were done.

After what felt like a lifetime getting drunk off each other, he pulled away, and you got to see the mess you’d made of this man. There he was, propped above you, the most powerful man in the country, blonde hair a sweaty wreck of tangles, parted lips sore and swollen, your cum smeared across his mouth and chin, mixed with the trail of your wet tongue in the places you’d just cleaned him up.

You tasted it on your lips, heard it in his laboured breath, saw it in his blown-out eyes, felt it in the small space between you.

This was what power felt like.

He was shaking his head incredulously, like he couldn’t quite believe you. Then, ignoring your hiss, his head dipped between your legs again, smooth tongue rolling over you like cool water on a burn. You flinched, a broken sound slipping from your lips.

“Oh, come on. You can give me one more, right?”

Fuck.

“Coriolanus, I can’t-” You whined as his hot breath lit you up, long fingers sliding inside you.

“You will. Come on, baby. You can take my fingers, can’t you?” His voice mimicked yours as he opened you up, speeding up a little. You hummed as he pressed against your sweet spot, and you hated how it seemed like it was so easy to him, to take you apart like this.

“Good girl. Look at me.” He scolded, when your eyes rolled back, squirming from the overstimulation, pressing his thumb against your clit just to watch you jolt.

“You’re going to do something for me. You’re going to promise me you won’t ever see him again.”

“What? Who, Nathaniel? I-”

He pressed into your clit again, mean, and you squeaked.

“Don’t say his fucking name. Promise me, right now. Say it.”

“I promise. Never again. I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.” You sobbed.

“Good girl.” He smiled.

“Don’t want anyone else, just you, please. Please, Coriolanus. Will you promise me too?” Your words were airy, and your voice shook.

He slowed his fingers, and shifted himself up to place his lips on yours.

“I promise, sweetheart. It’ll just be us.” His fingers pressed into you harder, scissoring lazily, but every movement lit all your nerve endings on fire. You were so wet it was almost humiliating, or it would be if you weren’t so turned on, obscene sounds bouncing off the walls as he worked you open. Coriolanus could tell, smiling as he whispered praises, sweet nothings into your ear and added a third finger, thumb brushing across your clit as the sensitivity quickly morphed into more pleasure.

“You close again, baby?”

You only whimpered in response, head jerking as your eyes squeezed close, arm sliding down to grab his wrist, pushing it further. You were wrecked, and he knew it. It was his doing.

“Ah.” He knocked your hand away with a knowing smile. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m listening.”

You paused, at a mental crossroads, but as he twisted his fingers just right, pressing deeper, you dropped all your inhibitions. Squeezed your eyes closed, cunt gripping his fingers, and confessed.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whispered.

You knew full well what it meant. You didn’t care anymore; you’d had your fun, and you were ready to fold. Lay all your cards out on the table. This ache inside you had never felt so loud. You refused to open your eyes, which were threatening to fill with desperate tears.

“Ask nicely.” He pulled his fingers back, dragging them along your sweet spot. You were starting to lose feeling in your legs.

“Please. Please, fuck me. I’m done, now, I promise. I won’t do it again, Coriolanus, I’m so sorry-”

“Say it again. One more time. Look at me.”

You sighed, eyes flooding with hot tears. You finally opened them.

“Please, Coriolanus. Fuck me.”

He smiled, but as quickly as it arrived, it morphed into something sinister.

“No.”

His hand stopped, fingers slipping out of you before you could stop them. Your high started to slip away. You rocked your hips, confused out of your mind. Driven to your edge, and then in the same breath, catapulting to a stop.

“I- wait, no… what?” You sounded delirious.

He shrugged, casually lifting his fingers, sucking them off with a pop.

“I don’t think I will. You’ve done quite enough, and I’ve had a long day. So I think you should be on your way now.”

You gaped, dumbfounded. The tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you held them in like they were your last shred of pride.

“But… you said we wouldn’t… I thought-”

He traced a hand across your check, gently, and it took everything in you not to sob.

“I meant what I said. But I’m not quite ready to forgive and forget. You should go and get some sleep.”

“Coriolanus, I- please.” You begged him, eyes wild and desperate.

“Stings, doesn’t it?” He raised his eyebrows and something inside you sank like a heavy cruiser. “A taste of your own medicine.”

a/n: sorry mom

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weasleyreidstyles · 11 months ago

Text

Serendipity

chapter sixteen

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): cannonical death, violence, descriptives of battle/fighting, blood/injury mentions, brief allusions to torture, angst!

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The battle had been declared over as Professor Snape swept through the hallways, a gaggle of Death Eaters in tow. You're sat in the Hospital Wing, on a bed adjacent to where Bill Weasley lays motionless. The déjà vu of seeing Ron in his position, albeit less bloody, sends you into a spiralling orbit.

He's sat beside Hermione, who sits near the edge of your bed. He's staring between Bill's near fatal wounds and the injuries littering your own body, eyes laden with something akin to guilt. But he makes no move to approach you, content with gripping Hermione's trembling hands in his own.

After what had felt like ions of time, Ginny bursts through the door with Hagrid and a disheveled Harry in tow. Everyone in the room could see that they all had tears in their eyes.

Hermione was hugging Harry the instant she layed her eyes on him.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Remus' voice is soft and bathed in concern as he anxiously moved towards him.

"I'm fine." He said, and you can see that there is barely a scratch marring his skin. As if he hadn't even been faced with the threat of the raging battle. "How's Bill?"

No one answered his question and you avoided the scrutinising gaze that swept over you as it settled on where everyone had gathered around the eldest son's hospital bed.

Bill's handsome face was entirely unrecognisable. His skin was slashed and ripped apart with gaping wounds that Madame Pomfrey diligently attended to (you knew it was in vain). Scarily, it reminded you of Draco's harrowing wounds and a sick sense of satisfaction coarsed through you when you saw that Harry was clearly thinking the same thing.

"Can't you fix them with a charm or something?" Harry asked the matron, eyes skirting to your's briefly.

"I'm afraid no charm will work on these, dear." she replied despondently. "There is no cure for a werewolf bite."

Your eyes closed with guilt. If only you had turned the corner faster.

"But he wasn't bitten on a full moon." Ron said earnestly as he looked at his brother's marred face as if he could heal it himself with sheer willpower. "Greyback didn't look like he'd transformed. So surely he won't be a real-"

Remus squirmed under Ron's apt attention.

"No, I don't think that Bill will be a true werewolf," he said slowly, and he spares you a passing glance. "But that doesn't mean that there won't be side effects. They will likely never heal completely. Had Meadow not been where she was, he could be fully turned, or worse."

He doesn't have to voice it for everyone to know what he means. If you were not in the right place, at the right time, Bill Weasley would surmount to a name engraved on stone. Instantly you're brought back to the moment that could've been drastically different, had you not rounded the corner when you did.

Antonin Dolohov was relentless in his attack against you. From the moment the Death Eaters began littering the Astronomy corridors like an infestation, he had drawn an imaginary target on your back. He'd caught you unaware as you guarded the corridors, as instructed by Remus, who knew you wouldn't take 'no' for an answer when you'd asked him where you were needed. Dolohov had seen you there and he'd thought you were just a defensless girl who didn't know that she'd just walked head first onto a battlefield. Little did he know, you'd had experience fighting his people, had experience beating them.

He'd severely underestimated you.

"You're merely a sheep in a wolves' fight, girl. Give up now and you can go back to preening in your precious common room. I'll even show you mercy." He'd sneered at you with barely restrained fury and disgust.

So colour him surprised when his cocky taunting was met with a harsh clash of your own power, ebbing and flowing through you and your conduit like a gushing river as you snarled at him.

You'd hit each other with a mix of offensive and defensive spells, both of you sporting painful and aching injuries that gushed with blood. But you felt none of it as you pushed back against his onslaught of unforgivables with spells of your own unconscious making – wordlessly drawing from the magic surrounding you, flicking your wand; causing him to sprout all sorts of oddities, conjured from your imagination. From agonising boils to hulking antlers that caused him to stumble with the added weight that left him off kilter.

Injuries had scarcely evaded you. You knew that you would not walk away unscathed, but you were unprepared for just how bloody and battered you would be. Where you skin was once smooth and silky, littered with only the slightest of imperfections, large lacerations embedded within the tattered scraps of your clothing decorated your stomach, but you ignored the blinding pain in favour of pinning Dolohov to the wall with your power. His eyes were wide with disbelief as you wordlessly stunned him with a final strike of relentlessness.

You watched with a scary amount of glee as he crumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

Not wasting another second, you round the corner that would take you closer to the Astronomy tower; closer to the bloodshed. And that's when you see it.

Fenrir Greyback leaning over an unmoving body, teeth and claws bared for all to see, sticky blood gleaming in the low moonlight as they raise to make the final striking blow. But there's no one here. Only the three of you. You don't even think before you're acting upon instinct.

"No! Get away from them!" you scream, distracting the werewolf momentarily, enough for you to glimpse the eldest Weasley brother's disheveled form. Your stomach drops.

Greyback turns to you with a menacing growl before he's moving towards you at inhumane speed.

"Stupify!" You shout, wand pointing in Greyback's direction. A jet of strong red magic errupts from the tip of your wand, swirling with malicious intent, just barely skimming the creature's shoulder. He snarls at you with narrowed eyes full of unrestrained anger, before he lunges at you with an animalistic roar.

You barely manage to move in the opposite direction, his claws nipping at your side with a lethal grace you barely register. You cry out, but don't let the adrenaline rush, from your previous fight with Dolohov, run dry as you turn to him and push a wave of power that has him stumbling in place.

His beady eyes are zeroed in on you as your magic clashes with his sedulous blows, so he doesn't see the second body creeping on silent feet behind him, until Remus Lupin has knocked him out cold and binded him with a simple leg-locking charm.

"I thought I told you to stay in your designated corridor?" he says raggedly, staring pointedly at you as you lean heavily against the wall.

"Dolohov ambushed me. I couldn't very much stay there." You pant, holding a hand against your side as you stare at the unmoving body between you and your old professor. It's then that your gaze snaps to Bill, who's chest barely rises with a stuttering breath.

"Bill– Greyback was about to ki– to kill him. We have to help him!" You say and Remus follows your gaze, face paling exponentially as he takes in the jagged claw marks that have mutilated the man's handsome features. He sees you hyperventilate and makes the decision to abandon the battle, with you in tow, so that Bill has a fighting chance of getting back to his family and his new fiancé alive.

"We'll take him to the Hospital Wing-" he says resolutely, but at the look on your face, he says, "The battle will go on without us, Meadow. Come, can you manage?"

You nod, despite the pain that rattles you from the inside out. You feel the impenetrable steel of your mental shields cracking and remending itself as you fight to keep out the feeling of pain that was waiting to pounce on you, vision swimming in an ocean of dark spots as you push all your effort into dragging Bill's deadweighted body towards the ward.

You shrank under their gazes as they turned to you, Molly and Arthur in silent gratitude and Fleur (Bill's fiancé) had tears streaming down her perfect cheeks as she nodded gratefully at you. Harry observed your bloody and bruised state before he walked right up to your bed.

"You saved him?" he questioned you, as if he hadn't known you for six years of his life. Hadn't known that you would do anything for the people you love. You scowled at him in disbelief.

"Of course I saved him, Potter." you snap, grimacing at the pull of the wounds on your stomach. "I'm not a monster."

Most of the adults seemed surprised by the coldness that settled between the two of you. Not expecting the hostility that swirled in your eyes. Flinching at the way you spat his surname with distain. Remus' eyes were questioning and the twins exchanged looks of utter confusion as your friendship with Harry used to be so full of light.

Harry looks like he's about to respond to you but Ron's weak voice stops him in his tracks.

"Dumbledore will know something, right? Where is he?"

Ginny and Harry seem to collectively inhale before she reveals something that entirely rocks the axis of the world.

"Ron, Dumbledore is dead."

~∞~

You can't quite believe what you're hearing. Dumbledore is dead.

Dumbledore is dead.

There is a collective guffaw of disbelief as Order members waited for her to withdraw her statement, but you can see it in her eyes and in the way she opens up her mind for you to see the scene.

The downpour of the rain is perfect personification of the devastating loss that even the Earth is affected by.

Dumbledore's body lying motionless in the grass. Eyes closed, cheeks sullen and grey.

The way his limbs had naturally fallen, made it look as if he were only sleeping peacefully.

Albus Dumbledore is dead. Now there was no one to stand in the way of Voldemort's plans.

"How?" Remus' voice is is laden with sadness as he slumps into one of the visitors' chairs that littered the room. Madame Pomfrey was openly sobbing into Professor McGonagall's shoulder, as the latter stared unblinkingly at Harry, tears lining her eyes and falling silently down her cheeks.

"Snape killed him. I saw it happen." Harry said, and your eyes widened, remembering something Mattheo had said only hours ago.

"There are spies everywhere, Granger don't act so surprised."

You spare a glance towards the people that Mattheo had warned earlier that day; all wearing an expression similar to your own, one full of recognition and betrayal.

"We apparated back onto the Astronomy tower. He was weak but I think he realised it was a trap the second we righted ourselves. He immobilised me almost instantly."

He turns to you then, his face and tone of voice accusatory.

"I was under the invisibility cloak, when Malfoy came out of the shadows. He disarmed him and left him defenseless."

Your breathe hitched as Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth.

"More and more Death Eaters were arriving but Snape was the one to do it. He cast the Avada Kedavra but Malfoy was meant to do it."

Draco was sent to kill the most powerful wizard in Britain at the risk of losing his own life.

The echoing sound of sobs filled the Hospital Wing but Harry ignored them and turned his angry gaze to you.

"Did you know?" he asks you, his voice low. "Did you know that your boyfriend was a Death Eater?"

Your breath trembled as you only nodded once. The room went stale and icy, as if a tendril of cold shadows had swept through the ward. They were all looking at you with mistrust, as if you hadn't just risked your life to save one of their own.

"How long?" He was practically stood nose to nose with you, only the metal bed frame stood in his way. "How long have you known about all of them."

"Christmas." you whisper as tears collected in your waterline, the guilt of keeping this knowledge to yourself swallowing you whole. "I've known since Christmas."

"You're a disgrace. You knew this whole time, but didn't say a thing? And you still begged Dumbledore for help? Well look where that got him!" He says angrily and you flinch away as his wand hand extends towards you, but he doesn't get to do whatever it was he was going to do, because Mattheo Riddle is striding into the Hospital Wing with murder singing in his dark, onyx eyes.

"Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Her." He snarls as he pushes Harry away from you, placing himself in front of you protectively.

Instantly, the Order members who are dotted in every crevice of the Hospital Wing are stood to attention as Mattheo and Harry stare eachother down, wands raised towards the other, ready to swarm in for the kill if Mattheo so much as harmed one hair on the Chosen One's head.

"You got Dumbledore killed." Harry hissed as he raised his steady wand hand towards Mattheo's stoic face.

"Oh? I recall our own Professor Snape performing the killing curse, Potter. You said so yourself. Yet, you did nothing to stop it." Mattheo retorts softly, his own wand hand poised for the kill, as he smirks at Harry surprised face.

You observed him from the bed you were confined to. Physically, he looked fine, not an injury in sight. But you could see it in his eyes, the horror and the guilt festering there.

He was dressed in the same clothes as earlier: jeans and a long sleeved black shirt that emphasised his impressive Beater built, except now he wore a billowing black cloak over the top of it, resembling those which the Death Eaters you'd just fought were wearing. You reach for the arm closest to you, his left one, and you caress it in a familiarly comforting way, fighting the instinctive flinch as your fingers graze the Dark Mark that has been burning against his skin since that afternoon.

"Mattheo? What are you doing here?" Your quiet voice knocks him from the staring contest, and his hard face softens as he finally takes a more thorough look of you. Your clothes are torn, dried blood splattered across the white of your shirt and his brows furrow as onyx eyes roam over your bandaged stomach.

"I tried to reach you." He said in a low voice that betrays the panic he had felt every time he attempted to breech your impenetrable walls. "But you weren't there."

He sounds relieved to know that you were okay. That although injured, you were alive.

"I thought you'd be impressed." You say with a light laugh that doesn't reach your eyes. "I finally managed to block you out without so much as a trace."

His own responding laughter is small and barely heard as he sits on the edge of your bed, ignoring the looks and the glares being sent his way as he takes your face into both of his calloused hands, cradling your jaw with a tenderness that has your heart weeping in your chest. His eyes dart between your own.

"I would be bursting with pride if I hadn't been so worried. I thought you could be dead, love."

His eyes were downcast and there was a sheen of brimming tears reflecting in their onyx depths. Your hand went to cradle his own cheek and he smiled as your fingers gently grazed his under eye.

Your bubble of solitude is popped when the Order members closest to you move to grab him while he was distracted and unaware.

"What are you doing?" You snap at Tonks, who moves away from you with arms raised in surrender, eyes wide as they take a step away from you.

"He's the enemy, Miss Meadow." Mad-Eye sneers at you, but you only form a barrier of indigo around the two of you, that none of them can penetrate without being burned.

"He's quite literally the devil's spawn." Another member, that you don't know the name of, says callously and you thrown her a look of malice.

"And I wonder who tipped you off before the battle even began?" You retort with an air of sarcasm that has the woman rolling her eyes at you.

Looking between the Order members surrounding you, among that annoyingly blank faces, Remus' expression surprises you the most. He looks like he's seen a ghost. Face pale and eyes wide as he stares from Mattheo to you, and back again. He's the only one in the room who looks like he vaguely understands.

"The reason I asked Dumbledore for help was because I thought he would give them sanctuary. They can't escape their families or their fate but I tried. I didn't want to see them dead." You say, words catching in your throat as a sob crawls its way to the surface. Immediately, Mattheo has you wrapped in an embrace; it's awkward and a little unconventional since he's trying not to disturb your wounds, but it's a comfort nonetheless.

Remus' understanding eyes are suddenly awash with sorrow.

"So you're saying that he got the Order to help? Riddle gave us the upper hand?" Ron sounds like he doesn't believe a word you're saying and you don't blame him, not really.

"Yes. He did." Hermione replied and everyone turns to her incredulously. "He came over to us earlier this afternoon and when I told him that Dumbledore wasn't here, he sounded genuinely alarmed."

Heads swivel back and forth between where Mattheo is sat nonchalantly and where Hermione sits. Some Order members were baffled that Hermione was willingly defending someone like him.

"I-it's true." Neville reaffirms and Luna and Ginny both nod. "I didn't quite know what to think of it. But it gave you all the advantage, didn't it?"

"We outnumbered them three to one." Tonks mused as they looked at you with newly formed consideration.

"Yes. They seemed genuinely surprised that we were already waiting for them." Remus muses and steps towards your bed, but pauses at the heat coming defensively off of the barrier that still sang malevolently between you and the Order.

"I've never liked my father's agenda. But he'd kill me and my family if I disobeyed him. The sole purpose of our friendship," Mattheo motions between the two of you, "was for the benefit of them, not me."

"Why would the friendship be mutually beneficial?" Mad-Eye prompts. He still looks untrusting of Mattheo, his voice laden with suspicion.

The two of you share a look of understanding. One that transcends levels that not one person in that room could comprehend.

He's been teaching me Legillimency.

None of the Order members flinch when you enter their minds, being adequately trained in the ability. But Remus is impressed by your level of control and skill as you talk to all of them at once, a small smile gracing his previously sullen face.

"There has to be more." Harry mumbled to himself as he paces. "What of your abilities?" He asks you and he motions towards the indigo energy field that has begun slowly dissipating as the Order members backed off inch by inch.

Mattheo squeezes your interlinked hands and you turn to smile up at him, but he's not looking at you. He's looking between all adults in the room, before settling his eyes on Remus.

"We suspected for a while that Meadow was different." He says and you startle.

What? You ask him wordlessly, incredulity spreading across your features. He still won't look at you, the only response is a tighter grip of your hand. You feel his regret cling to you like a second skin.

"I noticed that she was learning Legillimency early on in fifth year." At the looks of distrust, he clarified. "I'm particularly sensitive to Occlimency. People's thoughts are loud in my head, constantly."

The ability was practically tortured into me. He said that to you, and to you alone.

You squeeze his hand in your's, providing comfort even in the midst of wanting the answers for yourself.

"I also suspected that she had siphon-like abilities around the same time after seeing her excel with wandless and non-verbal magic with ease that only few people possess." He says, turning towards you. He fights the urge to press away the frown on your face with a kiss. He knows that what he's about to confess may destroy any of the trust he had built with you, but you deserve the truth.

Even if it costs him everything.

"When Theo told me that you were his patrol partner last year, I knew that I had a golden opportunity. So I told him to befriend you." He says, his voice low and hoarse, and he hates the way your hand loosens in his hold. "He hated the idea at first because of your affiliation with Potter, and he was only cordial out of obligation. But then something changed. He said that you were kind to him, despite his reluctance. Compassionate and understanding. You listened when he ranted about his father and you were a friend in a time he really needed it. I never wanted any of them to be a part of this, so I told him that I had a plan of sorts to get them all out.

Since the beginning of the year, under the guise of tutor sessions, I've helped her strengthen her ability as a Legillimens in the hopes that if my father ever discovered her abilities, that she would not submit to his mind control and torture. But it was also selfishly in hopes of discovering, for myself, if I was right."

"So the whole time we were searching for answers," you say in a whisper, but he heard the betrayal lacing your tone as if you'd screamed at him, "you knew the whole time? All of you?"

"Yes and I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you, sweetheart. So deeply sorry." He says quietly, his onyx eyes big and wide with the hope that you would show him forgiveness.

"What will your father do if he finds out about me?" You ask, but it's Arthur Weasley who speaks up for the first time since you all entered the Hospital Wing.

"I suspect that, if Dumbledore knew of your powers, that he also knows. It's only a matter of if he knows who you are." His words cut deep, and the look that Mad-Eye gives him tells you that he might have said something he shouldn't.

"Hold on? You all knew?" Harry asks incredulously, and you can't help but agree with your estranged friend. You look around at the adults who look between eachother with wide, panicking eyes.

"Dumbledore mentioned it in a meeting shortly after Katie was cursed." George mumbled, avoiding your scrutinising eye contact. "He'd been keeping a close eye on you. So has Snape."

Harry's attention snaps to George.

"So Voldemort probably already knows about her then."

"That stupid old man doesn't know anything." Mattheo snapped, his knuckles going white with how hard they're clenched shut. "I've made sure of it."

"How?" Remus asks softly, moving closer so that he can sit on the bed beside your's now that your display of magical power had dissipated, putting himself between the Order and Mattheo in the process.

"I knew of his return at the same time as all of you. This-" he lifts the sleeve of his robe up and you reach for his clenching hand instinctively as there are collective gasps of horror echoing around the room. You can't believe he's willingly displaying it.

"Théo-" What are you doing? You prepared to snap at anyone who dared harm him as his sleeve brushes inflamed skin.

Gaining their trust. Or attempting to, at least. By being honest.

The Dark Mark is surrounded by irritated skin where it is inked onto his forearm. The fresh scars melting into the old ones. But the mark is unaffected, twisting and curling as if laughing at his attempts to relinquish it from his body.

"This started to burn as soon as Pettigrew threw him into the cauldron in that graveyard two years ago." Mattheo continues, only locking eyes with you now.

