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casualhedonists · 3 months

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

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

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

chapter: 6/6

SERIES MASTERLIST

words: .......13.5k

a/n: WHEW what a wait. thank you, as always, for your patience this past month or so! as i’ve mentioned i’ve been busy as hell, but it is with many internal screams that i can say! welcome to the final chapter of this series!! what a ride we've all had these last few months! buckle up for like. essay length extensive smut and also plot. in varying order. as always, feedback makes my world spin round at rocket speed, and just. thank you guys for all the love ever since i posted chapter one last november (november me with a brand new sideblog had no clue this would become a Thing i finished let alone a Thing people liked!! that's all on you lovely humans. ily)

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

Heaven was his head between your thighs.

His hands on you, everywhere. Hot mouth pressed to your skin, your neck, your thighs, your cunt. He was slow. Thorough. Pulling cries out of your mouth that got louder and louder until your back arched on the bed and you lay slumped and panting, twisted in his sheets. Taken apart and stitched right back together.

It hadn’t started like this. Not even close.

You woke to a soft light on your face, the curtains parted slightly. Your throat felt sore, and you were tired. Body heavy, slumped across a bed. His. It came back to you in fragments. The party. The photograph. His hand in your hair. His eyes after, apologetic and pleading. Falling asleep right here, next to him, but there was nobody beside you anymore. Your eyes adjusted to the room; you’d never seen it at this time of day, with sunbeams lighting up the walls. You could hear a soft tapping sound, like rain on the windowsill, but it was a bright and sunny spring day out.

Typing. That’s what it was.

Steady, satisfying clicks as the typewriter punched ink onto paper. You turned your head towards the desk across the room.

Coriolanus was sat there, focused, a breakfast tray pushed to one side. He didn’t notice you for a while, and you rolled over to take him in, a slight squint in his eye as he concentrated. You pulled your tired body up and leaned against the pillows, and he turned.

“Morning.” He said in surprise.

“Hi.”

This was strange. Like a warped sense of a morning after.

“Coffee?” He offered. “It’s still hot, I think.”

“Please.”

As he stood to pour from the French press, you took a look around you, eyes landing on the nightstand. A glass of water stood tall next to the silver chain he’d given you last night.

So innocent. If someone took a peek through a crack in the wall, they’d think you were a perfectly normal couple. Domestic bliss.

Not so much, you thought, as he walked over and handed you a cup.

He didn’t linger, but sat down at the foot of the bed, and that only made things stranger. He’d never been one to shy away from physical proximity, but here you both were, sipping just-hot coffee as he eyed you carefully. Like you were an animal in an enclosure, and he hadn’t quite figured out which approach to take with you yet.

“Are you working on something?” You nodded toward the cluttered desk.

“Just the usual. Work.”

“Oh? Didn’t know you worked in here.”

“I don’t, usually. Never have, in fact.” He sounded sheepish. This was entirely new. “But I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Oh.

You said just that.

“Oh. Um, thank you.”

“I can go if you’d like. Leave you to rest.”

“No, that’s okay. Stay.”

His eyes softened a little, shoulders sinking down.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

You considered. You hadn’t really thought much about it.

“Tired, I think. This is helping. Thank you.” You sipped at the cup of coffee, careful not to spill it on his sheets. An oddly comfortable silence hung in the air.

“I called Cordelia. She’s coming over this afternoon, we can figure it all out. Print a story you’re happy with.”

“Wait, what? We don’t have an appointment for three more weeks.”

He glanced awkwardly at the floor, and cleared his throat.

“I thought you’d want to make it as quick as possible. It will be, and it won’t shine badly on you. I’ll get Lucille to pack your things, and if you don’t want to go back to your parents, I’d be happy to put you up somewhere in the city for as long as you’d like. It’s the least I could do after everything that I-”

“Coriolanus, stop.” You shook your head, bewildered.

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

He paused.

“Of course.”

“How the hell are you meant to know what I want if you’ve never asked me?”

He frowned, eyes darting from the floor, to you, to the floor again.

“I… Well, I assumed that-”

“Don’t assume.” You interrupted. “God, when will you stop assuming you know what’s best for me? It’d be nice to feel like I have a say in this. Don’t you see that if we do this, we’ll just end up right back where we started? I don’t want that, do you?”

“Doll, I think this would be for the best.”

“Why, am I getting too difficult for you now? You got someone new lined up ready to take my place? Someone less complicated? More complacent?” You snapped.

“Of course not, it’s not that.”

“Then why? Why do you want me gone? Because it’s pretty damn clear that you do from where I’m sat.”

He sighed, turning to face you, but looking at your lap. You gripped the cup with a vice, like you were trying to snap off the handle. You placed it on the nightstand.

“I’ve just been wondering if this has become about something… else, to you. and I wanted to say that if that’s the case, this can’t continue. Because… well, I’ve grown fond of you, and it isn’t fair to keep you hoping.”

Your confusion softened your sharp edges.

“Hoping for what?”

For whatever reason, he didn’t meet your eye as he spoke.

“Hoping that… I can give you something I don’t think I’m capable of. Or at least, not anymore. It’s not fair on you. I can’t give you what you need.”

“And what exactly is it that I need?”

He shifted, looking awkwardly to the floor. At first, your frown only deepened, then it hit you. A knowing smile crept onto your face.

“Oh my god… you think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

His frown only widened your grin. you were pretty sure you must’ve looked insane. Despite yourself, you let out a laugh, and his frown only deepened.

“When you… you’ve been upset lately. The other week at the luncheon, and then last night, I thought it was-”

“That I was, what, in love with you?”

A cocky, shit eating grin now took over your face.

He started a sentence, but stopped himself. You could see it on his face; he was completely thrown.

“So you’re not.” He checked.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed, Snow. ‘Course not. That’s never what this was about, I mean, we have rules for a reason. Sure, we’ve been breaking them like it’s our day job, but not the golden one. Never the most important.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked a little sheepish.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” you repeated, “I’m not in love with you.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. His shoulders sank down, like he was relieved.

“I see. That’s good, that’s… for the best.”

“So will you cancel Cordelia?”

“Okay. If that’s what you want., it’s done.”

You nodded.

“See, this is better. It’s a lot easier when you ask me things. And I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t exactly been the most talkative either.”

“It’s not exactly our strong suit.” He agreed.

“Yeah. You know, while we’re on the topic, there’s something else you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

“You can run me a bath. A hot one. With bubbles.” You added.

It was slight, but you saw it. He perked up.

“Okay, doll.”

The bath was hot, and it smelt like the softer parts of him, like fresh linen and the spice of his cologne. Again, he didn’t linger, just ran the bath, saw you into the room and let you be. It was frustrating – while it was nice to soak in the hot water and feel your muscles relax, you wished he would just talk to you, instead of acting like you were something to avoid, something to walk on eggshells around. This change in his demeanour wasn’t a completely unwelcome one – you didn’t mind feeling as though you had the upper hand, and held all the cards for once – but you didn’t like being treated like you were broken, either.

You sank your head underneath the bubbles and stayed down there for a few seconds, the rush of water clouding your eardrums. It was a peaceful kind of noise, and when you came back up for air, you found yourself breathing a little easier.

You pondered. Processed, considering the steps to take next, rolling your neck out and stretching your feet to the edge of the tub. Anytime you thought you’d reached any sort of plateau with Coriolanus, something new would pop up out of seemingly nowhere. You hadn’t minded the danger at first, it drew you in and kept you hungry for more, but you’d grown tired, weary from the whiplash knotting your neck.

When the water cooled, you looked around, but couldn’t see a towel. You cleared your throat.

“Snow?” You called out.

Soft footsteps. Then, his voice from behind the door.

“Everything okay?”

“I just need a towel. I can’t see one near me.”

“They’re in the linen closet in the corner.”

You eyed the floor between the tub and the closet.

“I’d have to get out and drip bathwater all across the floor. Can you just come in here and hand me one?”

Silence.

“Please?” You added.

More silence. Then he quietly cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Okay, fine. I’m coming in, I won’t look.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

The door cracked open and he made a short beeline to the closet, unfolding a towel and holding it out. When he walked to the side of the tub, he looked off to the side like the colour of the walls was suddenly the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

You pulled yourself out of the water, shivering as the cold air hit you. Then you backed into the towel and took it from him, wrapping it around yourself, sinking into the soft cotton. He stood behind you, paused, seemingly suspended in place and unable to move. You heard him draw in a breath, inches from the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. His breath caught on the droplets of water gathered on your skin, and it warmed you and gave you a chill at the same time.

“I know you are.”

Then in a flash, you spun around, lips on his, hungry. He kissed you back like he had something to prove, and hell, maybe he did. His hands tangled in your wet hair and yours made for his shirt. The towel slipped to the floor and fell in a pile at your feet. One button came open, you broke the second, which flew into the air and landed on the floor with a tap. He pulled you in closer, hands all over you, and you worked frantically at the third, not caring if it broke, not caring about anything.

“Doll.”

You looked up at him, at his blown-out eyes.

“Want you to fuck me.” You breathed.

“I can’t.”

You jolted to a stop, catching your breath. He took a step back.

“What?”

He pulled in slow breaths, like he was trying to cool himself off. His eyes pressed shut.

“Not like this. Not until I know you trust me again. I don’t… I can’t hurt you again. I won’t do that. I need you to forgive me first. Completely.”

You exhaled slowly, then cleared your throat, lowering to the ground to pick the damp towel off the tiles. When you came back up, half-covered, he was staring at a spot on the wall again, breath laboured.

You tied the towel around you, and looked right at him as he looked away, eyes averted.

“You sure about that, Snow?” you drawled. “You sure as hell don’t look it.”

He swallowed thickly.

“I’ll let you get dressed. I’ll just be in the bedroom.”

You brought your hand to your lips, brushing over where he’d just kissed them once he’d turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. You eyed your pile of clothes with disdain.

He was back at his desk when you walked out, wrapped in a shirt he’d offered you, hair towel in hand. He didn’t look as focused on his work this time.

“I cancelled Cordelia. So don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you.” You made for the bed, and climbed back onto it. “Rather just talk to you anyway.”

His jaw tensed. It seemed he was still doing everything in his power not to look at you.

“You know, there’s this thing called eye contact. Remember that thing Cordelia waffles on about? It’s important when you’re having a conversation with somebody. I’m a big fan, myself.”

His eyes shot daggers at you. But at least he was looking.

“And what did you want to talk about, exactly?”

You shrugged, and he glanced back at the desk, and pretended to study one of the papers there.

“I don’t know. All of this, I guess.”

Much to your annoyance, he didn’t answer. Your eyes swept the room again, and you brought the towel to your hair. The sun was high enough now to light up the silver chain on the nightstand, and you took it in your palm, turning it over.

“Did you mean it when you said I could have this?” You wondered aloud.

He looked at you again.

“Wasn’t sure if you remembered that.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then I meant it.” His words shouldn’t have made you smile, but they did.

“Will you put this on me?” You asked.

“Uh. Sure.”

The chair creaked as he pushed it back from underneath him, and he walked over to you cautiously, perching on the bed, taking the dog tag, then ever so gently brushing your hair to one side.

“Can I just ask-”

“Anything.” He said quickly.

The cool metal slid onto your chest as he secured the chain, falling low.

“When you were out there, did you…” you swallowed.

Say it.

“…hurt people?” You praised your voice for not shaking. The silence in the room was deafening. But he finally answered.

“I did what was necessary.”

“It must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “It was.”

“Do you think about it much?”

“More than I care to admit. But it was a long time ago.”

You turned to face him.

“Doesn’t make it less real. I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine how hard it must’ve been.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. What matters is that I’m here now.”

You smiled.

“You didn’t get too bad of a deal of it either, President Snow.”

He put your hair back into place, fingertips trailing your shoulder.

“I certainly didn’t.”

You thumbed the cold steel, an odd feeling of satisfaction washing over you.

“Was it worth it?” Your voice sounded quiet, even to you. You were fully aware of the weight of the question, heavier still from the complete understanding that you barely knew what you were asking.

“Yes.”

It should’ve scared you, the surety in his voice. But it didn’t.

Warm breath caressed your shoulder blade, and it really shouldn’t comfort you, but it did. You cleared your throat.

“Thank you. For putting it on. I always get these things tangled.”

“My pleasure. I meant what I said though, sweetheart. No wearing it where anyone’ll see, okay? I need you to promise me.”

You turned your head, shifted so you faced him. You suddenly realised just how close your faces were, and your voice dropped low.

“I promise. It’s nothing new. We’re no strangers to secrets, you and I.”

Your noses were almost touching, and he was looking down at your lips. You drew in a breath, and inched in impossibly closer. You felt his breath on your lips, hot and shallow. Your nose bumped his.

