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myownwholewildworld · 2 months ago

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acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

“I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

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cyber-dump-171 · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 1: Roadside Help

The End is Near (Gravity Falls x Reader)

← Prologue | Masterlist | Chapter 2 →

Word count: 6.9k.

WARNING: mentions of violence, nausea, blood, injuries, weapon and gun usage, a monster, and body horror.

Note: thank you for the likes and reblogs! Btw, this is the first time I write a character with a country accent, I apologize if it's horrible xdd

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‘Good evening, folks! Or is it morning? Well, either way, fantabulous of you to tune in at The New Wave Network, where we’re grooving no matter the time of day! It’s the 2nd of October and the clock strikes at 1:15 a.m. Hoo boy! We’re just a few weeks away from Halloween, so, let’s set the mood with Shadowplay’s new wicked song “The Graveyard Shift”. Have a listen, folks!’

As you step on the accelerator, pine and cedar trees zoom past your window and the outside world becomes a blur. You've been surrounded by greenery and nature for two hours now, and while it's been a pleasant sight at first, you're quickly becoming concerned as the scenery repeats itself. Your destination seems completely unreachable, almost non-existent.

When you woke up two days ago, you didn't expect to uproot your entire life and move halfway across the country for your job. It started when you arrived at the precinct that morning; a week earlier, rumors of a possible promotion in your unit had spread like wildfire, leaving your colleagues and friends suddenly on top of their game.

For example, Craig, who always had food stains on his shirt and an unshaven face, wore immaculate button-downs and slicked-back hair. Jack, who had always flipped the bird at your boss whenever the old man wanted something, now happily made his coffee and showered him with sickly sweet compliments.

You, on the other hand, were content with your position as a forensic scientist. That's not to say that the possibility of a better salary and even having your own office away from the row of wall-to-wall cubicles wasn't tempting, but you weren't exactly desperate for a change within the precinct. You were planning on moving sometime soon.

But that thought flew out the window as your boss immediately dragged you into his office and offered you the opportunity. But what the rumors didn't tell you was that it wasn't a promotion... you were being transferred to another precinct to fill an empty position and it offered better benefits, like a new house and a higher salary... though it was in the middle of nowhere.

It was a tempting offer, and you almost gave in when you were shown a picture of the beautiful house. But something kept nagging at you: the town. Gravity Falls? Never heard of it. Sure, you don't know every single place in the United States, but something about it told you to not take that chance.

When asked why you were chosen, your boss simply replied: “You’re the perfect candidate for this.” He didn't let you probe further into his answer but fervently insisted on hearing your verdict. He almost checked the "yes" box on the form until you physically stopped him.

“I’ll think about it,” that didn’t last long, because as soon as you exited the office and made a beeline to your cubicle, you ran into Jackson Murdock, an asshole who thought he was more important than the moon and who worriedly took far too much pleasure in pestering you, leaning against your desk and sneering that he would love to take said “opportunity��.

So, without a moment’s thought, you turned right back around and shook your boss's clammy, wrinkled hand. His smile was rather off-putting as he handed you the paperwork.

And that's how you found yourself here, your entire life packed into a myriad of cardboard boxes shoved into your car as you drive through a darkly lit, foggy forest. You were supposed to arrive five hours earlier but ended up getting stuck in traffic due to a massive accident.

The soft rock tune from the radio fills the quiet space as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel, desperate to stretch your legs. “Fucking hell, where are you, Gravity Falls?” as if on cue to your annoyed tone, you finally drive past a massive weathered billboard with the town's name accompanied by a: ‘Nothing to see here!’.

“Finally,” you murmur in relief as exhaustion tugs at your eyes, the coffee from earlier did nothing to keep the sluggishness at bay. You lean forward, eyes squinting as your foot deftly shifts to gently press against the brakes, slowly decreasing the car's speed. The last thing you want right now is to miss a possible exit into town and end up deeper in the woods.

Speaking of which, you knew that Oregon was famous for its breathtaking scenery and gorgeous natural landscapes, but where the hell were you driving? Outside your window, the forest looked like something straight out of those recently popular horror movies that everyone in the precinct was talking about.

Tall, monster-like trees stretched far into the sky, their dense foliage and branches so intertwined that it was almost impossible for any of the moon's rays to penetrate through and illuminate the dirt road. Past the bare nature that forms a pathway, there is nothing to see, not even other trees, rocks, or signs of wildlife. It's completely pitch dark and dead.

Your stomach is in knots, perhaps from the lack of food or the scenery outside. Whatever it is, you need to get through this as soon as possible, because you're exhausted, and the less you're near this road, the better. You crank up the heat a little more and take a sip of the now-cold coffee that sits on the cup holder, as the engine of your car hums quietly climbing over a dirt hill, its dim headlights breaking through the thick fog.

But before you get very far, you come across a peculiar sight. Down the small hill, parked on the right between some large rocks, is an old, somewhat battered red pickup truck. Exaggerated clouds of thick smoke billow from the raised hood, and through your window you notice a pair of hands clutching some tools in a desperate attempt to repair the car.

Curious, you approach the vehicle and catch a glimpse of what you assume to be its owner, blowing away the gray clouds while coughing furiously, his small round glasses barely hanging from the tip of his nose and his green patterned shirt stained with grime. Your headlights cast a shadow on the car, and when the man hears the sound of your car’s engine, he lifts his head excitedly, but accidentally smacks his forehead against the hood.

You cringe at the image and watch as the poor man stumbles away from the truck, holding his head in pain as he almost falls to his knees. You feel sorry for the guy, not only did his car break down in the most eerie place possible, but it also happened in the middle of the night. Still, you remain cautious, silently reaching for the police-issued Taser tucked in the left pocket of your coat, which is haphazardly lying on the passenger seat on top of your purse.

Even though the man looks scrawny, and you assume that if he were to throw a punch it would only leave a nasty bruise, you can't help but think that he might want to inflict some harm on you. You've read countless files, back in the archival rooms of your old precinct, of victims who kindly stop to aid others only to be robbed or even murdered in return.

Dazed, the man looks up in the distance at your car, and his eyes light up in pure relief at the sight but are quickly replaced with desperation as he furiously wails his arms around, silently begging you to stop. Meanwhile, you maneuver the vehicle to the side of the dirt road, harshly pulling on the hand brake as you swiftly attach the taser’s holster to your belt before quickly lowering your sweater to cover it.

Cold, harsh air bites at your warm skin as you lower your window, making sure to keep your feet near the accelerator and your left hand on the hand brake to book it as soon as this man tries to do anything remotely suspicious. Soon, two shivering hands cling to your windowsill and you’re finally able to get a better look. You noticed that he clumsily cleaned his face and glasses using his sleeve. ‘He’s rather cute.’

“Yer a lifesaver! I’ve been sittin’ here for what feels like a whole eternity!” he exclaims in a thick country accent, giving you a closed-eyed smile as he shivers from the freezing wind. You make a small note of his fast speech and silently wonder if it’s the temperature or an underlying anxious habit.

“No problem, what can I do to help?” you don't mean for your voice to sound so monotonous, but you're exhausted from the long drive and the eerie atmosphere isn't helping. The man removes his hands from your car, opting to shove them into his pants pockets as a puff of condensed breath escapes from his mouth, his back hunched at an awkward angle. “Do ya happen to have a lantern or somethin’ to light up this here mess? I just wanna see how bad this damage is.”

You decide not to blurt out that his car might be beyond repair, as you swear the thing will burst into flames in a matter of minutes. Instead, you wordlessly reach for the open cardboard box on the floor of the passenger seat, silently thanking yourself for putting your work stuff in the front, as you quickly find the lantern and hand it to him. “Careful, it’s an industrial flashlight so it might be a bit heavy.”

The man beams at your actions, his cold fingers gently brushing against yours as he takes the lantern from your grasp. “Thanks a bunch! Could ya give me a hand here and hold this light for me?” he asks rather cheerfully as you mull over your answer. Well, the faster he gets his car fixed the sooner you’ll be able to get home and sleep.

After a few seconds of silence, you wordlessly nod before rolling up the window to preserve the little heat left inside and then turning the key on its side, your car ceasing its small vibrations as the motor shuts down. You don’t waste any more time as you grab your coat and kick the door open, immediately slipping on the warm attire as your teeth slightly chatter. ‘Fucking wind, why is it so cold? It’s not even winter, yet.’

The man has already made his way back to the pickup, and your tired eyes notice that the amount of smoke coming from under the hood has, thankfully, decreased. Taking wide strides, the dry leaves crunch underneath your boots as you quickly approach the man and gingerly slide your hand out of your pocket, your index pointing to the flashlight.

He perks up at your presence, but when his gaze lands on your face, you notice in the dim light that a small blush adorns his pale cheeks.

He stares at you for a few seconds with a dumbfounded expression, and it's only when you clear your throat and jab your finger forward that he seems to snap out of it, clumsily handing you the lantern as he focuses on the car's motor. A rather awkward silence ensues as you simply shine the light on the battered machine and he quietly tinkers with it. You should ask him his name.

“So, what are you doing out here at such an hour?” you ask, holding back a yawn. The man doesn't look up from his work, but you notice a small, rather endearing smile on his lips. “Oh! Well, my college buddy moved out here about a month ago and was lookin' for a research partner. Asked if I'd help him out and here I am!” he remembers enthusiastically as he looks at you for a moment, quietly inquiring about your reasons for being here.

“I’m the new Chief of Police in Gravity Falls,” if he was about to try something, then perhaps mentioning your work would dissuade him from that thought. Instead, however, his eyes twinkle with what you assume is excitement as he gives you a broad smile. What a bizarre man. “Well, I reckon we'll be seein' each other a whole lot!”

Suddenly, as if processing his words, he pales at the implications of his sentence and stares at you, eyes wide. “N-Not like that! I’m a law abidin’ citizen, I-I swear! We ain’t doin’ anythin’ illegal!” his panicked reaction gets you to laugh out loud, the light slightly shaking in your grasp. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I get what you were trying to say,” as the laughter dies down, the two of you fall back into silence, but this time it is more comfortable.

Unfortunately, it doesn't take long for the man to let out a frustrated sigh as he runs a dirty hand through his caramel blond hair. “Darn it… radiator’s busted,” he mutters under his breath. He won't be able to start the truck tonight; he'll have to look for a spare part. But your conscience won’t allow you to leave him here, especially when you feel as if something might jump out of the bushes and attack you.

Yes, the forest is creepy, but you doubt it is plagued by cryptids. At most, some predators are lurking around.

You lean over to take a look at what's in his truck; there aren't many boxes or luggage stuffed in the back seats, and it seems like everything fits perfectly inside your car. “Hey, how far’s your friend’s house? I’ll take you there,” he perks up, a hopeful expression washing away the worries and stress of the broken car. “Really!? Oh, bless your soul! It should be ‘bout ten minutes from here.”

The man scurries off to put his tools away and pushes the hood shut before getting his luggage out. Meanwhile, you leave the right-hand door of the back seat open as you start to take some things from his hands, wanting to hurry the process as the cold has now seeped into your bones and you can't stop shivering. You think the cold will kill you before any imaginary monster can.

Soon, the man's truck is empty and locked, but just as you're about to climb into the driver's seat, he lets out a small gasp and rubs his hands roughly against his trousers before extending one to you with a polite smile. “My mama would give me a piece of her mind for bein’ so poorly mannered. I'm Fiddleford H. McGucket, pleased to meet ya.”

You return the greeting firmly, noting that his hand is calloused and freezing, as you reply curtly with your name. Fiddleford repeats it under his breath, testing to feel how it rolls off his tongue, but a strong gust of wind causes you both to rapidly let go of each other's hands as you hurry to get into your car.

You waste no time turning on the heater, both of you breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth relaxes your muscles and soothes your frozen skin. Soon the wheels are turning and the sight of Fiddleford's truck grows smaller and smaller as you make your way along the foggy road.

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The ride is peaceful as Fiddleford leads the conversation, telling you a few facts about himself before turning his attention to you, his dark eyes full of curiosity. You cringe a little, not meaning for your voice to be so flat and your responses to be curt, but you're still getting used to socializing and you're tired. You also don’t understand what’s so interesting about yourself.

But Fiddleford doesn't seem to mind, enjoying the brief silences and conversations he has with you as he stares out the window. You also finally start to see some signs of civilization in the form of crude wooden signs haphazardly nailed into the trunks of trees, indicating how far the town is. After a few bumps in the road, Fiddleford pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it.

“Ok… so, when ya see that sign sayin’ we’re three kilometers from the entrance to Gravity Falls, turn left,” from your peripheral vision, you watch as he extends a finger and motions to the side. “Your friend lives quite far away from town,” as the words leave your mouth, you’re made painfully aware of the taser still strapped to your belt. You hope that Fiddleford didn’t trick you… you were starting to like him.

Thankfully, your comment seems to resonate with him as he turns to look at you with an excited expression. “Right!? Told’im the same thing! But he said the place was perfect ‘cause there’s a ‘large concentration of specimens’ or somethin’ like that. Gosh, what a pain s’going to be to go to the market every week,” you can help but quietly chuckle as he huffs in frustration, relief coursing through your body.

Soon the two of you return to your normal routine, and before you know it, you're turning your blinker on and maneuvering the steering wheel as the car begins to enter the man-made driveway. A few meters ahead, you see a bizarre A-shaped house with the lights on, and Fiddleford exclaims happily, "That's the house!"

But just as you're about to step on the gas to start driving up the hill, a figure suddenly dashes out of the trees and you instantly hit the brakes, stopping the car just in time to avoid hitting the person standing a few inches from the hood. You and Fiddleford lurch forward as you gasp in shock, staring with wide eyes and fast-beating hearts at the scene ahead of you.

You grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white as you hold your breath from the momentary fear that quickly turns to worry. In front of you, a young boy, no more than 16 years old, stares blankly at the window like a deer caught in the headlights. His face is deathly pale, his cheeks sunken as his chest rises and falls at an increasingly rapid pace, puffs of white steam quickly condensing against the cold air. It’s almost invisible, but you notice he’s trembling either from the cold or fear.

But what makes your stomach fall is the state he’s in. Three long cuts decorate the lower part of his jaw, the blood around the wound is dried, he has a busted lip and a large bruise surrounds his left eye, you can see that he is having trouble keeping it open, perhaps it is already starting to swell.