"How do you know about that?" Harry asks with skepicism and Mattheo turns towards him. "You weren't there that night."

"No but my father showed me his rebirth, right after he greeted me, for the first time in fourteen years, by seeing how long I could withstand the cruciatus curse."

"But how is this relevant?" one Order member asks and you fight a snarl from reaching your lips as Mattheo pushes his sleeve down, concealing the Mark from view.

"He knows that there is a siphon in your ranks." He says and he mentally soothes you as you flinch at his words. "But he thinks it's a senior member. He would never suspect a sixth year to harbour so much power. We're not meant to harness that sort of skill yet."

"And how have you been preventing him from finding out?" that same Order member from before sneers and you wandlessly throw up a wall of indigo that has the man bouncing back as he steps forward a little too harshly.

You know without him having to verbalise it. Know what lengths he went to, to protect you and his family. You want to cry, with him and for him and all that he has endured.

"Did you not listen to a word he just said?" You snap at the man, who cowers under the glowing indigo of your gaze. Mattheo's presence is the only thing tethering you to sanity right now.

"The important thing," Remus says, interrupting the tense atmosphere. "Is that he does not know about Meadow. We must keep it that way."

Mattheo nods at his old professor and you can see in his glazed over eyes that they are having a wordless conversation.

She can detect horcruxes, can't she? Remus asks and Mattheo's imperceptive nod gives him the answer he needs.

"I just have one question." Fred speaks up after a lull of uncomfortable silence overtook the ward. He looks deep in thought and there's an undercurrent of curiousity in the way his cerulean eyes dart from you to Mattheo.

"Are you in love with her?"

You expected Fred to be full of jealousy, considering you had been attached at the hip in the previous year. But instead, there's only understanding in the older twin's eyes. Mattheo must see it too, because he doesn't utter a snarky reply like you expect and Fred nods with what you think is approval, at his response.

"Yes. Irrevocably and undeniably."

Your heart flutters in your chest as your cheeks flush at the admission.

You had known for a while. But neither of you had voiced those three words in fear that everything would come crashing down around you. Still, you can feel it deep in your soul as his words settle in your chest.

He loves you. Irrevocably and undeniably, he loves you.

He had been under the impression that he'd inherited his father's curse. Never being able to fall in love. But his mother must live on in him somehow. Because he can feel it like it's a separate entity attaching itself to his heart by a thread that had been slowly stitching it together overtime.

Although many of your friends are looking at him in a new light, even Ron who finds himself squeezing Hermione's still trembling hands with his own, the people in that room did not trust the Riddle heir; many were wary of the Dark Mark that marred his skin like a deathly omen. But Remus can see the ghost of another in the way Mattheo acts and he knows that Regulus Black would be proud of what Mattheo has been doing right under his father's watchful eye.

He can only hope that you remain hidden in plain sight, long enough to give them a fighting chance.

For now, he has decided that he needs to cash in an age old favour from the one person he is certain can help your friends; Andromeda Tonks was more than happy to help.

~∞~

i changed the way i approached the ending so many times lol

we're about to delve into very war-time centric chapters now (fair warning, its gonna get angsty and a little dark very quickly)

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

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#serendipity series #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #harry potter #ginny weasley x reader #ron weasley #harry potter x reader #hermione granger #ginny weasley #remus lupin #angst

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auroravictorium · 1 year ago

Text

anti-hero (k.b.)

i wake up screaming from dreaming. one day i'll watch as you're leaving, and life will lose all its meaning (for the last time).

Summary: reader is awake and heads outside for fresh air. kaz questions whether reader still wants to be with him, and reader begins to heal.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~4.3k (!!!) Warnings: allusions to reader's recent trauma (kidnapping, torture, severe injuries), mentions of injuries (scars, cuts, bruises), mentions of sibling & parent loss/death, mentions of blood, mentions of kaz's haphephobia, mentions of violence (kaz bashing heads and dangling people of rooftops) Genre: fluffier angst? brief angst then fluff? Author's Note: i really gotta stop with these disappearing acts. anyway, i promised you guys the next part, so here is the next part at a whopping 4.3k. pls enjoy <3 masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur as you fought to recover from what you'd been through. Nothing aggravated you more than the stiffness of your muscles and the pain throbbing throughout your body; just a week ago, you'd been able to jump across rooftops and snatch a pouch of kruge from a man's pocket without any issue. Now, damn near everything ached, though the vertigo and throbbing in your head had eased thanks to Nina's work.

On one of the warmer days, where the snow had melted into the ground to form a muddy slush, you woke up feeling much better than when you'd been carried out of the warehouse. While the rest of the house slept, you slowly made your way out of the room you were staying in and down the stairs. You stuck to the edges, using the banister to support yourself as you avoided potential creaky spots. The house was in remarkably good condition, but you didn't want anyone questioning why you were up and about on your own. You needed to move, to feel the fresh air again.

To remind yourself that you were free, despite everything.

You slipped on your battered boots, your body aching as you hunched over to pull them onto your feet, then stepped onto the front porch, looking over the bleak, icy land sprawling before you. Crossing your arms to brace yourself against the cold, you stepped off the porch and stood in the snow. You let the muddy slush soak the material of your boots, chilling your skin even through your thick socks.

The air stung your lungs as you inhaled deeply, burned through your chest, and then you let it out slowly, the air fogging before you. To be standing outside felt like bliss; in the open air, you could forget the griminess of your captivity for a moment, the sensation of blood sliding down your fingers, the ringing of your ears as your friends had arrived in a flurry of action and chaos.

You gulped down more air to chase away the prickling hairs on the back of your neck as you considered all that had happened. Not now.

You realized then why it was easier to close off, to not think of the horrible things those mercenaries had done, that Rollins and his Dime Lions had done in Ketterdam over the years. Denial was easier than wading through the grief of what happened. Preferable, even.

Snow crunched behind you, but you didn't turn, your eyes still fixed on the empty, slush-covered fields before you. A gloved hand carefully wrapped a worn blanket around your shoulders and lingered for a moment before falling away. Kaz stepped beside you, his coat wrapped tightly around himself; there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his face was a touch paler from exhaustion.

You frowned at him. "You haven't slept."

"Neither have you," he said quietly, sliding his free hand into his coat pocket and looking down at you. He was silent, his icy blue eyes roaming up and down your form as he surveyed you. The look made you shiver, and you turned your gaze away, a blush unrelated to the cold rising to your cheeks.

Out of your periphery, you saw Kaz slide his hand from his pocket, and you felt the brush of his fingers against your arm, loosely wrapping around your wrist. You glanced up at him, and you let him gently turn your arm so that your forearm was to the sky; he pushed your sleeve up carefully, tenderly, and his gaze lifted from the bandages around your arm to your face, waiting.

"Go ahead," you said softly. You didn't want to hide your pain and your scars from Kaz, even though instincts told you to shield it from him. You ached to hide your weakness like when you first arrived on Ketterdam's streets, to settle into denial and rage. But this was Kaz. You trusted him to catch you if you fell.

Kaz undid the bandages with practiced ease, and you wrinkled your nose as cold air hit your wounded tattoo. The flesh was nearly healed thanks to Nina's hard work, but most of the ink itself was destroyed, only a few dark remnants remaining at the edges of what had once been the crow perched on the cup. Shiny scar tissue lined your forearm, and Kaz ran a gloved finger over the skin. The gentlest of touches, but enough to make you hold your breath and look away.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said, breaking the silence with his raspy voice before you could speak. Though he deemed his investigation complete, he didn't release your arm. Instead, he carefully wrapped the bandages again and secured them in place, his leather touches nothing more than a whisper against broken skin.

You shook your head. "It's not your fault," you said, looking up at him. You were startled to find his gaze already on you, and your breath caught as you saw the raw emotions flickering there. Concern, anguish, guilt. A raw mix of vulnerability he would never let anyone else see.

Kaz looked back down at your bandaged arm, still in his hold. Black leather gloves against pale white bandages, a stark contrast that he hated. He'd caused this. He was at fault, whether you would say it to him or not. The moment he'd crawled out of that harbor, determined to make the city pay for taking his brother, taking his name, taking his dreams, he'd set everyone around him on a path to harm.

"Kaz," you said, turning your arm in his grip so that you could grasp his. Your breath fogged in the cold air between the two of you, a warning of the winter storm brewing above that you elected not to heed. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please."

He let out a breath, and he wanted to turn away. Your gaze was intense, reaching deep into his soul and threatening to pull out every word he'd stashed away where nobody could ever find them. Most believed he didn't have a soul, and he liked it that way; it was his treasured hiding place of all the things he wanted to say but never would, because Dirtyhands wasn't tender. He wasn't kind or caring. He was ruthless, selfish, and brutal. He bashed skulls into stone floors and tortured men on rooftops.

Yet you seemed to break down his walls with only a look, stripping away the layers he'd created to become Kaz Brekker. You saw him, the boy who grew up on this farm, who fell asleep every night with the threadbare blanket currently wrapped around your shoulders, who believed in goodness in the world.

He struggled to reach into that hidden, tucked away part of himself, to find the words he longed to say to you. I love you. I'm sorry. I am not the man you should want. I love you. I thought I'd lost you. I am a liar. I love you.

I love you, and I thought I had lost the chance to say it.

"Do you still want this?" he managed to say, the words nothing more than a rasp, the sound of sandpaper against wood. Even as Kaz Brekker longed to take steps back, to fling up those walls and fall back into the comfort and safety of being ruthless and harsh, the ground beneath his feet had him rooted in place. The Rietveld farm, where the ghosts of his father and brother lurked in the house just feet away. They were watching, begging him to do better. To be better.

He could be.

"Yes," you said without hesitation, your grip on his arm steady and your gaze unwavering. "I made my decision a year ago. I stand by it." Your words were firm but not unkind, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation.

A lot of horrible things had happened in the past week. Kidnapping, torture, interrogation, and scarring you hoped would one day heal. And despite the urge to collapse, to fall and give in, you wouldn't. Your friends wouldn't let you. Kaz wouldn't let you. And you wouldn't let Kaz wade into the guilt he was feeling. You'd haul him out by his coat collar if you had to. You wouldn't blame anyone for what had happened to you aside from those who deserved it; the guilt lay with the mercenaries and with Pekka, left behind in that warehouse.

Kaz was quiet for a few long moments. He let your words play over and over again in his mind, searching for any whisper of deceit, any hint of blame from you that would reinforce the guilt that pressed down hard enough on his lungs that he felt like they might be crushed beneath the weight. When he found none, he pushed a slow breath past his lips, trying to ease that pressure. "Alright," he said.

Because as much as he did blame himself, it was your choice. Your decision to stay with him, despite his belief that you would only get hurt again. And he wouldn't take that choice from you, even as everything he'd taught himself screamed at him to distance himself from you until you changed your mind.

He would be better.

Kaz swallowed, realizing he still held your arm in his grasp. He looked down at it again, his hand gently cradling your injured arm, and he slowly shifted his hold until your hand was held in both of his, his cane resting against his hip so it didn't fall into the slush. He could feel the coldness of your fingers through his gloves, and he trapped your fingers between his palms to try and warm them up.

You stepped closer to him, realizing how cold you actually were, even with the tattered blanket around your shoulders. The heat radiated off him in waves, and soon you were nearly chest-to-chest with him. You tilted your head up to look at Kaz, your heart slamming in your chest as you dared to step into his personal space. He smelled like city smoke, like faint remnants of cologne. Home. Comfort.

"I thought I lost you," Kaz rasped, the words almost inaudible, even as you stood mere inches from him. He almost choked on the words, but he owed it to you to say that. To say so much more. "I thought Pekka had won."

"He didn't," you said quietly.

"I killed him."

"I know."

His breathing turned ragged. "I should have done worse. I should have made him suffer more."

You shook your head, turning your hand in his palms so you could lace your fingers with his. "You did what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. That's all that matters." You tilted your face up, taking in the emotions in his eyes.

"Before you left, you said..." Kaz's eyes slipped shut. Just say it, you fool. Say it. "You said you loved me."

The words didn't burn on his tongue like he thought they would and didn't taste like salty, bitter seawater. It didn't make his teeth chatter or his clothes feel stuck to his skin. It felt blissfully warm, burning in his chest like it might ignite him from the inside out.

You didn't answer, not wanting to interrupt him as he fought to speak. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted to say, why he looked like he was somewhere between keeling over and taking off across the property to disappear into the treeline. So, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him, feeling your heart pound as he spoke again.

"I should have said it back," Kaz said. "I should have told you I..." The words stuck in his mouth like the sticky candy he'd shared with his brother on this very property, the sun beating down on their heads. "I should have..." He faltered again, his brows creasing as he grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to spit the damn words out.

Kaz sighed, the breath rushing out of his lungs and clouding in the air before he managed to force out, "I should have told you that I love you." As the words passed his lips, a feeling of peace came over him. The knot in his chest eased, and the heavy weight within his chest became easier to bear. Taking the chance, he continued, his voice quieter. "You could have died, and all I thought about on the ride here was how I didn't say it back. I just turned away like a fool and sent you into the lion's den."

He was grateful for that temporary moment of relief. At least if you stepped away and changed your mind about wanting this, wanting him, the last thing he would remember of the two of you would be this moment of respite with your hand in his and the knowledge that he'd finally told you what he felt. That would be some consolation before the bitter taste of pain rose.

You stepped closer, cutting off his train of thought by pressing his gloved hand against your racing heart, his palm resting just beneath your collarbone. The words he'd just spoken suddenly seemed far away, and his mind went completely blank as he felt the hammering of your heart against his palm. A stark reminder that you were still alive, and he didn't have to think of the 'what ifs' anymore. You had chosen him. You hadn't changed your mind, after everything.

"Don't torment yourself," you said quietly. Your gaze met his, a simultaneous fierceness and gentleness visible there that almost knocked the breath from Kaz's lungs. "Do you remember what I told you? Your pace?"

The words reminded you of an evening that felt long in the past. The two of you, sitting on Kaz's tiny bed in the Slat and working through his fear when you told him you love him and that he didn't have to say it back until he was ready. Your pace, Kaz.

"I remember," he said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of his breathing as he dropped his hand from your heart and twined his gloved fingers with yours once more. Once he was sure he wouldn't hyperventilate or collapse into the icy mud like a fool, he opened his eyes again.

"I love you," you said softly, giving his hand the gentlest of squeezes. The words felt right, just like every time you'd said them, tasting like shots in the Crow Club and snow falling over the city, like a heady bliss you wanted to feel again and again, as though you might never get enough. Though the words felt right, you realized you started trembling after you said them. From the cold? From the vulnerability strung between the two of you? From the anticipation of his response?

Your fingers were cold between Kaz's, and before he realized what he was doing, he caught both of your hands in his this time, clasping them between his gloved palms to warm them up. Only a few inches separated your faces now, and your tangled hands were wedged between your chests. Selfishly, he wanted to close that distance completely, to remind himself of how your lips felt together. It had been six months, and though he thought about that moment in the alley outside the Crow Club every single day, he found that the feeling had begun to drift from his mind.

"We should go inside," he rasped, despite the thoughts warring in his head. You were freezing; that much was obvious. The old blanket he'd brought to you hadn't done much to keep you warm in this bitter weather, especially as a fresh flurry of snow prepared to blanket the ground.

"I'm fine," you responded, though the growing numbness of your nose and ears said otherwise. You were caught in his gaze, trapped by the heated look in his eyes. You'd seen him angry, distant, and vulnerable at times, but the look he wore now was one you hardly recognized. It was one you'd only seen once before, moments before he'd kissed you outside the Crow Club like he'd die if he didn't get the chance.

"That's what most say before dying of exposure," Kaz deadpanned, but even his response couldn't tamp down the burning in his chest. He didn't recognize it, the looseness in his muscles and the burning in his chest. For once, no terror rose in response to your closeness, ready to shove him away with cold, invisible hands.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I can assure you, the cold won't take me out that easily." Still, you shivered just a bit as a slight breeze kicked up to remind you both of the incoming storm, making your words much less reassuring than you wanted them to be. Traitorous nature. But Kaz (and the wind) was right, the two of you should head inside, even if you wanted to bask in the vulnerability and simmering feel of his gaze for a little bit longer.

Taking a step back, you moved as if you might disentangle your hands from his and head back toward the house. Once again acting before he could stop himself, Kaz caught you, his fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. "Wait," he said, his voice almost inaudible. He took a shaky breath as terror sunk its fingers into his flesh again, making his words come out more unsteadily than he intended. "Can I?"

He could win against his fear again, could push himself past the newfound comfort of holding hands with you. He'd done it once, even though it had kicked an unfortunate series of events into motion. But maybe... maybe that wouldn't happen again. It was just the two of you and the cold. No witnesses, no traitors amongst you except the bone-deep terror that threatened to rear its head every time he dared to challenge it.

Confusion briefly flashed across your face, and then your mind went blank with recognition. The memory of the alleyway, a kiss tasting like bitter liquor and snow, flashed through your mind.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded, just as you had before, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the cold.

As he stepped closer, closing the last few inches of distance, you wanted to ask him whether he was sure. He'd opened up to you so much already; you didn't want him to feel obligated to do so further. But he'd initiated it, and you trusted him and his newfound confidence in his ability to heal.

You were proud of him.

His lips met yours, tentatively at first. They were cold, chapped slightly from the weather, and he waited for the icy terror to yank him to the ground and drown him right there on land. While his legs felt unsteady, pushed and pulled at by his own fear in its twisted form of pale, dead hands in the harbor, he felt like he could keep standing as long as he focused on you.

It no longer felt like the midst of a Kerch winter. As snow fell down and started to kiss your cheeks, you could imagine it was a morning drizzle on a summer day, before the sweltering heat kicked in and was compounded by the smoky air of the city. You felt warm, maybe too warm, and you freed one of your hands to move up and grasp the back of his neck, standing up on your tiptoes to keep the distance between you closed.

Kaz startled at the touch, his hand moving to grab your arm out of instinct as his heartbeat picked up at the feel of your hand on his skin. The touch was foreign, soft, and hesitant, but not unwelcome as he steeled himself against letting his fear take over. He wanted to be able to kiss you, to accept your touch and affection without feeling like he might collapse.

His determination fueled him to press even closer, his hand releasing your arm in favor of cupping your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, pretending he could feel the softness of your skin beneath his touch. You shivered, and a surge of warmth ran down his spine, making goosebumps rise beneath your hand on his neck.

Distantly, he felt his cane fall from where it had been propped against his hip, thumping against the frozen ground. But his focus was on you. You, your lips, your nose bumping against his as you settled into this still-new feeling, your hand on his neck, your other moving up as if to join the other before chancing it, sliding into the mussed strands of his hair that he hadn't bothered to slick back before joining you out here.

You fought the heat running throughout your body and forced yourself to pull back, gasping a bit and looking up at him. "I'm-" you began, already starting to retract your hands. What if you'd pushed him too far? You'd felt how he tensed beneath your touch for a moment, felt him go somewhere else for just a moment. What were you thinking, Y/N? His pace, remember?

"Don't," Kaz said roughly, knowing precisely what you were thinking. He kissed you again, chasing the euphoria of your lips against his. He surprised himself with how hungrily he kissed you. The feel of your lips was better than any liquor. Better than any drug, or high in the aftermath of a successful heist. He liked the feeling of kruge passing into his hands, but this feeling had quickly surpassed that.

You made a noise of surprise but didn't protest or pull away, sliding your hands back into his hair and through the dark, silky strands. There was a bubble of something in your chest, the urge to chase this and press further, but the burning in your lungs and throbbing of your wounds in response to the worsening cold forced you to pull back far sooner than you wanted to.

You opened your mouth to speak, ready to ask if he was okay, or what he was thinking. A million emotions were flickering through his eyes, and you were having trouble pinpointing any of them. Just as you recognized one of them as longing, Kaz's face went neutral, the emotions disappearing before you could blink as the front door to the house creaked open. Your head turned, and you saw Nina, who had just woken up judging by the wayward hair framing her face.

"If you two are done frolicking, I figure I should tell you the storm is about to hit," Nina called from the porch, leaning against the doorway with a smugness on her face that made you blush and take several steps back from Kaz.

Tightening the old blanket around your shoulders, you glanced at Kaz as he grabbed his cane off the ground. His cheekbones were flushed pink, and there was a purse to his lips that gave away his embarrassment at being caught. But as he straightened up, his cane firmly in his hand again, there was a sparkle in his eye as he met your gaze and offered you an elbow to help you back inside.

"Not a word, witch," Kaz said to Nina, eyeing the wicked grin on her face as he tapped his boots against the steps to free the snow and mud from them. He kept his arm extended for you to hold onto as you did the same, noting the winces of pain as the impact sent shocks of pain through the bruises and scrapes on your legs.

Nina gave Kaz an innocent smile. "Of course not." She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he batted her hand away with a sharp glare. "Can't ruin your terrifying reputation, can I?"

"No bickering before breakfast," Jesper groaned from the couch, pushing the blanket away from his face and yawning. "I can't add any witty commentary on an empty stomach." He sat up and rubbed his eyes before grimacing and hunching his shoulders. "Now, will you please close the damn door? It's freezing out there."

You suppressed another smile, stepping into the house and setting your shoes to the side. As Nina and Jesper bickered, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, sharing a brief glance with Kaz as you settled next to the fireplace to warm up. A flicker of something soft passed through his eyes before disappearing as he carefully leaned down to add another log to stoke the flames.

Inej padded down the stairs, putting the finishing touches on her braid as she investigated the commotion. If she noticed the faint blush on your cheeks or Kaz looking anywhere but you, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pushed Jesper's legs off the couch to make room to sit, ignoring his groggy protests.

Though you weren't sure anything other than time could heal what happened, being surrounded by your chosen family was a good start. A warmth unrelated to the fire settled over you, a comfort and security that eased the tension that hadn't lifted since your capture. You would heal. Wounds would scar and fade, memories would become less vivid, and the ink along your arm could be replaced one day.

In the meantime, you'd bask in that warmth, even when your return to Ketterdam inevitably tried to chase it away.

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

Note

more raider joel PLEAAAASE 🙏

Failed Escape

4k, raider!Joel x f!reader / raider master / joel

Mood board by @milla-frenchy

SUMMARY: when Joel brings you to a familiar area for a raid, you run away but get stopped by FEDRA officers with bad intentions, worse than Joel. Joel saves you.

WARNINGS: NSFW I8+ dark, violence, assault, manhandling, captivity, restraints, exhibitionism, humiliation, unsafe dubcon PIV, fingering, oral, orgasm delay, cockwarming, brief psychological torture by fedra, allusions to VERY dark fedra activity.

A/N: This is 4th in the Raider series but can be read alone. credits / shoutouts - @romanarose escape ask, touch-erase anon, rope kink anon, many others with thots & thirst. Carter is the driver!

“I'm sorry," you sob, and you really are. It's the second raid you’ve been on this week. You thought you recognized the forest behind the house, making it your best chance to escape. You don’t have anything or anyone to go home to, but you’re hungry. You’re tired. You don't sleep. Sometimes you wake up with Joel’s arms too tight around you. If you move, they tighten more and you can hardly breathe.