And then his lips were on yours again. But just as quickly, he pulled away.

“Don’t.” You pleaded.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t. Not until I’ve fixed this. Please, just… tell me what you need me to do. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You sighed, pulling away.

“This is what I want, Snow. But…”

“Yeah?”

“I just… never knew it would get so complicated. I think for now, maybe I need a little time.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

“I might go home over this weekend. Spend some time with my parents. No tricks, okay? No messengers, no word from you, the entire time. I’ll come back here on Monday morning, and I’ll tell you what I’ve decided then.”

He nodded.

“That’s fine.” He cleared his throat again. “So you’ll leave tomorrow morning?”

“If that’s okay.”

He seemed as satisfied as one would expect with that solution.

“Yes. Of course, anything you want.”

“Thank you, Coriolanus.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked a little disappointed by the formality.

“And Snow?”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Before I go, will you lie next to me for a little while?"

It was oddly intimate, the way the day stretched on. He lay next to you for a while, and you sank into the sheets and eventually dozed off. When you woke, he was still there, quietly tapping at the typewriter and poring over paperwork. You spent the rest of the day in his room, in bed mostly, with food being brought up to you which you shared in mutual silence or casual conversation. Lucille packed your bags, and you spent the night in his bed, a little distance between you. But when you woke up, you had to slowly pull away your woven limbs.

Leaving was a quiet affair. Snow gave you a chaste kiss goodbye, and Henry snuck you and your bags through the back exit and kept to backroads, so nobody would know who you were or where you were going. Your parents didn’t know why you were visiting either; they didn’t need to. As far as anyone was concerned, you were taking a short weekend trip to check in with your family.

The two days passed quickly. You spent the time reflecting, debating what your next move would be, and listening to your parents argue. You found yourself glancing at the clock by Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday night you were practically crawling out your skin ready to leave. You considered what he’d offered you; an apartment on your own, somewhere in the city. But the thing is, you’d grown used to his moods, to just having him around, if only to dig your fingers into and pry open, searching for secrets. Life would feel awfully dull without it. You’d never met someone who was a match for you, who challenged you. You wondered if he felt the same.

Monday morning rolled around and you let out a heavy sigh of relief as you climbed into the car. Henry glanced back at you, but didn’t comment.

The second the manor came into sight, your head clouded with doubt. Would he want you to stick around? You’d spent the last couple of days toying with all outcomes like some omniscient god, but until now you hadn’t considered the fact that Snow might’ve done some thinking through of his own.

But as you pulled up at the side door, there he was. Standing perfectly poised, waiting for you, and all your worries washed away as he looked at you. Henry opened the door, and Coriolanus offered his hand as you stepped out the car. He looked at you with the same intensity as he had that very first night in his room, when you’d finally dropped the charade, and you returned the stare. Even just feeling his hand on yours set your skin on fire.

When you finally got inside and it was just the two of you, he stopped you.

He looked regal before, proud and superior. Now, you could tell it was a façade, laced with a nervous discomfort.

“Well?” He prompted.

You looked at him. Took in the way his eyes couldn’t stay in one place for too long, the tightness in his jaw that only appeared when he was under pressure, and the slight urgency seeping through his otherwise controlled question, and realised then that you hadn’t been the only one going a little insane these past few days.

And now, you had the upper hand again.

“Upstairs,” you answered. “Your room.”

When the door closed behind you and he paced towards the desk, you almost smiled at the parallel. It felt like an age ago that you’d strutted in here, dressed in his suit jacket with something to prove. You knew the cards you were about to play now like you had then, but your thoughts still raced.

Snow cleared his throat.

“So? Have you made up your mind?”

You waited for him to turn and face you.

“I have.”

“And?” So quick to reply. You’d never heard him so on edge.

You wet your lips, taking a step towards him. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying stretching this out a little, watching him squirm.

“I’ve decided that… I’m staying.” You said finally.

He let out an audible breath, almost like he didn’t care about you hearing his reaction anymore. Like he’d been strung out the entire weekend, just like you. Like he’d imagined this conversation in a million different ways. He stepped towards you. This was an old dance; one you knew well. You closed the gap between you, and his hand grazed your jaw.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He said. You held his gaze, he brushed your lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Can I…” His voice dropped.

“Not just yet.”

You relished the little frown that knitted his brows.

“I know you, Snow.” You continued. “You’re good at what you do. You’re better at this than anyone out there. You’re dedicated, and I think that… something tells me you’re going to be President for an awfully long time. I want to be by your side when that happens. I’m not going away when this arrangement suits me too. But I have terms.”

He watched you as if he was mesmerised, and you wondered if he even noticed the way you slowly walked him towards the bed. You hid your smile as the spell broke, and the back of his legs bumped the ottoman. He gazed down at your lips, just a little thrown off kilter.

“Tell me.”

You got closer, lifting your hands to the lapels of his shirt and giving them a tug, turning him so you were stood against the ottoman and he was facing you. He moved so easily, as if this was a dance, one you’d practiced a hundred times over.

“Let’s start with this. You said you’d do anything for my forgiveness, right?”

“I meant it.”

“Good.” You nodded, “Because there is something you can do for me.” Your hand traced his jaw, and he leaned into it.

“Name it.” He whispered, lips pressing against your palm. “It’s yours.”

You leaned towards him, faces close, noses touching, foreheads pressed together. You could feel the almost on your lips, could feel his breath. You relished in the feeling, that electric tension between the two of you. You held onto it, inhaled it like smoke, before cutting it loose.

“Kneel.” You breathed.

Feeling his brows twitch gave you a rush, and when you pulled back, he looked like art. You slowly moved down, sitting on the ottoman, holding his gaze. Then slowly, steadily, like he was walking a gossamer-thin tightrope, he shifted, nudging your legs open to stand between them, and lowered himself down to the floor, knees gently knocking against the hardwood one at a time. You give him a slow nod.

“Like that. Good. Stay there.”

Your legs parted a little further, and his eyes lined up with the way your dress lifted, bunching at your hips, exposing black lace with white trim, barely covering the space he seemed to lean towards.

He wet his lips, glancing up at you. Eyes bright but laden with want, so heavy he thought he might drown in it.

“Can I…” He whispered, and you felt it more than heard it, his hot breath tickling your thighs.

You smiled a little, and shook your head.

“Fuck. Please, doll.”

“Did I ask you to beg?”

“No. But… what can I do?”

You pulled your lip between your teeth as you considered.

“You can take these off. Slowly.”

You sighed when his palms brushed your hips, pushing your dress up then hooking soft fingers into the band of your underwear, slowly pulling them over your hips and down your thighs. He was gentle, pulling back but staying oh so close to you as he pulled the lace past your ankles, tossed it to the side, and moved in again expectantly.

“And now?”

You pushed your legs apart again, just enough. Drew in a breath.

“I want you to watch.”

A sound slipped from his mouth, and you weren’t sure if it was just a shaky breath or a quiet curse. His eyes darted between your face and the heat between your thighs. If you couldn’t already feel the mess you’d made, the way his lips parted and his eyes went heavy-lidded would give it away in an instant.

His gaze followed your hand, unwavering as you slowly brought it between your legs, and lazily trailed your fingers towards where you were aching to be touched. Then with a gasp, you brushed your finger against your clit and starting drawing slow circles, slipping further down to push against your opening, slipping through the mess you’d made just from seeing him knelt on the hardwood.

You kept your head tilted back and your eyes closed, touching yourself with Snow knelt between your legs incredibly brazen, even for you. He was mere inches away, laboured breath dusting the skin of your inner thighs.

But as you melted into the feeling, sinking deeper than you could imagine in just a few short seconds, you opened them again. And there he was, darkened eyes fixed on where your fingers ran messy circles on your cunt, and you let out a soft whine. It was enough to make him redirect his stare to your face, and you couldn’t help but stare back, pressing harder against your clit with a broken sigh. You planted your feet on the floor as you shifted your hips a little, getting slightly closer, making it easier for you to carefully swirl a finger around your entrance, then gently push inside.

“Fuck.” He breathed, rocking forward slightly, to which you shook your head, knee pressing against his shoulder, pushing him back. His pleading eyes drove you on, pushed you to fuck yourself faster, obscene wet noises filling the quiet space.

He looked wrecked; lips parted, eyes begging, glancing up at you. And it only made you all the more shameless, bucking your hips and crying out, gasps slipping from your mouth that you couldn’t deny were getting played up a little for effect. He stared on, looking so fucking small between your legs, so hard you could only imagine it hurt.

You weren’t sure if he noticed he was breathing in tandem with you, but as your breaths picked up, got a little strained, so did his. His eyes slitted, heavy with lust as he stared on.

You got a little cocky; let it go to your head. Nothing would ever beat the rush of adrenaline you felt from seeing the most powerful man you’d ever known giving into you, letting you set the rules. It was intoxicating.

“You okay down there, sweetheart?”

He sighed, slow and heavy.

“I…” He trailed off, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Is there something you need?” Your voice was breathier than you would like, control slipping from your fingertips, but it was still there and the way he looked up at you. His mouth opened again, jaw agape, on his knees like it was a silent prayer. You fucked yourself faster, mean, dripping down your fingers. He finally spoke.

“Please.” He whispered.

“What did you say?”

“I said -” he swallowed “- I said please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me touch you. Put my mouth on you, I won’t even use my hands. Just let me… baby. Come on.” His voice was raspy and ruined.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson yet? I’m not so sure.”

His breath was shallow, eyes wide and blown out.

“I’ll prove it to you. Just let me touch you, and I’ll do anything you want. Please, doll.”

You hummed, pretending to weigh it up in your head.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely. Go ahead. But keep your hands to yourself.”

“Thank you. Fuck. Thank you, baby.”

He listened, inching in cautiously, like he was expecting you to change your mind, then he pressed his mouth to you and there it was.

Heaven.

“Oh fuck.” Your breath hitched in your throat.

You hummed as he dragged his tongue over your folds, setting your nerves alight, instinctively rocking into the pressure you’d been thinking about since you got him on the floor. His hands, you noted, sat dutifully on his thighs, gripping onto them like it took a physical reminder for him not to reach out and grab your hips, push his fingers into your soft skin and own you.

As welcome as that sounded to your foggy mind, this was about proving a point. You were the one calling the shots here. So you rocked gently against his face as he kissed your clit, lapping at the heat between your legs, only pulling away at intervals to catch his breath, the daylight making the mess on his chin glisten, only to dive back in again, movements slightly limited by the lack of his hands, which you could see was bothering him.

You couldn’t help but tease him a little between gasps.

“I have to say I missed this. Seeing you underneath me.”

He looked up at you. But there was little defiance in his eyes, just want. Want so depraved that it sent a flush through you, making you feel a little unmoored.

“If I didn’t know better, Coryo, I’d say you were enjoying this.”

Face buried between your thighs, a broken whine sent a little shock through your core. You moaned, getting a little strung-out, a little breathy.

“Is that a yes?”

You felt him nod.

“Good. Glad to see you’re putting up less of a fight this time. It wasn’t so hard, now, was it? Giving in?”

This time, his eyes contained a little more fire. He pushed his tongue firmer against your clit, cutting off your question with a gasp. A few moments passed, and you heard him hum.

“Is there something you want to say, baby? Go ahead.”

He pulled back, catching his breath again.

“Still don’t want me to use my hands?”

You shook your head.

“Then can you… if it’ll feel better.” He glanced at your hand, resting lazily on your thigh.

“What?” You knew what he was getting at, but he shot you back a look as if to say, don’t make me say it.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Then say it.”

“Put your hand in my hair. You can… be rough, if you want to. I don’t mind.”

Your smile turned into a sly grin.

“You want me to pull your hair? You sure?”

“I’m sure. I don’t… I liked it, last time.” He confessed quietly.

“Liked what?” You pushed.

He took a steady breath, looking down at the velvet seat you were perched on. He gritted out the words steadily, pointedly.

“When you sat on my face. I liked it.”

You pressed your lips together to hide your smile.

“I know you did.”

He paused, looking down at the floor. Then he looked back up. You brought your hand to his hair, fingers running through the soft strands. He started peppering kisses along the insides of your thighs, something he’d been too desperate to consider when you’d first given him permission to taste you. Now, they sparked the fire even more, and as much as you liked the careful attention, you guided his head to where you needed it. Keeping his words in mind, you gave a slightly rough tug on his hair, and he responded with a pained hum that edged you closer.

At one point, you saw his hand shift to try towards his pants, but you yanked his hair in response.

“No touching yourself yet. Or I’ll only let you watch, okay?”