His blond hair is disheveled, mixed with twigs, leaves, and dirt. There are several cuts and other wounds on his neck and near his stomach, his shirt has four large gashes, although he does not appear to be bleeding in that area. But that does not explain the fact that his hands and part of his forearms are covered in dirt, moss, and a combination of fresh and dried blood.

From what you can see, he's wearing pajamas and doesn't appear to be armed or carrying any kind of weapon. Nevertheless, he appears to be in a state of hysteria and shock so any sort of rapid or sudden movement could lead to a violent reaction or you could scare him away. You must approach him with caution.

You get out of the car, taking care to open the door gently but quickly, not hearing Fiddleford's warning to wait. The sound of the door seems to wake the boy from his stupor, and as you expected, his face falls swiftly and he begins to back away, his body shaking uncontrollably. “Please… don’t hurt me,” his voice trembles, filled with panic as his eyes become crystalline, tears threatening to spill.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just worried, are you okay?” you stay put, making sure your tone is as gentle as possible to not alarm or scare him away. You notice that the atmosphere outside is deadly quiet, you can’t hear the singing of the crickets, much less the howling of the wind. ‘What the hell is going on!?’

“I need to know you’re human,” the boy demands in a shaky tone, having put a good distance between you and him. You raise an eyebrow at his request, but he seems deadly serious as his forehead furrows and his jaw clenches, his fists balling up as if ready to fight if you don't comply. “How do you want me to prove I’m human?”

For some reason, the question seems to put him at ease, as he relaxes his posture though he remains rather hostile. “I… I don’t know but… I-I just don’t know who to trust,” through whispers, tears spill from his eyes as he holds a hand out, terrified. You stand still for a moment, completely confused as to what to do, but it seems the best way to calm him down is to tell him about yourself.

“My name is (Y/N),” you begin and gently close the car door as you take a step forward. The boy perks up, teary eyes staring at you in confusion. You continue, slightly shivering as a gust of wind passes by, yet you don’t hear anything but your voice. “I’m 27. I graduated from Backupsmore as a forensic scientist… um… I hate bees and my favorite color is-”

Before you can finish, the boy suddenly bolts from his spot, his frail arms quickly wrapping around your torso and hugging you as tightly as he can. Unfortunately, due to the force, you come tumbling down, your back harshly scratching against the dirt. You're shocked for a moment, but then you feel his tears rapidly soaking your sweater and his bloody hands tightly clutching the material as he wails loudly, the sound reverberating through the dead ambient.

Somewhat stiffly, your arms embrace the boy, one hand gently rubbing circles on his back, which is shaking as he sobs. His skin is frozen, he's been out for a long time. Fiddleford quickly gets out of the car and crouches down beside you with a worried look on his face, quietly asking you if everything is alright. You just give him a small smile in return, hoping to reassure him.

"M-Miss, please help me, I'm so scared," he mumbles between loud cries, hiding his face in your shoulder. You just nod and guide him through some breathing exercises to help him think more clearly and calm down. When the crying ceases, you take off your jacket and drape it over his shoulders hoping it will warm him up a bit, while Fiddleford gently places a hand on his head.

"Let's start at the beginning, what's your name?" your question in a soft tone. The boy lifts his face from your shoulder and two red-rimmed eyes look at you sadly. "M-My name is L-Lawrence W-Woodworth," he replies scared, the words barely leaving his mouth as he shivers. "Nice to meet you, Lawrence. This is Fiddleford, my friend," the brown-haired man gives the boy a slight smile as he nods.

"You have to tell me what happened, how did you get here?" Lawrence shudders at your words but dryly swallows, as if to gather courage, and begins "W-We were coming back from my house, Dylan, Kyle and I... we were working on a s-school project. And out of nowhere, I don't know what it was, but s-something came out of the trees and..."

His palms harshly wipe away at his eyes, though he winces as he grazes the injured one. Fiddleford silently encourages him to continue as he rubs his shoulders. “I-It ripped Kyle’s s-stomach out… D-Dylan called 911 and t-then in the woods something that looked like Kyle but wasn’t Kyle… it even talked like him… it was just standing t-there and i-it started to chase us… w-we got separated and somehow I ended up here…”

You can't believe what you're hearing. If it weren't for the fact that Lawrence looks completely paralyzed with fear, you'd think this story was taken from a horror book. Could the monster be a product of the possible trauma of seeing his friend badly hurt? Or did they mistake the killer, who was standing at a long distance from them, for a more twisted version of a friend? Those are the only explanations you can currently come up with.

You look up and notice that Fiddleford has a much more serious look on his face, he seems to believe everything the boy says. But before you can question him, a bloodcurdling scream followed by a distorted roar echoes through the forest and Lawrence looks up, what little color he had regained in his face drained away. "DYLAN! OH GOD IT'S DYLAN! I HAVE TO GO GET HIM!"

Lawrence is about to run off into the woods when you grab his wrist to stop him from moving, causing the boy to yelp in pain. "Sorry, but you're not going, you're injured and putting yourself in more danger. Fiddleford, take Lawrence to your friend’s and call the police. I'll look for the other boy," you order firmly, before getting up and going to your car, opening it forcefully and diving between all the boxes.

Behind you, you hear Fiddleford gasp in surprise, his boots breaking several branches as he quickly approaches your figure. “(Y/N), be extremely careful, please. Whatever it is, it's dangerous. Please tell me you're carrying a weapon or somethin’,” the man exclaims worriedly. You quietly nod before you notice a small, thin, black briefcase, unfamiliar to you tucked between some cardboard boxes labeled “kitchen”.

Quickly, you unlock the clasp and open the lid, revealing a Smith & Wesson Model 4506 stored in the middle. Your stomach twists, this would be your first time using this thing. But you swallow that fear, a kid is in danger. Fiddleford gasps as he watches over your shoulder as you quickly load the gun with nine rounds and strap the holster to your belt, right next to the Taser. "Don't worry, it's police-issued, I've got a license and I know how to shoot."

You quickly head over to your driver’s seat, shut the car off, and grab the lantern that you stored in the glovebox. As you turn around, you quickly shove your car keys in Fiddleford’s unexpecting hands and turn over to look at Lawrence, who’s now standing up, still trembling. “What does your friend look like?” you walk over to the car, momentarily covering one of the headlights.

“D-Dylan’s tall, has short curly black hair, dark skin, and glasses. H-He was wearing… I-I think I white T-shirt,” you nod, creating the mental picture of his friends as you begin to sprint over to the forest. “BE CAREFUL,” Fiddleford’s voice filled with concern sounds distant as you book it, the cold wind cutting at your skin.

The forest is deadly quiet, the only sounds you can hear are your rapid breathing and the crunching of dried leaves and twigs as your boots stomp over them. Your stomach curls into a knot and your mouth goes dry as the faster you run, the darker your surroundings seem to get.

"DYLAN!?" your voice echoes through the trees as you flash the light around you. There are only trees, trees, and more trees! They are all starting to look the same. And the fog makes it worse as you can barely see past a few feet in front of you. You exhale exhaustedly, pausing for a moment as you try to regain your sense of direction. Your muscles ache from the sudden movement, you were more used to a life behind a desk than running in the field.

"OVER HERE! PLEASE! HELP ME!" your head whips to the right as you hear the distant screams of a young boy. There was no time to waste, as the force you used to push yourself forward caused the soles of your feet to kick up a patch of dirt and moss. You call his name again, trying to locate him more easily, and he answers, his voice much clearer now.

Soon you come to a clearing illuminated by the moonlight, and sitting against the trunk of one of the trees, his head tucked between his head and a hand on his left shoulder, is the boy who fits Lawrence's description.

"Dylan? My name is (Y/N), I met your friend, Lawrence, I'm here to take you to safety," you say breathlessly, watching as the boy slowly lifts his head, tears streaming down his face as he quietly holds back a sniffle. "L-Lawrence is okay? H-He's not hurt?" you nod softly and quickly walk over, kneeling in front of him and as you give him a warm smile.

"Yes, he's with my friend now, and help is on the way. Are you hurt?" now that you're closer, you notice that there's a deep cut on his left cheek and that his glasses are nowhere to be found, most likely lost while running through the woods. As you gently encourage him to roll over, Dylan hiccups, having cried the last of his tears, before carefully removing the hand that was holding his shoulder.

Underneath his bloody palm are two deep, heavily bleeding cuts that look very similar to the ones on Lawrence's shirt. Up close, the injury looks unnatural, and you can't put your finger on what could have done this; you assume it could be something like a hook, but the width of the gash is much wider than a butcher's hook or something heavier. "I-It got me when I tripped on a corner. I managed to f-fight it off though," he admits sheepishly, dropping his head back to his knees as he recalls the encounter. So that was the scream.

"You were incredibly brave, don't be ashamed, Dylan," you whisper comfortingly, focusing your attention on treating the wound. Placing the lantern on the ground, you grab the bottom of the sweater with both hands and pull in different directions with enough force that the threads begin to snap. Ripping the fabric until it reaches above your belt, you pull so that it goes around your waist, gathering enough to make a makeshift tourniquet.

Dylan watches quietly as you successfully separate the torn piece from your sweater. "Okay, this is going to hurt, but I'm going to wrap this around your wound, okay?" he nods shakily at your instructions, lowering his knees and stretching his injured arm out to the side. You quietly guide him to take deep breaths as you slip the fabric underneath the armpit and tightly twist and turn the cloth, softly apologizing when he winces or gasps for air.

After a few seconds, you tie a knot with the remaining cloth, successfully stopping the bleeding for the moment. Dylan tests his arms by stretching and moving the limb before standing up and grabbing the lantern left on the grass. "Where did the attacker go?" your eyes scan the area around you, but the overwhelming darkness and fog make it impossible for you to see what is beyond the clearing. The area is so quiet, so devoid of life, that you can hear your heartbeat, which begins to pick up as you hear the crunch of leaves and twigs.

Dylan and you have not moved an inch.

"Mooooooom," a distorted and crooked voice wails sadly from the trees, shaking you to your core. Its pitch goes up and down as it gets closer and closer to where you're standing, calling out in pain, searching for its mother. It doesn't even sound like a human, let alone an animal, it's as if something is painfully trying to imitate human speech.

Then you remember what Lawrence said: something that had the appearance of his friends yet it wasn’t him. There's no way... there's no way that things like that exist… Those are just myths, right? You feel Dylan tense up next to you and the light source emitting from the lantern begins to shake in his grip. The creature is determined to find you, it keeps calling out, and whatever it is, it is big, as the ground beneath it shakes and rumbles slightly whenever it takes a step.

"When I tell you to run, keep going straight until you find a hut. Don't stop and don't look back," you command in a hushed whisper, feeling your heart pounding loudly against your chest as your nimble fingers quietly unlock the holster and grab the handle of your gun. “O-Ok, please be careful, ma’am,” he replies, holding the lantern tighter.

Soon the footsteps are shaking the pebbles scattered across the ground and the mushrooms growing in the trunks of the nearby trees, and you can feel the vibrations in your ears. Beside you, Dylan slowly begins to back away from the noise, inching closer to where you first entered, while you stare at the source of the sound. "Mooooom... I want my mom," it cries again, this time louder, and you shudder at the disgusting tone in which it speaks.

"I hate it... why does it sound so much like Kyle?" Dylan whispers through clenched teeth, this time further away from you. So you were right, it's trying to imitate human speech, but you wonder why it's calling to its mother. You don't have time to answer as a massive figure begins to break through the mist, and you hold your gun tightly, raising it so that the barrel points straight at what you assume is the creature's head.

But you freeze up as soon as the thing reveals itself. The monster is incredibly tall, it reaches to the middle of one of the pine trees and you estimate it to be about two meters in height. It is dragging its arms on the ground, massive hands with dirty nails pointing up towards its pale and bony palms, and its head is tilted to the side, in a childlike manner.

Sunken and completely hollow eyes with a single silver dot are staring directly at you, the toothless mouth is open wide, creating an oval shape in which you can’t see anything other than an empty void, while distorted boyish cries are coming from the deepest parts of its throat.

Worst of all, you finally understand what Lawrence and Dylan were saying. It has copied the appearance of a young ginger boy, but because its body is so large and deformed, it looks as if it has stretched an image of what you assume to be Kyle and plastered it onto its body.

The skin is ghostly pale and looks pulled and torn, its hair is a mangled mess with various bald spots revealing a fleshy black interior, and its "clothes" look painted over and reveal a thin torso with paper-thin skin that closely exposes a skeleton with way too many bones for you to count. It twitches unnaturally as it just stands there, looking at you while begging for his mother without moving.

You can't begin to comprehend what the hell is in front of you. It doesn't feel real, the lack of sound around you, the intense fog, and the imagery make it feel like you're in a lucid nightmare. But you're brought back to reality when you realize that Dylan is still behind you, crying softly as he stares at the mockery of his friend's image. "Run on the count of three, okay?" you don't take your eyes off the creature.

"One," your body's facing forward, you move your dominant leg a step back, both feet planted firmly on the ground as you aim the barrel to hit right between the monster's eyes. It doesn't move, only keeps twitching and wailing in a deep tone.

"Two," you steady your body and take a deep breath as your finger hugs the trigger. Behind you, Dylan prepares to run. Once he's gone, the moonlight will be your only guide during the fight. Your heart beats faster as you take one last breath...just get this over and you’ll go home…

"THREE!" without wasting a second, you squeeze the trigger and fire, a flash of bright light shooting from the barrel and the bullet lodging deep inside the creature's head. The sound of the gun being fired echoes through the forest and you swear you can hear birds flying from the trees and some of the sound comes back. Dylan has already started to run, straight ahead as you instructed.

The shot sends the monster reeling a few steps back, but in retaliation, it lets out a distorted roar so loud it makes your eyes vibrate with pain. You don't let that deter you, though, as you load the second bullet into the chamber and prepare to fire at the creature's chest, right where you think its heart is. Unfortunately, it recovers rather quickly and stands up shakily before charging at you like a bull, swinging one of its gigantic arms in your direction.

You're able to dodge the attack, but the limb is so heavy that as soon as it hits the ground, the force knocks you to the ground and the weapon almost slips from your grasp. Luckily, you hold on tight, but the creature is relentless, one of its clawed hands grabs your right ankle, its sharp, bone-like claws digging easily into your flesh, tearing some of the skin. You grunt loudly, your teeth clenched as tears sting your eyes, but you aim the gun at the creature's shoulder and fire.