Those things on their own might be tolerable, but the rest of Joel's men are the real problem. That first day, Joel told you he’d make sure nothing happened to you. He made it very clear to you and everyone else that you were his and no one else could touch you. At this point you don’t always mind his touch, but you worry about what could happen to you if something happened to Joel. The guys are disgusting, and not just the ones Joel originally saved you from, as you learned at the stash house.

There are a lot, and they’re brutal with their prey. They’re not just rough, they’re mean, degrading. They know they aren’t supposed to look at you, but they still steal a hungry glance when Joel’s not watching. From what you’ve overheard them doing to their victims, your greatest fear is that Joel will die or get overthrown and you’ll be at their mercy. The day Joel first claimed you, he warned you about those men and how much worse they'd be. At this point, you've seen and heard enough to know it's true.

But even that prospect doesn't sound bad right now compared to what you just went through. You never should have run.

- - - - -

You stumbled through the woods and when you were almost to the other side, you spotted three armed men in uniform - FEDRA. You called, “Help!” You were relieved. They could get you somewhere safe. But when they turned around, it was only a couple of seconds before they aimed their rifles at you. You fell to your knees begging for help.

They laughed and talked to each other like you weren’t there.

“I dunno, she looks infected to me,” the tallest one said.

“Sure are seein’ a lot of infected this week,” another said and elbowed the tall guy in the ribs.

The apparent leader of the pack ordered the men to take your clothes off. They stripped you of everything, even your underwear, and felt you up while they were at it. One of them stuck a finger in you. Then, the leader put a single bullet in a revolver, spun the cylinder, handed it to the tall one, and said “your turn.”

"Already? C'mon, I don't wanna fuck another dead girl."

“At least they can’t scratch you up kickin’ and screamin’,” the leader said.

“Yeah, so what’s the point?” the third one said. “That’s half the fun.”

"Better say a prayer then," the leader said. "Go on," he urged.

The man put the muzzle to your temple and your life flashed before your eyes. He pulled the trigger and the click made you wince. You kept your eyes pinched shut and when you slowly opened them, you could hardly believe you were alive.

Leaves crunched behind you in the woods. "ANIMALS, all of you," Joel boomed, and you turned around to see him with his rifle aimed at the men.

"Get down and cover your ears, baby." Joel didn’t even look at you.

Without so much as blinking, he shot the leader right in the forehead, then kept walking toward them. Shot another one like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. Not even a flinch.

Meanwhile, the tall one, the one with the revolver, charged straight at him but Joel still didn’t flinch. He calmly used the butt of his rifle to strike him square in the face. When the man fell to the ground, Joel straddled him and pummeled his face.

Still straddling the man, Joel asked you what they did to you. You told him about the revolver first. Joel took it from the man, spun the cylinder, then held it out for you, but you didn't take it. You were cowering naked on the ground. “Go ahead,” Joel said. The man pleaded for his life. You hesitated, and Joel said “Now,” firmly. You crawled closer, took the revolver, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The man screamed and winced, but the gun only clicked. Joel took it back, spun it again, and handed it back to you. “Again.” That time, you shot the man in the chest and the recoil sent you back on your ass. It wasn’t a kill shot. The man tried to speak but could only gurgle. Blood spilled out of his mouth. Your face went cold and you were shaking.

Joel made sure the man was disarmed, then came over and started putting your shirt back on you.

"Is that what you want? Shared and slaughtered by those pigs?” He motioned to the three men on the ground. You started crying, still sprawled on the dirt

- - - - -

Joel puts his rifle around his back, squats down, grabs you by both elbows, and violently forces you to your feet.

"Breakin' my goddamn heart, sweet pea." He seethes with disappointment.

"I'm sorry," you repeat through your tears, still begging his eyes to meet yours. Finally, he puts his rifle around his back and looks at you. You must look so pathetic. Crying, knees covered in dirt, still naked from the waist down. The dying man stops gurgling. You whimper yet again, "I'm sorry."

He looks you up and down and seems to soften a little as he responds, "I know, baby.” But notably, he doesn't say it's okay. He doesn't say he forgives you. You collapse into his chest and sob. He pulls you closer and you're startled when his arousal swells into you.

"How'd they touch you?" Joel asks, then clenches his jaw as though bracing himself for impact. At least he knows they didn't fuck you since they were all still dressed, to his great relief.

Joel has your pants in his hands waiting for your answer. You tell him.

He sighs and squats down. He wedges his hand between your thighs and you're wet with arousal from feeling his wood. "Was it like this?" He asks, sliding his fingers against your folds. You don't know what to say. It wasn’t like this because it didn’t feel good. He plunges two fingers into you and asks, "like this?" He digs the heel of his palm into his arousal.

“Kind of”

His face tenses into a snarl as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. What does 'kind of' mean?”

“It hurt.”

“Too many fingers?”

“No, just one, but too rough. And too dry.” Your cheeks burn.

His eyes light up in grim satisfaction. “Ok, baby.” He takes his fingers out and wraps his arms around you again. You start crying again.

“I’m sorry,” you say for the millionth time.

“I know you are, sweet pea." He brushes the tears off your cheeks. “Wanna be sorry here or in the house?” You can only assume what he means. You just hope it won’t be too brutal, given your betrayal.

His breath deepens, and he’s slowly stroking a larger bulge in his skin-tight pants now. You have to think about it for a moment. You’re anxious to get away from the dead FEDRA bodies, but the other raiders and victims are still in the house.

Joel adds, “Or in the van?”

“In the van."

He brushes the dirt off you and helps you step into your pants.

When you get back to the house they’ve been raiding, Joel doesn’t take you straight to the van. There are a few bodies strewn about. The hostages are all in one room. Joel takes you to a bathroom away from them.

He locks the door, hangs his rifle on the towel hook, then turns on the shower. He strips you and gets behind you, both of you facing the mirror. He asks, “They do anything else to you? Touch you anywhere else?” You tell him they touched your breasts. He inhales deeply and clenches his jaw, then cups both your breasts from behind, slowly massaging them. "Like this?" His hardness presses into you.

"Kind of, but it didn’t feel good."

Half his mouth smiles, and in the mirror you notice him scanning your body head to toe. Then he turns you around to face him.

His hands engulf your ass cheeks, pulling you into his pants. The feeling of his arousal against your front makes you weak.

A massive hand drifts to the center of your ass, and his middle finger lightly glides up and down your crack. “They touch you in here?”

“No.”

"Good. They're all gone now, okay baby?”

The water is ice cold as usual and your nipples are painfully hard as Joel lathers them. He washes your whole body, looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb. When he goes between your legs, you sense his intentions and warn him, “Um, you can’t put soap in there.”

He pauses, bemused. “Why’s that , sweet pea?”

“It’s bad for you, you can get an infection.”

He looks at the soap contemplatively and says “okay, baby.”

He rinses you off and tells you to sit on the toilet seat. Then he sits on the ground, his legs to each side of the toilet, knees up. He gets you to spread your legs, come to the edge of the seat, and lean back. The way he’s breathing as he eyes your pussy gives you butterflies.

He puts your knees over his shoulders. He drags two knuckles down your slippery folds, then extends and inserts his fingers and curls them, dragging his thick digits against your walls, trying to scrape off any trace of FEDRA. The smallest skin particle would be too much. It's extreme, but you don’t mind how it feels – physically, at least. It’s also not a bad view. His neck veins bulge, his eyes are dark.

He looks like he has a job to do, and he goes about it quite industriously. His beard scratches your inner thighs and outer lips. He licks a thick stripe from your taint to your clit, then drags his tongue through every crevice of your folds on each side, making you squirm with tension. He swirls his tongue around your clit and sucks your hood. Then he plunges his tongue onto you and your whole body feels hollow and light. His tongue is so thick it's like being fucked. You shudder and he glances up darkly. His lips move diligently with the effort and he sucks like he’s trying to cave your walls in on his tongue. Your thighs quiver and he glances up at you again. When you're right about to come, he pulls away.

"Good as new," he says as he wipes his beard.

You were so close to coming and you can hardly bear the tension.

As though reading your mind, he says, "This ain’t for fun, baby. Not today. Not after what you did."

He braces his hands on your thighs and stands up with a groan, sporting major wood. "Stay here," he says coldly. You squeeze your thighs together. He takes his rifle off the back of the door and puts it on. He leaves for a few minutes and takes all your clothes with him including your underwear.

As soon as he walks out of the bathroom, one hand goes between your legs and the other to your breast, working toward the quickest release possible, biting your lip. The vision of him between your legs is blinding your mind’s eye from thinking about anything else. You come just in time, covering your own mouth with your inner arm. You feel a wave of shame after you come - how depraved to get off in this situation. But the tension was too much to take.

Joel comes back with a duffle bag and a dress. He seems to notice your post-orgasm flush. He puts the dress on you and it's not a minidress but it's shorter than you're comfortable with, especially if you don't get to wear underwear. It’s thin, too. He strokes your inner thighs and gives you an accusatory look.

"You come when I say."

Your face burns and you nod.

"Told you I wasn't gonna let anything happen to you. . . then I did." He looks guilty, almost anguished. "You're gonna learn to do what I say, understand?"

You nod.

"For your own good, sweet pea."

"Yeah," you whisper.

You try to tug the dress down and hesitantly ask, "Can I have, um-"

"No," Joel says and slings the duffle bag over his shoulder. "Got you some but you're not gonna need it for a while."

You swallow thickly and remember you chose the van.

Joel manhandles you into the passenger seat, takes some paracord out of the duffle bag, and ties your wrists in a special knot. Then he ties them behind your head to the headrest.

He strings rope around the headrest and across your chest in each direction forming an X across your chest with your breasts on either side. He ties that to the wrist restraints. The rope digs into your neck uncomfortably.

“Try to get out and it’ll only get tighter. And I’m gonna know about it.”

“I won’t.” You’re earnest.

“Hope not,” he says. “‘Cause I’ve got a lot more of this.” He holds up a bunch of paracord, puts it back in the bag, then looks you up and down and wets his lips. “Looks good on ya, too.” He shoves the duffle bag behind your seat. “Real good.”

He slides his hand between your legs and shoves his middle finger right inside you. His head falls back and his eyelids are heavy. You’re still wet enough that it doesn’t hurt. He thumbs your clit while pushing two, then three fingers in and out of you. Then he stills his fingers inside you. He strokes the bulge in his pants with the heel of his palm. His mouth falls open and he studies your face. Then he flattens his fingers and rubs your whole pussy. It feels so good, so unbearably good. Your spine arches. He takes his time and brings you to the brink again, then cruelly removes his hand.

“Stay here.” He points at the rope. “Remember – try to get out, it’ll only get tighter.”

You nod, clenching your thighs together, barely paying attention.

“It’s for your own good.” The tension feels like torture.

A few minutes later, Joel comes back out to the van, thank god. Your hands are getting numb and the rope is chafing your neck and cleavage. He opens the door and examines the paracord around your wrists. “Good girl,” he says. He looks you up and down as though deciding what to do with you. He exhales with a puff of his cheeks and rubs the big lump in his tight pants. At this point, nothing would surprise you, and you wonder if you should have made a move in the bathroom to suck him off.

He swiftly unties the paracord then unbuckles his belt, gazing at you in a dark trance.

He aggressively shoves his strong arm under you, then you make space and he wedges himself between you and the seat. You’re in his lap again.

Initially, he pulls you back into him and your breath hitches when you feel his hard package beneath you. His hips lift and his arousal swells harder. He breathes heavily and his chest inflates against your back. Then he extends his legs to make a downward slope and scoots you forward on his thighs. You hear his zipper come down. When you chose the van, you didn’t know it would be this. You’re humiliated, but your body purrs in anticipation.

You’re startled by the van’s back doors opening.

“Come on,” Joel whispers flatly, nudging you to hover over him. When you rise a few inches, he lifts your dress and guides your naked ass backwards, hovering in his lap. He presses the curve of your spine and you tilt your hips. He guides you until you feel his firm tip at your dripping entrance. "You want this?" You nod almost imperceptibly, then he says, "Go ahead." You sink onto him with a soft gasp. “That's right, take it," he says. He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls you down, breathing, "yes." Then he sighs "Ahh," as his girth parts your insides. He has to use both arms and a thrust to bury himself entirely, then your body’s flush with his. His noises are quiet but visceral, softer than usual, but just as masculine.

You’re pitiful, like a rag doll in your thin dress, no panties, no bra, sitting on his cock. Bending to his will like he’s your puppeteer. And you might as well have an arm shoved all the way up you. He’s inhabiting every bit of space in your guts.

Men are loading things into the back of the van. Joel leans you forward to spread your dress over his lap. Then he pulls you back and lifts his hips, making his cock move deep inside you. The main door to the van slides open and men start piling in. Your seat is always in Joel’s lap, that’s nothing new, so hopefully no one notices you’re impaled on his massive cock.

But that’s unlikely, considering he’s not sitting still. He rocks his hips, pushing his length up into you at a slow pace. This has the effect of lifting your body each time. Someone sitting behind you could surely see your head going up and down slowly, smoothly, rhythmically. Joel's hands cup your breasts through your dress. Tension is coiling in your core. With his next upward thrust, Joel softly grunts into your hair. Quieter than usual. He isn’t worried about being seen or heard – That’s not his style at all – It’s just that, in the van, it doesn’t take much to put on a show. In a way, if he can subject everyone to it in near-silence, that’s even more dominant.

Joel’s hips continue to lift into you and he slides his hand into the low-cut neckline to grope your naked breast. The driver, Carter, glances over and does a double-take, then swallows sheepishly and quickly averts his gaze, but reaches for the bandana on the dashboard and hands it to Joel. They’re going to the stash house so Joel pauses to tie it over your eyes.

Joel grunts softly into your hair as his cock is hugged tight by your warmth. None of the men talk to him. They chatter at low volume amongst themselves, and he doesn’t have the best hearing. You hear his name in a whisper from the back of the van and get self conscious that they’re watching. But of course they are. If Joel hears them, he doesn’t seem to mind. With each tilt of his hips, his thick cock moves a short but impactful distance, nudging your g-spot. You’re already so full, but it fills you more each time. The tension tightens, radiating to your whole body. Begging for release. The motion is smooth and fluid beneath you. It’s like you’re riding an ocean wave. Your breathing gets heavier.

You squeeze your thighs together, tightening around his cock. Joel grunts into your neck, then whispers “I don’t think so, sweet pea” and stops moving. He’s really punishing you. For almost the rest of the ride, he holds you completely still on his cock. Your heart races and your face is hot. He’s leaning back against the seat and has you leaning back against him. You ride in silence, listening to the noise of the road under the tires, pitch black under the blindfold. Joel’s as thick and hard as ever and the swell of his shaft twitches. Every bump in the road provides welcome friction between his warm rod and your desperate walls.

You know you're getting close to the stash house when you reach the gravel road, at which point you’re continuously bounced on his cock. You can feel your arousal leaking out of you and onto him. Your combined musk fills the van and the driver cracks his window as the terrain effectively makes you ride Joel's cock despite his best efforts to deprive you. He holds you tight, trying to keep you completely still against him. You aren’t sure if you’ll be able to stop yourself from coming.

“You were bad today,” he whispers lowly into your neck, and you feel a wave of shame. “In the worst way," he adds coldly.

You turn your cheek as though trying to meet his eyes through the blindfold, but his hand strongly grips your jaw and forces your face straight ahead again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you bounce there, filled to the brim with his girth.

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

“Yes.”

“Come when I do, then,” his low voice murmurs into your ear, sending a rush through your body. He better come really soon.

He inhales deeply through his nose and puts his arm flat on your back with his strong forearm resting along your spine and his hand firmly gripping the nape of your neck. He forces you down, and you fold forward with your head near your knees. Then he covers your mouth tight with his other hand. His arm presses down on your back as his hips lift up into you. He grunts as he erupts inside you. His thick cock powerfully pulses and sends you clenching and fluttering around him, softly moaning into his hand as you find your own waves of release. It feels like it lasts forever.

“Maniac,” someone says under their breath as Joel lets you sit back up.

"You did good," he whispers flatly into your hair. To your shame, your heart can't help but swell at his approval, even though the coldness in his tone stings. He's obviously preoccupied by what you did.

You can't discern most of the hushed murmurs until another voice ominously whispers from the back of the van, “He can’t watch her 24/7 forever.” Joel must not hear it or else you imagine the man wouldn’t be breathing for long.

The van parks at the stash house and Joel takes off your blindfold. He helps lift you off his lap and his length slides out, bringing with it a dripping mess of both of you. Your insides slowly pull themselves back together as your combined juices trickle down your thigh. You step down out of the van while he zips up his pants and you dab yourself as best you can with the dress, face burning along with your neck, shoulders, and hands. With Joel facing away from the men, you can feel them staring at you, but as soon as he steps out of the van, they look away and go about unloading.

Joel retrieves the duffle bag from behind the seat, but he doesn't bring it into the stash house with you. He takes out a blanket and wraps it around you, making you decent. You shouldn't feel like it's sweet, but there's a passing moment before you remind yourself the gesture is for him, not you. He doesn't want anyone else to see you. He said as much the first time you were there. Joel takes out some rope from the bag, and before he brings you into the house, he makes sure his switchblade is in his pocket. Then he firmly grabs you by the elbow and takes you inside.

"You're gonna have to be brave for me in a minute, baby."

we'll pick up from here next time & a couple more asks will become relevant. It gets dark.

Thank you so much for reading and interacting! We've been simping for this sicko for a month now and i really enjoy our banter and dialogue about him and the other toxic joels.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#possessive!joel #joel miller fanfiction #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #OG!raider☠️

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lunarmothim · 2 months ago

Text

shadowbound- john price x reader

part i: prague - the patch had been left on your doorstep two months ago, the threat clear. it was a warning, the only headstart you were going to get.

word count: 4.4k tags/warnings: language, assassination attempt, abduction, brief torture, allusions to ghost's backstory. price is an asshole and reader is a menace. afab reader.

notes: is it overly ambitious of me to start two series at the same time? probably. am i gonna do it anyway? absolutely. idk what this is really, i just wanted to do a bit of a reader on the lam kinda thing, bit of a hunter/hunted dynamic ;)

this has been edited! about 200 extra words, bit of clean up. chapter 2 will also be getting some edits for continuity :)

Prague had been an impulse decision. A dart thrown at a map, a large city with a population of over a million and a booming tourism industry, plenty of places to hide. A fake passport had gotten you over the border of Czechia easily enough, but with how far you wanted- needed- to run, only the real deal was getting you back out.

Which is how you find yourself sitting at a quaint cafe on the river, exposed and anxious, trying your level best to pretend to be a normal person, a regular nine-to-fiver just enjoying a cup of overpriced and overly sweet coffee and a Danish the kind cashier had sweet-talked you into buying. The key word being trying, because you're anything but a nine-to-fiver- you're not normal, and you shouldn't be here, out in the open and so fucking vulnerable.

You need the documents you'd paid way too much for way too badly to leave, though.

So you sit there, sweeping the area again as you sip your coffee, willing your rapidly bouncing knee and the fingers tapping against perforated cast aluminum to be fucking still. You try to quell the rapid staccato of your heartbeat drumming painfully against your ribs, to fill your lungs with careful, measured inhales, to expel the anxiety in each exhale. It doesn't work. It never works. Your knee continues to bounce, your fingers continue to tap, your eyes continue to dart across every face you see until you settle on them.

Two men sitting at a table nearby, clearly trying to blend in just as much as you are but are far too tense for the early morning ambiance of a quiet Prague cafe, and oh god, are they looking at you? They're dressed casually, but the way they hold themselves screams Military. Danger. Your shoulders tense as you lift your gaze from them to pretend you're just looking around, but your knee finally goes still as you prepare yourself to run.

Even more concerning than the men, though, is the slight glint of light you see atop one of the buildings across the street.

Fuck. You're moving without thinking about it, clearing the railing surrounding the patio half a second before the shot splits the air and a bullet lodges in the wall near where your head had just been. Startled screams, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears, shatter the still tranquility of the morning, and you have to duck as the brickwork of the wall you're sprinting past explodes under the impact of another bullet.

Rapid heartbeat pulsing more adrenaline through your veins, you duck down the nearest alleyway you pass, another shot striking the ground behind you as you run full-tilt toward the railing you can see at the far end of the alley, blocking the short drop to the river below. A gruff voice yells something unintelligible behind you, but you pay it no mind as you jump, planting a sure foot on the iron and launching into the air. You suck in as deep a breath as you can manage, straightening your entire body into one sleek line as you plunge down into the icy water of the Vltava.

The shock of the cold nearly punches the air right back out of your lungs. You fight the heavy drag of your clothes as you swim up, gasping in a breath when your head breaks the surface, opening your eyes to look around for your escape route. You're relatively safe for now, the sniper's sightline blocked by the buildings lining the river and the levees along the bank, but you only have so long before they find a new vantage point and a lot less cover in the water.

The chatter of your teeth aches deep in your jaw as you swim to the opposite side of the river, hauling yourself up the levee. Ignoring the startled noises of the people walking along the bank you spare one last glance behind you, scanning the horizon for another scope flash and disappearing into the crowd when you don't find one.

You keep your head on a swivel as you wind through the gaggle of tourists and locals alike, people side-stepping out of your way and giving you curious looks as they take in your sopping state. You glance at each of them in turn, looking for anyone who lingers a moment too long, fully aware of your environment even as your mind races a mile a minute. Given how easily you'd been found at the cafe, it feels safe to assume your apartment had been compromised- not that you kept much there, your important belongings packed away in a backpack at the train station for situations just like this one. In that vein, it also raises the possibility that your contact had been burned, too, and now you were going to have to figure out another way out of this damn country. That is a complication, an irritation, but also a problem for another day.

Right now, you need to get your bag and get the hell out of this city.

The train station is relatively packed this time of day, people boarding and unboarding en masse on their way to work or wherever else they spend their days, and it's easy to blend in despite your still dripping clothes, weaving through the crowd until you reach a tall row of orange lockers. You fit the key into the lock on yours when you crouch down, pulling out your go bag and giving it a quick once over before zipping back up and tossing the key into the bottom of the locker.

With your lifeline secured, you allow yourself the tiniest sigh of relief- you're one step closer to freedom. You'll get to a different city, figure out the passport situation once you're somewhere safe.

Slinging your pack over your shoulder, you push up to your feet, turning back toward the exit… and freezing.

You're staring down the barrel of a gun, and one of the men from the cafe is holding it.

Wide eyes travel up the suppressor, over the sleek black body of the pistol, and up to assess the man, quickly taking in stern blue eyes under a black toque tugged snugly down to his ears, mouth set into a scowl amidst a questionable beard choice, brown mutton chops shot through with salt and pepper. He has a broad build- broad shoulders, broad chest, with brawny arms and thick, powerful thighs. He looks like a man who could crack you in half without breaking a sweat, and his partner, a few steps behind him with a weapon and a questionable hair choice of his own, is built the same.

Well, you can't help but think as you slowly raise your hands to show that they're empty, if I'm about to die at least my executioners are nice to look at.

"Who are you?" The man in the back with the mohawk barks in a thick Scottish brogue, piercing blue eyes fixed as firmly on you as his gun is.

"Does it matter?" you answer carefully, and you can tell they're not expecting an American accent by the way Mutton Chops inhales sharply, drawing your gaze back to him, to the pistol still pointed between your eyes. "You can't detain me like this, I've done nothing wrong."