You built up a rhythm, growing careless with the tugs on his hair so that you felt pressure in all the right places. Your fingers pulled harder as you got close, and you could hear his shallow breath as you took what you wanted from him.

“Fuck. Coryo, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that. You wanna make me cum?”

He nodded as best as he could with your hand gripping tight in his hair, and the motion only brought you closer, legs growing weak and tired, hooking over his shoulders now that you’d let him closer. You felt the ache build, almost painful with how long it had been, and you felt yourself snap, spinning out of control as your hand tensed, then fell from his hair. Then his hands were on you, gently this time, smoothing over your bucking hips with a level of control that you melted into as the feeling washed over you. He didn’t stop, pressing his tongue against you harder as you fell apart, shaking like a leaf as he worked your cunt until your cries bordered on screams.

“Fuck. Oh my god, that’s it, I’m…” You broke off into a shout, something so outlandish it sounded foreign to your own ringing ears, but you were too far gone to care. You could vaguely feel yourself grabbing at him as he pulled away, at his hair, his hands, anything, as you slumped back onto the bed. Slowly, he propped himself up, placing a knee between your legs and leaning over you. And his eyes, heavy and wanting, had you aching all over again.

He held back a little, clearly still in the space you’d pushed him into.

“Can I…” He whispered, those desperate eyes fixed on your parted lips as you caught your breath.

“Yeah.” You gasped, and he lowered his head towards you.

This time, he kissed you softer. Still hungry, still wanting, but slow, methodical, like he wanted to relish it. Almost like he wasn’t trying to own you, but in that moment, you could almost go so far as to believe the contrary. And your head swam with pride, feeling his lips on yours as he gently pressed you into the soft mattress.

But you didn’t sit in the feeling for too long.

“Was that okay?” He gasped.

“Yeah. More than okay. But you used your hands at the end there, baby. You know what that means?”

His eyes narrowed as his head cleared a little.

“Lie on your back for me.”

He obliged, dropping onto the mattress and shuffling up to lean against the pillows.

“I missed you, you know.” You murmured as you followed suit, hovering over him to get another kiss.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. Thought I was gonna go out of my fucking mind with how much.”

“Yeah?” You smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?”

“I hoped not. Glad I was right.”

You smiled again, and shifted closer towards him.

“I could always show you how much I missed you, if you wanted.” Your eyes darted down to the front of his pants, the outline of his hard cock pressing against the material. He went a little quiet again, nodding a little, and you grinned. Climbed onto your knees so you were just a little above him, then swung a leg over one of his to sit carefully on his thigh. You paused for a beat.

“I won’t touch you until you tell me to, baby.”

He sucked in a breath.

“You can touch me.”

You tutted.

“What do we say?”

“Please.” He added quickly.

Without a word, you leaned in, brushing a hand over his cock, starting gentle, but quickly adding pressure. You could tell he was holding back, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering as he tried to control his breath.

“Not getting shy on me again, are you?”

He didn’t answer, just met your eye and you took it as a challenge. Unbuttoned his slacks and with a glance and a nod, slid them down his legs. You licked your palm slow, making sure he was watching closely.

“Fuck.” He breathed.

“Well, if you’re not gonna talk to me properly, I’m just gonna have to work harder then, aren’t I?” You drawled as you slipped your hand underneath his boxers. There was a soft thump as his head dropped back onto the headboard and he cursed as your fingers grabbed the base of his cock.

“Like that?” Your mouth pulled into a sly smile.

He hummed, breaking off into a sigh, lips parted and eyes towards the ceiling as you fisted his cock. I’ll take that as a yes.

You swirled your thumb around the head of his cock, gathering messy precum that had gathered at the tip from your teasing, and it hit you then that most of your interactions until now had been psychological, toying with words, with ideas and almosts. You knew by now what made him tick, which words you could use to push him to the edge, but you’d barely had the chance to touch each other. But you were a fast learner, and you knew what you wanted from this.

You wanted to make him fall apart.

So you picked up the pace, and it must’ve ached with how fast you were fucking his cock with your fist, but his determination not to lose his cool made it all the more exciting. It got wet, and that was one thing his composure couldn’t hide. It egged you on, shifting your own hips on his tensing thigh as your sore cunt pressed against the muscle.

“You can hold back all you like, but I can tell you’re fucking close.”

His eyes fell shut in a lust-clouded haze, breath picking up. His cock twitched in your hand and you grinned. You were tempted to take it down your throat, really see how he held up then, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet, and you were on a high learning just how to make his body respond to your touch, how to make him weak. So you worked your wrist and felt his legs jolt a little, and you knew it was a matter of seconds.

“If you want to cum, you’ll have to ask nicely. I don’t know how generous I’m feeling just yet. Convince me.”

“Jesus.” He gasped.

“No, just me. Go on, baby. Beg me. You wanted to earlier, right? Now’s your chance.”

An honest-to-god whine left his mouth, voice cracked and completely fucking ruined. You slowed your motions.

“No, baby, don’t stop. I’m so fucking close, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum. I fucking need it, I did everything you said, I got on my knees, I fucking… fuck, I did what you told me, didn’t I? Everything you asked? And I didn’t touch myself, I haven’t… fuck. All weekend, I haven’t-”

You pressed your lips together.

“Poor thing. You’ve gone this whole weekend without cumming?”

“I was a little fucking preoccupied.” He gritted out.

“Over little old me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Please,” he repeated, “I need to cum. I did what you wanted, doll, I- shit-”

Satisfied, you picked the pace up again, obscene wet sounds filling the room as his hips rocked a little into your hand as he got close again. Too far gone now to hold back, his face contorted in pleasure, eyes fixed on you. Then, in a seemingly small motion as you leaned into him a little, the dog tag that had been sitting tucked under your dress - and had stayed hidden against your skin all weekend - slipped out, the pendant swinging into the air beneath you, and as Coriolanus caught sight of it, you felt his hips tense, then his cock was twitching and spilling into your hand.

“Shit, that’s so… oh my fucking god, doll.”

You pulled your hand from his boxers and brought it to your mouth, cleaning it off a little.

“You really did need that, huh?” You smirked, and he sighed.

“Yeah. I really fucking did.”

You nodded at his boxers.

“Can I take these off now?”

He pressed his head into the headboard again and nodded, so you carefully pulled them down his legs. Panting and overheated, he unbuttoned his shirt as you threw the fabric to the floor. What he didn’t expect you to do, though, was put your hand back on his still-twitching cock that sat tired and used against his stomach. He flinched a little as you palmed it, and you looked at him mischievously. Started to move your hand again, slow and steady, but firm.

“That’s… baby. Stop, I already came, I… fuck.” He winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You chuckled, voice turning a little dangerous.

“Oh, you thought we were done?”

“Doll, that’s not – shit – that’s not fucking funny. It’s sensitive, I…” It turned into an uncomfortable hum, but you felt him twitch under your palm, slowly getting hard again. His leg gave a little involuntary kick, much to your satisfaction.

“I… what the fuck.” His voice went quiet and strained, and yours got menacing.

“Oh, you can take it, can’t you? Thought you said you liked me taking the lead a little. You can handle it, can’t you, Snow? Or do you want me to stop?”

“Mm. That’s… was different. Please.” You kept going, a rush washing over you as you wondered if he even knew what he was begging for. You got more daring, rubbing your palm over the tip, and grinned when he cried out.

“You want me to stop? Just say the word. I will.”

He was half-hard again, more cum leaking from his tip as you sped up just a little.

Eyes squeezed shut, he shook his head frantically as the rest of him trembled.

“Didn’t think so.”

His face was twisted like he was holding on desperately, trying to maintain control as you relished in his permission, and palmed him harder.

“Jesus fuck.” He said, voice getting louder now, legs twitching and hips bucking up in little jolts you were certain he couldn’t stop if he tried. You had him now, pliable like clay between your fingertips, shaking apart.

“Is that too much for you?” You taunted, getting cocky now.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He snapped, but it fell flat when his voice broke halfway through the question. You laughed.

“I know exactly who I am, Snow. I’m the girl you’re gonna be stuck with for a long time, and I’ve got some demands to make. So listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once. You know what happened last week?” You were aware you were starting to sound almost as insane as him, but you didn’t care.

“You don’t ever,” you spat, “do that to me again. If you do, I swear on all of Panem, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”

He whined, desperate, so far gone you weren’t sure he was fully listening.

“Say you fucking understand.”

“I… I understand. Fuck. Please. I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so fucking sorry-”

“You’re lucky I’m giving you another chance. From here on out, you only get to treat me like a whore when I tell you to. Okay?”

“Yes. Yes, okay. I understand. I’m… shit.”

“This is a partnership, starting now. We help each other. We trust each other. We talk to each other. We don’t go behind each other’s backs, or fuck around with other people. Okay?”

“Okay. That’s… doll, can you slow down just a little? You’re… I’m…”

“You’re gonna cum again?”

He nodded, chasing his breath. You leaned towards him, lowering your head to his chest and dragging your tongue against his collarbone.

“Good. You can cum again, Coryo.”

“Thank you. Thank you - fuck. That feels… I’m-”

“You gonna cum all over my hand again, baby? Do it, I’ve got you. You can cum now.”

The second time he came was with a pained cry, painting your hand until it dripped down your wrist and onto his stomach. When you finally released your grip, he slumped down and sighed, aftershocks still jolting through him.

“You heard what I said, didn’t you?”

“I did. And I understand.”

“Good.” You murmured into his ear, and you felt goosebumps rise on his torso, “Then I think we can come to an agreement.”

The week went by in a blur of whispered words and tangled limbs. He rarely left you alone, and you barely felt the time pass, every waking moment spent together, flesh on flesh. When he worked, it was at the small desk in his room, and he took plenty of breaks to lounge in bed with you or run you baths.

You learned each other’s tells, growing comfortable touching each other, but Snow stuck to his word, much to your annoyance.

Not until you trust me again, he’d said. Wasn’t it clear enough by you staying?

You’d all but moved into his room, sending Lucille back and forth with hampers for your clothes, which now hang in one side of his closet, or sat folded in his previously empty drawers. You felt closer to him than you ever had before, and the two of you had skin littered with bruises which made you grateful you didn’t have any public functions to attend for quite a while. He’d stopped leaving you to go into the city and work, instead managing people from afar, and letting them get on with their jobs so he could weed out the weakest links.

For the first time, it felt a little like he was yours. Or as much yours as he possibly could be. And as you spent more time together, not just half-dressed and desperate, but talking, really talking, you slowly started to feel like you could be his, too.

“Tell me it feels better than he did. When you were together.” He whispered one morning, when you’d not long woken up and he’d immediately ducked under the covers to get between your thighs. He paused, fingers inside you, looking at you intently, and at first you were confused as to what he meant. You heard the tinge of vulnerability in his voice, and took the cue.

“You really think you deserve that? After everything?”

“No.” He whispered, eyes dropping down again.

“So what do we say?”

“Please.”

“One more time for me.”

He spoke up, voice gorgeously wrecked.

“Please. Tell me it’s better.”

“That’s good. And since you’re being good, I’ll tell you. He didn’t…” you swallowed, catching yourself, “He didn’t really like doing that. what you’re doing.” Your facade cracked a little and you glanced off to the side, not sure what reaction you were expecting.

“Really?” His voice was dumbfounded. It made you laugh.

“You know, Snow, a lot of guys don’t. They’re lazy about it. Want to get it over with, get to the real thing.”

A wide smile pulled at his lips, wolfish.

“Who wouldn’t want to do this?”

“Easy for you to say, handsome.”

He grinned wider.

“Can I try something?”

“I don’t know. will I like it?”

“I think we both will.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Okay, Coryo.”

His smile only deepened, pulling into an excited smirk as he gripped your hips once more, lightly kissing your thighs as he got closer to where you wanted him.

You gasped as his tongue worked you, and when you came, he kept going, easing up only after you’d fallen apart more times than you could keep count.

“Can’t believe you still won’t fuck me.” You pouted one day, as he sat at the desk with a pen in hand, scratching against paper.

He turned around to face you.

“I told you why. Not until-”

“I trust you again, I know. But how do you know that? I could trust you just fine and you wouldn’t even know it.”

“I’ll know.”

You hummed.

“Or,” you started, slipping off the bed and pacing towards him, “you could just fuck me now and call it square.”

He chuckled.

“Nice try, sweetheart.”

You pulled a lip between your teeth as you stood next to him, and he moved his chair out towards you. You smoothed a hand over his dress shirt, and grabbed a hold of his tie. Then you hooked a leg over both of his and lowered yourself onto his lap, face right next to his. You’d grown comfortable with being close to him, and while it still felt electric, you could handle it better. You rocked your hips on his as you got comfortable.

“Feel familiar?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m getting flashbacks.”