As the bullet connects with the skin, the monster screeches and painfully removes its claws from your ankle, nursing its new injury instead. You back away as fast as you can, grunting in pain and after a considerable distance, you do your best to stand up, limping slightly as you plant your feet firmly on the ground and load another bullet.

And you fire the third one.

And the fourth.

And the fifth.

“Won’t you just die already!?” you scream in frustration, fear and paranoia seeping into your mind as you watch the monster rise from the ground once more, five small holes in different parts of its body spilling a tar-like liquid onto the grass, staining it. It's almost invincible, no matter how many bullets you fire, it seems to do nothing but temporarily stun it and make it scream horribly.

You jump to the side as the monster charges forward again, but it miscalculates and runs straight through the tree instead. The impact is so powerful that it leaves a massive hole in the trunk, but it is temporarily stuck there; as it struggles to free itself, you waste no time finding its ankle and stomping down as hard as you can.

You almost fall forward...you did not expect its bones to be so fragile. But you almost rejoice in pure happiness as you've found its weak spot; it seems that physical actions are more effective. So you don't stop, kicking and punching with all your might as your limbs easily leave dents and holes in the monster's body. Your hands and boots are covered in the slimy dark substance, but you don't care, you're not going to die here.

In your angry tirade, you fail to notice that the creature is now free of the trunk. It turns, an arm swinging violently, making contact with the side of your torso, sending you flying to the other side of the clearing, where you crash hard into another tree, the air escaping your body as your lungs burn from the pain and your back cracks loudly.

Tears cloud your vision as the monster walks toward you, its actions mimicking a predator that has finally caught its meal. Your hands desperately search your surroundings for your weapon, but as you cough violently, you realize that the weapon has been crushed under the creature's weight on the other side of the clearing. “Oh fuck,” you mutter as the creature stands before you and wastes no time reaching down, its claws digging into your neck as it lifts you into the air.

You struggle to free yourself, your throat slowly crushed under the monster's grip, as something cold and plastic digs into the side of your hip. The Taser! As dark spots begin to fill your vision and your lungs burn, your hand reaches for your belt, unlatches the holster, and shakily pulls the device out.

Your scratched thumb quickly locates the switch and flips it on, and with all your might you jam the probes against the monster's skin and squeeze the trigger. As the volt of electricity coursed through the thing's insides, it let out a blood-curdling scream before dropping you to the ground. The pain is so great for the creature that it falls to the ground, rolling on its wrist.

But even though your world is spinning and you want nothing more than to throw up and fall asleep, you push through the pain and stand up shakily as you sprint to the monster and mercilessly stomp on its head, its skull cracking against your sole and the grass. You keep going, even when there's nothing left but a messy pile of mush and the tar-like substance, you don't stop.

You want this thing dead. Gone. Fuck whatever this thing is.

“(Y/N), STOP! It’s already dead!”

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Tag list:

@rotknox @devotee-of-bill

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #stanford pines x reader #fiddleford mcgucket x you #fiddleford mcgucket x reader #bill cipher x you #bill cipher x reader

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year ago

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CM Office Party Challenge 🎉

The following are prompts including an Office Party! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed!

This event is over (Masterlist of Fics here), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!

🎊 Prompts 🎊

It’s a BAU kid’s birthday!

The BAU throws a ridiculously large/lavish bridal/baby shower.

It’s rare that the BAU gets to celebrate the return of an old team member.

The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B.

After sharing sad prom stories (or lack thereof), Penelope throws a BAU prom.

It’s characters first Missed Holiday Meal (MHM). It’s also the first time a holiday meal actually felt like home.

The team discusses holiday traditions. Characters decide to try a few out.

The FBI is throwing a family picnic. The playful competitions get a little… heated.

It’s the anniversary of the BAU. The team throws a party to celebrate the greats.

Penelope planned a Murder Mystery party… with a bunch of criminal profilers. Great. (Bonus if a non-profiler wins)

The BAU has been dealing with a lot of stress. Penelope plans a day at a pottery shop so everyone can make something. It causes even more stress.

The team pairs up to play the newlywed game. Someone starts to notice that, despite not being partners, A knows the answers to every question about B…

Rossi is finally (actually) retiring. The party brings together friends that haven’t seen each other in years.

An anniversary/award brings back old team members. There used to be a time when they couldn’t fathom a week away from one another, but they haven’t spoken in years.

More Prompts Below + Create your own! 🎉

Each team member has to find an obscure holiday to celebrate (pi day, random acts of kindness day, unicorn day, etc.). Character goes above and beyond.

Character has very surprising responses to Never Have I Ever. They have even more shocking admissions.

There is nothing that a bonfire can't fix.

Characters are stuck at a party, but they can't stop thinking about each other (based on "Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier).

Characters always find each other. Even at a masquerade, when their faces are almost entirely covered.

A party is the perfect place to see a new side to your coworker.

🎄 Holiday Specific Prompts 🦃

Halloween prompts / Winter Holiday prompts

It’s time for Penelope’s Halloween Party! Someone comes in an… unexpected costume.

The single members of the team decide to host a lonely hearts club dinner on Valentine’s Day. Two people leave together.

Characters end up beneath very suspiciously placed mistletoe at the holiday party.

Character accidentally started an ugly Christmas sweater tradition which somehow turned into a contest.

After an awful case, the team comes back on Christmas Eve to find that Penelope has gathered their loved ones and quickly decorated the BAU as a surprise.

Character only wanted to reveal that they are someone's Secret Santa at the BAU Christmas Party but they end up confessing a lot more than that.

🎂 Dialogue Prompts 🍰

"... Surprise?"

"What are adults supposed to do at a kid's birthday party. Does anyone actually know?"

"Whatever you do, be sure to avoid the food. I don't know who made it, but it's awful." "Oh, it uh... it was me."

"If you help me win, I'll owe you one great big giant favor."

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I think you're bluffing." "Am I?"

"You are the last person I expected to have attended clown school. I figured your clownish nature was inherent in who you are."

"So, if you had to guess, who do you think is going to drunkenly confess their love for someone else at this party?"

"The year is over. Did you accomplish everything you hoped for?"

"I fucking hate balloons."

"What's the point of a fridge on the jet if not for a celebratory drink?"

"If we're stuck here all night, we might as well have fun."

"I love you. I do. But you are a terrible Santa."

"Next time, I'm in charge of the karaoke mic."

🎈Rules 🎁

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds writing challenge #criminal minds prompts #cm fanfic #cm fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #emily prentiss #tara lewis #luke alvez #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #matthew simmons #derek morgan #david rossi #jennifer jareau

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mar3ggiata · 3 months ago

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professional help, c15. The Viper.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Don Raffaè, Fabrizio de Andrè

abstract: it's Simon. here I am talking to Jude again, this time it gets too far, the police are involved… no just kidding (I wish someone would just take her away, believe me). also is anyone gonna tell her to stop using this bloody dialect of hers? it sound stupid anyways and I can't understand a word she says. bye.

T'agg ditt Salvo, è venuto a trovarmi a danza, io dovevo mangiare e gli ho chiesto se voleva cenare. Poi avrei portato fuori il cane e mi ha detto che era pericoloso da sola e mi ha accompagnato'. She was in her bathroom in her underwear, painting her toenails while on the phone with Salvo. She usually did this to make her feet seem more normal, she hated the blisters and calluses from wearing pointe shoes. If she didn't hurry up she would be late for work. She told him the Lieutenant had visited her after ballet class and since she needed to eat, she invited him out. Then, he suggested they'd walk the dog together since it was getting late. 'Fra, te non hai capito questo chi è', Salvo insisted. He was very surprised to hear that Lieutenant Riley, the one he briefly met years ago was going out and having dinner with his friend. Going out in general, really. 'Non ha famiglia, glieli hanno uccisi tutti, è una macchina da guerra, io e i colleghi avevam paura.' He told her back before he even met her, he heard stories about him. That a mission had gone sideways for him and his whole family had been killed (she felt terribly bad for asking about it). He told her that he was a killing machine, that him and his teammates feared him. She put away her nail polish. 'Salvo agg capit…Jinx lascia!' She said while trying to get a hold of her dog who stole her slippers. She sensed she was about to leave and decided to make it impossible for her to get ready in peace. She told her friend Simon had been actually nice the night before, she had to give him that. He kept going on saying few ever saw him without his mask on, that it was some kind of unspoken rule and he would get annoyed if someone tried to take it off, that he had survived hell and so on. She didn't tell him he ate a burger in front of her.

She asked if he was married, he said he had never saw him even speak with a woman that wasn't a coworker, that he probably lived a quite secluded life. She said she believed him. It's not a big deal, she said, but he got my fake name. Salvo paused. He won't know about… the other stuff, Alba. You're fine, he can't possibly know. She finished getting ready, and got to the base. She had an easy day ahead, she would start many of her appointments on zoom, some of her patients were deployed all over the world. Christmas is in a few weeks as well, she thought. It made her sad. She remembered Christmas dinners and parties very well in Italy, they had lots of traditions, they used to play board games and drink and eat together… She still did that by herself, unfortunately Jinx didn't know how to play cards. Salvo was still in Korea and she didn't think he would be back in time to see her. He would visit Italy and celebrate there, she thought. She sent him a message on the way to the car, to tell her about his plans for New Years.

She got to the base and when she turned the corner to get to the office she stopped. Simon. In front of her door. Except, she didn't smile this time. One time, I appreciate, two times, you're kind and caring, what's up now? To confirm her thought that something wasn't right, as soon as he saw her, Simon started walking towards her. What did I do now, do I need to run? He was wearing a black tight shirt and cameo trousers, his boots heavy on the ground. He looked scary, she even took a step back when she saw him coming towards her. He was as scary as an avalanche. It was so weird, now he saw him as he really was. A soldier, a man of war. He killed for a living, he wasn't her new little friend. Are you gonna kill me as well?

'Let's go' he said when he approached her. 'What? I have patients', she replied, he went past her at this point and turned the corner. I'm not following you Simon. What is he on about? He stopped when he noticed she wasn't behind him. 'Alba, let's go, you're not working today.' He insisted, and she just got more annoyed. 'No.' She kept a straight face and crossed her arms. 'And don't fucking call me that.' She hissed. She was confused, to say the least. He scoffed and took a step towards her. Why do you have to make things difficult now, I'm just trying to do my job. And yes, I am calling you by your pretty name since I can't get it out of my head. She took a step back, away from him. Was she afraid of him? He felt a burning pressure in his chest. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders to seem less intimidating. Does she think he would hurt her like that other soldier did a year ago? If she only knew how much he thought about her, last night. She couldn't imagine how much time he lied awake, one arm between his head and the pillow, thinking so hard about her he felt his brain melting. Her lashes. Her voice. Her nails, the rosy colour of her cheeks.

'Laswell ordered me to come get you. She wants to see you.' He spoke with his voice soft, gently scrunching down to make up for those 30 centimetres that divided their eyes. Just come with me. He saw her relax, her expression softening. Still, she was frowning in confusion. 'My patients…', she looked like a confused little kid, she looked like when you do your maths homework with your dad at the kitchen table and you're tired and heartbroken and you're not getting any of the maths. He figured bossing her around wasn't really the way to win her heart. 'Already taken care of.' She had a white turtleneck on. With that, her blonde, silky hair, her translucent eyes piercing through his soul, she looked like an angel. She looked like a cloud, like an elf, the Lord of the Rings ones. 'You could have fucking told me earlier.' There she was.

He sighed and took off with her trough the corridor. 'What's going on?' she asked, and he didn't reply. 'If you don't answer I'm gonna fucking scream', she was nearly running, to keep up with him and he quite liked seeing her mad. 'She's gonna tell you.' He quickly glanced down at her. Her makeup looked different but he could not really pinpoint why. It made her whole face look brighter. They walked to Laswell's office, took the lift in silence. She smelled nice. Tangerines, flowers. It was a fresh smell. He opened the door of the office for her. Inside, Captain Price, Laswell, Calvin Klein Handsome Boy and Scotland were in the room staring at her. Her and the Lieutenant behind her. They looked like they were about to yell 'Surprise!' and balloons would appear and they would eat cake. Or they were just waiting for her and Simon to arrive cause they were invited for dinner. Or maybe they were going to play hide and seek until one of them found her and had the pleasure to kill her while the others watched. She felt Simon's presence behind her, she was too concentrated scanning the room but she could swear he gently pushed her back to make her get inside the room. 'Jude, thanks for coming, I'm sorry for making you skip your appointments.' Kate smiled and indicated she sat down at her desk. She was not gonna sit down. She took a step foreword and waited her to speak, her arms stiff at her sides, back straight. What's going on. Why the meeting, why this many people.

'Jude, Ghost told me about your theory. The crater.' Her eyes shot up at the captain, how spoke from beside the window. She looked at him 'Did he?' She whispered, then she looked at Simon, or better in the situation, Ghost, who was standing at her right. He was standing legs spread and arms crossed. Traitor. I told you not to say anything. She was ready to apologise for interfering. She shouldn't have trusted him. She had to change her job for sure, she had to leave again. She messed up too bad this time, she managed to mess up the only good thing about her life… Now this really wasn't a comfortable situation for Simon either. He had some explaining to do. He went to see the captain the night before and told him everything. 'I don't know if she's right to be honest. The crater is there and it's a good natural hiding spot for sure. I don't know if it's good enough intel', he had said. Price had thought for a few seconds. 'Listen Simon, I trust your judgement. I don't want to know where and when you talked to her, but we have a job to do…' he tried to interrupt, but he kept going. 'No, no don't worry, I don't want to know about your personal life, to be honest it would be nice to see you settle down and she really is a nice girl…'

'Sir, I-'

'The thing is, if she's wrong and this was all a little game we could waste time, lose our target and put our men at risk.' He managed to investigate further and found out Jude was right, again. Jude 2 - Ghost 0. He briefed his teammates that morning, who asked how he got that information and in which setting he spoke to Jude, which he replied was classified. They looked at him and they knew he was hiding something. He didn't even want to know what they thought. 'Yes, you see, we have a camp, headquarters near Al-Jareena, a few soldiers are still there. Yesterday night, after I was informed about what you found I sent them in the desert, they stopped…' he got close to the table and indicated the map that was placed in the middle '…about here.' She moved closer to the table. 'I sent two drones ahead. They found the crater, about two miles from where the cars had stopped.' He was typing on the keyboard of a laptop. He showed her the screen, she could see the video tape that the drones had recorded. It was in night vision, she couldn't see well, but the image was mostly clear. He spoke again while the video played. 'You see, there are snipers here… and all the way here…and when they got close to the centre…' he stopped, but she understood.