"You were shot at in broad daylight on a crowded street," Mutton Chops growls back, and you can't help but flinch at that. Now that you're not in active danger- from that threat, at least- you wonder if anyone had gotten hurt in your attempts to get away from the sniper. "You can imagine why we might have some questions. Startin' with your name."

His tone suggests there's no room for argument but you mull it over for a moment all the same, narrowing your eyes at him. Blood zings copper against your tongue as you chew the inside of your cheek, considering whether you should be honest, lie, or just keep your mouth shut.

The decision is made for you when Mutton Chops' finger shifts on the trigger guard. You spit your name out through gritted teeth, eyes flitting between both men as you weigh your odds of getting away if you just hit them with your backpack and make a run for it. Low, if your assessment of them at the cafe had been correct and they are military. You'd probably be dead before you got the first strap off your shoulder.

"Why were ye bein' shot at?" Mohawk again, eyes cold and calculating as he sizes you up. He doesn't look like he knows what to make of you or this situation you'd all found yourselves in.

"Ask the cunt who shot at me," you snap, and you regret it in an instant when the barrel of the gun closes those last couple of inches to press to your forehead. You shrink back at the cold, unforgiving kiss of steel, trying to game some semblance of distance, but all it does is bump your backpack against the lockers behind you. This draws attention to your pack, and before you can blink Mutton Chops is grabbing you by the arm and yanking you around, pulling your backpack off with one hand and tossing it to Mohawk, the other firm between your shoulderblades as he shoves you into the lockers. Fuck. It takes everything in you to keep your cool, turning your head to look at them from the corner of your eye. "Fuckin' hell, at least ask before you manhandle me-"

"Shut up." The hand on your back pushes harder, forcing you to exhale with a soft wheeze. Mohawk is digging through your backpack, tossing your belongings carelessly to the floor, and your heart leaps into your throat when he pulls out your gun. The suppressed pistol touches the back of your neck in response to the discovery, stormy blue eyes meeting what little of yours he can see.

"What's this, then?" Mohawk asks, holding up your P890 with a raised brow and a harsh frown.

"You were holdin' one not two minutes ago and you don't know what a gun is?" Pissing them off is a bad, bad idea, but you can't help the sarcastic comment that slips from your mouth. Mohawk's lips press into a tight, irritated line, and the gun digs in- right at the base of your skull, where your spine meets your cranium. It'll be quick at least, painless probably, but right now that bite of metal hurts. "Ow, fuck-"

"Quiet." Mutton Chops pushes harder, and you whimper as the metal of what feels like a combination lock digs painfully into your chest. From the corner of your eye you see him glance at Mohawk, still throwing your scant belongings to the ground. "Gonna guess you don't have a permit for that thing?"

"Can't be quiet and answer your questions at the same time," you wheeze, planting your hands against the lockers. The slight push against the metal to give your chest room to expand properly pushes you back into the gun at your neck. "Make up your mind-"

Something dark, something dangerous, something that screams at you to run, run fast and run fucking far, flashes in his narrowed eyes, a storm over the ocean. This is it, you think, squeezing your own shut in response as the gun digs further into your spine. I went and ran my stupid mouth, pushed too hard, and now I'm going to die for it.

But the shot never comes. Both men are dead silent, and when you dare to slowly crack your eyes open to look, you see why. A circular patch sits in Mohawk's hand, a grey remnant of your past life with worn stitching where your thumb had rubbed over it repeatedly. The patch that had been left on your doorstep two months ago, the threat clear.

It was a warning, the only head start you were going to get. It was all they'd left, not even a note to tell you why- though you could guess- but you'd heard your commander's voice in your head clear as day. I'm comin' for ya, and I like to play with my food. Run.

"We need to leave, now," Mutton Chops barks suddenly, and you barely have time to process before his gun is off the back of your neck and the hand between your shoulderblades is grabbing you roughly by the bicep. A yelp of pain and surprise is ripped from your lungs when he hauls you away from the lockers, leaving your belongings scattered across the platform as he drags you toward the stairs leading back up to the street.

"Get off me!" Your angry shout goes entirely ignored, both by your unexpected captors and the people passing by that avert their gazes at the sight of their weapons. His hand is a vice on your arm, pulling you along like you weigh nothing despite your attempts to dig in your heels. Too open up there, too exposed. "Fucking let go-"

"Not a chance." All of the air rushes out of you when Mutton Chops slams you face-first into the tile wall of the staircase so hard you're sure the handrail will leave a bruise across your stomach. He holsters his gun just long enough to wrench both of your arms behind your back and secure your wrists with zip-cuffs, and the fierce, raw anger in his eyes that you catch in your periphery has you shrinking in on yourself, making yourself small under his fury. "You're gonna come with us, and if you don't wanna tell us why you have a fuckin' Shadow Company patch on ya, we'll make you tell us."

Your mouth goes dry at the implication. "Torture is a war crime."

"I prefer the term enhanced interrogation." With that he yanks you away from the wall again, dragging you kicking and fighting up the last few stairs to where a van is waiting on the curb. He's not nice about it when he slides open the side door and throws you bodily into the interior, and the only thing that keeps you from slamming into the far side of the van is a pair of legs belonging to another man who lets out a surprised noise. "Bag her."

The door slams, and for the second time in what feels like hours but has probably only been ten, fifteen minutes at most, there are unwanted hands on you.

These hands are surprisingly gentle though, lifting your head to fit a stale-smelling black bag over your head, leaving you bound and blinded. Defenseless.

"Sorry about this, love," a kind voice murmurs, but you know better than to trust it- you've seen the good cop, bad cop routine before. They must run it often if, even in the confusion you'd seen on his face when the van door opened, he'd immediately fallen into his role.

"Go fuck yourself," you growl, twisting at the zip-cuffs. You're not getting out of them, but it makes you feel a little better to pretend.

"Watch yer ankles, Gaz, she's a feisty one," the Scot's voice sounds like it's off somewhere in front of you, the passenger seat maybe, an edge of amusement in his tone. Gaz. One name out of three. A nickname, maybe, or a callsign. "Bit like a feral cat, might bite."

"You can fuck right off, too," you spit at him, tugging more intently against the zip-cuffs binding your wrists. You should really quit while you're ahead, shut up before they decide it's too much trouble and just shoot you and dump you back in the Vltava, but you're cold, you're wet, and you're pissed.

Maybe feral cat wasn't too far off.

"Watch it, princess, or you'll get some duct tape too." The new voice has you stopping cold. Definitely English, deep and gravelly and edged with a deadpan kind of danger that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Something tells you that Mutton Chops' handling of you had been a gentle tickle compared to what this man could do to you.

But your mother had always said you had more guts than sense. "Eat a bag of dicks, you fucking cunt-"

"Kid's got a foul mouth on her," Mutton Chops' voice filters back from the front, and you growl under your breath. "Duct tape's not a bad idea."

"Got some righ' here, Captain," the Scot says cheerfully, and you bristle at how easily you'd been dismissed as a threat if they feel comfortable enough to joke around in front of you. You force yourself to focus on the second identifier instead- a rank. Definitely military, then.

"So what's the story here, anyway?" the one called Gaz asks, and you feel a boot nudge your leg. The tap has you growling, squirming your body across the uncomfortable metal of the van's floor to get away from it. He hauls you right back with an almost embarrassing ease. "We come here to meet an informant and end up with a random American?"

"This." The rip of velcro, and a sharp whistle cuts through the vehicle, followed by a quiet grunt.

"What's a Shadow doin' in Prague?" the deep voice rumbles.

"That's what we're gonna find out."

When the van stops you focus on the opening and subsequent slamming of doors. The side door slides open and you lunge immediately in the direction of the breeze you feel against your skin- you don't make it very far before hands are grabbing you again. Your feet are barely under you before they're dragging you over what feels like loose gravel, up a short set of steps, over a threshold, up a longer set of steps. Safehouse. Two floors at least.

You're shoved bodily into a chair, and you squint against the sudden intrusion of light as the bag is ripped off your head, wincing when several strands of hair go with it. Your gaze flits around the room, skating over the four men that come into focus in favor of cataloguing every minute detail of the room from the frigid metal beneath your thighs to how the small space is devoid of anything but a table shoved against the wall next to the door.

Once you've taken in what little you can of your surroundings, you let yourself look at the men. The first to catch your gaze is Mutton Chops- the captain- towering over you, brawny arms folded over his chest. He's flanked to his left by Mohawk, leering at you with a wolfish grin that shows far too many teeth, and to the right a tall black man with dark eyes shadowed by a faded blue ball cap.

A few steps behind them all is the largest man you've ever seen. Built like a brick shithouse, you have to crane your head back until it hurts to see his face, and a violent shiver rolls straight down your spine when all you see is dead, empty eyes staring back at you through the holes in a piece of skull sewn into a black balaclava.

Fear twists like a hot knife in your gut- you know just looking at him that all the others had been child's play so far. This one looks like he could crush the life out of you with one large hand. He looks like he'd enjoy it.

Your train of thought is broken when the captain crouches down to your eye level, and you have to force yourself to drag your gaze away from the man in the skull mask to meet his cold blue stare. "Here's how this is gonna work. You're gonna tell us why you have this-" he holds up the patch, making sure you can see the rook and spade logo stitched into it- "truthfully. If you lie, if you refuse to talk, we'll have to resort to more… encouraging methods."

"Given how you treated me on the platform, I'm surprised you didn't want to start with that," you taunt, and at the same time you want to kick yourself- tell yourself to shut the fuck up because what exactly do you hope to accomplish by continuing to rile up men who aren't above torturing you for answers? You must have a fucking death wish. Still, you can't stop yourself from sticking your foot further into your mouth, lowering your voice and leaning closer to his face. "Bet you get off on that shit, don't you, Captain ? Pushing women around, trying to scare 'em. Hurting them." Something flashes in his eyes before they harden into steel, fingers crushing the patch into his palm.

"Last chance."

"Fuck you."

"Have it your way. Ghost." The captain rises, nodding to the man in the skull mask before leading the other two out of the room. The door slams shut behind them, leaving you alone with the one he'd called Ghost.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "What's with the mask? You ugly under there or somethin'?" The only response you get is dead silence, not even the sound of his footsteps as he walks over to the table and starts laying out his weapons. You imagine he's probably heard the question a million times, but that doesn't keep you from poking, distracting yourself from the leather bundle he's currently rolling out across the table. "I get it, I guess. If I was torturing innocent people I wouldn't want them to see my face, either."

"Never met an innocent Shadow." In this enclosed space you can almost feel the deep timbre of his voice vibrating in your bones. He's slow, methodical as he runs his fingers along the tools he's laid out, picking some of them up and examining them before putting them down again. What he's doing isn't lost on you- he wants you to see. An intimidation tactic, one you'll never tell him is working. "You have until I turn around to change your mind and start talkin'."

"Are you deaf? I've been doing nothing but talking-"

"Defense mechanism, yeah?" He picks up a wicked looking combat knife, turning it over in his gloved hands. You watch the motion, note the pattern of bones on the back of the gloves to match his mask- at least he's committed to the aesthetic. "You're scared, so you're runnin' your mouth. Seen it before. Everyone breaks eventually."

Satisfied with his choice he turns slowly, those dead eyes meeting yours again. He's idly running a finger along the edge of the blade, gaze boring into yours with an intensity that makes your earlier interaction with the captain feel like a childhood staring contest.

"Maybe I had it wrong earlier," you muse, tipping your head back to keep your eyes on his as he stalks toward you, ignoring that twist of fear, shoving it down to a rolling boil in your gut. "Maybe you're the one that gets off on hurting women."

You aren't expecting a reaction- nothing you've said so far has gotten anything more than cold indifference from him, but that stops him in his tracks. You can see the line of his shoulders go taut, a tense muscle ticking in his jaw beneath the mask as he processes what you've said, and the brief flash of something you see in his eyes feels almost familiar.

It almost looks like fear.

You can't help but prod at it.

"What, I hit a nerve?"

You must have, because he closes that last bit of distance in two long strides to crouch down in front of you, the hand not holding the knife grabbing you by the jaw with bruising force. His eyes are narrowed and absolutely frigid- whatever you'd seen there before is gone, replaced by a fury that, were you standing, would bring you to your knees.

"I don't get off on it," he growls, fingers squeezing into your cheeks like he's trying to impress his fingerprints into your teeth. "I'm doin' my job. That job is to deal with threats." You can't help a gasp when he releases you with a solid push of your head, but he doesn't stand up.

Instead, he brings that knife up to drag it slowly along your thigh- not enough to break the skin, but to remind you that it's there. The promise of what's to come if you don't start telling him exactly what he wants to hear.

It's a familiar threat, and a tired sort of resignation settles over you as you watch the blade catch on your jeans, ripping a tiny hole in the dark denim. The tip presses slowly into your thigh until flesh splits beneath the steel, and oh god it burns, but you just drag a sharp breath through your teeth at the sight of the blood beading on your skin, staining the steel crimson.

He stops there, just the tip of the blade pressed into your skin, his eyes burning holes into your skull. "Tell me 'bout the patch."

For the first time since they'd taken you in the train station, you're silent. He takes it for what it is, and you exhale slowly as he drags the knife down your thigh. Steady, perfect. It'll scar nicely, you think, cocking your head to the side as the blade digs in slightly deeper near your knee. Not like the ugly, unsightly scars the commander had left across your torso and back.

Suddenly the blade flicks up to your chin, pressing into the soft flesh and forcing you to tilt your head up until you meet his eyes again. His stare is almost curious, detached but still scrutinizing, searching for something. You stare right back, wondering what he's looking for, what he sees.

Ghost is a lot harder to read than the captain and the Scot had been, more of an unknown. You don't like unknowns, don't like anything you can't predict, and you think you could spend years trying to decipher even some small part of the man in front of you and get absolutely no where. On a primal level, that irritating little instinct scratching at your hindbrain, that terrifies you.

"Hm." The noise draws your attention, eyes refocusing slightly on the skull mask in front of you. You watch wordlessly as he rises to his feet again, setting the knife on the table and rapping twice on the door. You can hear hushed whispers when it opens, see the captain shaking his head. The door shuts again, and your eyes track Ghost picking something else up from the table- the hood you'd worn in here.

He drops it unceremoniously over your head before noisily cleaning up his tools and leaving you alone in the dark.

part one - masterlist - part two

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! :) top/bottom divider by: me line divider by: @/saradika-graphics

#john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #ktwrites #shadowbound #this has nothing to do with my other price post #i just think it's neat :)

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dragonnarrative-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Part 7 - Date Activities

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Non-descriptive mentions of torture, numbers and math, brief nudity, allusions to cannon-typical violence (Ghost's backstory), red herrings, bones

“Where ‘m I?” You slur around a dry tongue. Struggling to balance your weight on your hips, try to wrap your arms around yourself. Too late, you realize that there’s not enough slack on the chain to complete the motion. “Where‘re we?”

You want to scream. You want to cry and hide your face. You’re horrified to realize that you want Simon, your version of Simon, to materialize on the edge of the bed and comfort you. Unfortunately, all you can do is blink and sway.

“If you’re dizzy, you should lay back down.” Simon’s voice from that jaw-less skull is so disconcerting. In your nightmares, the skull mask sounds inhuman. Distorted, echoing. The burning bush overlap of every person who’s ever made you unsafe. Now, it’s just Simon’s measured speech.

But the rest of him is just as big and dangerous as you remember. He’s dressed like he expects to have to fight someone. His black jacket is covered by some kind of utility vest with a bunch of pockets. A handgun sits in a thigh holster, and on his other hip is the Big Knife. He’s not wearing his usual boots, these are heavier looking. If you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d be terrified.

The masked killer on the other side of the room tilts his head and regards you for a long moment. The weird silence is such a Simon thing to do that you let yourself take your eyes off of him enough to take a quick look around the room. His chair is by the only door, a solid looking wood. To the left side of the room, there’s a bare folding table. On it, from what you can see, sit bottles of water, a bag of grapes, and some brown packaging. There’s another folding chair. At the foot of the mattress, there’s a huge, black hard case. The kind you’ve seen in action movies.

“Right now,” Simon finally answers. “You’re in the safe zone."

You blame the drugs in your system. It’s the only reason you can think of to look him in his eyes and blurt, “That’s not a fuckin’ answer, you cryptic asshole.”

You’re glad you’ve learned to read his eyes, because they’re amused when he stands. Even across the room, he towers over you. You clutch at the blanket to, what? Protect yourself? But Simon just crosses to the table and picks up a bottle of water and a sleeve of saltine crackers. He chucks both of them at your legs before returning to his seat.

“Sip the water, eat slowly,” he instructs. “And I’ll tell you the rules of the game.”

You can’t think of a reason not to, so you struggle for a moment with the bottle cap before bringing the bottle to your lips. Your mouth feels gross and fuzzy, but the water is cool. The crackers, when you finally tear the packaging, are exactly what you needed. You wish you had some ginger ale.

“You told Kyle that I’d taken you hunting,” Simon starts. “But I hadn’t really. First time was a happy coincidence. Second time, you planned the date activity and I kind of hijacked it, yeah?”

If your neck wasn’t so thick, I’d strangle you, you think. You take another sip of water.

“So I thought to myself, what parts of hunting might my sweet, clever girl be interested in? How can I make sure she’s having just as much fun as me? And I remembered your little cubes.”

You narrow your eyes at that. The Rubik’s cubes were one of the first signs that he’d been breaking into your apartment. By now, he knows that you know how to solve them. Two weeks after he’d moved in next door, though, he hadn’t figured that out. It had made your skin crawl to come home from work and see the colors in the wrong places. Now, sometimes, he’ll present the cubes for you to solve while you talk. When you hand him the completed puzzle, he scrambles it up and hands it back.

“You didn’t kidnap me to make me solve a giant Rubik’s cube,” you say.

“No,” he answers. If you could see his face, you think he’d be smirking. “But the first part of the game is a puzzle. You have to get out of the room.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, you want to scream. Instead, you slowly eat your way through the crackers and sip your water and think. The metal cuffs on your wrists are far enough apart that you can easily reach the locking mechanisms. They’re just tight enough that you can’t wiggle out, but they’re not uncomfortable. You can’t see where the chain to the ground is latched, so if there’s a clasp on that end, maybe this will be more simple than you think. You doubt it.

Daylight is streaming in through the window behind you. The shadows of the bars are very obvious, so the only way out of the room is going to be through the door. Simon’s sitting on the hinge side, but the only way you’ll get out before he blocks the way is probably if he’s on this side of the room. Facing the table, maybe. Preferably not standing.

Maybe you can strangle him with the chain.

You freeze as soon as the thought enters your mind, cracker halfway to your mouth. Wrapping the chain around the neck of that death mask only makes sense. But the idea of killing Simon makes you feel like vomiting.

When you look back at him, his eyes are as heated as they ever get. “Don’t worry, precious. I made you a promise last night. No killing, no wounds. No “Saw” puzzles. Just a little escape room. Told me you like those.”

Had you? That sounds like something you would have said, back in the beginning, to see what he would do. You take another sip to clear your mouth and settle your stomach. You’re already feeling better. “What are the rules?”

“You’ve got ninety minutes to get out of the cuffs and get into the chest. Once you’ve done both, the timer stops, and I explain the next part of the game.”

“Can I ask you questions once I get started?”

“Of course,” Simon says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

You bite your lip. “When does the timer start?”

“You tell me when you start,” he says. “We’re not in any rush.”

“What’s in the chest?”

“That,” he answers, eyes crinkling with an obvious grin this time, “you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

That is not an answer you want to hear, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You rack your brain for any more questions. There are, of course, about a million. But the one that sticks out is, “Why were you so nice to me, last night? You could have just drugged me. You did, anyway.”

Simon doesn’t say anything for a long time, just looks at you. He holds eye contact, so you don’t look away. After a full thirty seconds, he hums. “You said you missed me. That you wanted to be with me. You asked me to stay. I liked it.”

The way he says it, warm voiced and slow and soft, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. There’s a spark of something in his eyes that you don’t want to examine. You’re too afraid to look away. But then he blinks and lets his eyes drift up and away from you. The breath you didn’t know you were holding whooshes out of you.

“Guess I’d better get started,” you say.

When you stand to the side of the bed, you find that you’re wearing one of his shirts, a pair of underwear, and a pair of socks. The room isn’t unbearably cold, but it’s not comfortable. The chain to your cuffs is much longer than you expected. You think it’s long enough for you to walk all the way around the room, unimpeded. If so, it’s long enough to get out the door, with a little extra slack. It’s locked to a loop bolted into the floor with a key lock.

You walk around to the table to get a good look at everything. There’s the water. The brown packages are four MREs, which you recognize from camping trips back when you were a teenager. There’s actually a few different fruits - grapes, apples, bananas, a bowl of chopped watermelon of all things. All of that is gathered on one side of the table. The side close to the empty chair has a manila folder. A glance inside shows printouts, three pages of text and forms, with some of the information redacted.

You let the folder fall closed and walk over to the chest. There’s two combination locks, each with four dials, one with numbers and the other with letters.

That’s two wrist cuffs, the lock for the chain, and two locks on the chest. If the cuffs share a key, this might be doable. If not… “Two or three keys, and two combinations?” you ask.

“Two keys, two combinations,” Simon confirms.

You do a quick calculation in your head. “A little more than 20 minutes per puzzle. That’s pretty tight, but doable. What happens if I don’t get it done in time?”

You turn to look at Simon and catch him looking at your legs. When he meets your eyes, his are smirking again. “You lose time in the second part of the game. And you’re going to want that time.”

With a sigh and a shake of your head, you walk to the wall across from the table. There are some cracks in the paint, a couple of scattered, discolored spots. But it doesn’t seem deliberate. So you leave it and head back to the table. The folder is tempting, but obvious, so you start with the fruit.

Bag of grapes, three apples, five bananas. You open the package of watermelon and poke around in it. No keys. Not in the bag of grapes, either. The apples and bananas are whole. But one of the bananas has a series of numbers followed by Xs written on it in black ink. 11 21 32 XX. You pry it from the others, carefully, and take it over to the folder.

The metal chair is cold when you use your hand to pull it out. You turn back to the bed and grab the thin blanket to cover it, then have an idea. You shake the pillow from the pillowcase and strip the sheets from the bed. No key, but the pillow has another set of digits and Xs written on it. 7 13 26 XX. You lift the mattress to look under it, but there’s nothing else, so you let it fall.

“Can I have a pen?” you ask, absently. You’re surprised when Simon plucks one from his vest and holds it out for you. You snort as you walk over to take it. “Can I have the key to the cuffs, while you’re at it?”

Simon’s eyes do something complicated as you take the pen. Then he tilts his head, reaches up, and pulls a thin chain from under his shirt. On it dangle two keys, one a tiny cylinder of a thing, the other a proper key. He lets them both drop against his collarbones.

You dart your eyes between the keys and his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“’D prefer if you opened the folder,” he says with a shrug. “But I do have the keys. Cost you… 15 minutes for one.”

“Did you just make that number up?” You laugh. Then it hits you and you glare. “You’re distracting me and stalling.”

“You asked,” he points out, chuckling as you whirl on your heel to go back to the folder.

That is neither disputable or worth responding to, so you don’t. You drop into your seat and open the folder. The first thing you do is jot down the numbers and where you found them on the inside. None of the numbers are repeated, so you leave them for now. Then you pick up the first sheet of paper.