You smirked.

“Can I take this off?” You tugged at his shirt.

“Only if you play nice. No acting up, okay?”

“If you say so.” You shrugged, making quick work of the tie and buttons. Once the shirt was off, your lips were all over him, trailing over his chest and neck, tongue tracing lines across his collarbones.

“You don’t have to be anywhere for the next week, do you?” You murmured into his ear.

“No.” His breath hitched a little.

“Good.”

With that, you closed your lips around his pulse, and sucked.

While you littered his whole torso with bruises, and your neck was given a few of its own, you started rocking your hips lazily against him, playing coy like you didn’t know what you were doing, like you couldn’t feel him rock hard between your legs.

“Now this really is taking me back.” His voice strained when he spoke.

You only hummed in response, lace panties bunching in an all-too-familiar way. But you didn’t work your hips like you had something to prove this time, you went slower, taking your time, but staying deliberate in your movements. Your lips met his, breaking away only to breathe, then again when you felt his hips roll a little and his breath get laboured.

You rocked your hips harder, nice and firm. You could feel his cock twitch through his pants, right up against the wet spot forming on your panties. The friction had you shaking.

“Feel good?” You breathed.

“Yeah. Feels real fucking good, sweetheart.”

You smiled as your head lolled back, gasping loud to make sure he really heard it.

“You know what would feel even better, though?”

He mumbled something back but you didn’t catch it, lost in the haze.

“Think it’d feel better if you were fucking me for real right now.”

You didn’t expect the broken moan that escaped him, hands gripping your hips hard. Like the thought of it was enough to make him shatter.

“Baby,” he warned, “don’t.”

“But it would be so easy.” You pressed, “pushing my panties to the side and fucking into me right now.”

“Doll-”

“I know you want to.” you whispered against his ear.

“Do you now?” His strained voice told you everything you needed to know.

You nodded. “Mhm. I know you do. I also know that it’s driving you crazy, having me this close, but not able to take what you want. You must be going out of your mind, you know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because I am too. I’m tired of this rule, Snow. Let’s just forget about it, and fuck me already.”

“Get up.” He said firmly. You started.

“What?”

“You heard me. I said get up, sweetheart.”

You climbed off his lap and stood, cautiously, legs shaking from how close you’d gotten. He did the same, towering over you a little as you failed to hide the smile on your face.

“Get on the bed.”

You took in a breath, shaky with nerves.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You sat back on the bed, peering over the mattress as he ducked down to pick up something from the floor.

“What are you-”

“Eyes closed.”

“Okay.” You shut your eyes, then felt him get close to you, his lips meeting yours as he knelt in front you, mattress dipping as he shifted. His hands brushed your arms, slowly pushing them behind your back as you melted into him, and before you could open your eyes, you felt the smooth silk of his tie wrap around your wrists and pull.

“What-”

“You want to act up, doll? Fine. Let’s see how many times I can make you cum all over my fingers before you’re begging me to stop.”

His hand slipped between your legs, pushing your lace panties to the side and pressing a finger into your wet cunt as you cried out. Your eyes pleaded at him, desperate.

“But why can’t you-”

“I said,” he repeated, pressing his finger into the spot that make you see stars, “not. Fucking. Yet.”

He spent hours fingering you open, making you cum until you cried. Then he cleaned up your tears and kissed like you were his whole world as you fell into an exhausted sleep, his words floating around in your head.

The black box was tied with a crisp white ribbon, and sat waiting for you on your bed. You approached it with caution, thumbing the piece of card on top of it. It was a note written in ink.

Wear this tonight. Think you’ll suit it well.

- C.S

You’d gone into your room to collect something of yours to take to Snow’s room. You rarely went into your room anymore, most of your things had found their place in his, much to your satisfaction.

It was the first day in about two weeks that Coriolanus had finally had to leave the house to go into the city, but he’d promised it would just be for the day. It was also the first gala you had to attend since you’d made your decision, which you were slightly nervous for, but mostly excited to get out of the house, because although the sacred oasis that his room had become, it would be nice to have a change of scenery.

And that brought you back to the beautifully wrapped box lay in front of you. You were buzzing. You turned the note over in your hands, pulling it to your face to breathe it in. It smelt like newly printed books, and something distinctly him.

You recognised the label on the box, it was one of your favorite designers. You pushed the lid away to reveal the most beautiful dress you’d ever laid your eyes on – and you’d seen some impressive pieces.

It was a dark crimson red with gold embroidery, soft as silk. You unfolded it gently, letting the fabric spill out towards the floor. It was a little more revealing than anything you currently owned, with a deep slit up the leg and a plunging neckline, waist cinched, but the rest of the dress was floor length. A smile crept onto your face.

After counting down the hours, it was finally time to make your way downstairs. Snow stood in a full suit, waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

“You look beautiful.” He remarked.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself.” You smiled in response.

You met at the foot of the stairs, and he took your hand in his.

“Thank you for the dress. It’s gorgeous.” You added, not sure why you were lowering your voice in your own lobby.

“I knew it would suit you. Now you’re almost ready to go.”

“Almost?” You frowned, not sure what you could possibly be missing.

Coriolanus lifted his hand to pull the white rose from his breast pocket. He examined it, then lifted it to your hair and tucked it gently behind your ear. Your lips parted in surprise, and your hand reached up to meet his.

“But it’s your signature. I couldn’t-”

“I know. But people won’t be looking at me tonight. They’ll be looking at you. And this way, when they do, each and every one of them will know that you’re mine.”

That knowing smile crept back onto your face, and you leaned in to press your lips to his.

When you pulled away, you thumbed his tie, realising the color matched your dress exactly.

“I’m sensing a similar theme here.”

“Well, it’s been a while since we’ve been seen out in public. It’ll be good to show up like this, show a strong front, not leave any doubters.”

You hummed.

“And when we get home?”

His stare drew you in; you could get lost in it and never find your way out.

“That depends.”

Your gaze lowered to his lips, then back up again.

“Missed you today.” You said.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You promise?”

He smiled.

“I promise, sweetheart.”

“Snow?”

He hummed in response. Your hand felt like it could melt into his, thumb brushing your palm.

“What would you say if I told you that I trust you now?”

His hand stilled. His eyes bored into yours.

“I’d say… that I believe you.”

You held your breath in, letting the anticipation wash over you.

“Later?” You whispered, and he nodded.

“Later.”

The ball was one of the most extravagant you’d seen, large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and fountains of champagne dotted around. The health minister had outdone himself, and when you said so to Snow, he muttered a comment about him spending more time planning parties than doing his real job. But he smiled to all the right people, and his hand in yours calmed your nerves as a large procession saw you into the ballroom.

You danced until your feet turned numb, spinning on the ballroom floor, every time Coriolanus put his hands on your waist or wrapped his hand around yours drawing you in further, bringing you closer to forgetting everyone was watching you when his eyes were on yours, each stare becoming some secret language you were now terribly well-versed in. He didn’t let himself get distracted this time, quickly gravitating back to you any time he got pulled away into a conversation, and you basked in the attention, the two of you flirting to high heaven. When you’d spun until you were dizzy, he went to get you a drink, and you stepped off the floor of twirling couples.

It was then that you saw your mother, standing anxiously to one side, the stem of a champagne glass pressed between her fingers. Your parents rarely made it to these functions, but apparently, they had made time for this one. Suddenly aware of your frown and not wanting to arise suspicion, you plastered on a false smile and swanned through the crowd in her direction.

“Oh, darling. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Of course I am, mother, I wouldn’t miss it. Is everything alright?”

She glanced around the two of you nervously, fiddling with her glass. You touched her shoulder and gently guided her further into the corner of the room. You rarely saw her this distressed, usually the picture of grace and poise.

“What’s wrong?” You pressed.

“Have you heard from Nathaniel?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Nathaniel Greene? Not in a long time.” You figured the little stunt of yours from the month before should go unmentioned.

“I heard from his parents the other day. They’re completely distraught.”

“Why? What on earth happened?”

For a second, echoes of threats that had long settled to the ground popped back into the forefront of your mind, and you swallowed thickly. You sat down in two small chairs at the side of the room.

“They can’t begin to understand why. Perhaps it was work, perhaps he was gambling, or in debt, but nothing could possibly explain such a cruel fate.”

“Mother, tell me what happened. Is he…”

Her hands shook, and you took the glass of champagne from her and placed it on a nearby tray.

“He’s not dead, my darling. It’s worse. A messenger came to his house late the other night. They asked him to pack a bag, and they took him away. To… I can barely say it.”

“Mother,” you gritted, “tell me.”

“A peacekeeper, of all things.” Horror filled her voice. “They sent him away to the districts, for the next twenty years. But what could he have done? I can barely understand it. Can you imagine? A young man of his standing, wasting away in that place? His family is ruined.”

Right then, the crowd around you parted in a way that could only announce the presence of one person.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

You lifted your head to meet cool blue eyes and a slightly suspicious stare. From where you sat, Snow towered over you both, drink in hand.

“Everything’s fine.” You replied, “my mother isn’t feeling too well. Do you think we could find my father and have him take her home?”

He nodded at an Avox nearby who stepped dutifully away without missing a beat, and a server offered your mother a tray with a glass of water on it. You stood and faced Coriolanus, conscious of the now very interested crowd, and nodded to the large double doors that stood to your right.

“A word?”

He followed you in cautiously.

“I just heard something interesting.” You started.

He stood up straight, setting his jaw when you finally turned to face him. Even though you were barely alone, just a closed door between you and hundreds of people, it felt electric to be standing so close to him again with nobody watching you.

“What’s that?”

Playing it safe. An interesting move.

“Oh, just some rumor about an old friend of ours.”

“Who would that be?”

You smiled.

“I thought it was funny you asked about him the other day. Were you worried if I left you I’d go back to him?”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Coriolanus.” You drawled. “You sent Nathaniel off to be a peacekeeper so I couldn’t go back to him.”

His stony façade fell through a little.

“And if I did?”

The deep frown you’d plastered onto your face for your mother’s benefit fell away, and your lips curved into a smirk.

“I’d say... well played.”

He blinked.

“You’re not upset?”

“Over him? Barely.”

“You’re - ” Snow paused, “so you’re not angry that I sent him away? The districts are hell, you know.”

“I’m sure. I don’t care, Snow. If anything, I’m impressed.”

“Why?”

You shrugged.

“He had it coming. He slept with my closest friend a week after we ended things. He never knew I found out. I’ve just been waiting, really, for him to get what he deserves. I doubted you’d let him off without a warning. There I was thinking you’d lost your touch for a while.”

You wanted to bottle the feeling you got from his eyes burning into you, with something that tasted like admiration.

“I nearly did let him off, for your sake.” He confessed. “But... if that's the case, I'm glad I changed my mind."

“So am I. It was that weekend I left, wasn’t it?”

“Damage control." He said tightly, "You can’t blame me.”

“Thought so. Good work, Snow.” You stepped towards him and revelled in the apprehension on his face with a smirk. “It’s a shame for his family, but they were never particularly nice. Collateral, I suppose.”

“You really don’t care at all?”

“Does it look like I care?”

“No.”

“I think you can read me as well as the next person. So I don’t care. Is that so tragic?”

He shook his head, bewildered. A strange smile appeared on his face.

“No, that’s… that’s good.”

You smirked as a thought popped into your head.

“How long do you think he’ll last out there?”

“Who knows? I hope you’re not banking on him ever coming back.”

You fiddled with his tie, smoothing it down.

“Never. We can’t all be Coriolanus Snow, can we?”

“Certainly not.”

You stepped even closer, and his back bumped softly against the wall. His gaze fell to your lips. You'd painted them a red so deep it was almost black, matching the dress.

"You like the color?" You asked.

"Yeah. Reminds me of when you kissed me in front of everyone and I couldn't get it off."

You laughed.

"Well, it was one way of getting your attention."

"It drove me fucking crazy, you know. It's all I thought about when I jerked off for weeks."

Fuck. Your eyes went a little heavy, laden with want.

“I hope this hasn’t changed our plans tonight.” You murmured.

“Has it changed them for you?”

You shook your head quickly.

“No. You?”

“Of course not.” He brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face.

“Good. Because now he’s out of our way, I’m tired of this party. I want to go home."

His eyes darkened a little and he drew in a breath.

“I’ll go say my goodbyes.”

With one of his hands on the doorknob, you stopped him.

“Snow?”

“Yes?”

“I don't want you to be nice. Later, I mean.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was just a few squeezes shy of breaking off the doorknob.