She could see buildings, tents. A camp. She could see people moving around, she could see a campfire. Guns. Then she spotted it. On the side of a tent. She looked up at the captain, her eyes bright with excitement. She could fucking cry in that moment. The viper print on the tent, eyes bright red. Khorram's troops were inside the crater.

notes: translation: 'Ti ho detto, è venuto a trovarmi a danza, io dovevo mangiare e gli ho chiesto se voleva cenare. Poi avrei portato fuori il cane e mi ha detto che era pericoloso da sola e mi ha accompagnato'. means 'I told you, he came to see me at ballet, i needed to eat and i asked him if he wanted to have dinner. Then I would have walked the dog and he said it was dangerous to go alone and he came with me.' 'Fra, te non hai capito questo chi è' means 'Bro, you don't understand who this is'. Fra is the abbreviated version of 'fratello' which means brother. When two are really close is common to call each other fra, boy of girl we don't care, even because it's a funny word, it's fake gangsta slang. I call my girlfriends fra all the time. 'Salvo agg capit…Jinx lascia!' means 'Salvo, I got it…Jinx let it go'.

notes: one of alba's perfumes is disumano by morph. (disumano means non human).

notes: can you tell I'm back at uni, I'm posting again lol

taglist:

@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

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promitto-amor · 1 year ago

Text

Opportunity

It's been a WHILE since I was on Tumblr, but I find myself inspired to write and Mark Hoffman reappeared in Saw X at the most opportune time...

Summary: Mark Hoffman has a special interest in the Rook at his precinct. After she blows off post-work drinks for a date, Hoffman can't let the opportunity to make a move pass by when she turns up at the bar with a familiar date.

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Ivy Reeves (original character)

Warnings: Language!

There aren't nearly enough Mark Hoffman fics out there so this is my contribution. Who doesn't like a jealous Hoffman hmm? Ivy is mine from a fanfic I never finished years and years ago. I've brought her back for this one shot because she needed a name for this fic to work. Please feel free to insert your own name! This is pretty PG for me! Also I will forever headcanon that Adam lived. 👀

Mark didn’t like work drinks. Ever since he had been converted, the thought of alcohol always turned his stomach to lead. The temptation to once more travel down the path of blackout nights was always too great and Mark had to keep his wits about him.

He couldn’t afford to slip up. One slip up could spell the end for him.

Clenching his fist around the non-alcoholic beer that had sat in front of him for the last hour, Hoffman surveyed the throng of drinkers. Among them was Fisk, his occasional partner and first Detective on the Jigsaw case. A man that was too simple for this world, simple enough to have achieved the rare feat of never prompting Jigsaw to put him in a trap. Beside him was Rigg, a future victim, but for now Rigg could live his life in the ignorance that his time was being drained as fast as his third drink. Kerry looked how Mark felt. She’d spent most of the night staring at her gin, too down about Eric Matthews to be in much of a social mood, despite Rigg’s encouragements.

It seems that Matthews himself really was the life of the party. Too bad he’s stuck in some cell of Jigsaw’s making to join them for Friday night drinks.

The only other person who could have made the night somewhat better would have been Ivy. The youngest on their serial killer task team, Ivy had taken to staying late, volunteering to take on swabbing through the heaps of evidence recovered from the latest game. Whether this was due to a morbid fascination with Jigsaw’s modus operandi, or ambition to get ahead in her job, Mark wasn’t sure. But it certainly made the nights when he had to stay late less lonely. With his fellow co-workers becoming more despondent since Matthew’s disappearance, Ivy’s lack of inter-work relationships was refreshing.

Ivy made the best coffee in the office and was the only person to remember that Mark took his coffee black.

A body slumps down beside him, Fisk leans in close to him. “Reckon I’ll be able to get two weeks off?”

“You planning a vacation?” Mark tips back his glass and tries to finish it, but there’s too much left to down in one.

“Thinking of it.” Fisk admits, “I feel like things might be slowing down. I know we had one last week but…hey doesn’t look like anything big is planned.”

“Could just be a matter of time.”

“Maybe,” Fisk grins. “All the more reason to be out of the city when it happens.”

Mark would like to trap him for that alone, but sadly if he could have left New Jersey and Jigsaw behind, he would have been in Europe by now. There was a time when he thought about it. Around the time Ivy had become more present in the Jigsaw case, Mark had allowed himself to fantasise about starting a new life in another country. A new face and a warm smile to wake up next to. But John’s recent resilience across the border in Mexico had proved Mark will never be free until Jigsaw and his puppet apprentice were both dead.

Fisk casts a look round the bar, “Where’s the rook tonight?”

“You’ve gotta stop calling her that.”

”I know,” Fisk nods. “Force of habit, besides she is still new to the task force.”

“Even so she’ll punch you for that soon.”

“I notice you’re avoiding my question.”

Fisk is eying him and so Mark has no choice but to grumble out, “She has a date.”

“Interesting.” Fisk enunciates every syllable and leans back on his bar stool. “Any idea who?”

“No.” Mark seriously considers ordering a shot, “That’s all I know.”

“Good for her.” Fisk says, “For making sure she has a life. Important that, you know?”

Mark’s known him long enough to get the hint, “I’m fine, Fisk.”

“I know,” Fisk says again, his eyes now on Kerry. “I guess better to be single than caught up with a married colleague.”

Maybe John would allow Fisk to be trapped on the basis of being a gossip?

The bar door opens a couple of times as Fisk continues to chatter about a variety of topics. Mark offers one worded answers whenever suitable. On the fourth time the bar door opened, Adam Stanheight walks through the door. He doesn’t know who Mark is, but Mark knows the wannabe PI well.

This kind of dive bar is where he’d expect Stanheight to frequent. A place where lost souls gather to watch the same generic rock bands, play pool and eventually hook up. Exactly why Mark’s precinct usually favours it. Easy to get lost in the flow of people that gather. It is not the sort of place anyone should bring Ivy Reeves on a date.

She slides in after Adam. Rigg spots her immediately and sends her an enthusiastic wave. Ivy pauses on seeing her coworkers, whispers something to Adam and he too looks over. Adam’s eyes dart from Rigg to Ivy and on her taking his hand the two make their way to the bar. Mark notes Ivy puts as much distance between their position and her position at the bar as possible.

Fisk’s eyes are watching everything unfold, “Isn’t that-“

“Yeah.”

“From the bathroom game.”

“Yes.”

“The one that just appeared.”

Ivy had been the one to speak with a nearly dead Adam Stanheight, who appeared at the Angel of Mercy hospital at some godforsaken hour. He’d been dumped in an empty bed and hooked up to an IV with saline solution. Apparently it had given the nurses quite the scare and when all Adam could say was the word ‘bathroom’, the hospital had been quick to call in the Jigsaw task force.

Mark knows who freed Adam. He’d heard the same rant from Amanda over and over about how interfering Doctors should stay in their lanes.

On that rare occasion, Mark had agreed with her.

Ivy’s eyes track across the room and Mark hopes she might be looking for him. Taking the opportunity before him Fisk calls out, beckoning Ivy over. Mark waits for her to find him and once she has Mark offers her a small nod. She looks away and her hand subconsciously tugs at her top. When she turns back to them Ivy holds up a finger and Fisk shoots a smirk at him.

“What are the odds?”

“She can date whoever she likes.”

“Never said she couldn’t” Fisk is watching him like Mark has become his favourite TV show. “You jealous?”

“She’s ten years or so younger.”

“So?”

“Shut it, Fisk.”

Ivy accepts a drink from Adam, who hasn’t stopped talking since they arrived and takes a cautious sip. When she thinks it’s been long enough, she glances over at Mark again. He catches her eye again and this time, Ivy has little choice but to whisper in Adam’s ear and make her way over to them.

“Did you know we were coming here?” Fisk ask as soon as Ivy’s in earshot.

“No,” She says, leaning in close to hear Fisk over the chatter. “Adam knows this place, an ex-friend of his used to play here.”

“Hoffman’s been missing you.”

Mark’s definitely putting Fisk in a trap. Even if he has to lie about the reason. Ivy’s eyes slip back to him, “I doubt that. You all look like you’re having so much fun.”

“Sarcasm?” Mark asks and Ivy sends him a shy grin.

Adam sidles up behind her. He rubs the back of his neck, “Didn’t think I’d see you guys so soon.”

“How you doing?” Fisk starts up small talk with Adam, as if he really cares about his recovery. This leaves Mark the perfect opportunity to corner Ivy. He stands up and leans on the bar, blocking Fisk and Adam from her line of sight. “How’s the date?”

Ivy sips her drink. Her eyes look in all directions but at Mark as she searches for her answer. She’s uncomfortable. But for what reason? Is it because she’s out with a victim of the case she’s working? Mark doesn’t even know if that would count as a conflict of interest. Ivy finally answers in a voice low enough that Mark has to lean in, “Adam’s my usual type. He’s nice enough, made me laugh on our first date.”

Mark places his empty glass on the bar top. “But not enough on a second date?”

Ivy’s fingers tighten on her own glass, “I thought I would enjoy it more than I am.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She glances over at Kerry and Rigg, “I should say hello to them.” She glances back to him, as if asking permission.

Mark seizes the opportunity, “You knew we were going here. Did you convince him to take you here tonight?”

Mark didn’t need to be a Detective to read the guilt that washes over her. “I wasn’t feeling it much when I agreed to go out again. I thought if we came here, where you were, I’d have an easier way out.”

He presses in a little closer to her. Ivy’s eyes jump over his shoulder, like a skittish doe, no doubt checking on Adam. Mark knows he’s sizing her up, the dare evident in how he’s gotten so close to her. “Do you need a way out, Ivy?”

“No.” She balks and takes a step back. She tips her drink back, places the glass on the table and crosses the short distance to reclaim Adam from Fisk. She leads her ‘date’ over to the pool tables and Mark retakes his seat by Fisk.

“I like him.” Fisk announces, “He plays electric guitar.”

“He still stalking people and taking their pictures?”

Fisk shakes his head, “Didn’t ask, but I doubt it.”

Mark’s eyes stalk Ivy as she collects the pool cues. Adam is lining up the balls and then he’s leaning over Ivy, helping her break. Not that she needs help. Mark’s certain Ivy’s played before, judging by how she lines up her shot and pockets a stripe.

“I’m going home.” Mark announces, “Someone’s gotta be coherent in the morning.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fisk nods, “I’ll tell the others.”

Mark sidles over to the back exit, where he’ll deliberately pass by Ivy. She’s leaning against her pool cue, chalking up the end when Mark presses himself behind her to get past. “Your opportunity is leaving.” He murmurs in her ear, hands finding her waist. He knows it’s a cheap move, but Ivy tenses deliciously under his touch. He doesn’t care whether Stanheight is watching or not. Mark pushes open the back door and heads for his car, parked just a couple of feet away.

Thankful he’s made it another night without drinking, Mark puts the key in the ignition and waits a couple minutes. Just as he’s about to drive away, the backdoor opens. Ivy walks straight for his car, opens the passenger door and climbs in.

Mark leans back in the driver’s seat and waits for her to speak.

“Just take me home, Mark.”

“I don’t know where you live.”

She turns her head to face him, “Yes, you do.”

Mark sets off. He lets the silence linger between them as Ivy plays with her fingers. The small bag she’s been carrying around all night is on her lap. Mark can tell the silence is eating at her, but she’s too stubborn to speak first. When they are less than five minutes away, Mark gives her some mercy. “What did you say to get away?”

“I said forensics had found something.” She heaves a sigh and runs a hand over her face, smudging some of her mascara. She’s still beautiful to Mark.

“Why’d you lie?”

“Because I wanted to be with you.”

Her admission unsettles him as much as it pleases him. To have won another kind of game, one Mark has rarely ever let himself play is thrilling. He could see how it could become addictive, but Mark isn’t going to be smug about it. Not much. “I didn’t think you’d entertain the idea of someone like me.”

It should be more of a warning than it is. He should be pulling over, telling her to get out. Mark knows he should do everything he can to make her hate him. But Mark can only resist one temptation tonight.

Ivy doesn’t answer as he pulls up outside her apartment block. Mark smirks as the cliche, loaded question leaves him, “Do you want me to walk you upstairs or are you good?”

Finally, she looks at him, “Do you want to?”

He bites back a growl. “Of course I fucking want to.” He says, holding onto the last remnants of his restraint. “You’ve been on my mind all fucking night, Reeves.”

She reacts at once, climbing across the gearbox and onto his lap. Mark just pushes the seat back in time as Ivy settles herself. His hands don’t know where to hold, his bravado from earlier abandons him when Ivy is bearing down on him in all areas. She looks down at him for a second and then her lips are on his.

--------

How tempted I was to keep this going, but sometimes a tease is better than full smut no? You can let your imaginations go wild from here. 😈

#mark hoffman #hoffman saw #mark hoffman saw #saw movie #saw x #mark hoffman x original characters #poor Adam can't catch a break!#saw #saw franchise #fanfic #jealous!hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #fanfiction

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cephalonserotonin · 8 months ago

Text

Devstream 178 Notes

Megan has cool pants! Rebb has a cool earring!

Dante Unbound

next week!

"We wanted to bring lore! Important for us for people who want some texture… with their food…?" lol

Hence, even though there's no quest with this update, lots of lore! Drusus and other leverian stuff

Dante prex:

They mentioned no sticky corners and someone in the audience cheered.

Styanax deluxe

Nipple talk

Gauss Prime's little goofy run is gonna be an emote! for plat! "This is only a microtransaction panel" - Rebb

Banshee, Loki, and Nekros voidshells!! And some Loki QOL: some buffs, customizable invisibility, and an augment!

Easter bunny ears have FUR (using tech for the companion rework) and are now PERMANENT! "Nobody could stop me," - Rebb (Geoff boos)

Protea prime! Including her gear!