It’s the service record for one Simon J. Riley.

A lot of the information is redacted. Most of the page is blacked out lines. But you see that he enlisted in 2001, had some kind of redacted gap from 2003 to 2004, then resumed his service. Then it jumps out at you. 2007, KIA. You can’t help but look up at him, and find him watching you already. You scour the page for any other information, but there’s nothing. So you flip the page.

This one is some kind of tactical… memorandum? Too much is redacted for you to be able to get much information about who the report is for, so you just start reading.

Mission to Mexico. Drug cartel, name redacted. Compromised leadership. Someone got double crossed. You start feeling sick at the description of torture, but most of the details are obscured, so you push through. Then a line makes you pause, and you have to re-read it. You flip back and forth between Simon’s service record and the report.

“Simon,” you say slowly. Your stomach is really twisted in knots, now. You’re afraid to look at him, but you make yourself meet his eyes. “Were you buried alive?”

He says, “Yes.” Your heart breaks.

The next few lines are blacked out. You really don’t want to ask, but, “How did you get out?”

“Blood, sweat, and tears,” he says, vaguely. “Probably not something you want to think about, sweet thing. Don’t want to waste time.”

“I need to pause the game,” you tell him. “because I just read that you were buried alive.”

“An explanation will cost you an hour,” Simon offers. His eyes are crinkled like he’s smiling.

“Simon.” Your voice is sharp to your own ears. “What the fuck?”

“Tick tock.”

You know from past experience that getting any more information from him will be like getting blood from a stone. So you make yourself read on. There’s a confusing bit about… brainwashing? Without the full context the report is a mess. Multiple civilian casualties, then… mission objective complete? Lots of blocked out text, surrounding a single word. ROBA.

You jot that on the lower half of the folder, then skim through the documents again for any numbers. Besides the years in the service record, there’s nothing that jumps out. So you jot down 2001, 2003, 2004, and 2007.

You decide this is a good enough place to start with the puzzles. The numbers on the pillow seem simple enough. You’re not good at math, but you’re good at patterns. You eliminate a few possible addition patterns, recognize it probably isn’t pure multiplication. Considering who Simon is, you gamble that there’s probably no fractions or decimals involved, so it’s probably going to be some combination of multiplication and subtraction. And as soon as you think of that, you see it. Times two, minus one. So the last number is 49.

The the second puzzle, from the banana, tickles your brain because you know you’ve seen it before. The numbers aren’t doubling. And it’s not simple addition. Adding in sequence seems to work. Adding 10 to 11 makes 21, then adding 11 works to get to 32. Plus 12 would make the next digits 44. That seems almost too easy, but these kinds of puzzles usually are. And it is a possible answer, so you write it down.

The only other potential numbers are the dates. If you pick the last four digits, that’s 1347. Another code. Unless it’s 2222. Or 0000. Or 2020...

Now you have a few potential 4 digit codes, and a possible 4 letter code.

“Time check?”

Simon looks at his watch. “Sixty-two minutes left.”

You hum an acknowledgment, and flip the pages in the folder, and the folder itself. There’s nothing else, so you leave the papers on the table and take your notes over to the crate.

Simon makes an interested noise through his nose. “That was fast.”

“Haven’t found the keys, yet,” you answer, “Gotta get a move on.”

You start with the letters, because it seems straightforward. And then you’re a bit stumped, because the lock doesn’t have a B available in the third slot. Or an A in the first. So you’ll have to find a cypher or something before you can tackle this one. Disappointing, but you still have time. You move over to the other lock and hope you have what you need. 4944 doesn’t work. Neither does 4449, 9444, or 4494. 2222, 0000, and 1347 are all a bust. You make your way through 1374, 1437, 1473, 1734, and 1743 before you give up.

“Fuck,” you grumble.

Crouched as you are, you have a new vantage point to consider. You scuttle your way under the table without putting your knees on the ground, and look at the underside. Sure enough, there’s a doodle of two bananas with a pillow in between. The dates were most likely a red herring. Or they’re the cypher to the letters.

“I got the numbers wrong,” you grumble.

“You’re a smart girl,” Simon says. “You can figure it out. Fifty-seven minutes.”

You scoot from under the table and make to stand up, but something on your leg catches your eye. Dropping onto the now bare mattress, you lift the edge of your shirt, Simon’s shirt, and see writing on your inner thigh, upside down so you can see it easily. Four digits, 01 10, and another fucking banana.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan.

Simon snickers from his chair.

You grab your folder and pen and jot the new string of numbers down. 01 10 11 21 32 XX. Obviously, adding in sequence no longer works. It’s gotta have something to do with the number of 1s in the sequence, so you try to let go of math related assumptions. The first two numbers swap their digits. Then two ones. Then a two and a one. Then a three and a two. Zero plus one is one. One plus zero is one. One plus one is two. Two plus one is three. Three plus two is… five as the first digit? Sliding the tens to the ones place is one, zero, one, two… three. 53.

Banana pillow banana, then, is 5493.

Before you go to check, you stand up to lift your shirt up to look at your belly, then higher to look at the skin of your breasts. You ignore the low wolf-whistle Simon makes to do a quick inspection. Nothing jumps out, so you let the shirt drop a bit and pull your underwear away from your hips. You feel a bit silly staring at your own crotch, but it’s Simon so you figure nothing’s really off limits. And you’re rewarded with the discovery of a piece of tape with a doodle of a heart on it. The tape is garment quality, which explains why you didn’t feel it.

The heart doesn’t really give you much, but you pull it out and slap it on the folder anyways.

“Forty-nine minutes,” Simon says when you look up at him.

Back at the chest, you click the dials to the number sequence you identified and grin to yourself when the lock gives an easy snick as it opens. The other lock is still a mystery, but you’ve got one down, and still plenty of time to request the cuff key if needed.

You turn to look up at Simon from where you’re crouched. “How much does a hint cost?”

He pretends to think for a moment. “For that lock? Flash me your tits again.”

“Nasty,” you roll your eyes as you stand up. You lift the shirt up to your neck and are startled when he sits forward to rest his hands on your hips. The skull mask gets even closer, and then he’s kissing over your heart, eyes locked on yours. He leaves his lips against you through his balaclava, thumbs rubbing over the place where your hips meet your belly.

You stare down at that bone face from less than two inches away. You used to hope it was plastic. Now you know for a fact that it is not.

And then he lets you go and sits back, crossing his arms over his large chest. He looks at his watch.

“Forty-six minutes.”

You gape at him. “Where’s my clue?”

“That was your clue.”

“That’s the least helpful clue ever,” you complain.

“You found all the other ones,” Simon points out. “But I’ll tell you the solution if you let me fuck you.”

You scoff. “I don’t need you to tell me. I can figure it out.”

“I know,” Simon’s grin is easier to make out this close. “My clever girl.”

You grumble, but you can’t help but grin as you try to think of what the four letter sequence could be. On a whim, you try TITS. The letters are present, but that’s apparently not the combo. Heart has too many letters, but maybe has something to do with feelings. The lock doesn’t have the right letters for LOVE, forward or backward. Same with HATE. You try SRSK for Simon Riley the Serial Killer, but that’s not it. You’re on a date, so you try combining his initials with yours where it fits, but that’s not it either. In a fit of pique, you try TITS again.

Then you take a deep breath and think about Simon and you. Your relationship. DATE, KILL, and CARE are a bust. AMOR, EROS, HOLD, BOND. None of them work.

You’re getting antsy because you still need at least the key for your handcuffs and you're running out of time, but you make yourself take a deep, slow breath. SLOW and DEEP don’t work. And then you pause and look up at Simon’s face. At the skull.

BONE.

Nope. But it was worth a shot.

But thinking about skulls and bones makes you think of skeletons. Dead bodies. Cemeteries. Simon’s service record, breaking your heart.

BURY.

The lock clicks open.

You’re giddy as you swing the lid of the chest open. And, almost immediately, you scramble backwards, shoulders colliding painfully with Simon’s knees. Without thinking, you clamber up until you’re perched in his lap, staring in horror at the human skull grinning up at you from atop black cloth.

A piece of tape is on the right temple. In Simon’s scrawl, it simply says BRANDON.

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #cod #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #simon riley x you smut #manic pixie dream ghost

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crystalbeetle888 · 3 months ago

Text

Promising Future

1.8k Words - SFW - Hybrid AU

- brief mentions of kidnapping, violence, torture, minor fluff -

The darkness surrounding you seems eternal, not knowing where your body ends or the walls of the cold hard shipping container begins. At least the freezing nights were better than the sweltering days, inside that metal box it felt like an oven. Your arms ache, the thick chain holding them loosely above your head clinks as you shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. The rusted muzzle weighs heavy around your skull, its mouthpiece sharp against your tongue.

You had been in hiding for most of your life, living amongst a small rural community in Alaska. Before an unmarked militia group came through to clear the people out for an upcoming oil line. As they did they took you, a rare feral hybrid, Lupus-Versipellis, a wolf hybrid. Feral hybrids were rarer than domestic species like dogs or cats, and are often outcast and forced into hiding for being assumed dangerous. Which just makes them all the more allusive.

You couldn’t tell how long it had been since your capture, but your hair had since grown long down your back, matts littered throughout. You have had many different buyers all across the world try to break you into a pliant soldier. Various methods were inflicted upon you. From beatings to negotiations, from tying you to a post for days with no food or water, to attempted medical and chemical reconditioning. Key word, attempted. Little was actually known on hybrid physiology so it wasn’t uncommon for people to under-sedate you. They quickly learnt that wasn’t the safest method for reconditioning.

Your latest buyers seemed to be Mexican. They never spoke to you but based on the tattoos you saw when they came to feed you, the general climate, and the fact that you could hear them speaking Spanish outside of the shipping container, strongly hinted at the Cartel. You had only really heard about them through wild action movies and terrible bar jokes though, so other than that you were in the dark. Literally.

Your ears perk at the sound of distant gunfire, it echoes loudly through the previously still night. You rattle your chains in suspense. You can hear yelling and loud explosions. Then, nothing. You wait for what seems like forever before the shuffling of footsteps and the clanging of metal breaks the silence. A stream of silver light shines through the darkness as the door slowly scrapes open and two silhouettes come into view.

“Fooken hell, they av’ a hybrid” a Scottish man's voice echos.

You growl deeply at them, the noise vibrating through your chest. “A cranky one at that. Get the Colonel, he’s gonna wanna see this ""Yes sargent” the other man replies before disappearing from view.

You squint at the man, struggling to see him properly as he approaches. “Easy there lass, M’ not gonna hurt ya” he mutters, arms out wide in submission. You shake your chains violently, trying to scare him off. “Easy, Easy” he finally steps close enough for you to see him. He’s a stocky white male with a short brown mohawk and piercing blue eyes. “Easy there lass, I’m just trying to help ya”. Your heart pounds against your chest, panic overwhelms your mind as he reaches a cautious hand towards the back of your head “Hay I’m just trying to get it off” he reassures you. Your breathing is laboured, you eye his hand as it reaches behind you and lifts the heavy padlock. Your ears press flat against your skull as you watch him cautiously.

Suddenly three more silhouettes appear at the door “Dios Mio” a gravelly voice whispers. “Alejandro! We're gonna need some bolt cutters” the man next to you calls out. “Aye!” he responds before whispering to the other man in spanish. You swing the chains violently, trying to free yourself from their confines. A muffled wail ripping from your throat at your fruitless attempts. “Hay, hay, hay, take it easy!”, “Calm down niña”, “You need to quit that darling” the men unsuccessfully try to reason with you as you continue to thrash around. Pain shooting through your shoulders causes you to fall limp against the chains, the weight of your body on your arm causes you to cry out.

Suddenly, the weight on your arms is lifted as you’re hauled into the air, the Scottish man's thick arms wrapped tightly around your thighs, his head pressing into your stomach. You stop thrashing and stare at him, completely stunned. You’re finally able to rest your arms. You place them slowly on top of his head, groaning as the tension releases from your shoulder blades. “Better?” he squeezes your leg, you huff in response. “So you understand english” you huff again, staring down at him as he gazes back up at you. His stubble prickles your bare stomach as he talks, his skin radiating heat. “So she’s friendly then?” the southern white man asks. You growl in response causing the scot to chuckles “Careful Graves, she’s a feisty one” he pats your legs. “She’ll fit right in then camarada” Alejandro says.

Finally a young man walks into the shipping container holding some bolt cutters. “Let’s get you free then aye lass?” the scott smiles up at you. The young man approaches hesitantly before looking to his superior, “Go on” he says to the younger man. He turns back towards you, you can hear his heartbeat racing in his chest as he places the jaws of the bolt cutters around the padlock on your wrist. He struggles for a moment before…Snap! A cuff falls from you, the chain connected to the ceiling now hangs loosely. You grip onto the man's shoulder with your free hand, offering up the other. He readies the bolt cutters and…Snap! You’re so close to being free.

The scotsman squats down, placing you gently on the floor “Don’t try and stand up yet lass” he rubs your bare back in comfort before grabbing the padlock on your muzzle “Take it easy on this one amigo”. The young man nods, positioning the cutters and…Snap! The scott takes the padlock off, before unclasping the muzzle and pulling it off your face and out your mouth. You breathe out your mouth freely for the first time in years. The cold air graces your lips. You bring your now trembling hands up to your face, you feel so weightless. A sob escapes your throat as you sit there in your newly found freedom. “You’re alright, we’ve got ya bonnie” he places a warm hand on your back.

The hospital room was dimly lit and smelled strongly of chemicals you couldn't quite place. After cutting you down, the Scottish man named Johnny, escorted you back to the hospital at their base. Doctors and nurses fluttered around you, curious at your unique appearance. They placed you on a drip, bandaged your wrists and and sponge bathed the rest of you down. You were put in thin shorts and a shirt that tied up on the sides, the grippy socks they provided didn’t fit your feet as your claws had grown so long they tore straight through them.

You listened intently to the conversations down the hall, most of them were about you, but you weren't interested in all their gossip. They’re not who you’re waiting for. Heavy boots thumping through the hall towards you catch your attention. Your ears stand straight, focused in on the door as they approach. The handle rattles and the door swings open, revealing Johnny carrying a large tray of assorted meats “Wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I had ‘em put a bit of everythin’ on” he smiles, walking into the room casually, he places the tray on your lap.

The smell of raw meat makes your hair prickle and stand on end. You were starving. Snatching the food off the tray you rip into it, snapping and growling as you eat. “Easy there lass, don’t want you to choke” he chuckles, sitting down in the chair beside your bed. Ignoring him, you continue to chomp through your charcuterie of meat until someone else enters the room. You glance up at them wearily, it was Alejandro, the colonel running this base. “How is she holding up?” he asks Johnny. “Enjoying the food, still hasn’t said a word though” he responds. Alejandro nods before directing his attention to you. Your ears flatten against your head, a growl rumbling from your chest. He huffs in mild amusement “You can grumble all you want senora, but eventually you’ll have to talk to us” he chastises you, folding his arms over his broad chest. You look away from him, nibbling timidly on your food. You don’t like being forced to do things, or talk, or anything really. Your capture has made you increasingly stubborn.

He grunts at your behaviour, “I’ll come back tomorrow once you’re healed more, maybe some exercise will loosen you up hmm?” He nods at Johnny before turning back around and leaving the room.

“We’re not going to be able to help ya if you don’t talk to us Bonnie” he whispers as gently as his thick accented voice would allow him to. You side eye him, huffing out your nose in reluctance. “Would you at least tell me your name?” He pleads with you, leaning his elbows the side of the bed.

Anxiety shoots through your body like electricity. You had learned early on in your capture that the less they know about you, the better. This meant no talking to anyone about anything, no responding, and certainly no trusting them. When they had nothing on you it was easier to act like a complete animal, after all that’s all that you were to them. A feral beast.

Your lip quivers as you try to muster up the courage to say something, anything. You wanted to trust him that this was all over, but you couldn’t. He was just another soldier following orders.

You clenched your jaw tightly and shook your head, brows furrowed in frustration. He sighs before standing “That’s alright lass, I’ll try to check up on you tomorrow aye” he says, as he makes his way to the door.

You let out a gasp as he is about to leave, trying to will yourself to say something. A moment passes in silence.

“Thank you” you whisper meekly, barely audible.

He turns to look at you, a wide grin stretched across his face, his eyes twinkling with joy “I’ll see you tomorrow dove” he says before gently closing the door behind him. Your face feels hot and your tummy flutters ‘Why did he smile at me like that?’ You think to yourself. Shaking off the strange feeling, you place the now empty food tray to the side before snuggling under the cover. It isn’t long before exhaustion takes its toll, and you drift off into a deep sleep.

#x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod x y/n #call of duty #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #multiple x reader #hybrid #hybrid au

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tyxoxo · 2 years ago

Text

Feel It

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: smut, pornstar!jaehyun au, 00’ dream inserts

words: 5.1k

warnings: pure filth, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, choking/breath play, humiliation, dacryphilia, sex toys, ball gag, shibari, allusion to cum play, unprotected sex

a/n: san francisco armory, das the setting lolol (thanks kink.com 🫡) also!! since the reader would have no way of knowing the names of 00’, hopefully i did a good enough job describing them for you all to know who is who sksks.

—

“okay, we’ll just have you sign this.” the producer with the name tag K said as he handed you a clipboard with a pen; the two of you sitting across each other in a large auditorium.

you were fidgeting the more you sat there in the middle of the “playroom”, excitement rising with every glance of the various s&m props placed on antique plaques. whether it was the torture rack, assorted floggers, or cattle prods, you couldn’t wait to try it all.

never in your years of living did you expect to be at an armory-turned-BDSM studio, preparing to do your first adult scene. yet here you were, only wearing a pair or your underwear, completely bare everywhere else.

the use of a National Guard armory was oddly fitting for the company—20th century Moorish Revival architecture, albeit refurbished, still gave a sense of “grittiness” and rustic charm.

“i know that you already submitted your online waiver but we just like to have an additional one for in-person. physical signatures are always preferred.” K snapped you out of your thoughts for a second, though your mind couldn’t help but drift back into the depths—thinking yet again to your upcoming scene.

the single sheet of paper reiterated everything you read through just a week prior:

“Mission Statement and Company Values”

typical header to start a waiver…littered with the expectations to provide a “consensual and safe space for all participants.”

your eyes scanned further down, taking a few minutes to read their “Right to Distribute Media:

By signing here, you agree to having any and all media in your presence posted to our website Kink.com, with potential distribution to other pornographic partnerships…”

you provided your signature for the two spots provided, officially sealing away what modesty you had left.

as soon as you handed the clipboard back to K, he spoke into his bluetooth earpiece, presumably notifying the other producers of your newly sealed fate, “you guys are good to head this way.” he said before placing the clipboard on the floor next to his water bottle.

“in a moment you’ll be able to meet your partner, and go over the do’s and don'ts, that kind of stuff.” he said, followed by a closed-mouth smile.

you smiled back, trying to hide the anxiety creeping under your skin. there was no telling what kind of man would appear through those doors, meters away from where you sat.

you kept your eyes trained on the entrance, tapping your leg up and down to pass what seemed like hours.

but then again, this was a four story building…maybe it was just taking them a while to get to where you were.

just as you looked down at your twiddling thumbs, the heavy sound of the double-doors filled the room. the man that appeared was unlike anyone you’ve ever seen.

he was gorgeous…

and he smiled as soon as he laid eyes on you. his dimples being the first feature that caught your attention.

he strutted towards you, confidence exuding with every step. he only sported boxer briefs, definitely nowhere near as self-conscious as you, now that you saw his toned body.

you tried not to make it obvious that you were eyeing his subtle six-pack. but it was hard. his body was perfect; not too overbearing, not too ordinary. still, his biceps and his quads showcased the work he put in to maintain his physique.

the last you could observe before he stopped in front of you, was his happy trail, leading all the way to the package he had confined in his briefs. he completely ignored K, standing right in front of his field of view.

your eyes slowly made their way to his face, still smiling so bright, with ivory teeth to match.

“hello, my name is jaehyun. nice to meet you.”

his voice was velvety deep, baritone.

another surprise to you.

jaehyun held out his right hand, but you noted the single platinum band adorned on his left ring finger, to your disappointment.

your thoughts were outlandish, there’s no way you’d have a chance with him even if he wasn’t taken.

you returned the handshake, voice visibly shaken as you gave him your name.

“i’ll go ahead and let you guys have the floor. i’ll be back in 10.” K said with a clear of his throat. he then gave up his seat for jaehyun, making his leave towards the double-doors.

jaehyun looked back at the medieval-styled chair before sitting down, chiseled thighs growing in size once he found a comfortable position.

“so tell me a bit about yourself…”

he leaned forward in his seat, placing his hands criss-cross in between his thighs.

the simple action of trying to close the distance between the two of you, paired with his now sultry-tone, caused you to gulp quite noticeably.

“i uhhh, this is—s-sorry i can’t form my words today.” you covered your mouth as you laughed, embarrassed by the effect jaehyun had on your intelligibility.

if only you noticed his faint smile.

“would it be better if i asked you something different?” he spoke with a tilt of his head, bangs sweeping softly across his eyelashes.

“no its not that…i’m just not super interesting.” you pursed your lips together, shameless in admitting how average you were.

“i highly doubt that. for you to come here, i know that you’re more interesting than you let on.”

he smirked to himself, dimples even more pronounced as he looked down at your feet.

“so what do you like…don’t like? or what are you willing to try today?”

he looked back up at you, but the ability to maintain eye contact with him was becoming harder and harder.

but for you to have come this far, sitting almost-nude in front of a stranger…there was no use in being shy anymore.

“i’ve just always wanted to be controlled, dominated, humiliated…reduced to nothing, pretty much.” you spoke matter-of-factly, knowing he’s probably heard this all before.

you decided to keep your eyes on his mouth, and then his sharp canine’s that gleamed under the warm sepia light as he licked his lips.

“what about degrading?”

“definitely.”

“shibari?”

“yes.”

he continued to list everything that came to mind, making it somewhat easier for you to communicate your needs and expectations.

by now, barely 7-minutes in, jaehyun learned that you were practically open to anything.

“one last thing. the most important.”

you raised your eyebrows at his sudden announcement, already having an idea of what it could be.

“what’s your safeword?”

“olive.”