Your body slammed against his bedroom door with a force. His hands travelled under your clothes; wanting, needing to touch. You sighed and gasped at the feeling, his cold hands on your skin shooting chills through you, tugging off your clothes, kissing your neck, taking all that he wanted but still desperate for more. The rose had long fallen from your hair and lay, forgotten, on the hardwood. He kissed you with purpose, like he was once again trying to prove that he owned you, all the while understanding that he couldn’t. Maybe that’s what pushed him to touch you, to kiss you like it was the last time, like he was scared you’d float away somehow, even though you both know that wouldn’t really happen.

You understood it, because you felt the same way about him.

You revelled in it, in the way his hands wrapped around your back, lowered to your legs, and lifted you up to push you harder against the door. His lips travelled across every square inch of bare skin he could find, your dress pushed down to your waist, lace bra exposed.

“Take it off.” He whispered, and you arched your back, reaching for the clasp and unhooking it with lightning speed. The lights were dim in his room, casting shadows that danced as the two of you moved together. Your head fell back against the solid wood as Coriolanus licked a trail up your neck. It was depraved, more passionate than anything you’d felt before. You could hardly think, blood pumping through your veins faster than you could stand. The only thing louder than the rush of blood in your ears was the sound of your breath mixing, hot and heavy as you took, impatient and without apology.

You cried out as his hips pressed harder into yours, and you could feel his length pressing up against you for the hundredth time. Except this time, you could finally let yourself imagine him inside you and trust that he wouldn’t turn this into another round of the game you’d thought endless. You squeezed your legs around his hips.

“Bed.” You gasped, and he grinned, wolfish and thrilled. You were the luckiest girl in Panem, to get to see him look at you that way.

“Been waiting to get this dress off you since I had it made.”

“Don’t tear it. Be gentle.”

“With you, or the dress?”

You narrowed your eyes as he carried you to the bed and placed you down on the mattress.

“Thought I told you that already.”

He was careful with the dress, slipping it over your hips and draping it over the back of the desk chair. When he came back, you were propped up on your elbows, legs bent at the knee, stare unwavering, panties the only thing left to take off. He was still wearing too much, shirt messily undone, pants still fastened but barely concealing the tent beneath them.

“You sure about this?” He checked.

“That a trick question?”

“Doll.”

You laughed.

“Yes, I’m sure. Take off your shirt, handsome.”

He pulled off the white shirt methodically, and you shifted onto your knees to pull off his belt and toss it to the floor, eager to speed things along. You took in his toned chest and let your gaze sink down to his boxers, where his cock stood painfully hard beneath the material.

“Can I…” You prompted.

“Fuck. Yes. Please.” He sighed as your nails trailed up the bare skin of his thigh and brushed softly over his cock.

You smiled at the addition and took one last glance at his face, anticipation clear on his features that morphed a little in the near-darkness. Then, you pulled the material down his legs and his cock sprung free, and you forgot that you’d done this before, that you were used to this, to him, to being with him in almost every sense. It all slipped away, and as your hand reached to touch him with nothing between the two of you, it felt like the first time you’d ever done it. The breath he sucked in as you started to push the precum around his tip urged you on, making you brazen, and you readjusted your knees on the bed and got closer, then licked a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip.

“Oh my – fuck.” He groaned, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face, grateful for the darkness.

“That okay?”

He laughed, something dark and untethered.

“You fucking know it is. Such a fucking tease.”

“Wouldn’t be such a tease if we’d done this sooner.”

“Somehow I doubt that, sweetheart – ah.”

He was cut off by you taking the tip of his cock in your mouth and sucking hard as you gripped the base. You pumped your hand a few times and revelled in the sounds he made, choked out grunts and broken sighs, mixed with the occasional curse or a cry of your name.

You felt his hand gently brush against your hair, ever so cautious.

“Can I…”

“Mhm.” You hummed in the affirmative, and he sighed, all low and shaky as he pushed his fingers through your locks, not guiding, just careful pressure on your scalp as he let you take the lead.

“Baby,” he gritted out, “I don’t know how much longer I can… fuck, that’s-”

He sucked in a sharp breath as you stopped, pulling off, lips swollen. You looked up at him, stunned as he caught his breath.

“Coriolanus?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we turn a light on? I can’t… I want to see you.”

In the shadows, you could just make out the glint of his eyes and a dumbfounded smile.

“Of course.”

He stepped away, kicking off his boxers, and you watched him reach over the desk to switch on a small lamp. It lit up his face and you took him in, a thin cast of sweat shimmering across his face and chest. When he turned, you glanced away like you hadn’t been staring. He caught on with a grin.

“Like what you see?”

Such a dick.

“I’d like it better if you were over here.” You mumbled as he paced back towards you.

“You’re the one who wanted the light on, sweetheart. Now I know why.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Snow.”

“Coryo.” His breath danced against your lips as he closed in, lips sealing against yours as he pushed you back on the bed.

“Coryo.” You repeated with a smile when he pulled away kissing down your neck and chest, feeling the shape of the name in your mouth.

Then his hands were on you again as if they’d never left. More heat pooled between your legs as he trailed his hands down your thighs, and you let your head fall back as his fingers pressed through the seam of your panties.

His breath got shaky again as his fingers pushed the scrap of wet fabric to the side. You gasped as his thumb went straight to your clit, determined, rubbing tight circles against the hard nub.

“Oh my god, Coryo, I-”

“So fucking wet, sweetheart. Is this all for me?”

It was too much all at once. You pressed your lips together tightly and nodded. Beside yourself, your left hand pressed against your mouth to muffle your moans.

Then he fucking stopped. Your hand fell from your mouth, and you felt the lace get pulled down your legs.

“What are you…” You trailed off. The dim light let you make out his face and you could see his expression now, wanting, but careful, methodical.

“Open your mouth.”

When your lips parted, a little in response, but moreso in surprise, the two fingers he’d been using on your clit slipped into your mouth, pulling your jaw open as his other hand propped him up. You could taste yourself, hot and heavy, spilling onto your tongue.

“I want to hear you, baby. You can’t cover your mouth like that if I’m gonna hear you.”

You nodded, brain a little dead.

“Good girl. Now I don’t have a free hand, know what that means?”

You cried out a little, tongue trapped beneath his fingers.

“Touch yourself, doll. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you nice and fucking close, okay?”

A little self-aware with him hovering right above you, you snaked a hand between your legs, but when you saw the look on his face you stopped wasting time, pushing two fingers inside yourself, heel of your hand bumping your clit as a whine slipped past your lips.

He kept talking, whispering hot and heavy into your ear, dragging his lips over your neck, pressing kisses wherever he could reach, every touch burning your skin like it was molten. When you’d lost yourself enough, mouth still parted; his fingers gentler now he’d made his point, he ducked his head lower, trailing his lips over your tits, placed his mouth over your nipple and sucked. Your moans got louder, feeling like every inch of skin he covered was hardwired to your cunt, your fingers getting tired and sloppy as you got yourself closer, dripping down your thighs.

You made a sound and he glanced up at you, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“Just fuck me. Please, I can’t wait anymore, Coryo.” You whined, trying desperately to slow down your breathing.

“Poor baby. Couldn’t make yourself cum first?”

You shook your head, any more and you were sure your eyes would start to water.

“That’s okay, doll. I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.”

He lowered himself down towards you, arms either side of yours, crowding you in. Then his hands travelled down, lower, and your eyes rolled back, mouth agape as you felt his cock press against your entrance.

“Fuck.” You whispered, and he was strangely quiet. You blinked, and looked down at him, and you’d never seen such a pained look on his face. His lips parted, eyes heavy and slitted as he looked down at where his cock rubbed up and down like he was in a trance, slowly nudging your clit and getting himself wetter, tip glistening in the dim light.

Desperate for friction, you started rocking your hips, aching for him to push inside of you.

“Not just yet.” He breathed, voice strung-out and insane. “I won’t make you wait much longer, baby.”

“Please. I need you to fuck me. Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Usually, you’d see a sly smile appear on his face, but he just pressed his eyes closed as if the thought was going to send him over the edge. It was the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. Then, finally, you felt his cock catch at your entrance, and slowly press inside. You gasped at the pressure, at the size of him, and he was barely even moving.

“That’s it, baby.” He breathed. “I’m right here.”

He shifted his hips a little, and you clawed at his back, nails digging in until he hissed, rocking your hips to beg for more. You didn't want him holding back, not when you'd waited months for this. You strained your neck lifting it from the bed to whisper in his ear.

“I meant what I said, Coryo. Don’t be fucking nice.”

It was as if something in him snapped. Like he was holding on by a single thread, and you’d send him spiralling out of control. His hips jerked forward and you cried out as he filled you to the hilt, then rocked into you again, picking up a pace that was almost punishing. You tasted it, still wet on your lips, clung to your skin, and now, deep inside you.

Danger.

“So fucking pretty. Does my pretty girl need to get fucked, huh? Just like that?”

You could barely form words, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in further, feeling pinned open and beautifully used. Your cries melted together in your head until you could only understand bits and pieces, and as he fucked you, unrelenting, you felt your back slide up the mattress. Your nails dug into his back, and you were sure they must’ve drawn blood. His forehead pressed against yours,

For a second, he slowed, looking down at you.

“That okay?” He muttered.

You nodded, frantic, barely there.

“Yeah.”

He sped up again and your legs grew weak. He reached his free hand down to grab hold of your thigh and push it higher, the new angle making you see stars, clenching around him impossibly tight.

“Good fucking girl.”

At some point, as you exchanged fewer words and more heated glances, you felt your hand slip from his back and come to rest against over his on your thigh, to hold it in place. He took it in stride, taking it in his, fingers interlacing as his thumb brushed yours.

You didn’t think much of it. How could you? Not when he was stretching the walls of your cunt as you gripped him like a vice. Not when you could barely hear the words coming from either of your mouths. But oddly, it was the gentle contrast that pushed you to the edge as he fucked into you just like you’d asked, hard and unrelenting, mean.

Despite it all, it was the thumb that brushed yours that had moans spilling from your mouth as you both took exactly what you wanted from each other. It sparked something in you, something that let you know you were safe here, that there weren’t any walls between you anymore, no twisted games that wouldn’t benefit you both equally.

“I’m close.” You gasped as his cool blue eyes spilled into yours, and you knew he was all yours.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? I can feel it.”

You nodded silently, muscles in our thighs tensing around his back, the hand that was twisted into yours now falling onto the bed beside you. He gripped it tighter, and fucked you harder, with a point to prove. When your eyes slid shut in ecstasy, right on the edge of falling apart, he squeezed your hand, palms hot and clammy against each other just like the rest of you.

“Look at me, baby.” He urged, fighting for breath. “You’re so fucking close, I need – shit – need to see you when you cum for me.”

It wasn’t hard to keep your eyes open, to keep them on him when he looked like that, like he was carved by the fucking gods, brow scrunched and shining with sweat, eyes bluer than ever, lips parted in an o shape. It was the prettiest sight you’d seen, and your hand tensed around his when you came, trembling like a leaf, mouth parting in a shout you barely heard, eyes focused on him, only him as he fucked you through it.

"Fuck, that's it, doll. Like that? Right fucking there?"

You cried out in response, and as you spilled apart, you heard your name slip past his lips through your ringing ears , followed by a string of curses, each one filthier than the next, not letting up once as he followed you over the edge, hips stuttering as you felt warmth fill your walls and his head fall down onto the pillow beside yours.

A few moments passed as you let the feeling wash over you, feeling the wonderfully sore, sticky mess between your thighs after he pulled out. You heard him catch his breath, then tumble onto his back by your side. You sighed as you stared at the ceiling, then at him, and with a smile realised he’d been looking at you.

“Like what you see?” You echoed. He smiled, coy.

“You know I do, beautiful.”

You sighed, satisifed.

“Keep calling me beautiful, Snow, and I might start thinking you want to fuck me.” You teased. “Wouldn’t want to give a girl the wrong idea.”

He laughed, bright and loud. A few more seconds passed, and you hummed.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “I’m just a little annoyed I didn’t get to ride you.”

He swallowed then smiled, almost awe-like, transfixed. It was a feeling that you’d gotten used to over the past few weeks, but it felt new this time. Different.

“You’re not done?”

“Are you?”

He glanced at your lips, then back up again, voice earnest.

“Not with you, sweetheart.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Good. Then lay back. Head on the pillow for me.”

He obliged, blonde curls spilling over the fabric. You liked it when he grew his hair out a little, you thought as you hooked a leg over his waist. His hands came up to touch you, but you pressed his wrists back into the mattress.

“No touching, Coryo. You hear me?”

He nodded, eyes darkening again, and you lowered your head to kiss him, deep and slow. Felt yourself meld into him with a smile as his cock hardened against your thigh.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the white rose he'd given you, discarded haphazardly on the wooden floor.