And Velox prime, Okina prime, Rhoptron prime syandana (this is GORGEOUS), a bonus alt helmet that moves, and an ephemera (no asset for this yet)

Yareli deluxe!, the Kompressa deluxe

"If you haven't played Yareli, maybe depending on where you get your warframe news…" LMAO the subtlest shade. I've liked Yareli from the beginning and definitely thought the initial backlash to her kit was overblown, so

blah blah soulframe

New update between Dante and Tennocon featuring the Stalker: Jade Shadows

Jade, our 57th warframe

Cinematic quest update from the Stalker's point of view!

J is the second to last letter we need to cover the alphabet, we're just missing U Audience member: what about Umbra? Rebb: No, that's Excalibur Umbra. If your arsenal said Umbra Excalibur you might stand a chance in court.

Warframe 1999

Very much a Warframe update, but a different style of update. New lore, lots of content, a new Warframe chapter. The gorgeous Arthur is our poster boy.

It's not a single player Warframe spinoff, a "Warframe 2" (I confess I was among those theorizing this). Those nipples stay on.

and now, waking up from his nap… it's Ben Starr! "Arthur is a very mysterious character who I am bound by NDA to say… VERY little about!" He's SO cool. and REALLY sexy. He's relatable. He's gonna be a badass, he's got a samurai sword.

Excalibur is a frame. Arthur is a PROTO-FRAME.

Just as an aside, Ben is adorable and hilarious, very fun to watch.

Stuff about Conflict between humanity and the non-human.. "you don't perceive humanity without how it reacts to others."

a first look at Aoi, our proto-Mag, and I am GAY SCREECHING

Bike: the atomicycle

Q&A

Audience member in a (Uniqlo?) metal gear rising revengeance shirt that Rebb recognized and appreciated: when is my man Caliban getting buffed? A: If Pablo were here, he'd say ask me at TennoCon.

Q: any other warframes getting reworks? A: Inaros rework coming with Dante unbound. Loki rework not planned.

Q: What inspired proto-Mag's design? A: Liger did Arthur and Aoi. We had a very specific vision for those two protoframes: Arthur being the "man scout," and Aoi we wanted a nice contrast to Arthur.

Q: Two questions very well worded I didn't get them down in time because I was nodding along. About stat sticks / pseudo-exalteds and trading. A: Stat sticks: we've talked about it but no changes planned. Trading: we've talked about maybe adding riven filters but not much more than that.

Q from guy in Dante DMC trenchcoat: Drifters? Maybe new outfits? A: In Unbound we are bringing one more operator outfit to drifter.

Q: I've been playing Warframe for 10 years, and I'm legendary 4. Any additional benefits for high rank players? A: The social benefits of being a high-rank player are unexplored. In terms of more mechanical aspects… we're thinking more social benefits. congrats on being legendary 4!

Q: When's infested liches? A: Steve is that you

Q In the second metal gear shirt: warframe 1999... dark sector? A: A lot of what Warframe was built on was the scifi part of dark sector that was never meant to be. So it's poetically coming full circle, that 1999 is dark sector inspired. Q: is there a plan for the dark sector remaster? A: 1999 is the dark sector remaster.

Q: Is there going to be fashion protoframes? A: Actually, yes… And that's all I'll say on that.

Q from Leon Kennedy: is squad link coming back? A: RIP scarlet spear. Not coming back in the way you might think, but we're experimenting early days with something you might like. It's in an urn. Geoff: that's pretty dead. Rebb: Someone hasn't played Baldur's gate 3! It's not totally dead, but mostly dead.

Q: Has anyone at DE considered a TTRPG or even a war game? you could blow games workshop completely out of the water. I'd rather give money to you than them any day. A: We're all fans of that kind of content, we'd endorse fan content, but we don't have the time to pursue it. Q: Has anyone considered modular ("kit") frames? A: We have considered it, but it didn't seem shippable. Seemed scope-scary.

Q: Are you, Rebb, personally happy with the way movement works at this very moment? A: Are you asking pre- or post- sticky corners? Q: Post. Also is Soulframe taking from the movement in Warframe? Geoff: Soulfame is very much in the opposite direction of Warframe, movement-wise. Rebb: I always thought it'd be fun to explore wall running in Warframe. But other than that, I love it. I think it's the best movement system in the third person games space. Every other game I play I try and bullet jump and aim glide. Questioner agrees.

Soulframe question I used to catch up on my above notes

Q: If you could go on a date with a warframe, which one?… me, it's Grendel. Ben: what would you do on that date? Questioner: just eat :) Geoff: Excalibur? (Rebb: that's very Raphael-coded of you. Little Baldur's Gate reference for you) Mag: Probably Valkyr. Rebb: why choose? All of them >:) Ben: pick one for me. Rebb: Mirage. Ben: What would I do? Rebb: Circus act. You are the circus.

Q: What was your favourite part of developing 1999, and Ben, what was your favourite part of voicing Arthur? A: Some stuff we haven't announced yet. As with most characters I play, there's something lovable about him despite his rough exterior… rough but he's nice about it. He's gonna do something to you, but he's gonna kiss you afterward. Rebb: I think it's quite sacred to introduce protoframes like this. We're being quite sacred about it (it's not Mag and Excal, it's Aoi and Arthur). Ben: The ways in which you're exploring that dynamic is very cool, and very 90s.

Q: Rebb, what are the things that plague you? A: My plagues are supported by the development team. I'm not alone; whenever I have an ailment, I have someone that to help support me with it. Geoff: I've genuinely never seen someone care so much. He gets teary. \*audience cheers as REBB DESERVES\* Same asker: when is my girl Titania getting buffed? A: Controversial question, she's pretty strong. I could see Tribute receiving some QOL to be easier to use (some Tribute). But those dex pixia, they do kill.

Q in a Warframe sweater with a Warframe backpack!: Which NPC would you be most likely to be besties with? Ben: Fibonacci Rebb: We love you Neil! Ben: If you don't have a cranky fish as a friend, what are you doing. Megan: I love Ordis :) especially little trash can ordis Rebb: you better say Lotus, Geoff >:) Geoff: Lotus. Rebb: Hard not to love Little Duck. We'd be besties for sure, drinking in the back room.

Q: if Teshin can have his head crushed and come back, what about Veso? A: He died a hero, I'm sorry.

Q: When can we get points to Dante his brother? A: ??? audience member yells out "VIRGIL!" Rebb: \*laughs\* maybe the bike is Virgil (This is a devil may cry reference)

Q: clan to clan interaction? Haven't had that since solar rails? A: Ok so in the urn we have squad link.. \*laugh\* We are trying to do more clan events. They work for by the book tasks. There's opportunity there we haven't explored. No leaderboards. I'll try to do more.

Q: I'm curious how you develop characters as a Warframe team. I've noticed a lot of references to mythology. A: it's a library of devs that have passions. The team is just really diverse and loves really cool shit. The amount of inspiration we get to name things thematically, we have touched lore I didn't know existed. When it comes to Warframes, we're still looking at old Keith Thompson drawings… he's built different.

Q: I'm sorry to take you back in the morgue. Void keys. Will there be a return to the old void and endless missions? A: We're not in the morgue here, we're in ICU. Visiting hours are open. I loved the old voidkey system. We did a soft tease with Dagath keys, it had wins and losses… There were user experience problems. But it's not totally dead. The omnia fissures are kind of that vibe. You can bring any relic to an omnia fissure and just haul ass.

Q: Can we get a toggle for Protea's visor? A: The rigging artist working on it talked about it. Maybe. You're right, it would be nice.

Q: Fashion frame question. Have you considered a DE color palette, like, Megan's greatest hits? A: That sounds like a great idea :) We're doing it.

Q: Are we ever going to see new necramechs? A: I hate saying probably not. No new ones in 1999 at least. We're touching up the ones we have before we go to the morgue, and grab a skull, to make a a new one. Sorry

Q holding a Clem plushie: when more Clem??? A: We'll see. Clem holds a special place in our heart. He's not in the morgue, I promise.

Q: I've been coerced into asking a question on behalf of someone who's not here. He's made it clear if I don't get a satisfactory answer I won't see my family again. Are there any plans to look at spawn rates for loot and reactants? A: I'm gonna keep talking until you can get your family out safely, I'm filibustering. There's performance issues, we want to get safe on all platforms. The worst offenders we can probably fix. We can increase reactant drop rates. Loot rates is harder to solve.

Q: if you have Drifter selected, can you use drifter melee? A: We thought it was important to keep drifter melee in duviri, but… why not? We could try. Drifters can't mod though. It's not impossible, but it'd take some time.

Q: Warframe being predominantly PVE, has there been talk of collaboration among clans? A: I implied it with the other question, but a social benefit would be great. I'd love to see you make friends with other clans

Thanks to the DE team for your hard work <3 supporting us for 11 years!

visual assets are either my own stream screenshots or from DE's devstream overview

#warframe #devstream 178 #sera's devstream notes

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thezombieprostitute · 5 months ago

Text

Constant Change - Part 3

Summary: You and Nick must navigate the new territories of pregnancy and parenting while managing the continued hostility from Clark Kent.

A/N: Reader is AFAB, in her late 30's, early 40's. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: Family stress, Pregnancy issues, Wedding stress. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 2 -- Part 4

Series Masterlist

“What do you mean you’re getting married? I didn’t even know you were dating!” You can hear your mother’s unspoken reproach at not telling her all the details of your life. “I swear, if this is just some plan to get back at your sister–”

“Mother,” you interrupt. “It’s not a revenge plan. We’ve been friends for a long time and started dating a few weeks before that live stream incident. Neither of us is particularly young so we figured we’d stop wasting time and get married.”

“Well I’m not going to approve of this until I actually meet the man.”

“That’s reasonable,” you assure. “I don’t want you to first meet him at the wedding either, so I'm hoping you can make a weekend of it. Longer if you’d like.”

“It would be nice to catch up. I have missed you greatly,” she admits. “Can I tell your sister about the wedding?”

You think for a minute. “Yes, but keep in mind, she and her husband are not invited. It’s a very small affair.”

“Is there a reason for that? Does this Nick character not have a lot of family?”

“It was a condition of hosting it at the hotel,” you tell her. This was a half-truth. Mr. Pine had agreed to let you have the wedding at The Cairo Hotel provided there were less than 50 people in attendance. You and Nick wanted to keep it at less than 10.

“Okay, and considering the venue, I can very much understanding wanting to use one of the smaller rooms to control costs.”

“Yes,” you're eager to confirm. “And because so much stuff gets a 'wedding tax' we're going to get some non-traditional wedding things as well.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” your mother sighs. “Your sister's wedding was so incredibly expensive for us. I'm glad you and Nick are being more practical.”

“Thank you for understanding, Mom.”

“So, I'll talk with your father about visiting for a week so we can get to know our new son-in-law. You just keep me up-to-date about wedding colors or any traditions you'd like to incorporate.”

“Sounds good, Mom. And thank you!”

Nick was certain that, before you, he was rarely nervous. Then he took you to that fateful party and he hasn't stopped feeling nervous since. He'd put himself in danger countless times without breaking a sweat, but then you were threatened and he couldn't stop worrying. And now you're carrying his child, at your age it's considered a risky pregnancy, and he can't stop overthinking.

He's actually grateful that this means more regular ultrasounds to monitor progress. The first ultrasound was life changing for him. Seeing that tiny bean and knowing it was created by the two of you had him weak in the knees. He would forever be in awe of you and what you were doing.

If there was anything he could relax about it was work. Barber and Teach were expertly handling the Clark Kent lawsuit. The Garbage Men had been keeping tabs on Franco the Elder. He was actually grateful for the work as it helped him work out some of his nerves. Plus, for the times that got rough, you were insistent on patching him up as best you could. Your work wasn't professional but damn if he didn't lean into your touch.

Especially at night when you used his body like a pillow to get yourself comfortable. Sometimes you cuddled him from behind, relishing in his warmth. Other times you needed to be held, enjoying the safety and security of his muscly arms. However you needed him, he was happy to oblige, taking comfort in your slow, steady breathing.

He focuses on thoughts of you as he prepares to meet your parents. While you had told him all the things he would likely need to know, he'd asked Jake to do some more research for him. In exchange, he successfully played wingman for Jake at one of the higher-end clubs.

“Are you sure I shouldn't be wearing a tie,” he asks as your both getting ready.

“I'm sure,” you chuckle. “It's meant to be a quick dinner, basic introductions, before they settle in their hotel for the night.”

“And I should just go ahead and call them by their first names, right?”

“Well, if you want to call them 'Mom' and 'Dad' right away it might be a little awkward.” You smile at him in the mirror and he grins.

“I just want to make a good first impression. I'm spending the rest of my life with you and they're important to you.”

“Trust me,” you turn to face him. “They're gonna be a little judgy at first, and that's normal. Especially with how quickly we're getting married. However, as soon as we announce the pregnancy, they're going to forget all about that.”

“Maybe we should announce the pregnancy first,” he jokes.

“Tempting,” you nod. “But we're waiting until after the first trimester for a few reasons.”

He hears the worry in your voice and wraps his arms around you, bringing you in for a gentle kiss. “It's going to be okay,” he promises. You nod but are unable to say anything. He gently holds your chin, making you look at him, “I mean it. Somehow or another,” he places his hand on your lower belly, “we are going to be okay.”

Tears of gratitude gather in your eyes as you smile, “thank you. I needed that.”

He smiles back and continues to kiss you as finish getting ready for dinner.

As your parents approach the table, you get up and hug your mother as Nick stands to greet them. Your father doesn't hesitate to take his hand and bring him in for a hug, throwing Nick off guard.

“Thank you for helping my daughter with that drunken lunatic,” your father says. He pulls away, looking Nick in the eyes, “you put yourself in harm's way to keep her safe. Not that it's needed, but you have my permission to marry my daughter.”

Nick is shocked by the quick acceptance that he's unsure of how to respond other than, “thank you, sir.”

“There's no need for that,” your dad smiles. “Just call me 'John'.”

“Thank you, John,” Nick chuckles as they release hands. He turns to your mother and offers a hand in greeting which she accepts.

“While I am very grateful for what you did, I'm still withholding my approval until I know you better,” she tells him. “Though I am okay with you calling me 'Ellen' instead of 'ma'am'.”

“That's absolutely fair, m—Ellen,” Nick nods.

As you all sit down, the waiter comes over to take drink orders. Your mother arches an eyebrow at your ordering of a ginger ale and laugh it off as nerves over the meeting and the upcoming wedding.