—☽༓☾—

“alright, we’ll go ahead and get started. if you at any time need to take a break, just let us know. remember, there is no time limit, and most of all, enjoy yourselves.” one of the producers said while adjusting his camera.

now in the auditorium with you and jaehyun, were two different producers, with the names I and N; an obvious attempt to mirror their company, which definitely made it easier to recall. K was nowhere to be found this time. but you weren’t concerned about that anymore.

the entire auditorium was now your’s, filled with all the props to make your fantasies come true. the chairs were pushed away, and the camera’s were now rolling.

jaehyun stood face-to-face, still in only his boxer briefs. he studied the floor beneath you, seeming to psych himself up with a smirk.

you didn’t even really know how to stand, or carry yourself, fearing that too much focus on the lesser details would ruin your adrenaline.

just as you watched his head rise to your level, you were swept away by a kiss.

he was as spirited as you hoped, using his left hand to hold onto your cheek, and the other to rest against your hip. still through the shock of how soft his lips were, you managed to taste the balm that he chose to wear—peach with a hint of vanilla.

you raised your hand to wrap around the wrist that kept hold of your cheek, eventually closing more of the gap between the two of you.

despite how delicate the kisses were at first, you could hear them echo throughout the auditorium, surely to get louder once you could taste more of him.

you tried your best to keep up with the different angles that his head moved, but thinking back to the fact that these were among the first kisses you shared, you could bear the inconsistencies until you found a proper rhythm.

so far, he did everything right. starting off slow just how you liked it… just how you told him just a few minutes prior.

his left hand caressed your cheek back and forth, brushing against the small hairs in front of your ear. the other made its way down to your ass, gripping tightly, but not without your breath hitching through the fiery embrace.

he took the opportunity like you had guessed, to brush his tongue against your own, finally gaining more out of the subtle start towards your undoing.

you had only known him for roughly half an hour, yet you already felt in tune with his way of leading you to pure bliss.

he intertwined with you effortlessly, regardless of the mess the two of you made with just your lips. combined saliva pooled at the corners of your mouth, and you found yourself whimpering at his attempts to clean up the remnants with his warm tongue.

“you’re making a mess already?”

he spoke against the corner of your mouth, the smell of vanilla becoming even more evident from his suckled lips.

you didn’t want to give in so soon to his early teasing. he needed to do more.

though you realized within a flutter of your hooded eyes, that he needed just as much as you. without any warning, he flipped his warm persona, the hand that held your cheek moving down to grip your throat tight.

his fingertips knew exactly where to apply pressure, causing you to wince as the sting resonated on both sides of your neck. your hands immediately wrapped around his, knowing he liked to see you struggle.

you had made a point of that too.

“you won’t say anything? what about when i do this?” his face remained mere centimeters away from you, denying you of any further kisses.

you could see through the haze that his dimples were still just as evident from his now-sinister smile.

his right hand cupped your clothed core, causing you to shudder against his palm.

he would definitely be able to feel your growing arousal through the thin material.

“maybe you don’t deserve any of this…i should just leave you here.”

he backed up his shaming effortlessly, all the while palming you through your damp underwear.

the friction felt electric against your clit, causing you to buck against his touch.

“ride my fucking hand.” he smirked right in front of your face, like a complete switch from the gentleman you just met.

you were sure that you looked pathetic, getting off to just the palm of his hand. practically humping to get some sort of release.

being self-conscious no longer mattered, not when he provided you with a means to an end. proving not only to yourself, but to future viewers that you were outwardly desperate.

the more zealous you got with your gyrating hips, the more jaehyun was inclined to stop and just watch you yearn for it.

he decided immediately, stilling his movements.

for the first time, you whined.

“please let m-me cum.” your voice barely produced any sound, restricted from his hold on your throat.

“should i?”

“mmh, yes. please…”

you hoped that your look of pity was convincing enough.

“go on and show me then. show me that you deserve it.”

he gave you free reign, lessening the hold on your throat, and continuing to keep his palm still against your aching core.

you were practically salivating, trying your hardest to hit a certain spot along your sensitive nub. with a few more hellish rolls of your hips, you succeeded, feeling that familiar high surge through your body.

jaehyun was beyond satisfied, enjoying how you broke down from barely nothing. his eyes drifted over every part of your trembling body, mentally noting the parts that would be destroyed by the time he was done with you.

as you started to come down, he had already tugged your underwear off, even taking a moment to smell the now-ruined fabric. he could’ve spent longer doing so, showing off his guise for as long as he wanted.

but you were fidgeting quite noticeably, shifting your thighs to subdue the constant throbbing of your clit. it was obvious there was more to come.

once he tossed the flimsy fabric to the side, he ushered you towards the far left of the room where two red velvet sofas were positioned against the wall, and a small antique dresser sat in between.

you could barely keep up with his stride as he interlocked your hands together. but you let him control your movements, until you were centered in the middle of the makeshift formal room.

on top of the dresser were bundles of rope, a ball gag and a vibrating wand, with images of all the ways you would be ruined flooding your brain. your eyes then drifted up towards the ceiling, immediately catching sight of the metal ring hanging just above you.

the cameras were paused momentarily; had the recording continued, the producers would’ve captured your look of wonder as you watched jaehyun gather the jute material onto his arm to begin the process.

you’d only had a few experiences with bondage, but all of the preparation seemed to come naturally as you followed jaehyun’s instructions. he was patient and soft-spoken with his directions, all the while marveling at how pretty you looked while listening to him.

it was evident he was experienced in the art of shibari, as he adjusted the intricate designs to fit the contour of your body within minutes. your eyes were conflicted on where to look, whether it was his concentration or the way the rope cupped your breasts perfectly. either way, you felt beautiful.

“take deep breaths for me, you’re doing great.”

his sultry tone was enough to relax you as you felt gravity disappear under your feet.

your eyes remained shut as you inhaled and exhaled, gradually soaking in the feeling of complete ascension.

you were in the most exposed position—frogtied. suspended upwards, arms secured behind your back, knees bent, and ankles bound to your thighs.

even though it took a while to get into this arrangement, he made you feel comfortable, and you were still just as wet, eagerly awaiting his next move.

“how do you feel? talk to me.” he stood in front of your suspended body, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. there was anything but, you surprisingly felt purified, as if a literal weight had been lifted.

“i feel good.”

you weren’t the best at exclaiming your feelings, but you could tell that jaehyun sensed your approval.

“anything pinching or pulling?” he asked again, leaning in close to inspect the knots littered across your body.

“nope.”

“okay good. just wanted to check before i put this on.” he replied while giving the “ok” hand signal for the producers to resume rolling.

he stepped over to the dresser, grabbing the black leathered ball gag. your pussy involuntarily clenched around air at the sight of the large red ball, and the realization that you were now being filmed in suspension, every bit of your cunt on display for the world to see.

you licked your lips one last time before he placed the gag. the taste of plastic overtook your senses, unfortunately masking the remnants of his lips balm. nonetheless, you felt complete, relishing in your own fantasy being brought to life.

saliva managed to escape not even seconds later, dribbling onto your chin. jaehyun eyes grew dark, switching back to the sadist he truly was.

your eyes tracked his every move, watching as he finally exposed himself.

you wished you were well-spoken enough to describe how perfect he was. but you could only manage whimpers through your restraints, hoping that he heard your reaction to seeing his lower half for the first and probably only time.

you were finally able to see where his happy trail ended, branched out into a sea of nicely trimmed hair. his length stood proud, snapping back onto his outie bellybutton as he kicked his briefs off to the side.

he stepped over to the dresser one last time, grabbing the vibrating wand. you were expecting the sound of the device to come to life, even squinting your eyes to brace for the feeling of it hitting your clit. but instead he kept it down by his left side, while his right finger came up to collect the saliva that had now leaked down your neck.

“not yet…you’ll have to prove that you’re worth my time. i don’t reward sluts that whine in my face.” his words hit you hard, but his finger worked even harder.

your body began to shake as he used his slicked forefinger to paint a trail down the center of your chest. he eventually found your nipple that had swelled through the coarse rope, pinching hard.

he released quickly, doing the same to the other.

his right finger continued its descent, now finding your cunt that was glistening under the warm lighting. he seemed satisfied enough from the sight of your juices dripping onto the floor meters below you.

your breathing grew ragged as you felt him group his digits together to press against your sensitive nub. he leaned further into you, preventing you from seeing him work your pussy into overdrive.

the filthy sounds of your essence sloshing against the flesh of his fingers filled the room, even overpowering the pathetic moans that tried to escape through the soaked ball gag.

“think you could cum again? hmm?”

he cooed against your ear, determined to kick all of your senses over the edge.

you failed miserably at producing a coherent “yes” through the pleasure, and you feared this would have consequences.

the high was building up a second time, but unfortunately it was met with jaehyun’s cruelty.

he backed away from you completely, leaving you there to wiggle in the ropes that kept you hungry and docile.

“yes…i can do it.” you words were muffled at best, barely audible. but your body showed enough of your desperation, trying to move within the confines of your unrelenting submission.

“fucking filthy whore…you’re too late.”

jaehyun tortured you by staying back, twirling the vibrating wand in his hands.

regardless of the fact you were granted an orgasm moments ago, you made it known that you deserved another.

tears began to pool in your eyes, eventually flowing from your eyelids onto your warm cheeks. breathing seemed more difficult, as you sniffled and heaved against the ball gag.

jaehyun looked down at the floor, in awe at the amount of your juices that had hit the floor. you were more than soaked, practically painting the floor in an abstract design of delicious filth. usually he was able to drag out teasing for a while with his other “co-stars” but for you, his patience was wearing thin; not out of distaste, but out of the eagerness to finally feel your walls around his cock. he would have to fuck you soon, so he could see if you felt just as good as you looked.

he had done plenty of scenes, even similar to this; more than he could count. and none short of bragging, he ruined every single one of them, and you were no exception.

without a second thought, jaehyun stepped up to you, placing the vibrator on your engorged clit. a shriek escaped through the gag as you slumped in the ropes, head falling backwards as a wave of relief hit you.

finally, you were given more.

through your hooded eyes, you were unable to see his erect tip awaiting your entrance.

“are you happy now? what do you say?” he gripped your jaw hard, forcing your head forward to stare into his dark eyes.

“thank you s-so much…thank-...”

your gratitude was cut short as he pushed himself inside you.

a guttural groan fell from his glossy lips as he paused halfway, utterly amazed by the way your walls welcomed his cock, trying his best to draw out the way you sucked him in.

he could’ve stayed like this forever, relishing in your ability to grip him for dear life.

“you’re so fucking tight…did you save this pussy for me?” his voice was just as shaky as yours, completely high off the energy that filled the room.

you nodded your head up and down, mind too absorbed in the pleasure that overtook your body.

your eyes blew wide as he continued to inch himself further inside your dripping hole; beyond satisfied from being stretched full.

you watched his jaw go slack as he bottomed out, pupils dilating not only in front of you, but the cameras too.

the realization that everyone would witness his transformation, caused you to contract around his length; the vibrator intensifying your actions as if you no longer had control.

he wasted no time thrusting inside you, hips snapping against yours in an immediate, steady rhythm. your body recoiled against his tireless momentum, eventually swinging from the metal ring every time he connected his tip to your cervix.

“do you think you could hold out sweetheart?”

you were sure that you could, but you couldn’t help but entertain the idea that it was much deeper than that.

nonetheless, you mumbled “yes”, hoping to prove your worth so that he would never stop fucking you senseless.

yet again, your head fell back, pitiful howls escaping through the gag as you felt your orgasm building up a second time.

“come on, look at me. watch me fuck this pussy.” he used his non occupied hand to usher your head forward, watching you choke up as many moans as you could through the soiled gag.

he continued to support your head, and it became obvious that it was done for a reason. the sound of the double-doors caught your attention soon after, echoing through the auditorium. your eyes looked past jaehyun’s broad shoulders to catch sight of the four attractive figures that appeared.

their presence would be burned inside your mind forever—an aura of complete deviance, walking towards your suspended frame with an obvious intent to ravage you beyond repair.

your eyes couldn’t look away, not even with jaehyun still drilling inside your pussy.

you noted the two tallest, one with wavy silver hair, and bangs long enough to cover his dark eyes. he had the most chiseled features out of the four, with full lips to complement his sharp jawline. the other didn’t look nearly as intimidating as the first, with rounded facial features despite having a broader frame. he adorned blue eyes, which you assumed to be contacts. either way, the sky blue color fit his chocolate hair, setting him apart from his yang counterpart.

the third reminded you of a sunset, with golden skin that radiated far beyond his charming presence. his jet black hair offered contrast to his warm exterior.

the final one—the blonde, surprised you the most, he didn’t seem like the type to present himself in this type of environment, but maybe that was his ruse—to deceive anyone into thinking he wasn’t as filthy as the next. he made sure to be the last one following behind in the ensemble, but you still noted his elfen-like appearance, seeming delicate yet playful.

they were all just as flawless as jaehyun.

you would have to refer to them by their features, as there was no indication of their names. truthfully, the idea that you may never know, made this all the more fulfilling. letting four strangers do whatever they wanted to you, was the pinnacle of desire.

the silver-haired boy made sure to greet you first, standing next to your right side. though you weren’t sure if gripping your chest through the rope was a proper greeting, it still caused you to whimper from his robust touch. he squeezed your nipples harder than jaehyun, watching you crumble from his assault.

“another slut for me to fuck with hmm? you better hope you make this worth my while.” he snarled against your ear, taking the time to tug your earlobe between his teeth. the kisses that followed were messier than the brunette that stood to your left. you made sure to make eye contact with him and acknowledge his existence despite his silver-haired fiend stealing the show with his unhinged words. the blue-eyed boy had a smug grin on his face, caressing your cheek with no care in the world that your saliva had covered his fingers.

he began to pecker along your collarbone, keeping his eyes locked onto your own, tongue swiping upwards to taste the sweat that had formed on your flushed skin.

“i bet she’s been good so far?” the brunette’s voice caught you off guard, completely teasing, even mocking your predicament. you saw him look forward at jaehyun, then down at the vibrator that was still pressed against your clit.

you hoped to god that he would grab and use it on you. that any of them would use it on you.

“hell yeah she’s been good. taking my cock like a good little slut.” jaehyun licked along his upper lip, baring his canine’s again.

“here...i know she’s close.”

jaehyun offered the vibrator to the brunette, the sensation temporarily leaving your core. you whined in dissatisfaction, hoping it wouldn’t be off you for too long.

“you’re so pretty…”

the blonde haired boy soothed your worries, coming up beside the brunette. his hands were noticeably smaller than the rest, but still just as skillful. he took his slender fingers and began to rub your abused clit in circles. the pads of his fingers were a few degrees colder, but it soon warmed up after making contact with your heated skin.

you jumped, as best as you could, when he increased the pace, and began swiping his entire hand across your wet mound. the sounds of your juices splashing past his digits bounced off of the walls of the auditorium.

he truly proved your point of his devious nature.

the golden boy rushed to jaehyun’s left side, getting a clear view of the mess you kept making. his hands trailed down to palm himself through his black denim jeans. even through your tears, you watched him bite his lip, hard enough to make the skin underneath go pale.

you were so close.

“pl…please. i’m cl…” you thought your words had drifted off into the void, overpowered by the multitude of bodies in the room, but they didn’t go unnoticed.

“awwh, she’s gonna cum. so wet, so pretty…” the fairy teased, taking the time to lower his mouth to your knee, making sure that he had made at least one mark on your skin by the time the evening was over.

the familiar band from within your core snapped. a wave of pleasure surged from your core all the way up to where the silver-haired boy had gripped your throat. moans managed to escape through the hold he had on your neck, stinging against his palms as he squeezed harder and harder.

the sea of white that flashed across your vision had turned red when the fairy’s hand left you and the vibrator took his place. the brunette’s smile grew wide when he witnessed first-hand what overstimulation looked like, and for him to be the one to blame, made an obvious power trip show across his cheshire grin.

you were completely ruined. it was evident by the way you began to convulse, the way you cried out, the way your walls continued to contract around jaehyun’s cock.

“fuckkk, just like that. you're sucking me in so hard. keep doing that sweetheart…”

jaehyun chanted out, an indication that he was close to exploding inside of you.

“take that ball gag off, i wanna hear her scream…” the golden boy directed the fairy to do his bidding, not wanting to pause on his own self-gratification. he had already freed his cock from his boxers, nowhere near patient enough to pull his pants the rest of the way down.

you weren’t still enough for the blonde as he tried freeing the clasp behind your head. eventually with the help of his silver-haired friend, you were finally able to voice your sounds of another orgasm.

“i’m gonna cum again!!” you screamed out, making the rest of them smirk with pride.

“are you even gonna say thank you? ungrateful whore…” the same one that had been giving you the most hell, spat against your ear. his words made it all the more damning; you enjoyed how he tested your mental stability.

“thank you! thank you so much!”

you were sure that you looked broken, slumped from the actions of these four strangers and of course, jaehyun, who was just as close.

his thrusts were beginning to show cracks, losing the rhythm he had held onto for so long. the two of you stared at each other, in your own world as you both came.

with one final snap of his hips, he let out a moan, pumping you full of his seed with every inhale and exhale.

your voice gave out, vocal chords spent from all of the prior screams you produced during your time of luxury.

your mouth hung open as you felt him fill your walls to the brim, creating a salacious mixture that bubbled inside your painted walls.

even though the vibrator had stopped, a phantom sensation caused you to tremble against the now-still wand.

all that remained was the comedown. and you weren’t sure you wanted it to end.

jaehyun remained inside you, drawing out the aftermath of your back-to-back orgasm. a thin sheet of sweat decorated his chest, illuminating under the tan lights.

your breathing had finally calmed down, and by the time you tried to get a good look at everyone, they were already huddled around jaehyun, waiting to see the creampie.

their eyes followed jaehyun’s every move, watching as he exited you with a single plop.

“i’m first.” the silver-haired boy spoke quickly, immediately lowering himself to be level with your weeping hole.

it was obvious that this wasn’t over. and you were more than okay with that.

//tagging: @pradajaehyun @glitchfiles @stargrll13 @the-universe-in-you-jjh

#jaehyun smut #jeong jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader #jeno smut #jeno x reader #haechan smut #haechan x reader #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #feedback is appreciated <3

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kohakurin8 · 8 months ago

Text

~ Elevator Hitch ~

What Does it All Mean!?

A brief theory on the symbolism and lore behind a really cool game

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

This post will contain SPOILERS for the game and all 14 endings. If you wish to play Elevator Hitch before reading, you can download it for free at this link.

So, Where do we begin?

Elevator Hitch is a really cool isolated-loop surreal horror game. For those of you who aren't familiar with this concept, an "isolated-loop" is a time-loop scenario which only affects a single person, small group of people, single room, etc. — but does NOT affect the entire world or universe. This is where it's common to see things like acquiring an item in your inventory, getting murdered, then waking up again at the beginning of the day with the item still in your inventory.

This concept has been used in various different media, and to varying different degrees of complexity. But, honestly, I think this game is my favorite instance of it so far.

So our story revolves around Protag, a somewhat meek and nervous lil guy who comes to this office building to take an interview for a new job. All he knows is that his interview isn't on the first floor, so he gets in the elevator in an attempt to find it. Before the door closes, Coworker forces his way in, and the elevator suddenly shorts out and jams before you two can begin your journey. The rest of the game is your various attempts to exit the elevator (alive) which get increasingly bizarre — especially after Protag realizes that whenever he dies, time restarts to when they first entered the elevator!

Shame Coworker doesn't seem to remember anything, though...

Now, since the lore within the game is pretty cryptic, none of our questions about the situation ever seem to get totally answered. It's up to the player to theorize and surmise just what exactly is happening to Protag and Coworker, and that's exactly what I've come here to do.

Death and Clues on Every Floor...

Literally! Every floor is a single room containing at least 1 clue, and at least 1 possible death — including the elevator itself. But what's even more important than that is the lore that all of these scenes show you.

Interestingly enough, the lore all seems to revolve around who Protag is as a person, to the point that one of the floors is actually his childhood bedroom.

Kind of intriguing that everything about this environment is centered around him, huh?

Hold onto that thought.

Every room and scenario is increasingly more bizarre, featuring anything from Eldritch-esque beings to settings that could almost pass for torture chambers. Every puzzle requires something from a different floor, making it ridiculously easy to screw up and croak, meanwhile Coworker is so maddeningly unaware that even when he tries to offer advice it's just as cryptic as the situation itself.

It all feels a lot... Like Hell...

Not just as an expression, but actual Hell. Mind rending stimuli navigated through tedious puzzle solving, where the penalty is gruesome death and the only reward is more torture. A neverending loop of suffering and confusion. It's all quite hellish!

At first this feels a bit superficial. "Of course it's hellish, this is a horror game!" But, honestly, good horror like this game is rarely ever bizarre and incomprehensible for the sheer shock value. If all of these allusions were superficial, why would we have such a detailed and cryptic conversation with Manuel, the maintenance worker?

Why would every single "correct answer" to the puzzles have sinister undertones?

Why would the religious subtext in Protag's room be so subtle and yet so distinct at the same time?

So if we humour ourselves and follow this train of thought then that leads one to wonder...

Why would Protag be in Hell?

Good question! After all, he doesn't even seem to be aware of having any initial death!

But, we are given breadcrumbs to what sort of person Protag is through the various different scenarios that ensue. Some things are minor details, like his lack of remorse for feeding an innocent rat to a hungry black hole. Others are more intense and significant, like the clues in his bedroom...

Let's start with pointing out the obvious direction that Protag's dialogue trees nudge you in.

After all, this game is a visual novel, so of course there are points when your dialogue options matter and can very well change the outcome of the situation. However, most VNs have options that are distinctly "good" or "bad" for the story directions, often leading the player on a journey of teaching the protagonist how to be a better person.

But Protag.... doesn't become better...

All of his dialogue options are either:

• Confusion, Frustration, Disbelief

• Self-Deprecating, Meek

• Deceptive

• Lashing Out

Obviously some of these options are better for certain scenarios. Deceiving Coworker into giving you his lighter is a way better idea than trying to steal it and burning you both to death.

And deceiving your Doppelgangers into trusting you before your brutal betrayal is arguably better than trusting them and getting betrayed in return.

But none of these options point to Protag being a good person. As much as he learns to adapt to his environment, nothing he does teaches him how to be a better person than he started out as. In fact, some of them even lead him to commit murder himself!

Of course, this isn't saying that Protag is necessarily a bad person either. After all, his initial reaction to the Doppelgangers is to trust them and even show them pity.

We also get a lot of information about Protag from the floor that mimics his childhood bedroom. He was monitored constantly by overbearing and religious parents, to the point that one of the Bad Ends is his parents entering the room.

He couldn't sleep, plagued by nightmarish beings which he even made drawings of, and had to take sleeping pills just to cope (which may or may not have been hidden from his parents as well)

Considering this, and just the sheer amount of existential dread Protag has upon visiting this floor, it's very possible that his parents were abusive. His personality issues are probably a result of that abuse, meaning even though he isn't necessarily a good person, he also isn't inherently a bad one.

The Allusions of Suicide...

This should honestly come as no surprise, but this game does have a lot of potential allusions to suicide. Especially when taking into account what suicide means in Christianity...

I first noticed this in the dialogue on Floor 9 with Normal Guy, as well as the dialogue contained in Ending 13 (screenshot above). During the interview on Floor 9, Protag seems to struggle with answering most of the questions. When asked why he wanted a new job, all of the answers imply that he doesn't actually know why, and when asked why he left his old job, Protag states that "it wasn't a Real Job" or at least not one viewed as respectable.

Then, when attempting to leave the Lobby on Floor 1, Protag is blocked by an alarming figure who berates him. The figure taunts Protag with phrases he's likely told himself, like "you worked so hard to get here" and especially "you NEED this job"

Now, this game absolutely LOVES its workplace puns, and something about these ones just struck me as significant. Upon further reflection on everything going on, I realized that these phrases are almost synonymous with suicidal thoughts.

As someone who's experienced this myself, I understand that a lot of suicidal thoughts are rooted more in the desire for change, and not the desire for death. So consider this...

Protag isn't looking for a new job, he's looking for a new life. His old life didn't feel "real" or "respectable", likely because of whatever abuse he endured from his parents. After all, his childhood bedroom is described by him as his "old place", meaning he likely was living with his parents until somewhat recently.