And something inside you just knew, you’d never get bored of this.

a/n: hope you liked it. thank you again for the love and for screaming along with me this whole time <33

taglist: (more in the comments) : @superchatnoir07 @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904@pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @ohstardew @ohmeadows

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fairene · 6 days

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divine / ln sneak peek

sneak peek for a new lando x fem!reader oneshot 😏

warning: minors dni!!, language, smut (not in this sneak peek, but there will be.)

hoping to stay consistent. reader's dress is inspired by phoebe dynevor's met gala gown, but always up to you on what she wears. the color is only mentioned once throughout the piece.

as always, i am open to taking requests. don't be afraid to hit me up hehe 💗 this should be posted within the next few days...!!

“look at you,” lando stood to his feet this time, entirely too enamoured to stay seated patiently like a dog on the couch. he approached you from behind on the pedestal, his fingers careful as he traced up the fabric around your hips, your back. you shivered into his touch.

the dress had been a light pink, blush tone, sheer fabric with embroidered flowers. it had a long train behind it, fabric over a shoulder, sewn and stitched in a myriad of ways that you couldn’t follow. it was utterly perfect against your skin. it wasn’t too tight, but it was form fitting enough to be appropriate. around your breasts was where the embroidery thickened, covering your nipples from the light breeze in imola’s air.

“do you like it?” you breathed, turning your head over your shoulder to lando who was dazed as he stared at you in the mirror. he turned his head to look up at you from your heightened position on the platform. there were no words that could convey the look in his eyes– sheer heat, desire, love– that he had for you.

he swallowed. his pants were painfully hard around his cock.

you were the most beautiful thing he ever laid eyes on. the only one who could make him turn his head, make him drool, have him fall to his knees. and in this dress, especially.

“baby,” he sighed, controlling his hands the best he could from wanting to rip it off of you, fuck you in this wardrobe. “you’re divine.”

you blushed, turning your head away from him. he always had you like this. speechless, puddy in his hands. you were entirely susceptible to his charm, and it had you melting at every twist and corner of his beautifully shaped lips.

“i have something for you,” he whispered, getting your attention back on him when he offered his hand for you to step down from the pedestal. you took it, eyes widening with wonder at what he could possibly have. you raised a brow, letting your same hand grip onto his forearm.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. the chain was long, but modest, and had a glowing diamond emblem embellished at the center. stable so it didn’t fling around the entire chain. you gawked as he held it out for you. you shifted closer to him until your body was perpendicular to his, your shoulder brushing into his chest.

it was a necklace that had his “ln4” logo on it. imbued with diamonds.

your fingers reached out to trace the beautiful charm, the weight of the diamonds alone was absolutely intimidating. you felt undeserving of such a piece, but prideful that he wanted it to be yours.

“lan,...” you were breathless when you turned to look up at him, his pupils dilating with yours meeting his. “it’s beautiful.”

“you said you’ve been looking for necklaces,” that was true. your neck had been far too bare. “and i’m too selfish to let you walk around without a part of me.”

you smiled. his honesty was always refreshing. his devoting nature was so unnatural, but it was so homely. you loved him. every part of him.

“turn around for me, love.” he kept a hand on your hip when you spun, chills flying up your spine when you felt his fingers around your neck. you gulped, arching your back when you felt the contact. so receptive, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

he was swift with the clasp but he let his fingers trail down your exposed back, sheathed lightly by the fabric. you bit your lip to consolidate any noise, but were becoming riled with his hands on you.

the necklace glimmered in the mirror when you stared agape. it sat perfectly at the center of your chest, unable to be missed by any passerby. you were his. lando norris’ girlfriend. his entire life.

“i love it,” you murmured, your fingers gracing the pendant. you turned around and threw yourself into his arms. he caught you like he always did, arms wrapping around your waist with a deadly grip. but you would die happily here, you thought. in his strong arms, loved, and content.

“you’re sure?” he questioned when his head burrowed into the side of your neck. he was nervous that you wouldn’t, thinking that he may have gone too far.

your hands found his cheeks, raising his head to meet your eyes.

“i love it.” you smiled. “want everyone to know ‘m yours.”

god

he was going to fuck you right there. right here.

if not here, then tonight. tonight he would ruin you. bring you to tears around his cock, his fingers, his tongue. if there was one thing about him, it's that he knew how you worked. it would only take you minutes to come, record time for any man that’s laid his hands on you. no one compared to lando.

and he was going to fuck you so you knew it.

SMIRKS

#lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris x you #f1 driver x reader #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #sneak peek #the brainrot is real #weewoo brainrot #im sorry #not really #so yeah

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anthurak · 4 months

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Continuing my theorizing on Alastor’s powers not actually belonging to him, and rather actually being bound to whoever is holding his leash, I thought I’d discuss the visuals of Alastor’s powers. And in particular how they don’t seem to fit him.

For one, just look at how Alastor’s powers usually manifest externally. As some kind of summoned minions, tentacles or other such conjurations. Like his powers aren’t truly some extension or manifestation of his will, but rather some detached force that is simply following his orders. And could stop following his orders if it wanted to…

Then there are the times Alastor’s powers seem to manifest internally. Obviously this is all extremely twisted, creepy and wrong. And what if that’s the point? What if this is meant to convey that Alastor’s power isn’t so much twisted and unnatural in a general sense, but to Alastor specifically? That this is a power that isn’t his and isn’t meant to BE his, and thus is twisting and warping his body in all these unnatural ways.

And there’s also the color of Alastor’s power (shoutout to @short-wooloo for pointing this out). Has anyone else noticed that it always seems to have a green color or tint? A color that otherwise doesn’t appear on Alastor. His powers literally don’t fit him. And if you’re still not convinced, just look at this shot when Charlie is making her deal with him:

The strands that clearly seem to be stitching Alastor’s mouth shut are GREEN.

Alastor’s powers may be great and terrible, but I think they’re also the CHAINS binding him to whoever is holding his leash.

Finally, considering how Alastor apparently ALWAYS had this power from the moment he first appeared in Hell, this may have some pretty dark implications. As in, what if Alastor’s soul, his very essence has become twisted and corrupted by this external power that has bound him to a greater being from the moment he died?

Frankly, it all sounds pretty on point for something that’s likely meant to represent the classic ‘Deal with the Devil’.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin theory #hazbin analysis #hazbin alastor #alastors powers don't belong to him #there is something IMMENSELY ironic about the chain alastor binds husk with being GREEN #alastor is binding others with the same chains that are binding HIM

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acommonanomaly · 2 months

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Caranthir for @feanorianweek.

Inspired by a scene from my fic What Fades Away.

Excerpt:

“What is it, Moryo?” Maitimo finally asked, when Carnistir showed no sign that he would continue on his own.

“It is not fair that grandmother Miriel cannot return,” his said, his voice faltering as though he was admitting something very grave. The source of his solemnity was revealed when he continued, “If grandfather Finwë had not married Indis, then she could be with us.”

Makalaurë sucked in a sharp breath, and his eyes were heavy when they met Maitimo’s. Neither of them spoke at first, for each of them had their own conflicting emotions to sort through at the raising of this issue. But when Carnistir shrank down on the stool as if fearing their censure, they pulled themselves together.

Maitimo’s voice grew delicate, each word formed with care. “Although you may find them tiresome at times, would you wish that your uncles and cousins did not exist at all?”

Carnistir’s flushed cheeks paled. “No, I wouldn’t wish that.”

“So some good did come of it, you see.”

“But we will never meet our grandmother Miriel.”

“Oh, Moryo,” Makalaurë said tenderly. “It seems strange to miss someone you have never met, but so it is, and we miss her, too, and long for what might have been.”

Maitimo nodded in agreement with Makalaurë, but he was troubled. He could not help but feel as if he had been dishonest with Carnistir, somehow.

Although he did not regret that his grandfather had been allowed to remarry, allowing their family to grow and become enriched, he felt it an unnecessary cruelty that his grandmother should be forbidden to return because of it. The Valar claimed it was the will of Eru, and though it was not Maitimo’s place to gainsay them, he did wonder how this could be true because of the grief it caused.

It was while Maitimo stood lost in his thoughts that Carnistir finally unburdened himself.

“I did something very wrong.” Carnistir would look at neither of his brothers, dropping his head again as he stroked the cat.

Maitimo raised his eyebrows at Makalaurë, who only shrugged. He tried to keep his trepidation out of his voice when he spoke.

“What did you do?”

At the same time, Makalaurë asked, “You mean, to those children?”

Carnistir shook his head. “I took something from Atar’s study.”

Maitimo’s eyebrows rose even higher, and Makalaurë gaped in surprise, but as it was obvious that Carnistir meant to go on, they said nothing.

Carnistir sighed and shifted on the stool, careful not to tip the cat off his lap as he reached into one of the pockets stitched onto his loose tunic. He pulled out a silver chain, lifting it until a large oval locket slipped out of the pocket and hung spinning in the air.

“Oh,” Makalaurë said.

They knew this locket well. They had all seen Atar holding it in his study when the occasional quiet, somber mood came over him. At some time or another, each of them had opened the locket to see for themselves what it held, or asked Atar to show them. It contained a miniature portrait of Miriel and a twisted lock of silver hair that glinted like starlight.

“I just wanted to feel closer to grandmother Miriel. But now I am worried that Atar will notice the locket is gone before I can put it back, and he will be angry with me.”

“I don’t think Atar will be angry with you for taking this, especially once he understands why you took it,” Maitimo hurried to reassure his little brother. “You must give it back to him as soon as we return home, of course, but I will talk to him first before you go to see him.”

Maitimo would have to decide how much to tell Atar, because he did not wish to upset him any more than he had to.

He didn’t think the children who had questioned Carnistir meant any harm, likely only curious and repeating things they had heard adults say. It was unfortunate timing that their questioning had come while Carnistir was struggling with personal issues.

Makalaure seemed satisfied with this, and he stood, gesturing for Carnistir to stand as well. “I think Nelyo is right. Atar will be pleased that you wish to feel closer to grandmother Miriel. Perhaps you could take up embroidery, and learn the skill that was her delight.”

Carnistir stood and set the cat on the floor, where it wound around his legs and meowed in complaint. Determination burned in Carnistir’s eyes now, and he said, “Yes, I would like that.”

#Tolkien #the silmarillion #feanorianweek #caranthir #carnistir #feanorianweek 2024 #my art #my fic #favorite elves #elves who deserved better #still trying to catch up on posting after that damned migraine lol #i have one more drawing at least #i don't know that i'll have the energy for more sadly #next time i'll start drawing more in advance #and hopefully have drawings for the whole week #feanorian for life

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t-tomuras · 11 months

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Pairing: Khal Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings: slight praise ( use of good girl ), slight impact play, hair pulling, reader has long-ish hair but type is non-descript, noncon -> dubcon, mentions of murder (unnamed characters), threats, creampie

Notes: Game of Thrones au-esque. Just a polished draft purge, very loose on the game of thrones like such basic knowledge.

You weren’t afraid of him, even as you’re dressed in sheer fabrics of pristine white instead of the tattered clothing you’d been found in, covered in the blood of your enemies as you’d felled them all in a circle of carnage around you. Adorned in delicate gold chains instead of protective iron but your hair is still done in its signature braid, even if it’s intricately decorated now as well.

The women who dressed and preened you advised otherwise, that the braid meant something different to the Dothraki; as if you didn’t understand that well. You wore your braid because you were a warrior yourself, undefeated. A woman that would sooner rip a man’s throat out with her teeth than submit for her life. Even delicate creatures become violent when backed into a corner.

And the Khal would not be receiving some broodmare, whether he believed so or otherwise. You were someone to be earned, not that you figured the commander of a horde that burned down your village and captured you would be able to.

He likes you though, obviously enough, sees the fire in your eyes accompanied by the thinly veiled sneer and barely there crease in your brow as you fight the furrow. You spit at the smug smirk he gives following his nod when he turns to the bloodriders on his heels, chuckling even as he dismisses them and advances on you.

You were offered as a spoil, lessened to that of some prize to a conqueror; a man with grandiose dreams, believed to be the stallion that mounts the world but so far he’s only interested in mounting you. He was no better than any other man you’d ever met, built the same as the few you’d allowed to warm your bed.

He circles you now like you’re prey he’s cornered, smirking when the vile scowl on your features never wavers. Following his movements with your eyes and only turning your head when he moves behind you before his broad palm wraps around your upper arm.

Katsuki only manages one sharp tug, making you stumble for only a moment as you growl. Infuriated by the mocking bark of laughter he emits, delighting in your fury. But, when he looks at you again you push all of the saliva to pool at the tip of your tongue before forcing it forward, letting the glob land on his cheek and further ruin the smeared ceremonial paint.