“Oh, yes, that reminds me,” she says. “What is the catering situation for such a small wedding?”

“There's a 4 star restaurant attached to the hotel and, because we're hosting a party there, we're getting a discount on the total for the group.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Ellen sighs. “I'm so happy you're being smart about this.”

“You were always the the more sensible child,” John adds. “Yet another reason I'm already supporting the marriage.”

Ellen gives him a small eye roll that he chuckles at. Turning back to you she asks, “who actually is paying for the wedding, though? Are you able to afford the hotel because of a payout from the incident?”

“That's still being processed in the courts,” you inform her. “He actually tried suing us! Thankfully Nick's lawyers are very good, we're in the clear. But the process for figuring out the amount he owes us is taking awhile. Mr. Kent's lawyers seem insistent on fighting everything.”

��Nick,” Ellen turns to him, “you have your own lawyers?”

“Company lawyers,” Nick is quick to note. “I work in security for the kind of business that looks out for its people. Access to some of the best lawyers in the city is one of the benefits of the job.” Ellen nods at his answer.

“And as for who is paying for the wedding, we are splitting things in a way,” you interject. “Nick is paying for the hotel and food, I'm paying for the clothes and decorations. And yes, that includes any of the clothes you and Dad want to buy while we're out shopping for my dress.”

“You work security,” Ellen asks. “That sounds like dangerous work.”

“It is,” Nick admits. “Thankfully my employers understand the importance of prevention as opposed to just muscle. It makes my work a lot safer for myself as well as our clients.”

Your parents' comments are cut off by the arrival of the drinks and the ordering of the food. Thankfully, as promised, it is a quick dinner. You're feeling tired and you can tell your parents are, too. Nick has managed to make sure he's paying for everyone's meals and your mother gives an appreciative nod at his behavior.

You confirm times and locations for tomorrow and say your goodbyes for the night.

“Did I do okay,” Nick asks you in the car.

“You did wonderfully,” you assure him. “I can't say I'm too surprised by either of their reactions.”

“I sure am,” Nick grumbles. “Well, not Ellen's but definitely John's.”

“He trusts me,” you shrug. “All he's ever really wanted for me was someone who would keep me safe.”

“So having a security job is a major plus.”

“And if Mom truly didn't approve, she'd say something by now. I think she just needs to confirm for herself that you're as wonderful as I say you are.”

“You tell your mom I'm wonderful?”

“Every time I talk about you.”

Nick smiles and blushes at that.

Part 2 -- Part 4

Series Masterlist

Tag List: @alicedopey ; @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory ; @rebekahdawkins ; @terry2227 ; @texmexdarling

#garbage men au #Mafia au #mafia!nick fowler x female!reader #nick fowler x reader #mob!nick fowler

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so-long-soldier-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Revenge

kai parker x bonnie bennett

summary: even though kai is away for good, something still nags at bonnie. he deserves more pain than what she gave him; he should get equal to what he made everyone else suffer. the witch shakes her head. desiccation is punishment enough for any vampire, hybrid, or heretic. she’s seen it plenty of times.

still. despite her revenge, she craves more.

tags: NONCON / dubcon elements, non-consensual touching, blood drinking, minor violence, degradation, hate sex, painful sex, edgeplay / edging, orgasm control, pain kink, hand-jobs, blow-jobs, cussing, biting, teasing, sounding, unsafe sex, begging, voyeurism, masturbation, thigh riding, dominance, forced submission (dom!bonnie x sub!kai)

word count: 8k

a/n: i watched a 2 min clip of 'what lola wants' and then spent the next twelve hours writing this😅

Bonnie’s sick of being treated like crap. She’s tired of being used, manipulated, and abused by witches, werewolves, and vampires alike. She’s tired of friends and enemies demanding favors and then neglecting her when they’re done. She’s sick of all of it.

But out of all the people at whom she’s the most angry, it’s Kai Parker.

The man she was alone with for months, trapped in 1994. The man who left her there, and then raised hell in her hometown in her absence. The man that had no problems killing anyone to get what he wanted - even children.

It’s him who she hates most above every other person who’s wronged her. So when Bonnie finally got the upperhand, she was more than happy to put him in his place. Now, Kai is stuck in a new prison world; chained with the strongest metal she could find. He’s there all alone, his least favorite song on repeat, to face an eternity of misery until he slowly desiccates.

Bonnie can’t help but feel proud of herself.

But even though Kai is away for good, something still nags at her. He deserves more pain than what she gave him; he should get equal to what he made everyone else suffer.

The witch shakes her head. Desiccation is punishment enough for any vampire, hybrid, or heretic. She’s seen it plenty of times.

Still. Despite her revenge, she craves more.

It’s been a couple weeks since she locked him up and threw away the key. Bonnie had expected to forget about him by now. She could live her life without his torment, or the fear that he’d find and hurt her. She should be free from all the pain he caused.

Yet… she can’t stop thinking about him.

If he’s still on her mind, she thinks, then he deserves more than what she gave. Tighter chains, louder music, less hope. Or perhaps… more pain. To give him hope, but then to take it away. To make him feel something, but then leave him with nothing.

Bonnie’s skin prickles at this thought. Nerves carve a pit in her stomach as a new plan forms in her head. It’s risky, wicked, and downright sinful, but it makes the edges of her lips twitch with amusement. Kai hasn't gotten all that he deserves, but she’ll make sure he does by the time she’s through with him.

~~~~~~

The ascendant’s hidden in a locked box under her bed. She told Damon and Alaric that it was in a safe in the Salvatore mansion. Obviously, she lied. Bonnie wanted to keep it closeby for reasons just like this - in case she’d ever need to check up on the man. As if he were a Peanuts’ character trapped in a dangerous, little snow globe.

In five minutes’ time, she sends herself to the new prison world and makes her way to the bar where she had chained him weeks ago. She can already hear the Spin Doctors’ worst hit song from outside, and can’t help but cringe at the thought of hearing it on repeat.

Bonnie enters the bar as quietly as she can. The door creaks, though, as she shuts it, so when she approaches the center stage, a half-dessicated Kai is already staring at her.

His gaze is cold, but as soon as he recognizes his guest, a smile creeps on his face.

“Bonnie Bennett. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She scoffs at the irony. “My being here does not mean pleasure for you.” In a split second, she turns off the tv, relieving them both of the annoying music.

“Oh, but it always is when you’re around,” he flirts, “and besides, that,” he gestures to the now blank screen, “is also a pleasure to have off.”

Bonnie rolls her eyes. “Actually, I’m here to give you more of what you deserve. Pain.”

“More punishment? Is that so?”

The woman joins him on the stage, but keeps a distance. “You won’t be joking around by the time I’m finished here. Might as well give up the act now.”

“What are you going to do? Hurt me? Hit me?”

“Oh, I’m going to do much worse than that.”

Kai can only follow half her movements with his eyes. When she circles around to his backside, he’s rendered incapable of defending himself. Bonnie smirks when he struggles against his chains. He’s afraid, she realizes. She has the ability to strike fear in him.

Bonnie comes up close enough to press her body into his chair. She flicks open a switchblade and presses it to his neck.

“How does this make you feel? I have all the power over you right now.”

Kai settles at the feeling of the blade on his neck. Struggling against the chains would only make him bleed and weaken him more.

“Nothing to say? That’s a first.”

“Bonnie-” he manages.

“Ah, ah, ah, you lost your chance to talk,” she interrupts at once. “Now, you stay still. If you struggle against those again, you’ll surely regret it.”

Kai doesn’t answer, nor does he move. Satisfied with his obedience, Bonnie removes the knife from his neck and cuts her pointer finger, just enough for it to bleed. She switches the knife closed and tucks it into her jean pocket. Kai’s veins immediately show under his eyes. He’s starving, and she knows it. Bonnie grabs his neck, squeezes it, and pulls him back. Their eyes meet.

“What,” he chokes out, “are you doing?”

“Be quiet.” Bonnie touches her bleeding finger to his lips. His veins darken even more at the small taste of her blood. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

At her vague consent, he darts out his tongue to lick his lips. The grayness of his slowly desiccating state fades away, and his eyes roll in pleasure.

“Bonnie-”

“I said,” her hand tightens on his neck, “be quiet.” She lets another drop fall to his lips, then nods for him to lick it up. After a few more, he seems to get a small fraction of his strength back. Kai starts to look more like he used to - annoyingly handsome. His boyish features return to their usual youthfulness, as does the green-ish tint in his eyes. She lets go of his neck and walks around to stand in front of him.

“What are you doing?” He asks again, genuinely confused.

The girl, several inches shorter, yet currently way overpowering him, crosses her arms. “Getting my revenge.”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that why you chained me up?”

“If you think that’s all you deserve, you’re sorely mistaken.”

She stalks closer to him.

“Why did you give me your blood?” He asks, sweat beading at his forehead as he nervously anticipates her punishment.

“So that you’d feel everything I’m about to do to you.” She gets even closer. Her knees graze against his.

“Which is?”

“You ask too many questions, do you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, she hits her fist onto his chest. It isn’t hard enough for the chair to rock, but it catches him off guard. “It’s been nice not having to listen to you talk nonstop. The last few weeks have been so blissfully quiet.” She pushes him now, this time with both hands.

Kai doesn’t speak. If he could, he’d grab her hands, but his chains don’t budge.

“And I’ve tried to forget about your stupid face and move on with my life, but I can’t ignore the little voice in my head that tells me you haven’t suffered enough yet for what you put me through!”

“Bon-”

“So that’s why I’m here! And you’re going to feel everything. That’s why I gave you my blood. So you’d remember how good it feels to be awake and alive again, just for me to take it away. I control you, Kai. You don’t have anything over me. You’re powerless. You’re nothing.” She spits the words out, cruelty in her voice, knowing just what to say to start up his rage. Though she’s right - there’s nothing he can do against her.

Anger and fear shoot through his body. His blood runs cold. Kai jumps at his chains, veins darkening again, but it’s no use. He couldn’t get out when he was at full strength, and he certainly won’t get out now. Still, he tries, at least to loosen them.

Bonnie, meanwhile, just watches him struggle. She has the nerve to smirk, angering him more. “You’re only hurting yourself,” she mutters.

Kai doesn’t care. He continues to fight uselessly.

After a minute, though, it suddenly seems she’s had enough watching him. She slaps both of her hands onto his legs, palms open, sending a stinging sensation up his spine. “Stop fighting. You look pathetic.”

“Bonnie,” he cries to her, though does stop moving.

“Shut up.”

“Bonnie, I’m sorry. Please let me go. Let me out. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“I already gave you that chance. You can’t be trusted. You can never be allowed out again.”

“No, I promise, it’ll be different this time! I’ll be different. I’ll-”

“I said, ‘shut up’!” She slaps his leg again. Her hand lands dangerously further up his thigh. He flinches from the unexpected pain.

“Bon,” he tries again.

Astonished at his refusal to listen, she looks him dead in the eyes. “Have you ever listened to a word anyone’s told you? I tell you to be quiet and you just keep whining! It’s so fucking pathetic.”

His eyes widen. He’s never heard her cuss before.

“Finally! Maybe you are capable of doing something right.”

“I can, I promise! Let me prove to you that I-”

“Awh, nope. Back to square one.”

“Wait! You tricked me!”

“I didn’t trick you! You tricked me! Over and over when you made promises to me and continuously broke them. You can’t do anything right. Can’t even shut up for one second.”

Kai bites his tongue when he wants to reply. At first he was amused by her bullying, but now it’s getting to his head. Bonnie can see it in his eyes. She’s weakened him enough that he won’t fight her back anymore.

“Good. Now stay that way. You can only speak if I give you permission.”

Kai is confused, but doesn’t ask. His tongue bleeds from the pressure he puts on it.

Bonnie’s hands run further up his legs. Her fingers curl in between the chains, feeling the heaviness of the metal.

“Do these hurt?”

Kai nods.

“Good.”

She gives them a tug, then abandons them. Her hands move to his belt, toying with the buckle.

“Bet that’s uncomfortable,” she chuckles.

Kai expects her to examine more of his confined hell, maybe to confirm that his boots are tied too tightly, or that his shirt tag is itchy, but her focus has yet to leave his belt. He swallows, watching her fingers trace the buckle’s golden metal.

“Pretty tight, too. Would suck to be bound in a chair with a belt that’s too tight. Imagine the stomach ache. Yikes.”

Before Kai can even consider a response in his head, Bonnie’s undoing the buckle. He blinks in surprise, wondering if he’s dreaming. The woman lets it fall to his sides when it loosens, then she traces a finger down the center of his jeans. His pants tighten by the second. His lips part in pleasure, but he doesn’t dare make a sound.

She then pulls down the zipper and feels for his quickly hardening cock. When she gets a hold of it, she brings it through the hole.

“Thank god you’re big, otherwise this wouldn’t even be worth it.”

The degrading praise makes him even harder. Kai clenches his fists and squeezes his eyes shut. The urge to say her name, taste it on his tongue while she holds his cock, is strong, but he fears the consequences if he speaks.

Bonnie runs her fingers along his length. At first, she just admires the size. Her nails scratch slightly, but the pain feels good. As soon as pre-cum starts to dribble from the tip, she rubs her thumb in it. She smears it around his head, making it wet and sticky. Bonnie spits in her hand to wet the rest of his length. Then, with his cock squeezed in between two of her fingers, she starts to jerk him off.

She starts slow, but picks up pace the harder he gets. Whenever her spit dries, she adds more, but it isn’t adequate lubrication. Neither care, though. Bonnie doesn’t care about his pleasure, and Kai’s too desperate. She watches him lean back into the chair, chest heaving as he fights the urge to moan. He’s sweating profusely. He looks so weak in her hands, with his pleasure depending on her choices. Bonnie spits on her other hand and mixes it with his remaining pre-cum. She jerks his length with her whole fist now, while the nails on her other hand dig into his sensitive head.

“You can speak,” she instructs.

Kai lets out a deep sigh almost immediately. A shudder runs through his body, followed by a heavy moan. “Bon,” he pants, cut off by his own need to moan again.

His sounds of contentment are some of the prettiest she’s ever heard, but she’d never admit it. Instead, she jerks him faster. She tightens her grip around his cock and pulls on it. Moans continue to tumble from his lips, one after another, while Bonnie doesn’t slow down for a second.

That is… until he’s close.

“Fuck,” Kai whines, “fuck, Bonnie. Don’t stop, I’m so close.”

They lock eyes. She runs her tongue along her lower lip. A little tease.

“I’m so close, Bon, I’m gonna- oh, fuck-”

Any second now, he’s gonna explode. Bonnie drops his cock immediately and watches it hang in the air. It’s red from the friction, and probably sore from the dryness.

“Why’d you stop?” Kai asks in between pants. “I’m- why- Bon-”

The woman straightens her back, smirking. “That’s enough for now, don’t you think?”

“No! Wait! Bonnie! Don’t leave, please! Don’t leave me like this.”

She laughs as his cock starts to soften. The lack of stimulation combines with the cool air in the room, leaving him edged. Kai is still pleading with her, but she tunes him out. Then, once he’s soft enough that he’ll need to work back up a sweat to come, she tucks him back in his pants and secures his belt.

“Goodbye, Malachai.”

With that, she turns on her heels and returns back to her world.

Bonnie washes her hands as soon as she gets back to her dorm, but she can’t shake the feeling of his heavy cock resting in them. She sighs to herself, conflicted with the thought, but decides not to linger on it. Instead, she thinks of Kai, and what he’s probably feeling at that very moment. Maybe he’s yelling - angry at her for visiting just to tease him. Maybe he’s crying - having been so close to finding relief, only to have it taken from him. Either way, she feels proud of herself. Kai can’t control her anymore, but she now has certain control over him, and she’s not going to stop until she’s satisfied.