So then when he finally passes the interview — passes this hellish elevator trial of self-discovery — and tries to flee, he's stopped by the thoughts of regret for taking his own life.

"You worked so hard for this new life, why are you throwing it away?"

"You NEED this change."

"You can't go back to what you were before."

Then there's the Sleeping Pill found in Protag's bedroom. It's not found in a pill bottle or any other typical storage, but rather it's under the bedsheets. This gives the impression that the pill either fell out of Protag's hand in bed, or that he was hiding the pills from his overbearing parents.

Then there's the fact that sleeping pills are a very common medium for attempted suicide.

This leads me to suspect that Protag either overdosed in an attempted suicide as a child, causing his parents to become even more protective.

Or... This is how Protag ended up at the office building in the first place...

Welcome to Protag's Purgatory

Yeah, you may have guessed it already, but I am in fact suggesting that Protag has committed suicide and is currently trapped in Purgatory. After all, if you consider the distinct hint at his religious background, it's not unlikely to be following the Christian belief that suicide will condemn you to Purgatory. In fact, the opening of the game, where Protag feels like the only one who doesn't know where he's going, is a reference to the nature of Purgatory.

Consider, also, the nature of the game. Everything you do in it is a sort of trial, and it all tests the nature of Protag's true self. Not to mention that Purgatory is an unchanging limbo, just as the game paints a picture of an unending time-loop on repeat.

Protag took his own life, and his penance is to be trapped in an unending trial of self-discovery. Floor 9 resembles Heaven, like Cloud 9, where Protag is administered one final test. Normal Guy gives Protag the option to have become a better person, and possibly pass on to a better afterlife, however our dialogue tree tells us that Protag hasn't reached that level of self acceptance yet.

Therefore, the only options are what appears to be working in Purgatory (possibly like Manuel), enduring the trial over and over again, or as hinted by the eerie staircase downward in Ending 14, descent into Hell...

You're probably wondering if this theory accounts for Coworker, and it certainly does. After all, he seems rather unperturbed by the events he's undergone. I suspect he also committed suicide, but didn't have the same background of religious guilt that Protag had growing up. Coworker knows that he's supposed to go to the top, that he's supposed to pass on. He's at peace with who he is and where he's going, therefore he doesn't endure the same personal torture that Protag does.

No matter what ending you get in Elevator Hitch, nothing truly changes for Protag, because he himself hasn't changed. It's possible that there is some sort of future where Protag can change and move on — in fact, Normal Guy even hints that speaking to Coworker more could be the key to his salvation — but this possible future is one we will never see.

Because that's not the point of the game. The point is to become immersed in the torture which Protag goes through, and to try and unravel the mysteries of who he is and what he's enduring.

So there's my thoughts on the game. I hope you all enjoyed reading, and I'd love to hear any comments or input you have!

#elevator hitch #studio investigrave #racheldrawsthis #indie horror game #game theories #analysis #itch.io #elevator hitch protag #coworker elevator hitch #normal guy #this took two days to write help

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outoftheseine · 2 years ago

Text

- MATT MURDOCK FIC RECS -

(here is to my favorite lawyer by day and vigilante by night)

brief note: most fics contain canon trigger warnings (blood, violence, death, assault etc.) so please be aware of them.

main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

please don't be mad • matt murdock x fem!reader all i need is you

↳ by @chvoswxtch (angst, smut)

matt murdock x age gap!reader

↳ by @multiharlot

15 ways to love matt murdock • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings

ONE-SHOTS/BLURBS/HC'S

strawberry rhubarb • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @ellephlox (blood, torture, forced nudity)

these broken things • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (angst, mentions of murder and blood)

steal my warmth • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @devils-dares (very fluffy)

discordant • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @ellephlox (angst, sex trafficking)

always here • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @blackshadowswriter (hurt/comfort, angst, nightmares)

like real people do • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amhrosina (angst, hurt/comfort, nightmare trope, tw: panic attack, mentions of trauma and child abuse)

jealousy • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @devils-dares (jealous!matt, allusions to smut)

care packages • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @chvoswxtch (very fluffy, mentions of violence)

how sweet it is (to be loved by you) • matt murdock x afab!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (oh very sweet, smut, virgin!reader)

green is the color • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @courtforshort15 (angst, but happy ending, reader is insecure of her relationship with matt)

angel • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @peterman-spideyparker (so much angst :(, death)

sincerely, anxiety • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @brokebonewritings (so fluffy, i related too much)

never an ear strain away • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amchapel (fluff, honestly i smiled a little too much while reading this)

it's in the details • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @onewholikesthings (fluff)

you are in the kitchen humming • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @shadesofsteve (veryy fluffy, a little hurt/comfort)

always so good with the kids, and kids absolutely love him • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @yarrystyleeza (this was so sweet :'))

the comfort of your relationship • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @slightlypossessed (so much fluff, i love soft fics like this)

small acts of kindness • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @mattmurdockspainkink (fluff, mentions of sensory overload and anxiety)

thinking about • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @murdocksluvrr (such a cute drabble, fluff)

halo not included • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @undiscovered-horizon

more • college!matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @itwasthereaminuteago (smut, virgin!reader)

without you • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @foli-vora (so much angst, can't wait for part 2!)

bruises • matt murdock x gf!reader

↳ by @goldustwomun (angst, injuries, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort)

first of many • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @coalix (smut)

what's your middle name? • matt murdock x fem!reader

↳ by @thegingerwriter (fluff and smut)

make amends • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @honeycombstrawberry (assault, angst but fluff, hurt/comfort)

again and again • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @imaginesfordifferentfandoms (angst, blood, comfort, fluff at the end)

"i no longer know where i end and you begin" • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @mattmurdockspainkink (this was so so cute and comforting, just fluff)

tracking the devil • matt murdock x enhanced! reader

↳ by @mattmurdocksscars (angst, injuries, ex lovers)

wanting • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @coalix (i LOVED this, angst but happy ending)

afterglow • matt murdock x reader

↳ by @amhrosina (so. much. angst but happy ending)

stray • matt murdock x gn!reader

↳ by @itwasthereaminuteago (fluff)

#fic recommendation #daredevil #matt murdock #charlie cox #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murderdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x female!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x gn!reader #marvel #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut

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imagining-in-the-margins · 2 years ago

Note

For the audience challenge - how about pregnancy themed fics? ❤️

Well, this is a popular one... 🤭

Smut

Domesticity: Reader gets worked up watching Spencer with kids. He notices. (Content Warning: Breeding kink, established relationship (married), unprotected sex)

Santa’s Gift: Reader asks her husband what he wants for Christmas. (Content Warning: Spencer/Reader have a son, Christmas mention, mentions of the Santa story, established relationship, breeding kink, unprotected sex, trying for a baby)

Thimble of Honey: Fantasy!AU, Fairy!Reader. Spencer falls for the fairy in his garden. (Content Warning: Fantasy elements, Magical!Reader, Fairy!Reader, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, brief allusion to breeding kink/pregnancy, marriage mention, nickname “Princess”)

Different Kind of Daddy: After a rough day, Reader has good news for her husband. (Content Warning: Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, DD/lg kink, alcohol, Reader’s weight is implied)

Fluff

Painting by Numbers: Spencer is still a little worried about his pregnant wife painting the house.

Practice Run: Spencer and Reader take on Derek’s challenge to babysit.

Impromptu: Reader learns some shocking news when a case lands her in the hospital. (Content Warning: Hospitals, unexpected pregnancy, concussions)

Moral of the Story (Series): (NSFW) Spencer has a surprise for you on the night before you two get married. (Content Warning: Unprotected sex, breeding kink, marriage, jokes about infidelity, Garter removal/toss)

Keep reading for Angst Fics & Series !

Angst

From the Tree: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call from their nanny. (Content Warning: Kidnapping, fighting, knives, children in danger, guns, death (minor character), murder, happy ending)

Stork Song: Spencer and Reader try to find intimacy again following a terrible loss. (Content Warning: miscarriage, trouble conceiving, potential infertility, crying, yelling (brief), grief, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, vague references to divorce (does not happen)

Phoenix (Series): (NSFW) Spencer Reid had a secret, and now you have a funeral to attend… Rewrite of the Emily/Doyle arc with Spencer taking Emily’s place. (Content Warning: gun violence, major character death (faked), heavy portrayals of grief, heated arguing/yelling, pregnancy/miscarriage)

Lily of the Valley (Series): (NSFW) Unsub!Spencer was found guilty but mentally ill after the torture and murder of several men. He finds solace in his psychiatrist at the institution. (Content Warning: institutionalization, state hospital, Doctor/Patient, Major Character Death (not shown), Mentions of death/murder, public sex, penetrative sex, forced sedation/tranquilizer use, needles, kidnapping, displays of force/violence, rough sex, chemical and physical restraints, knives/cuts, blood, reproduced/false depiction of a rape scene, DubCon (in that neither party wants to be violent, but both feel it is necessary), tearing clothing, choking, crying during sex, pregnancy discussion, guns, yelling, arguing, murder, death, stabbing, implied threats of assault on a woman)

Thanks for reading!

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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thechaoticdruid · 1 year ago

Text

[Firsts 2/2]

Pairing: Astarion x Named! F!Tav

Plot: Winnie and the party have infiltrated the Goblin Camp and are on their way to rescue the Archdruid Halsin. Astarion's flirtations are just as persistent as ever, leading to a spicy proposition later at the tiefling party.

Content/Warnings: MDNI SMUT THERE IS SMUT!Fantasy bigotry towards goblins, violence with light gore, goblin death, sexual humor, heavy sexual content post tiefling party, virginity loss, PiV sex, fingering, ass grabbing, finger licking, blood drinking, errors may be possible, ooc moments probably. This part is LONG as fuck, 7, 570 words. Also no smut till the end btw, but plenty of horny teasing. Oh right forgot to add a warning for brief descriptions of torture (goblin camp shenanigans) and allusions to Astarion's trauma. I was tired last night while writing this .

First part: [1/2]

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Great, goblins. It just had to be goblins.

Winnie let out an internal sigh as her and the rest of the party entered the heart of the goblin camp.

The sounds of drums filled her ears as she looked over the chaos before her. She recognized someone up on a stage, a bard she'd previously met in the druid’s grove. Looks like he didn't heed her warning about goblins.

Typical. No one ever listens.

Winnie turned back as she noticed her companions making observations. Shadowheart was inspecting the merchant goblin’s wares while Lae’zel sneered at the little green humanoids. Astarion on the other hand looked positively thrilled at all the chaos.

“Ah, drink it in. That sweet sweet chaos!” Astarion grinned from ear to ear. “Not that I approve of goblins of course, filthy little beasts, but I absolutely love all this delicious debauchery!”

“Keep your guard up, Star. I wouldn't trust the goblins with a pair of scissors.” Winnie muttered quietly.

“Do I detect a hint of bigotry from our righteous little heroine, hm?” Astarion smirked at Winnie, an eyebrow raised and a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I don't have a problem with goblins, as long as they don't plan on murdering innocents, which this horde obviously is.” Winnie murmured, crossing her arms and looking off to the side. While Winnie was correct, the horde seemed very intent on slaughtering the druid’s grove; it didn't excuse the fact that Winnie had indeed lied about not having a problem with goblins. Ever since they'd reached the blighted village a few days back she'd constantly kept a sharp eye on the little green humanoids, preferring to stay as far from them as she could. It was an aversion that Astarion was quick to prod at since the human female had previously been quite adamant at calling out his prejudice towards gnomes and gur. (Winnie honestly had gotten rather offended considering some of her closest friends had been gnomes!) But similar to Astarion, Winnie had a history with goblins so to speak. Just the sight of them was enough to make her uncomfortable.

The past wasn't important now. Winnie had to remind herself of that. What was important is finding the druid Halsin and hopefully a cure for their parasites. Winnie looked around the camp, checking to see if there had been any sign of a cage or anything they could keep the druid captive in, but as she continued to find no luck it was clear that their search would need to go deeper within the goblins domain.

The camp itself surrounded an old Selunite temple that the goblins had appeared to have taken up residence in. As Winnie began to head towards the entrance she ended up bumping into one of the goblins who'd been telling a story to his friends.

“HEY WATCH WHERE-” The goblin glanced up and quickly looked over Winnie, getting a good look at her. “Another human! You lot think you're so high and mighty! Coming in here like you own the place!” The goblin snarled,”well you ain't nothing!”

Winnie just looked at the little green man with a blank stare. She rolled her eyes before turning to walk away, not about the goblin bate her into a fight. As she began to walk off the goblin blinked in confusion. “HEY I WAS TALKING TO YOU HUMAN!” The goblin quickly went after Winnie, kicking her feet out from under her. Winnie fell to the ground with a grunt, just barely able to stop herself from landing flat on her face. Her hands were skint slightly, stinging from the empact. A small cut formed on one of her index fingers, drawing blood. Astarion quickly whipped his head over from where he'd been. The human’s sweet intoxicating ichor immediately delights his senses.

The goblin moved in front of Winnie, eyes narrowed at her. “Someone outta teach you respect.” The goblin suddenly kicked her chin, “kiss my foot!”

Winnie flinched from the kick, her chin throbbed as she let out a pained whimper. Her fuschia colored eyes glanced back at the goblins' feet.

“Kiss it!” He said again.

“Chk! Don't you dare!” Lae'zel hissed from the side while Astarion and Shadowheart watched in amusement. Winnie leaned her head over towards the goblin’s foot, her mouth was inches away from it. She actually looked as if she was about to press her lips to it before suddenly she jerked her head forward and sank her teeth down into the goblin’s ankle with enough force to break through the skin and draw blood.

“Ahhhhhhh!!!!” The goblin suddenly screamed, “get the hells off me!”

Winnie pulled back and sat up, spitting goblin blood out of her mouth and wiping off her chin. She had left a deep bloody bite mark around the goblins ankle. Astarion let out a laugh at Winnie’s antics.

“Usually biting is my specialty, but I must admit it does rather suit you, darling.”

“You'll pay for that you human bitch!” The goblin suddenly unsheathed his scimitar and took a stab at Winnie. Quickly she dodged out of the way before taking the opportunity to land a swift kick on the goblin’s bleeding ankle.

“Godsdamnit!!!” He clutched his ankle before then losing his balance and falling to the ground.

The druid then proceeded to kick him in the face, knocking out a tooth.

“This is getting fun! Let's gut him!” Astarion said, voice full of bloodlust.

“No please! Mercy!” The goblin cried.

“Kiss my feet.” Winnie crossed her arms and glanced down at the goblin with a glare. “Now.”

“Y-Yes m-ma'm.” The goblin crawled over and planted his lips over the druid’s boots, making the vampire snicker from behind Winnie.

“Now get out of my face.” She said, the goblin quickly ran off, tail between his legs.

“Aww…..I was hoping you'd splatter his innards all over the dirt.” Astarion pouted, voice sounding like a sad child.

“I'm not about to have the entire horde on my ass just because of one little shit. We're not killing anyone unless we have to.” Winnie sighed before feeling a familiar sting on her hand. Blood was still dripping down her finger.

“May I?” Astarion gently grasped Winnie’s hand. The druid’s cheeks reddened as she looked at her hand and then back at him. The pale elf had a lustful longing gaze in his eyes.

Winnie looked off to the side, face flushed.

“I….guess…”

Astarion slowly leaned in, running his tongue over the trail of blood that had dripped down to her wrist. He practically sucked her finger into his mouth to finish off the rest, his eyes staring up at her seductively as he cleaned off her digit before leaving a small kiss on the cut.

“Still a pity you decided to let the little rodent live. You would have looked absolutely ravishing drenched in his blood.~” Astarion purred.

“You two aren't going to start coupling out in the open are you? We still have a job to do or have you forgotten?” Shadowheart crossed her arms.

“As delicious as that idea is, Shadowheart is right. Best get back to the worms.” Astarion hummed, still looking rather smug about what had just occurred. Winnie was a bit dumbfounded at the moment. Legs feeling like jelly as heat rushed to her face and to her thighs. It had been days since Winnie had received her first kiss from the pale elf. Days since they'd come so close to having sex before being caught by literally everyone one of their companions! Gods, Winnie was still trying to recover from the embarrassment.

Their uninvited audience had ended up ruining the mood so Winnie was able to keep her virginity that night. Astarion hadn't made any more attempts to bed her since then, but his flirtations were still going strong. Winnie took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure before continuing on with her companions.

They didn't spend too much time on the outside of the camp. Winnie had peacefully convinced one of the goblin ladies to release an owlbear cub who was being tormented at the camp. Peacefully convinced meaning threatened to kill them if they did not release the poor beast.

Afterwards the young druid gave the cub a pat on the head before allowing him to get a whiff of her scent so he could find their camp later.

Once the baby owlbear was out of harm's way they continued on with their quest and entered the

temple. The guards were less than welcoming, but Astarion was quick to exclaim that their little group were all loyal followers of the absolute, true souls in fact. He laced every word with some dramatic flair. The goblins looked at one another for a moment before sighing and allowing them to pass. Winnie took note of Shadowheart becoming increasingly on edge the further they entered the temple, but she refrained from pressing the matter. She assumed if it was important the half-elf would tell her.

The four adventurers stepped deeper into the darkness. The loud wail of a man could be heard coming from off in the distance. His blood curdling screams echoing throughout the chambers of the temple. Winnie poked her head out from behind a corner and immediately spotted a human man strapped to a torture rack. Two goblin males stood next to him winding a little lever to stretch his limbs to their limit as the other goblin questioned him.

Winnie cringed hearing another scream from the human man. A look of pity flashed across her face momentarily before she quickly assumed a stoic facade.

“Well isn't this intriguing?” Astarion mused, popping his head out from behind the corner.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel joined him shortly afterwards. Winnie walked over towards the rack, eyes looking over the pained and terrified man.

The goblins were cackling their heads off at the poor man’s misery. From what happened goblins were saying this man was a part of the group the druid Halsin had gone with. One of the goblins suddenly turned back to see Winnie.

“Come to join your friend, have you human?” He asked in a mocking tone. Winnie looked over at the man. He started right at her, his face battered and bruised, tears had been streaming down his face.

“Friend? I've never seen the idiot before in my life.” Winnie said, keeping a calm and composed face. She stared at him before looking back at the goblins as an idea sparked in her mind.

“Let me put him through the paces.” She said.

“A human, torturing another human!? Ha! Why not!” The torturer goblin laughed before gesturing for the druid to come forward. Winnie looked over at the tools laid out before her. She kept her expression stoic and unreadable as she suddenly picked up a hot iron poker.

“What are you- NO! NO PLEASE!” The man cried out before feeling the hot melt press against his thigh. He let out another wail of a scream. Astarion smirked, tongue flicking across his lips sadistically as he and the others simply watched.

Winnie then tossed the poker to the side, glancing back over the tools before grabbing a pair of pliers and ripped the man’s big toenail right out.

“There's a hidden village across the bridge! The entrance is covered with moss!” The man suddenly shouted.

“Well look at that, you got him to speak! You're not half bad for a human! And we got what we needed. Come on, let's go tell the drow!” The torturer said to the other goblin before the two ran off. Once they were gone Winnie glanced back at the man, battered and bruised. He appeared to have gone unconscious from the pain. Poor man.

She dropped her facade finally and took a deep breath. Winnie reached into her pack before taking out a healing potion. She unscrewed the top before pressing the bottle to his lips and making him drink. After downing the bottle the human began to come too, coughing as color returned to his face and his wounds slowly began to heal. His eyes widened at the sight of the druid female and a look of fear washed over him.

“G-Get away! N-No more please!” He begged.

“Shh…Calm yourself. You're safe now.” Winnie said.

“Safe!? You nearly bloody killed me!” He raised his voice. Astarion and Shadowheart quickly looked around in case anyone was attracted by the noise.

“Silence him before he attracts the entire horde!” Lae'zel said between gritted teeth.

Winnie put a hand over his mouth.

“The goblins would have definitely killed you had I not shown up. Look, I don't have time for chatting, we're looking for a druid named Halsin. Tell us where he is and we'll free you.” She said before slowly removing her hand from his mouth.

“I-I don't know. He turned into a bear and we got separated. The goblins might have locked him in one of the cells, but I'm not sure.”

“Well that's something to go on at least.” Winnie sighed before taking a lockpick from her pack and slowly beginning to pick the lock.

“If you must free him. Do it quickly.” Shadowheart said as she looked over her shoulder. Winnie continued to fiddle with the lock, biting down on her lip, but even it broke.

“Shit.” The druid cursed.

“Gods, have you never picked a bloody lock before?” Astarion asked in annoyance before gently pushing Winnie to the side.

“Usually I just wild-shape and squeeze my way where I need to go.” Winnie admitted as she watched the high elf take out a pick before skillfully undoing the lock in a matter of seconds.

“Damn, you're good.” The human female exclaimed with an impressed grin.

“Obviously.” Astarion said smugly. The human man dropped to the ground once free.

“Thank you…I should be able to make it to the grove on my own. Someone has to warn them.” He said.

“Best of luck to you.” Winnie nodded, before the man took off.

The four adventurers went in the opposite direction of the human male, continuing their search for Halsin. Winnie took a long whiff of the air, but was unable to catch any hint of a bear’s scent.

Nope, nothing but goblin stink. And maybe human entrails…

The party ventured further down the halls, eventually coming across a floor stained in blood with rats patrolling the grounds. Winnie noticed a strangely erotic dressed man cleaning a blood mace. His outfit somewhat reminded her of something she'd seen a courtesan wear at Sharess's Caress while she was there ‘borrowing’ literature. As her group wandered closer, the man took note of them.

“Welcome child. Have you come to assist with the prisoner?” He asked.

“Oh him? Nah they killed him before I got here.” Winnie bluffed.

“Amateurs. Pain should be savored, cherished.” The man said.

“Uhh…..Okay….” Winnie said, a little creeped out.

“Forgive me. I am a priest of Loviatar, goddess of pain. We worship our lady through pain and it's intricacies.”

“Can't say I've ever heard of her. Not really the religious type myself, but that does sound fascinating in a macabre way I suppose…” Winnie stated.

“If you're curious, I could show you first hand how we please our mistress.” He said. Winnie didn't really care for how he was staring at her.

“Oh, I must see this.~” Astarion said, almost sounding like he was about to moan. “Don't you dare say no.~” He looked at Winnie seductively.

“Yeah…..Not happening. I kinda try to avoid getting the shit beaten out of me. Thanks.” Winnie replied before turning to walk off. Astarion pouted and followed after her. The two of them going ahead of Lae’zel and Shadowheart.

“Your loss, young one!” The strange man called.

“You really are no fun, you know darling?” Astarion sighed in disappointment.

“Astarion darling'' Winnie mocked, “if you want so badly for the creepy sadistic man to spank someone you are more than welcome to offer your own hind.”

“I don't believe he ever said anything about spanking. Is that something you'd like to see?~”

“You know what I meant!” Winnie snapped, face turning bright red with embarrassment.

“Don't be so vicious. I was only teasing.” Astarion smirked, “although you do look absolutely delicious with your cheeks all flushed. Makes me rather hungry…” The vampire moved closer to Winnie, breath hitting the back of her neck.

“You're going to make a pass at me now?”