You’re ready for a fight, for the seemingly assured retaliation to the insult but still the smirk on his face only splits into a broad grin before he erupts into a hearty laugh. You’re audacious, spirited to say the least and if he didn’t fully believe you’d single-handedly taken down a few of his riders before he could certainly see it now.

And it makes his cock swell, throb needily as it tents the loose fabric of Katsuki’s pants before he’s wrenching you towards his tent at the center of their camp. Your struggling is no issue, easy for him to drag your feet in the loose sand and gravel as you try to dig them in for purchase but it only prolongs the inevitable.

He shoves you unceremoniously to the small gathering of pelts and pillows amassed to form a makeshift bed the moment you’re both passed the privacy flap of fabric.

“I like them when they fight,” rugged Dothraki dialect growled into your ear, bunching the fragile material you’d been presented in while you writhe, some of the stitchings popping and tearing from the force of both movements. Kicking out, the heel of your foot manages to make contact with his crotch, but he’s hardly fazed save for a sudden exhale and growing snarl.

A snarl that becomes manic when he takes hold of your forearm and twists it behind your back, effectively pinning you. Quelling the fight easily though you still squirm, infuriating you with his taunt as he exposes your cunt to his hungry gaze, “keep wiggling yer ass.”

You thrash uselessly, sliding on the furs until you’re flat on your stomach but Katsuki rectifies the position easily. Pulling your hip back up with one arm before returning to push down his bottoms, heavy cock springing free and bobbing with the weight of it. Prodding toyingly at your backside, beading precum smearing against the underside of your asscheek followed by your inner thigh before he aligns himself with your slit.

“Good girl,” he groans appreciatively in the common tongue when you clench your legs tightly, giving him a decent squeeze as he ruts along your folds. Cursing your body for its response, sighing exasperatedly as sticky sounds begin to grow in volume, “knew you’d like it rough.”

All you can do is grit your teeth, hiding your face as he coats himself just enough before feeling him nudge at your entrance. One, two testing prods before Katsuki stretches you gradually, but only for the thick tip. Sinking in impatiently the moment he really gets a feel of your divine heat and you’re thankful the cocky brute can’t see the slight roll to your eyes or curl of your toes at the feel of him.

You opt to just grit and bear it, turning your head in your folded arm to glare at him from the corner of your eye. Katsuki catches your gaze instantly, smirk growing as he sets his pace. Pelvis slapping against your backside with each thrust and you turn to face forward after he releases your arm. Bringing it forward to let it rest and the throbbing pain from being held firmly behind you to ebb but you’re only given a minute of reprieve.

It seems the great Khal isn’t interested in letting you just lie there until he is done. What was the fun in that? None to be had if he didn’t pull sweet sounds from you, noises he doesn’t intend to let you bite back in the slightest. You can hide from him but you can’t hide the way your walls flutter around his girth with each plunge, buried to the hilt each time in a way that had you biting your tongue to inhibit a moan.

With a toothy grin and quirked brow, Katsuki leans forward, cockhead nudging at a sensitive patch as he nestled deeply with the movement. His hand pushes your thick braid to the side, over your shoulder so his chest is mostly flush to your back. Humid puffs of breath fanning over the shell of your ear and back of your neck distracting you from how he toys with the length of your woven hair. Stroking it carefully before twirling it to wrap around his palm once but you only register his, “don’t hide from me,” as if you were his willing lover and bride.

“Repulsive pig,” you bite in his native tongue, imbuing as much animosity in your tone as you can despite the pleasure that builds in you.

Katsuki leans back up, spine straight with that same insufferable smirk on his face, gaze never faltering under your glare before his features morph. The lazy look to him bleeds into something manic, like he’d just found his enemies weakness in the battlefield and perhaps that was true with what he does next.

He moves his arm quickly, the winding of your braid wrapped twice around his fist as he pulls and forces your body upward. Arching as you’re forced into a new position and a throaty moan rips from your lips unbidden with how you feel him now. Cunt hugging his cock and squeezing as he holds you like this for a moment. Barking out a mean spirited laugh before he taunts, “Pretty pussy doesn’t find me so repulsive now does she? Fuck, you like that don’t ya? Course ya do, nothins better than a good fuck after killin a man.”

Hissing through your pants as he angles his hips so each roll of his hips drives him perfectly into you to send waves of pleasure with each thrust. He pulls harder on your braid, worsening the already near painful arch and forcing your head back when he places a harsh slap to your ass. Lips to your ear as he firmly grasps your hip and pushes you into another of his pointed thrusts, “ain’t that right?”

Your eyes roll at how well Katsuki fills you, how deep he reaches and perfectly he drags you to the edge of euphoria with each nudge of his fat tip to that patch within you. He’s merciful for only a moment whenever you hiss out a venomous, “yes.” Admitting to the enjoyment you took in stealing some of his men’s lives before ultimately overpowered.

You fall forward, fisting the fine furs that the Khal now takes you on as the pleasure becomes too much. The coil in your lower belly wound tightly until you’re finally tipped over the edge with the final stroke that proves to be his own undoing as well. Pushing your face into the plush material from the force of his last rut, burying as deeply as he can into you as he paints your velvet walls in thick spurts. His pelvis flush with the curve of your ass before he slowly rocks you through the waves of euphoria, working you both down slowly. Thick digits massaging into your hips in a stark contrast to the rough coupling mere moments prior.

You roll to your back in the cushy pelts of Bakugou’s makeshift bedding after he pulls his softened cock from your abused cunt, panting for breath in your post ecstasy bliss. Head lolling lazily to the side opposite of where Katsuki now lays next to you, taking stock of the rest of his tent while he remains still. He only casts a curious glance in your direction when he sees you shift but lets his heavy lids slip shut.

“Do you want to know what’s better than a good fuck, my Khal?” You keep your tone even as you turn to face him once again, sitting up as he merely hums in response.

You’re on him in the next moment, knees digging aggressively into the crooks of his elbows to keep them pinned to the ground as you straddle his chest. Your fingers hold fast to the biting hilt of his versatile arakh, positioning it so the curve of the weapon rests along the slope of his throat with a delicate yet deadly poise. So close that the bob of his adams apple creates a tiny slit in his skin, warm crimson weeping from the wound as you grin down at the mighty man.

“Freedom.”

#vixen drabbles #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo smut #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #mha smut

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anatomical-puppet · 1 month

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THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT (but i also kinda wanted to)

[id under the cut]

A digital illustration of Klavier Gavin from Ace Attorney. Klavier is in the center of the canvas and is colored in shades of pink, yellow, and dark magenta. His long hair is unkempt, spilling over his shoulders and only loosely forming its usual twist. He’s in the outfit he was wearing during the flashback segment of Turnabout Succession, including his sunglasses. His eyes are very wide, with small, vibrant blue pupils. He has no mouth. His left arm is tucked up so that the hand is close to his chest; the hand itself has much paler skin than the rest of Klavier, as well as blue-painter nails and both a skeletal visage and a scar on the back. The fingers take on an unnatural blue hue closer to their tips. Klavier appears to have stitched the left hand onto his own arm using glowing blue thread, which is attached to the needle he’s holding in his right hand. In the corners of the image are pieces of evidence, all colored entirely in blues; the gun found at the scene of Magnifi Gramarye’s death, the bottle of Ariadoney nail polish, and the commemorative Troupe Gramarye stamp, now torn into two pieces. The tear passes through Zak Gramarye, and both pieces of the stamp bear red stains around Zak’s head. The background is a very dark blue- almost black- except for a lighter section behind Klavier. Within the lighter section is a very faint image of the forged page of Magnifi’s diary. The lighter section is surrounded by a cyan chain. There are also two much larger cyan chains that form an X behind Klavier, but in front of the forged page.

#this fuckign drawing took me out back shot me like a lame horse and then stole my lunch money #but by god. it’s done #oh also caption is a lyric from 2econd 2ight 2eer by will wood 👍#ace attorney #klavier gavin #aa4 #ajaa #apollo justice ace attorney #turnabout succession #puppet scribbles #sometimes tunglr hides my stuff from tags if there’s fishy words in the alt text so i put the id under a cut instead djdbjddn #hope that’s ok!! if not i can add it to the alt text as well and hopefully tumblr would allow it hdbdh

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hope-to-hell · 2 months

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John Wick. The one good thing about being alone with nothing to do. Smut, masturbation, blood, blood as lube, spit as lube. He’s got a little downtime alone. What’s a man to do but take the edge off?

This began as a single, very specific mental image that then, naturally, needed a story to go with it.

———

The house always wins. You can’t fight fate. All that is, and was, will be again. The lesson’s on an infinite loop, round and round like ribbon, like rope, and yeah, sure. Maybe it’s true: maybe our lives are measured by blood moving through the body one heartbeat at a time. But it’s not like there’s nothing beyond the chains of fate— there has to be something that makes this all worthwhile, something beyond the gilded cage of order. Even if it’s just a single moment— one spark in the darkness—

One blinding white jolt of pleasure, brutal and unforgiving, a tracery of veins crossing your vision and oh, Johnny boy, there’s always one more, one more

One more

One more job (one more stroke)

and it’ll be done. You’re gonna go out wet and sticky, maybe moaning a little, more likely stoic and silent. But, hey. You’ve got a little time, old friend, so go ahead and lean back; try to pull the iron from your spine far enough to curl in and over yourself. The wall’s cold— these rooms aren’t made for comfort, after all— but soon it’ll be blood-warm in the shape of your body. Take a few breaths and slide down down down til your ass is freezing on the floor; your seat’s all shivery-wet but the rest of you’s still soaked anyhow so who gives a fuck.

And anyway, you look like hell but that’s a distant concern; if— when— this ends you can patch yourself up, butterfly bandages and rough stitches telling the story of this long night. But while you’re here with nothing to do but wait, how about you take the edge off a little? After all, with the way you’re straining at your trousers, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to think at all. You’re a man of focus, right? Focus on yourself a minute. Get your mind quiet so you can put your thoughts in order. So open your fly and feel the cool air on your cock; swipe your hand across the wound that’s oozing sluggish on your belly. Fuckin hurts, right? That’s okay. Look at how you’re already twitching with anticipation.

There’s nothing like a palm full of blood to get things going; it’s still a rough burn but it just looks so pretty on your cock, doesn’t it? Savor it. Admire the way it streaks bright across your knuckles and drips along your shaft. Yeah, yeah. You’re itching to spit, to see if you can get it right on the head cause it just feels so dirty when you twist and drag your hand to spread it around.

And you are not going to think about— no. Don’t even think of what (who) you’re doing your damnedest to keep out of your head. Blank it all out. Put that focus to good use— this is between you and your hand. Go ahead and tighten your grip just that little bit more. Grab the bud of that dirty shameful little thought and crush it before it can bloom. You’re gonna need a clear head, and isn’t that what this is all about? Weeding out distractions?

Nevermind the way need ripples down your spine when you see yourself all red and white, sticky and twitching and oh, John, baby, that nasty deep-down voice is saying these hands of yours weren’t made for gentleness and maybe that’s so; but you’ve had five years to give yourself some balance and don’t you dare lose that part of yourself now. Nevermind the calluses on your thumb and fingers, raised in the shape of a pistol grip, and how their friction is so fucking sweet. There’s something you need. Dig down and root it out.

‘Course, you’re still listening for muffled footfalls just outside; you may be stuck in the liminal space between one firefight and the next, but you never really rest. You’ve got so many what-ifs and contingencies racing through your head. Aren’t you tired, trying to find a single path through it all? Yeah, you’re worn to the bone but that’s the life. You get through one way or another, even when you’re worn down to nothing but wet red footprints on the tile.

Hey, Johnny boy—you disaster, you gorgeous ruthless singleminded sonuvabitch— do you feel that? The gold thread at the base of your spine coiling tighter and tighter but not quite breaking? That’s your climax just out of reach, the candle wick that’s just a hair’s breadth too far from the flame. That’s clarity. You know what you need to get there: a little more spit for slick, tinged red from the sting of a split lip, maybe another drag through the slow bleed on your belly. Hold your breath. Curl your toes inside your shoes. Focus. Take all those aches and pains, those cuts and stabs, those bone-deep bruises. Gather them up and pour them into your hand.

That’s it. That’s good— you’re so very nearly there. Your balls are drawn up so damned tight, you’re like a gift to be torn open. All you need’s a little ribbon and a tag: to John, from your right hand. Keep holding your breath until the edges of your vision haze out— there’s that focus, that pure unadulterated will that keeps you going until you’re ready to give. The precipice is right there, knife-sharp, waiting. Go ahead—

exhale—

And fall.