~~~~~~

Two days after her secret visit to the prison world, Bonnie returns to it. Alaric and Damon had already made plans for the night, giving her enough time to edge Kai for another round before returning unsuspiciously to her room. She has it all planned out, and neither man should suspect a thing.

She repeats the same steps as before, creeping into the bar, finding Kai waiting for her as soon as he heard the door. His face is mixed with emotions in her presence. Emotions he probably doesn’t even understand, but she can identify some: anger, relief, desperation. She bites back a smile at knowing she can pull those feelings out of him just by entering a room.

“Hello, Kai.”

“Bonnie,” he greets, watching her carefully.

“Miss me?” She teases, finally letting that smile free.

“Ha ha. Stop making jokes.”

“Okay. Guess I won’t try to lighten the mood.”

He glares at her.

“Yeah, okay, guess not. Seems like what they say about blue balls is true… guys get so grumpy!”

“Can we just skip the awkward part and carry onto however you want to punish me next?”

“Alright, fine.” Bonnie stalks up to him and puts her heeled foot on his knee. “I haven’t really planned how I want to do that yet today. Any suggestions?”

Kai trails his eyes over her toned leg. “This works.”

“Ha ha,” she returns the same dry tone he used. “Never mind, I got it.” Bonnie takes her foot off him and immediately starts on his belt again. She’s leaning into him just a little bit to pull him through his jeans’ hole, when she feels something touch the back of her knee. Quickly, she whips around to see his fingers grazing her. Kai stills his hands at once, and when she looks back at him, he’s grinning.

“Couldn’t help myself.”

“You do not touch me,” she shakes a finger at him.

“You’re touching me.”

“I’m punishing you for all the shit you put me through.”

“By touching me?”

“It’s a means to a very satisfying end, where I leave you very much unsatisfied.”

Kai purses his lips, obviously holding back a laugh. Probably a snide comment, too, but luckily he doesn’t say it.

Bonnie glares at him, irritated once more by the man. Without much thinking, she slaps his soft cock, which she had just pulled from his jeans. Immediately, the man buckles - as much as he can in his chains.

“Ow!”

“I’m not here to make you feel good.”

“Noted.”

His cock starts to grow anyway. There’s a red slap mark on it, but the sudden pain seemed to get him hard. Bonnie stares, incredulous.

“You’re serious?”

“I can’t control it.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

For a moment, she’s quiet, as if thinking up a new punishment plan. Kai watches her face with curiosity. Incidentally, he gets harder thinking of how she might hurt him next.

“Did you like it yesterday when I hit you? Did that turn you on, too?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one that had your hands on me.”

“Did you like it when I had my hands around your neck?”

“You could recreate it and we could find out.”

She scoffs, “good try.”

“Thought you wanted me hard so you could punish me more?”

“Well, it seems that job has already been done for me since we’ve been sitting here, talking about it.”

Kai looks down at himself. “Huh. Well, would you look at that?” He catches her eye again, a proud smirk on his face.

Bonnie immediately slaps his cheek. “Fuck you for enjoying this.”

“Was that supposed to be part of the punishment? Because hearing you cuss at me also helped yesterday.”

The woman straightens her posture, seething in frustration. “You’re so irritating, I can’t deal with you!” She’s quick to leave the bar, giving Kai almost no time to call after her. The door slams behind her, and he’s left in complete silence.

Five minutes later, Bonnie comes back in, still seemingly annoyed, but less angry-looking.

“What-”

“Don’t start. Don’t say a fucking word to me until I say you can.”

For some reason, Kai obeys. He squeezes his lips shut and watches as she kneels in between his legs. His cock has softened again since she left, but her touch brings him back in a matter of minutes. Her grip is strong as she takes him in her hand and jerks him back and forth. His body relaxes, then releases the pre-cum she needs to glide along him more smoothly. Though instead of using it as lube like he expected her to do again, her tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock. His head is enveloped in her warm mouth as she takes in his length. Kai moans, forgetting his instruction to be quiet. Bonnie slaps his thigh instantly, but it only makes him whimper.

“Shut up,” she tells him. A strand of spit still connects her lip to his cock, though she had pulled off him to talk.

“Sorry.”

She glares at him, but then goes back to her task. Bonnie traces the thick vein on the underside with her finger, then goes back over it with her tongue. Kai bites his own tongue, once again, to not make another sound. His body tenses as he struggles against his own desires.

“You can speak but try not to sound so fucking needy,” she snaps.

Kai nods.

She puts her mouth on him again. Her lips stay on his head while her hand does all the work to get him off, but he’s not complaining. She maintains her tight hold, squeezing slightly, bringing a little pain.

Kai starts to moan again. Soft ones, trying to sound less needy, as he was commanded. Though once he gets close, he starts to lose control. “Bon-”

Bonnie nips the skin on his head. He jumps in shock.

“Bonnie, ah-”

“Close?” She pants, separating her lips, but then blowing cool air where she had bitten.

“Yes. Please don’t-” She lets go. “-stop. Ah, no! Bonnie, no! Why? Please! Please just let me-”

“No.”

“Bonnie!”

The woman stands up. She waits for him to start going soft, then tucks him back in again.

“See you later, Malachai. Maybe.”

“Bonnie, please! Don’t go, I-”

“Remember what I said earlier? Don’t try to be so fucking needy.”

Moments after Bonnie washes her hands and sits back on her bed, Damon pops in the room.

“Hey.” He eyes her.

“Hey.”

“Where have you been?”

“Studying.”

“I came here, you weren’t here.”

“I was at the Grill.”

“Oh.”

“Need something?”

“Nope. Just… checking on you.”

“I’m pretty good today. How was it with Ric?”

“Pretty good, too.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, um. Mind if I stay here just for a little? Stefan’s been angsty and I just…”

Bonnie smiles. They’ve grown quite close in the last year. “Sure.”

“Okay, cool.” He lies down in Elena’s bed.

Bonnie continues to study while Damon chatters on about his night with Alaric. She listens the best she can. Though when he comments about her strayed attention, she’s quick to blame her homework, and not the vicious thoughts swarming her head about one Kai Parker, and what exactly she’ll do to him next.

~~~~~~

The next time Bonnie can get away from the drama of Mystic Falls, she takes a short vacation to the prison world. Her excuse, this time, is needing some peace and quiet after dealing with heretic drama for the last four days. Although ironically, her escape would be found with another heretic. But Bonnie shakes this thought away as soon as it surfaces. Being with Kai is not an escape; it’s a continuation of his much deserved punishment. It’s her revenge on him for all his wrongdoings. She needs to deliver it as much as he needs to receive it. Besides, it’s addicting, every time she leaves him sore and begging for her to come back. It’s empowering.

That’s why she keeps going back.

This is the third time she’s visited him. Though instead of walking right up to him on the center stage, Bonnie disappears behind the bar. Kai had heard and seen her come in, but her change in routine has made him curious.

“What are you doing, BonBon?” He asks, a slight tease in his tone.

Bold of him to tease her when he’s the one tied up.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She fires back.

“You know what they say?” Kai clicks his tongue. “Third time’s the charm.”

“You wish.”

“Aw come on, Bonnie. Wouldn’t it be so fun if we could come together? I’m dying to know what your pretty little moans sound like. And you’ve heard mine, but I can be louder.”

“Do I have to remind you that this isn’t supposed to be fun?”

“But you have to admit, it kinda is.”

Bonnie looks at him, rolling her eyes. She’s about to go smack that stupid smirk off his face, but then she notices a metal glint on the shelf beside her. It takes her attention from him, and she chuckles.

“What?” Kai asks.

“Nothing.”

Bonnie then disappears into the kitchen on a quest for something wet. Something in this bar that she could use in place of lube. She smiles when she finds it.

Two minutes later, she’s standing in front of Kai with her newly found tools. He looks at them, then back at her.

“Coconut oil?”

“Mhm.”

“And a bar spoon.”

“Yep.”

“What are you gonna do with those?”

“Something dangerous.”

Kai shifts in his seat. She knows the debate he’s having in his head. She knows him now like she knows the back of her hand.

“No objections?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

Kai purses his lips, not giving her an answer.

“You’ll be fine. Just don’t think about it yet. Because if you get hard, it’s gonna hurt.”

“Wait what?”

But she’s already busy with his buckle. She puts the spoon in between her teeth while pulling him out, then crouches down to prep him. Kai watches with a morbid curiosity, trying to guess her next move. Bonnie, meanwhile, lathers the end of the spoon in coconut oil. Then, she applies some to the tip of his soft cock.

“Bon,” he can’t help the groan from the contact, “what are you doing?”

“Stay still. Tell me if you need more lube.”

“Okay.” Because what else is he gonna do about it?

Bonnie seems to enter a deep concentration as she lines the spoon up with the tip of his head. She keeps one hand on his cock to hold it in place and slowly inserts the spoon end into the urethral hole.

“Oh god,” Kai mutters, quickly catching on, “Bon?”

“What?”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve seen it in a video.”

He narrows his eyes. “What kind of-”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. But hey, have you ever done this before, because- oh!” He’s cut off - thankfully - by a moan as she reaches his prostate. “Oh god,” he says again, this time out of pleasure.

“Are you okay?” She asks. She doesn’t know why; it’s not like she cares.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice is raspy as he answers. She tries to ignore the way it makes her feel.

“Okay.” She twists the spoon. It’s coiled handle would be felt against his walls, but she could only wonder how it’d feel. Judging by the strained groan that leaves his lips, it’s intense.

“Bonnie-”

“What?”

He says nothing.

“What?”

“I don’t know, I just-” She pulls it out a little, then pushes it back in. The motion effectively cuts off his speech again.

“I like this,” she smirks, “it shuts you up.”

Kai looks down at her. “Who knew you could be such a sadist, Bonnie?”

“Who knew you could get turned on by a spoon in your dick?” She fires back.

He doesn’t have an answer. Whether he’s embarrassed or speechless, she’s not actually sure.

Satisfied with her newfound ability to quiet him, Bonnie pulls it back again, until it’s almost out, and then slowly pushes more into his prostate.

“You still fine?” She asks again, still, not sure why she cares.

“Yeah. More of that,” he points to the floor.

“What?”

“The that.”

“Descriptive.”

“Lube stuff.”

“Oh.” She takes a scoop and applies it to his head, as well as what length of the handle isn’t buried inside him. The whole thing doesn’t fit, but she only needs it long enough to hit his prostate.

“Thanks.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, watching her twirl it.

Bonnie puts some of the oil on her free hand, then starts to rub the outside of his length. She can feel the tool that’s inside, and finds herself having to bite her lip to not moan from the pleasure she’s giving him.

“Oh my god,” Kai’s words snap her out of her own mind.

“Don’t get hard,” she warns again, feeling it happen as she speaks.

“I’m trying not to. Hard when you’re touching me like that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Bonnie continues to jerk him off per his request. She watches his face, which contorts between expressions of pain and pleasure, as he becomes erect. She’s stopped moving the spoon for now and instead lets it rest inside him. Kai chews on his bottom lip until it bleeds.

“Bonnie-”

“What?”

For a second time, he doesn’t answer. Bonnie decides to chalk it up to that maybe he just likes to say her name when he’s being touched. The thought makes her proud. For fun, she pushes the spoon into his prostate just a little further.

“Ah- fuck-” His body shivers, and she wonders if he’s close.

“Update?” She asks, not wanting to directly ask if he’s okay again.

“Um-”

She smirks, reading his face. “Close? But don’t want to tell me?”

“Bon-”

“You have five seconds. See if you can come in five… four…” She begins to carefully pull the spoon out.

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m close, don’t- just give me a little more time!”

“Two… one!” As soon as it’s out, she drops his cock. “Whoops! Out of time!”

“No, wait! Bonnie, please! I can’t do this anymore. I need,” he’s panting heavily, “need it. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Sorry, try again next time.”

“Bonnie!”

“Are you okay? Need more lube? Just for, I don’t know, comfort?”

“I need to come, Bonnie. Please.”

“So is that a no?”

“Bon-”

“Taking it as a no,” she mutters. “Okay… just because you look like you’re on the verge of passing out, and as much as I hate you, I’m not that mean, I’ll give you a little treat.” She retrieves the switchblade from her pocket, cuts her finger, and lets a couple drops of blood drip onto the spoon part of the bar tool. His veins appear quickly at the mere sight of her blood, and he finally shuts up about his desire to come. Bonnie is careful in letting him sip off the spoon, then refills it once and feeds him again. Then, as he’s preoccupied with the taste of blood, she tucks him back in his pants and redoes the buckle.

“Bye.” She puts the spoon in the kitchen sink, along with the oil, and then waves goodbye to him as she leaves.

That most recent visit stays in the forefront of both their minds.

Bonnie wonders what got into her to even make her do it in the first place, while also being proud of herself for stimulating him in such a dominant way. Never would she expect that from herself, yet once she started, it was hard to stop. She found herself actually enjoying it - both the act and the intimacy of it, as well as his moans. She even had to stop herself from moaning in the middle of it as she listened to him.

As she thinks about it, though, she remembers what he had said when she first entered, “wouldn’t it be so fun if we could come together? I’m dying to know what your pretty little moans sound like. And you’ve heard mine, but I can be louder.”

And he had gotten louder. If they weren’t the only people in the prison world, she would’ve worried about others overhearing him.

Still… she wonders how exactly he’d react to her sounds. She bets there’s a way to edge him with her own voice; to pleasure him, maybe without even touching him. And then, of course, to take it away just the same. She smiles, liking the plan forming in her head.

Because as much as she might be getting turned on by his voice, she’ll never let him know. At least this way, she can get some pleasure for herself without him getting any of the credit.

As much as Bonnie thinks about that night, Kai thinks about it tenfold. After all, there’s nothing else for him to do. At first, he’s still coming off from the high of trying something new. He hadn’t come, but the experience was still very enjoyable. He even swears he can still feel the coils against his walls, turning and turning. Kai shifts; the memory of the sensation makes him hard.

But as the feeling fades, and the taste of blood expires from his lips, he grows angry. Angry at the fact that she’s been edging him for over a week. Angry at the hunger gnawing at his stomach. Angry at the way she’s using him for sexual gratification - no matter how much she claims it’s punishment. Angry at himself for enjoying it every time and forgiving her each time she comes back.

He’s pissed. His blood feels like acid, and he’s desperate for his own revenge.