“Not exactly.” He clicked his tongue, “I merely wanted to remind you that I haven't forgotten how we were so rudely interrupted the other night.” Astarion moved some stray hairs behind Winnie’s ear. “And how wonderful your lips felt against mine.” He purred softly. Winnie could feel her heart speed up.

“Maybe…Maybe it would be better if we forgot it…” She looked off to the side.

“Oh come on, you can't mean that.” Astarion crossed his arms. “After all, you might never get a chance like this again.” He moved in front of Winnie, getting closer to her.

“Excuse me?” Winnie looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You and I both know our days are numbered as long as we have these worms in our heads. Wait too long and you may never know what it's like to feel the touch of a lover. To feel my touch.” Astarion took Winnie’s hand and placed it on his chest.

Winnie shivered in arousal, and swallowed nervously, face feeling like it was on fire as her hand trembled against his muscles.

Oh gods. Man titties….I..er…FUCK!!!

Winnie pulled her hand back before her brain had the chance to turn off. Heat was rushing between her thighs, threatening to turn her mind to mush. She had to get it together! There were far more important things than sex right now!

“Would you quit with the flirting! This really isn't the time!” Winnie hissed before turning to continue walking through the temple. She did her best to ignore him from there on out. As much as his honeyed words made heart skip a beat there was no time for it right now.

~~~~~

The party made their way deep into the bowels of the goblin’s sanctum until eventually they came across the worg pens. Winnie’s nose almost instinctively sniffed as they entered the room. The unmistakable scent of a bear cut right through the foul stench of goblins. The bear looked like he was in one of the pens with two goblin children throwing rocks at him from outside the cage.

“Amicus Animalus.” Winnie quietly whispered the speak with animals incantation before they approached. She needed to make sure that this bear was actually the druid they were looking for and not some random animal.

“Get back!” He seemed to growl at the goblins as one of them aimed a rock right at his head.

“What the hells is going on down here?” Winnie demanded, eyes narrowed at the little brats.

“We're throwing stones at this stupid bear!”

“Makes funny noises when we hit em! Hahaha!”

Winnie rolled her eyes before looking back at the bear.

“Get rid of them!” He growled, voice rough and gravely “free me!”

“Okay, that's enough.” Winnie glared down at the goblin children before knocking their heads together and knocking them out. The adult goblin who had currently been standing by turned towards the human.

“Oi! The hells are you doing!?” She shouted before drawing her bow. Winnie swiftly kicked her weapon from her hands before stabbing through her with her scimitar, the goblins blood spilling all over the floor.

“We're under attack!” One of the other goblins shouted.

“I'll sound the alarm- '' Before another goblin could run for help Astarion shot an arrow right into his throat, making him drop dead.

Winnie quickly shoved the body of the dead she-goblin out of the way before pulling a lever to release the bear from his pen.

The bear quickly charged through the room before smacking a goblin clear into one of the walls.

“Quick! Release the worgs!” Another goblin shouted before the second pen was opened and two huge wolf-like beasts emerged.

“Fresh meat.” Winnie heard one of the worgs snarl darkly. It went charging towards her teeth barred. Winnie quickly assumed her direwolf form and slammed into it head on. Both canines being about the same size gave them around the same estimate of power.

The bear slammed into the other worg while Astarion, Lae'zel and Shadowheart fought off the remaining goblins in the room.

After all of their adversaries had been dealt and the strange bear both took a more humanoid form as Shadowheart tied up the unconscious goblin children to assure they wouldn't cause any trouble.

The bear shifted into an oddly tall muscular wood elf which towered over Winnie. Her eyes widened as she looked him over, not expecting him to be so intimidatingly large.

He's big……

“Pardon the viscera. Nature's bounty should be cherished.” The elf exclaimed, wiping some stray goblin blood off his face.

“You’re Halsin, I presume?” Winnie tilted her head curiously.

“Yes. Did someone send you for me?” He asked.

“We heard you're a renowned healer and we definitely could use some healing.” Winnie said.

“The fact that you fought your way through goblins to find must mean it's urgent.”

“It is. Very.”

“Alright then. Let me have a look.” Halsin leaned in closer, examining Winnie’s face. Behind her right eye something was squirming, hiding.

“Oak father preserve us. You're infected.”

“Unfortunately.” The younger druid sighed.

“I must apologize, but I cannot cure this.” Halsin said sadly.

“What!? Oh, you must be joking! We did all this for nothing!” Astarion scoffed and crossed his arms.

“Skva! I told you we should have continued looking for the creché! Now we've wasted time!” Lae'zel hissed.

“If it would help I may know where you can find answers about your infection. The true souls, others who are infected like you have been taken to moonrise towers. You're more likely to find the cure you seek there.” Halsin explained.

“Perhaps you'd be willing to lend us a hand on getting there then? We did just save your life after all.”

“I would, but these goblins are a threat to the emerald grove. I cannot go anywhere while their leaders still live.”

Winnie thought for a moment. “Alright then. I'll help you kill all the goblin bosses and then you help my friends and I safely get to Moonrise Towers. Sound like a plan?”

“What? Now we have to fight more of them?” Astarion whined.

“Quiet Star.” Winnie said before looking back at Halsin.

“It won't be easy. We may have to slaughter the entire place just to kill the leaders.”

“Ah don't worry. I had a few ideas while looking around the place.” Winnie assured him with a smirk.

Winnie transformed into a rat to stealthily sneak around the area and crawl down into the pit where two giant spiders were held. She immediately had a nice friendly chat with them about how she'd free them and let them eat their fill of their goblin masters if they agreed to fight by her side.

All the while Astarion and Shadowheart snuck back towards the front of the temple, using the high up wooden rafters to sneak around the temple unseen until coming across a secret room full of explosive barrels.

Winnie had noticed some goblins rolling them off to another room when the party had first entered the temple earlier and made a mental note to remember them if need be.

Astarion and Shadowheart rolled them over the rafters, taking as many as they could with them at a time. Winnie quickly undid the locked door, allowing the spiders to escape out and begin attacking the goblins near the entrance.

She quickly climbed up to the rafters to meet up with Astarion and Shadowheart before turning human once again. The three then proceeded to light the barrels and drop them one the majority of the goblins past the spider pit all the while Lae'zel and Halsin fought their way through goblins and attacked one of the leaders, Minthara.

Lae'zel was able to push her down into a chasm after narrowly avoiding some heavy blows.

Once they reached the room where the hobgoblin leader was, Winnie quickly took her direwolf shape and charged down into the fray along with Shadowheart. Astarion stayed up in the rafters and sniped a few of their enemies from afar.

It was a quick and bloody battle, but thanks to the spiders and explosives they ended up on the winning side.

“You did it! You actually did it!” Halsin cheered as the last of the leaders laid dead. Winnie was still in wolf form panting.

“Yes, yes we saved your pitiful grove. Now agree to help us damnit!” Astarion crossed his arms with a sneer.

“I will honor our agreement, but we needn't leave immediately. I'll meet you at your camp tonight and we can set out come dawn.” Halsin agreed, making Astarion let out an annoyed sigh.

~~~~~~~~

The four adventurers eventually regrouped with the other members of their merry band of weirdos and eventually headed back to the emerald grove to gather supplies and make camp for the night.

The tieflings ended up being so grateful for the defeat of the goblins that they actually joined the camp to celebrate. Winnie wasn't exactly sure what to make of it honestly.

She'd hadn't been to any social gatherings since she was a kid. When she moved to Baldur's Gate as a teen there were never any opportunities for her to attend a party since she was basically a street rat whose only companions were a group of adventurers that had gotten in trouble with the Flaming Fists on one too many occasions.

Needless to say she felt very out of place and just sat by the river, drawing in the dirt for the beginning of the party. At least until Karlach spotted her.

“Hey soldier!” She waved at the human female with a big toothy grin. “What are you doing over here?”

“Oh hey Karls. I'm just you know, getting some air. All the people honestly make me feel a bit claustrophobic I guess.” Winnie shrugged.

“Oh come on! I think Gale was looking for you and Fangs is sitting alone pouting because you didn't come to see him.”

“Oh Karlach you know darn well Astarion pouting could mean anything!” Winnie replied, giggling, “I think he started sulking the other when Shadow said his hair looked uneven on one side.”

“You should still go see him. Maybe he'll give ya another kiss hm?” Karlach winked, tail wagging with excitement.

Winnie’s face turned bright red.

“I'm not sure. He was rather um…blunt about wanting more than that earlier…”

“Isn't that a good thing? You should go for it! Go get some action for the both of us!” Karlach exclaimed.

“But I've never gotten action before! I don't know what I'm doing and I look like a fucking potato under these clothes!” Winnie huffed and looked down at the ground.

“Mate, potatoes are fucking delicious! You can do this I know it and I can't get laid so I want you to go ride him for him for me! Now up!” Karlach said, grabbing a large broken branch and nudging Winnie along with it so she wouldn't burn her.

“But I don't wanna top…” Winnie muttered under her breath. Eventually she caved in and walked off to join the others at the party so Karlach wouldn't push her all the way to Astarion herself.

She took a deep breath and glanced about.

The camp was full of tieflings, some were chatting over the fire and Winnie took notice of one lovely looking one who appeared to be trying to make conversation with Astarion. Winnie rolled her eyes.

Pouting because I didn't come to see him, my ass.

The young druid walked off in the direction towards Gale's tent, taking note that Wyll who's tent was right beside the wizard’s appeared to be missing from the party.

“There you are. I was looking for you.” Gale suddenly piped up.

“Oh hey Gale…What's up?” Winnie gave a small smile.

“I wanted to congratulate you. You did a great thing, saving the refugees.”

“I just did what was necessary. But I'm very glad they're alright. Goblins attacking a druid’s grove honestly it's too…” Winnie trailed off, unpleasant memories flooding her mind. “Um….Why was it you were looking for me again?”

“Ah right! I was wondering if you'd like to join me later this evening. I was hoping I could show you something rather….magical…”

“Hm…Magic does sound fun….But I don't know I haven't really decided if I want to really do anything later. I'm kinda tired from all the fighting ya know?” Winnie scratched the back of her head.

“I completely understand! Take all the rest you need! You've earned it.” Gale said.

“Thanks, maybe next time okay?” Winnie gave him a sweet smile before turning to walk off.

“Of course!” Gale called.

The human druid let out a sigh before suddenly one of the tiefling girls ran over towards her.

“For the hero of the hour!” She cheered and patted Winnie's back before handing her a cup of wine. The brunette haired female mouthed a shy thanks before taking the cup and drinking from it.

Her pink eyes looked over to still see the vampire sitting there. A look of discomfort was clear on his face. Winnie finally caved in and began to approach him. “Hey Star…. How's it going?” Winnie asked.

“Ugh it's so dull. I do all this hard work and how am I repaid? This cheap sewer water.” He scoffed and glanced down at the wine bottle he held in his hand. Winnie took the bottle of wine from it and gave it a sniff. It smelled normal enough. She gave it a taste. A bit bitter. Winnie herself much preferred sweet wines, but she didn't see anything abnormally bad tasting about it. She considered going to get a jar of blood she'd found in the goblin camp earlier that day, but Astarion spoke before she could offer.

“Honestly I don't know how you find any joy in playing the hero. It's awful.” Astarion huffed and took the bottle back.

“Awe come on, it's not THAT bad. You got to kill plenty of goblins! And you looked so badass when you hit that hobgoblin in the eye with an arrow!” Winnie exclaimed.

“Perhaps. Slaughtering all the little vermin was rather enjoyable, but it still doesn't make up for this piss poor excuse for a party.” Astarion sighed, “I’m just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun.” Astarion gave Winnie a seductive look for a moment before it vanished.

“I was hoping you'd join me this evening, but it looks like Gale has already caught your attention.” Astarion rolled his eyes. The way he said the wizard’s name almost sounded a little disgusted.

“We just talked. He wanted to hang out later and show me a magic trick.” Winnie insisted.

“Oh yes I'm sure a night with him would be very magical.”

“What do you mean?” Winnie asked.

“Oh you're so adorably innocent. Obviously he wanted to show you his staff, darling.” Astarion said in a teasing tone.

It took Winnie a moment before she turned bright red. “I-I…Didn't think he'd meant that! I'm.. I'm really not interested in him in that way…”

“Good. Then you still have a chance to make the most of your evening. Wait until things quiet down and come find me out in the forest.” Astarion looked off to the side, red eyes looking directly at the woodland area past the river. “There we can spend some quality time together and pick up where we left off before the others so rudely interrupted us the other night.” Astarion purred out.

“Gods, you're persistent…Alright. I guess I'll meet you there.” Winnie gave in. She couldn't help but think back to what he said in the goblin temple. They really could die any day now, so why not just get it over with and have her first time be with a vampire. It would at least be something to brag about when this was all over and they went their separate ways. But there was still the gnawing anxiety of her insecurities. The worry that once he saw her, all of her, he'd be disgusted and back out.

“Wonderful. I'll meet you there once the others have turned in. See you there, lover.~”

~~~~~

As Winnie waited for her other companions to head to bed she carefully and quietly made some preparations, watching as the tieflings left one by one back to their own camp for the night. The sound of music and laughter that had previously filled the air had died down. Winnie grabbed hold of her pack as she knelt underneath the shady tree she kept her bedroll under. She held a jar of (maybe human?) blood and a bottle of sweet dessert wine she ‘borrowed’ from someone at the grove. She packed the refreshments along with two glass chalices, some blankets and her bedroll into her pack. Once the druid noticed Astarion had left and the others had entered their tents she slung her pack over her shoulder and made her way towards the river. Winnie carefully hopped across a long and some stones before reaching the other side and wandering off into the forest.

She sniffed, attempting to pinpoint Astarion's scent so she'd be able to find him quickly. The smell of bergamot, rosemary, brandy and just the faintest hint of death lead her deeper and deeper into the woods.

Eventually once she got further enough away from camp Astarion stepped out into the open.

His perfect pale skin was exposed as he appeared to have discarded his shirt before Winnie had even got there.

“There you are. I've been waiting….Waiting since the moment I first-”

Winnie let out a loud sigh before dropping her comically large backpack she'd filled to the brim with junk. She panted a little before looking up at Astarion.

“Sorry, that was just kinda heavy.” She rubbed her back before bending over to open up her pack.

“Uh….Why the hells did you bring that?” Astarion asked, crossing his arms. He was slightly annoyed Winnie had interrupted his dramatic seductive line!

“I wanted to make sure we'd be comfortable.” Winnie said honestly before taking out a large rolled up bear pelt blanket. She took out her bedroll and placed it over the pelt before adding two other blankets over it. Then the druid sat her pack down on the pelt before sitting. The assortment she'd laid out had made a nice cushy bedding. Winnie sat down on her bedroll before looking up at Astarion, patting the space besides her shyly.

“Come on I uh…I got you something…” She said, Astarion hesitated almost as if he pondered the possibility of this being some kind of trap before taking a seat beside the human female.

Winnie took out the chalices along with the blood and wine. “I found this at the goblin camp and I couldn't help but think about you…You know cause I can't always give you blood and it would be nice to have some lying around for you to drink…” Winnie said, voice speeding up nervously as her face reddened.

“How…romantic.~” Astarion’s seductive demeanor returned as he scooted close to Winnie, trailing a clawed finger over her thigh.

“I-I suppose it is…..I…I…Is it hot in here!?” Winnie felt her face a bit before quickly pouring a glass of wine and drinking it. Astarion looked at her wide eyes as she suddenly realized something….

That was not wine.

Winnie immediately spat out blood onto the grass, holding back the urge to gag. Astarion covered his mouth, his lips curling up into a shit eating grin from behind his hand. It took everything he had not to burst into laughter at the druid’s stupidity. She wiped her mouth and huffed.

“AH! Why is this so hard!?” She covered her face in embarrassment. “I'm sorry Astarion. I really don't know what I'm doing…I want this, but I don't have any idea what to do or say…”

“Darling, relax, let me take care of you…” The elven vampire suddenly leaned in and slowly licked a bit of blood off the side of Winnie’s mouth. He then took the chalice from her hand and tossed it off to the side. Winnie took a deep breath.

“Okay…I'm just nervous…” She looked off to the side.

“I'll be gentle, my pet.” Astarion cupped her cheek, tilting her head back to face him. His red eyes stared fondly into her own before she eventually closed them and leaned in. Astarion wasted no time pressing his soft cool lips against Winnie’s warmer ones, receiving a soft moan as his lips moved against hers. The vampire sucked slightly on them before he teasingly nipped her bottom lip with a fang.

“Mmm!” She moaned, allowing him to slide his tongue into her mouth and deepen the kiss.

Winnie could feel herself melting under his touch, sucking on his tongue as it nearly slid down her throat. She tried to keep her moans from getting too loud, but it only became harder as one of his hands cupped her right breast. It felt so plump, so soft. He was about ready to tear her shirt open. The elf squeezed it gently, his thumb sliding over the top of her breast, feeling over the smoothness of her exposed skin.

Winnie eventually pulled back for air, his tongue quickly flicking over her own as they parted. Despite the fact that it had been revolting for her, the leftover taste of blood in her mouth was actually quite the treat for a vampire.

Winnie flinched as his hands moved towards the buttons of her shirt, causing Astarion to come to an immediate halt and back up.“What is it, pet? Is something the matter?” He asked as a frown formed upon his lips.

“I’m afraid you won't like what you see….” The druid muttered, voice full of shame. This was it. This was when he would change his mind and call it all off.

“Oh sweetie, I've bedded far worse, trust me. And you don't even come anywhere close to any of them.” He gave her a wink before standing up. Winnie was a bit confused as he held out his hand for her. She took it and stood up.

“Look at me, lover.” He purred, planting a kiss on her lips before moving her hands towards his belt. Winnie took a deep breath, trying to ease her nervousness before she undid his belt, slowly pulling his pants down. There was an evidently large bulge growing in his underwear which immediately made Winnie’s face burn brightly. She kept her eyes locked with his before continuing to strip him bare. His underwear dropped to the ground, letting his erection spring free. Astarion took her smaller hands into his own, placing one on his chest and and the other on his ass. “I'm not going anywhere. Not until I've nibbled on every inch of this,” Astarion pulled her against him, his hands gripped her ass, making her squeak “lovely body.”

She gasped, she could feel his hard cock poking her through her pants. Her hand reactively squeezed his ass, resulting in the vampiric letting outa soft husky moan. Winnie furrowed her brows with a huff.

Fuck it.

She quickly moved to pull her shirt off over her head, tossing it over to the side before unhooking her bra. Astarion grinned, tongue flicking over his fangs before he immediately attached his mouth to one of her tits, sucking and licking around her nipple.

“A-Ahh…” Winnie moaned feeling his fangs gently graze her breasts, hands roaming her form before pulling her down her pants.

“O-Oh gods!” Her legs shook, feeling him rub her through her underwear. Winnie tried to grip onto him for balance, but her legs buckled, sending them both tumbling back onto the cushion of the blankets with Astarion on top. He breathed out with a smirk, an almost feral look was on his eyes as his mouth moved up to Winnie’s immediately capturing her lips in another kiss. His hand remained between her legs, now eagerly working to pull her underwear off before he slid a single finger into her cunt.

“Mmm!” She moaned loudly into his mouth, feeling his digit begin pumping in and out of her, slowly speeding up with each thrust. He was gentle, but made sure push up against all the right spots in order to drive her nuts. Her hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as he added another finger, pushing them both in deep while his thumb rubbed back and forth over her clit. “A-Astarion!” The druid whimpered, pulling her head back.

“Shhh..Pet they'll hear you from all the way back at camp.” He teased, scissoring his fingers as he pumped them back and forth inside her. His digits were soaked from how wet she was getting. She whined, burying her face into the side of his neck as she moaned his name again his skin.

“Star please!” The female whimpered into his neck, her lips pressed against it almost as if it were a kiss.

“Oh alright because asked so nicely.” Astarion pulled his finger from inside her, resulting in another whimper as he stared her right in the eyes and slowly sucked his fingers clean, pulling each of them out slowly with pop sound.

He then reached back down and grabbed hold of his cock, rubbing it slowly with a moan as his eyes stayed locked on Winnie. She bit her lip in frustration. He seemed to be going awfully slow on purpose.

Fucking tease.

Once he deemed himself prepared, he lined himself up with her entrance.

“Now, if it hurts too much, be a good girl and let me know.” Astarion said, keeping his tip at her entrance as he waited for her to respond.

“Okay…I'm ready.” Winnie nodded before feeling his slowly push in. She gritted her teeth and grunted feeling a sharp stinging pain as he stretched her out.

“A-Ahh….” Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and she bit down hard on her lip until it bled. Astarion groaned feeling her tight walls clench around him almost painfully tight as he pushed his full length inside.

“Fuck…” He breathed out, cock twitching inside her.

“Star…” Winnie looked up at him, her hips bucking upwards with need. Astarion’s lips twitched upwards and he immediately began to move inside her. Winnie wrapped her arms around his torso almost as if hugging him against her as the slick wet sounds of him pumping in and out filled hear ears.

“Y-Yes…Please….Keep going…” She said, as he sped up, hips slapping against her now. Winnie bit down on the biteless side of his neck in an attempt to quiet her moans.

Eventually however as he slammed harder and harder into her she unable to keep quiet any longer eventually giving up all together as she reached her climax.

“Astarion! Bite me! Please!” Winnie cried out.

“Huh? What?” Astarion asked as if suddenly pulled out of a trance. Winnie turned her head and exposed her neck.

“I want you to bite me, now.” She said.

“Gods yes…” He practically moaned before quickly sinking his fangs into her flesh. Winnie cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. She could feel his thrusts slam even harder now that he had a taste of her blood.

One of her hands roughly gripped his ass, her eyes rolled back into her head as she felt herself come undone. Her vampiric lover eventually following after her, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself completely inside her.

Soon after the two found themselves resting upon the nest of blankets Winnie had been so generous to bring along. Astarion laid on his back, arms resting behind his head and one of his legs crossed over the other as his plump druid lover laid her head on his chest. She kept a blanket wrapped around her, still not quite comfortable leaving her bodice fully exposed.

“Did you enjoy it?” Winnie asked in an almost mouse like voice.

“Hm? Yes, of course.” Astarion replied, staring up at the night sky.

“You sure? You just seemed a bit distant half of the time.” Winnie shifted a little.

“Winnie, you were fine. We'll have plenty of time to practice later.” Astarion hummed. He seemed rather eager to dismiss the subject.

“You mean….You're interested in doing this again?” Winnie asked in confusion.

“With a delicious little plaything like you? Why not!” He chuckled a bit.

Oh…He thinks of me as a plaything….

Winnie frowned. She knew this was just supposed to be about sex, but for some reason it still hurt to be reminded of it. She let out a sigh before rolling over and facing away from him. Astarion glanced over as soon as he felt her move away. He felt a slight disappointment at her retreat, but couldn't for the life of him understand why.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~••~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Note from The ChaoticDruid: This took so long to finish! I'm glad it's done and I hope my attempt at writing detailed smut wasn't too shitty. I'm honestly thinking of writing more fics with Astarion and Winnie that are set during the game's campaign! If anyone wants to request a romance scene from the game for me to recreate with Winnie just send me an ask I guess. I'm up for that. Might take a while though. I'm tired now. BYEEEEE.

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