~~~~~~

As soon as her heels click on the bar floor, Kai’s looking for her. He has a nasty speech planned for her, and the moment she comes into view, he’ll spit it out until she feels guilty enough to let him come. Rage dances in his eyes and the words balance on his tongue.

“How do you feel?” Bonnie’s voice hits his ears. She comes out of the shadows slowly, not only edging him in a sexual practice, but now also with the way she approaches.

Kai seethes. But the moment he opens his mouth to shout at her, his jaw drops. There she is, fully emerged from the darkness, as sexy as he thought he could only ever picture. She wears a bustier top with black leather pants, plus her heeled boots. Her breasts are pushed up and neck is fully exposed. Kai’s eyes travel from her collarbone, to her breasts, and then down the rest of her body. His breath catches and pants tighten.

“I asked you a question,” the woman repeats.

“I, uh-”

“Hm.” Bonnie grabs one of the bar chairs and swings it around to face him. She sits, straddling her legs apart, and leans back carelessly. There’s about ten feet between them. Ten feet of tense, sexually charged energy.

Kai tries to form a word, or even possibly start the rant that he had planned, but his throat is dry.

“You have nothing to say?” She challenges.

“You’re-”

She cocks her head at him. “No? Pathetic. Can’t even compliment how good this top looks on me.” Bonnie leans forward suddenly. Her breasts threaten to spill. “Tell me - why is it I have to do everything myself? I guess the saying is true… if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” She leans back again, studying him. Kai’s silent, now rather intimidated, as her eyes rake over his form. His eyes, dilated pupils bearing a pleading look. His lip, bloodied from being chewed between his teeth. His neck, skin flushed from edging without relief. His cock, hard in his jeans once again, desperate for touch. Bonnie smirks. “Well? Come over and have me your way, if that’s what you want.”

Kai struggles against his chains.

“No? Don’t want to touch? Guess I do have to do it myself.”

He fights again, and this time, finds his voice. “No! Bon, I want- please-”

“Sorry, missed your window.”

Bonnie unbuttons her pants before slinking a hand into them. She finds her clit with ease and wastes no time rubbing little circles into the tissue. A soft moan escapes her lips. Her legs widen involuntarily. Kai can only watch the scene before him as his cock hardens uncomfortably. Bonnie can see the outline from where she’s sitting, but she only spares him a glance before rolling her eyes back in her head.

“Bon,” Kai tries again. He can’t grab her attention, though.

One of her arms snakes up to her hair and she digs into her own scalp. She breathes deeply at the pleasurable feeling, then lets her hand drop back to her shoulder.

“Bonnie… I can make you feel good. Please. Let me out. I promise, I can do better.”

The woman pauses for a second. She chuckles. “Better? You really think so?”

“I know so. Just give me a chance. Please.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where Kai Parker is pleading.”

“Bonnie, I’m serious. I promise.”

“Okay then, come over here and do better. I dare you to try.”

Kai tries to get out of his chains again. “I can’t, you need to let me out.”

“Can’t? I thought you said you could?”

“No, not that. Bon- please!”

She shakes her head. “Boys and their egos… always thinking they can do it better.” Bonnie starts up again; Kai can see her hand moving in her pants. She puts pressure on her clit, dips her fingers into her core, then goes back to her clit when they’re slick. Her lips separate and quiet whines spill from them. Her free hand drops to her chest. She squeezes her tits from outside her top, before running her hand down the side of her body.

Her body is beautiful, but Kai’s mouth is too dry to tell her. He’s angry that he’s not the one pleasuring her, and also that he can’t pleasure himself. There’s nothing he can do but watch as she draws herself closer to her own orgasm.

A mere seconds later, with no warning to him except for the way her pace quickens, Bonnie comes. She grabs the back of the chair as her legs go weak, and several moans, much louder than her soft, little whines, sound like heaven to his ears.

Kai’s heart beats in his chest as she recovers, and he wonders he might’ve come without even being touched. He squeezes his legs together just in case.

When Bonnie finally comes back to her senses, she looks up at him. “I do a pretty good job by myself, don’t ‘ya think?”

Kai knows better than to answer. Instead, he watches her pull her hand out from her pants, button them, and stand up. Her fingers are coated with her own wetness. He can see it on her hands reflecting from the neon light behind them.

Bonnie then smiles and rounds his backside, just as she did on her first visit. Kai follows as much as he can, but loses sight of her quickly. Before he can ask what she’s doing, her fingers are up against his lips. The smell of her fills his nose.

“Suck.”

He does so immediately. Kai isn’t even tempted to feed, he’s so overwhelmed by her taste. Once her fingers are clean, she pulls them from his lips and stands in front of him. She looks him up and down, then leaves. This time, she doesn’t even say goodbye.

~~~~~~

The fifth time Bonnie visits, Kai’s hard the moment he hears her enter the building. When she reaches the stage and sees his tight jeans, she laughs.

“Wow. You must be pretty uncomfortable.”

“Bonnie, please.”

“Begging has gotten you nowhere, yet you still continue to do it.”

“I need to come, please. It hurts.”

“I thought you liked the pain.”

“Not this kind of pain.”

She stares down at him. “Hm. Maybe. If you stop begging me like a brat, maybe.”

“Okay. I’ll do whatever you want. I promise.”

She laughs. “Well there’s not much you can do. I mean, I’m not going to unchain you.”

He swallows hard.

“But maybe I’ll let you come. If I’m feeling nice by the end of today’s punishment.”

Kai nods, but not too quickly, not to seem needy.

“So how do you want this to go?” Bonnie stalks around him, focused on the way he reacts to her presence. His body shakes with the need for relief. It’s almost like she’s Pavolved him to get hard the moment she walks through the bar door. The thought of having that effect on someone - on Kai Parker, nonetheless - makes her wet.

“I don’t care, I just need something.”

“No begging, remember.”

He bites his tongue. “If I suggest something, you’ll just do the opposite.”

“What?” She fakes offense and puts a hand on her chest. “That would just be rude.”

“So is edging me for over a week.”

“Oh, you’re fine. Don’t be so dramatic. Besides,” she suddenly leans into his ear, “pretty sure you came last time without permission. So…”

“I didn’t. I promise. I thought I did too, but it was just pre. Trust me. If you let me come, you’ll see for yourself. I haven’t, but I really need to.”

“Begging again…”

“Bonnie, please.”

She sighs, giving up on that. She’d be lying anyway if she said she didn’t like to hear him so desperate. The whole ‘no begging’ thing was only to see if he could do it. Clearly, he can’t.

“Okay.” She comes around to his side and traces a finger down his chest. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth, then.” Bonnie expertly unbuckles his belt with one hand, though she doesn’t take him out quite yet. “Are you completely hard? Or do you still have a little bit to grow?”

“I-”

She slaps his inner thigh. In a couple moments, the outline in his jeans thickens.

“Good to know pain still does it for you. Was kind of afraid the sounding was too much.” She finally pulls out his cock and lets it bounce against his leg. “Was it too much?”

“No,” he answers immediately, “felt good.”

She smiles. “What an interesting little thing you are.”

“You started it,” he fires back.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t talk back to me.” Before he can apologize and beg again, she adds, “and don’t touch me.”

“Wait what?”

Bonnie straddles his leg without answering, then lowers herself onto him. Her core is separated by two pairs of denim, but Kai swears he can feel her warmth through the layers. She’s soaking wet, yet chastising him for being hard. His throat dries.

“Bon- ah!”

Without warning, she’s grabbed his cock and has begun to jerk him off yet again. Kai digs his fingernails into his jeans while fighting the urge to reach for her. His body reacts to her stimulation, producing pre-cum faster than it ever has before. Not even in the 1994 prison world had he ever edged himself as badly as Bonnie did this last week. And even worse, he’s had to completely rely on the woman for his pleasure. Kai lets out a choked moan as she spits on his cock to wet it. He misses the way her mouth felt that second night, but doesn’t dare mention it.

Instead, “can the coconut oil make a return?”

“You were fine with the dryness the first night.”

“I-”

Bonnie either pities him or actually understands. He doesn’t know, but she cuts him off. “One moment.”

Her hand leaves his cock entirely, then disappears under her own pants. Within seconds, it re-emerges, glistening with her own wetness, and settles back on his cock. Kai groans at the feeling. It’s wet and warm and coats him better than her saliva does. She jerks him faster once her hand starts to glide better.

“Did my moans live up to your expectations of what they’d be?” She asks suddenly.

Kai stutters out a ‘yes’ amidst the pleasure.

“Would you like to hear them again?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you wanna make me come? I promise I’ll let you come if you can get me there.”

“Yes. Bonnie, please.”

“Good. Beg for it.”

“Thought you said ‘no begging’?”

“Changed my mind. Not like you were following that rule anyway.”

He gives her an embarrassed smile, not meeting her eyes. The unexpected submissive behavior takes her off guard, but she’s not complaining.

“Eyes on me, Malachai.”

His eyes snap up.

“Good.” With that, she starts to rock her hips on his leg. The friction between their jeans scratches her clit, but it doesn’t hurt. In fact, she likes it, and starts to rub harder. Her arm wraps around his shoulder for a better grip. “Good,” she repeats, “you’re doing well. Are you close?” She hadn’t slowed in her feat to get him off, not even during their brief conversation.

“Uh huh.”

“Okay.”

“You promise I can come?”

“When I say so.”

“Okay,” he pauses, “are you close?”

“Not quite.” Bonnie’s never had much luck getting herself off on pillows and fabrics. She’s tried, but most often needs clitoral stimulation to come. Despite that, she does feel herself reaching the edge; that knot in the stomach that comes with a high. Maybe it’s the pressure on her clit from his jeans. Maybe it’s just Kai, and his body, and the way she’s always had a desire for him, even though she hates him in every other aspect.

“I wish I could touch you,” he breaks the silence. Well, the pause between their conversation. The room has been filled with the sounds of rubbing denim, the slick sounds of his cock, and their heavy moans, since things started picking up.

“You haven’t earned that right yet.”

“That implies I could.”

“Shut up and let me focus on this feeling so I can come.”

Kai shuts his mouth immediately. He, too, decides to concentrate on the sensations that surround him, drawing him closer and closer to orgasm.

“Bonnie, are you close?” His voice is panicked. She can tell he won’t be able to hold off for much longer.

“Shut up-”

“But-”

The woman leans forward, burying her nose in his shoulder, and a second later, biting the clothed skin there. Kai flinches for a moment, but then hears the moans tumbling from her lips and knows she’s reached her high.

“Bon-”

She nods into his body. “Go ahead and come, Kai.”

Finally, with permission, and after four days of being on edge, he’s allowed the pleasure of finishing. A moan from deep inside his throat spills out at the same time a thick load shoots from his tip. There’s more than Bonnie expected, but Kai doesn’t seem surprised.

“Fuckkk.” His whole body shivers in pleasure.

When Bonnie trusts her own two feet, she climbs off his lap. There’s a small wet spot on his jeans where she was sitting, and a darker one on her own.

“You okay?” She asks, watching him recover.

Kai offers a lopsided smile. “Mhm.”

“Satisfied?”

“Yes.”

Bonnie takes one more look at him, then remembers why she’s here. Punishment. Revenge. Certainly not mutual masturbation. The woman straightens her back. “Good.” She turns to leave, unsure what else to say.

“Wait!” Kai abruptly yells. She stops in her tracks. “Now that you’ve let me come, does this mean you won’t be back?”

She turns back to face him, snorting in amusement. “What, you like this?”

“I like you,” he admits, hoping the truth doesn’t betray him. “I like you touching me, even if this is the first time you’ve let me finish.”

“Who knew Kai Parker would have an edging kink?”

“I don’t. I just like you, Bonnie.”

The woman stares at him.

“Please,” he continues, “don’t leave me here. I know I don’t deserve it. I know I’m a horrible person. I know you hate me. But please… you can’t hate me that much if you’ve visited me five times just to edge me. So even if you keep doing that - taking your anger out on me or using me to get off, whatever - keep doing it. I don’t want to spend another block of my life in isolation, Bonnie, I can’t.”

He has a point. She wouldn’t have kept coming back if some part of her didn’t like him at least a little. And on another note, if she keeps abandoning him in prison worlds, he’s only going to get more and more ruthless, less and less moral. As much as she hates him, she can’t do that to him. She shouldn’t. Deep inside her mind, a voice reminds that she doesn’t want to, either. She takes a deep breath.

“Next time I’m bored, maybe I’ll take pity on you and let you come again.”

Kai already knows she’s caved. She’ll be back. “Thank yo-”

“Don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay.”

“If you can prove to be good, that could work in your favor.”

Kai nods quickly.

“Goodbye, Malachai.”

#kai parker x bonnie bennett #bonkai #bonkai smut #bonkai fics #tvd smut #tvd fanfiction #tw noncon #tw dubcon

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