There, now. Doesn’t that feel better? Sure, you’re a little sticky but it’s not like it matters. You’re filthy already, so a little semen’s just another drop in a deep well. Tuck yourself away and prick your ears for the sound of distant footsteps. Someone’s coming.

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick smut #John wick x his right hand

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crumbledcastle28 · 1 year

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Din Djarin: Dare You to Touch Me--Dare You to Love Me

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: "You couldn't say it out loud, he knew you couldn't, so you screamed at him with your eyes. They told him everything he needed to know.

I dare you, they said, I dare you to touch me. I dare you to love me, even like this.

Help me.

But he didn't. All you got was one single croak of your name before he headed behind you, scooped the Rodian into his arms like it was nothing, and said, huskily, "I'll meet you at the Crest."

And that was it. He was gone.

He fucking left you.

Warnings: ANGSTTTT, Din's a scaredy cat, graphic descriptions of blood and knives, reader is really self-deprecating and gets really really dark, needles, stitching, swearing, Din gets some sense knocked into him, the Razor Crest is forever alive in my mind, hopeful ending.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is incredibly kanej inspired, therefore incredibly personal. I hope you all enjoy :)

If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(Gif credit to Pinterest)

You didn't know if the red on your hands was from the crimson lighting the prison ship had been showered with, or your own blood leaking from your gut. Not leaking, sprouting. Its thickness and warmth gushed onto your hand and wrist, pumping so fiercely that the pressure you had against your wound wasn't enough to prevent some dripping down onto the floor, effectively causing you to slip on your own butchery. You could fit your pointer finger in-between the flaps of skin separated from the Rodian's dagger, and the pain of it spun your brain in circles, so much so that you could not help the breakfast you had only hours before splatting on the metal floor.

That fucking reptile had gotten you good. Too good. Luckily for him, your revenge came in a blaster shot through his brain, rather than something much, much worse. His corpse was heavy as hell though, and having to drag it in your state didn't help either. You were slipping in your own blood and vomit, grinding your teeth after every step you took, dragging hundreds of pounds one-handed, and practically biting off your own tongue to keep from wailing.

And Din was nowhere to be found.

Frankly, you were more disgusted with yourself than you ever would be with him. It had gotten too perfect with him, too easy. The two most brutal, solitary bounty hunters in the galaxy, hearts locked inside impenetrable chains, practically salivating to finally touch the other. He had done everything else; told you his name, his Creed, his losses, and you had done the same to him. Those demons inside your head reared their ugliness, screaming at you to get a fucking grip.

Just wait, they said. He's just like everyone else. He'll disappoint you just like everyone else, and you've given him enough ammo to destroy you.

You were a child to believe otherwise.

Maybe he's just run late, that child inside you whimpered, or he's hurt.

You pushed her down, and carried on.

You had made it at least fifty feet away from where the two of you were supposed to meet, inches away from rounding the corner to the Crest--satisfied at the thought that you were very capable of taking everything he ever loved inside that piece of metal and burning it to ash--when a burst of your blood gushed on the floor just right, twisting your ankle, and sending you forward, pushing your hand deeper into your wound.

You didn't remember screaming or puking, but you imagined you had to have done both, because it was right then that Din rounded the corner, finding you in a puddle of your own blood-soaked vomit.

He froze, panting, as your vision went white with pain. Your body sunk into the floor, screaming at you that the metal was actually cushioned, the light you saw behind your eyes was only sleep, and the thick fluid coating your hand was warm, soapy bathwater.

Stay down, your demons whispered, stay a while.

No, the child within exclaimed, Din is here. Din will help.

With a grunt, you helped him with the first step, getting you onto all fours. You propped yourself up with the last of the strength you had, your mouth dribbling out more spit and vomit as you did, and waited. Waited for those large, leathered hands to take you into his arms, and carry you home.

You waited, and waited, and waited, and when you finally turned your head to look at him is when you finally let a single tear escape.

He just...stood there, looking down at you like some pathetic lump of flesh, only slowing him down. His arms remained firmly at his sides, while his chest rose up and down erratically, the way it did when he was angry. He stared down at you, the most vulnerable you had ever been, and looked at you like you were the most useless, pitiable, disappointing creature to ever grace his eyes.

Maybe he doesn't realize, the child within exclaimed, show him.

And you did, you had been. You couldn't say it out loud, he knew you couldn't, so you screamed at him with your eyes. They told him everything he needed to know.

I dare you, they said, I dare you to touch me. I dare you to love me, even like this.

Help me.

But he didn't. All you got was one single croak of your name before he headed behind you, scooped the Rodian into his arms like it was nothing, and said, huskily, "I'll meet you at the Crest."

And that was it. He was gone.

He fucking left you.

Told you, the demons whispered, and the child within you finally broke.

You sobbed as you attempted to stand, you sobbed as you vomited from the effort, you sobbed as you wiped your chin, you sobbed as you pressed against your wound once again, you sobbed as you finally put your feet under you, and you sobbed as you took each and every step back home.

Home, the demons inside your head cackled, you have no home. You never will.

You were truly a lamentable sight. You were surprised you didn't bash your own head in.

Finally, the Crest came into view through the pounding in your head and the haze of your own tears, and for that one second, you pretended he had stayed. You pretended he was guiding you with his forearm against your back, his voice against your temple, and shoulders propping you up. You pretended the chills on your body were from the chill of his armor, not your own blood loss, because for once, you had been right about someone. You had been right about him.

That second of delusion was enough, before the demons inside your head went back to its guffaws.

You trekked your way up the Crest's ramp, biting down on your cheeks until they bled, because he would not hear you scream. Your head was getting worse, beginning to fade in and out of consciousness. It was obvious you needed a stitching, and as you searched for a clean kit through the Crest's shelves, you recalled how many times you had stitched Din up. You always kept your gloves on, and you removed as few pieces of his precious beskar as you could, but you stuck with him through every stitch, every groan, every drop of blood from his body, you stayed. You never removed your gloves, no matter how badly you wanted to touch him, truly touch him. Trace the constellation of moles on his back, the depth of his scars, and the warmth of his tan skin. You never did.

You wondered if those beskar pieces would sink with him when you threw him into Naboo's Abyss.

One more time, the child inside you cried out. She was wailing now. Please, try one more time.

You slammed the drawer shut when you found a kit suitable enough, and you slammed it hard. You waited for him to come out of the cockpit, hands filled with bacta and bandages, but he remained seated in the captain's chair, unmoving.

Like everyone else, the demons said, and clicked their tongues.

The child sobbed, and you did with it as you proceeded to clean and bandage yourself. Alone.

He could close the fucking hanger himself.

The cleaning of your wound was the worst of it. The water burned down the nerves of your legs and feet more than you expected, as well as the warm towels pressing against your wound. You had to go inside of it, just to be safe, and tried not to imagine what organs you were memorizing the texture of. Stitching it was nothing, you could do it with your eyes closed, but with the mix of the exhaustion of blood loss, pain, and the scars reopened in your heart, you were out as soon as you snipped the excess thread away and bandaged yourself up tightly. You were in your own cot, thank the maker, in the storage unit Din let you use as a makeshift bedroom.

Let you use, the demons said with a scoff.

Let you use, the child said with a smile.

It had to have been at least a day before you finally woke up, your mind blank with those first few seconds of the bliss of ignorance, allowing you a moment of peace in forgetting that anything had ever happened, before you were met with as dry of a throat you had ever had, an ache across your body like you had never experienced before, and a stab across your midsection to bring you right back to reality.

"Fuck," you whispered, and immediately went to press your fingers against the throbbing slice, when your fingers were met with something...soft.

A thin blanket had been placed over you, and as you propped yourself up in shock, a voice deep as night replied, "Y/N."

You turned, and for just one second, the child inside you admired.

Din was sitting on a makeshift pile of blankets squished against the wall, body still covered in beskar, with a glass of clear water in his leathered hand. "I didn't...know if you had drunk anything."

Initially, your heart warmed.

Me, the child inside you whispered, he was worried about me.

You stared into where you could only guess his eyes were underneath his helmet, and your mouth threatened to etch into a smile as you felt your hand begin to reach for the liquid. Until, the demons that haunted to you whispered in reply.

Remember.

Your hand halted, and the look of love in your eyes quickly wilted into a look of fury. Your lips did etch into a smile, but more of a devilish grin.

You have the upper hand. Use it.

Your voice came as rich and powerful as ever. "I can take care of myself."

You then tossed your legs over the cot, stood slowly, and left him. You barely felt the ache in your midsection anymore, not with the endorphins revenge brought on.

As you walked to the kitchen, imagining how satisfying it was to know how much hurt he'd feel when you finally walked out, slightly limping but more joyful than you had been in weeks, a firm grip caught your forearm, and a voice of terror, true terror, whispered, "wait."

Your nostrils flared and your bicep flexed as you turned, ready to pull your hand away and knock him on his ass, when you noticed the same breath pattern he had when he had found you only a day before.

The beings inside you were too curious to pull you away from him just yet.

"Please just...please just listen," he exclaimed, voice weighed down by a mixture of seemingly every emotion possible, "I didn't...I didn't know what to do. I'd never seen you like that before. So near death. I have only ever seen you standing, and to see you so down was--"

He paused to gather a breath, and as he did, his back straightened, his composure tightened, and his voice was coated with something almost...evil.

"--I wanted to destroy him," he finished. "The fucking Rodian. I wanted to be the one to blow a blaster through his brain, and rip him apart as I did."

A film of water began to coat your eyes. You didn't know from what.

"I panicked. I'm a fucking coward who panicked when you needed me, and I am so, so sorry."

His grip on your wrist had loosened slightly, his thumb even beginning to rub delicate circles on the top of your hand, and it took everything in you not to let the child within you-- as well as the woman-- fall apart against him. He was finally daring to touch you, rub on you, and you wanted to know what else he would dare to touch. How would his fingers feel stroking through your hair? Down your back? Against your face?

He was scared, the child within you whispered, he was scared, that's all he was, and he admitted it.

You could forgive him. You know you could.

But could you go through this again, the demons asked.

No. You couldn't. Your id and superego were at war once more, and with what little strength your ego had between them, you spoke.

"You fucking left me," you croaked, "you left me to die."

"I know. I know I did," he muttered, ashamed. "And I am so sor--"

"No," you stopped him, finally prying your hand away from him. The rage, hurt, and pain you felt over the previous twenty-four hours finally bubbling their way to the surface with the tears running down your cheeks.

You would not let yourself feel this way, ever again.

"Don't apologize to me." you stated. "Prove yourself to me. If you ever--ever--pull that shit again, I am gone. Gone. Do you hear me?"

He stared. Unresponsive.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes," he finally blurted. "Yes."

"Good," you said, and backed away from him. "Now take a fucking shower. You smell even through the armor."

You could've sworn he chuckled as he walked back through the cockpit.

You continued your walk towards the kitchen, wiping your tear-stained cheeks, and you felt your demons begin to belittle you once more.

He's going to do it again, they chanted, and again, and again, and again. He will rip you open time and time again. He knows you're weak for him now. He will use it. He will use it to take advantage of everything that you are. Pathetic.

But the child within you only smiled, satisfied with her knowledge of the truth.

Din was bigger than all of them.

Tag list: (I apologize if your tag is not present or is not working. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!)

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oneweirdbookaddict · 3 days

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Alright @undertheopensky and @violet27writes (hope you don’t mind the tag! Sorry!)

This one is for you guys 😂

Part two to this fic!

Can be read separately but will make more sense if you read that one first.

Summary:

Time and Four have Issues as the rest of the chain tries their best to get their resident skyloftian back.

6358 words!

Warnings for torture, violence, mentions of death.

~~~~

Sky takes a slow breath, his return to consciousness rather unpleasant.

His head aches, a dull thrum deep inside his skull.

Weak coughs rattle in his chest, and he a metallic, coppery taste lingers in his mouth.

He’s pretty sure he’s laying on the ground, but it seems… rocky. Tilting and moving and rolling underneath him… as if he’s on a boat.

His head pounds.

His tongue is bleeding… had he bitten it?

He… right… he’d been captured… He’d heard Four screaming his name… Four! He’d head Four screaming- he tries to sit up and immediately collapses back down, floor swaying underneath him.

“Four?” He groans, moving his head off the rough, hot wood. “Four? Smithy? Time?”

He wants to look around, to see if they’re with him, to see if they’re ok, but he’s too weak.

He takes a slow breath.

“Four?” He pleads, jolting when metal clatters.

“You’re awake, good! Hate to think we’d killed you before we got to have our fun! Those other two didn’t last long.”

He manages to look up, finding one of the people who captured them.

Shakes his head, straining from the effort of looking up.

A laugh. Cold and harsh, no humor in it.

“The little one was weak. All bravado until we got him figured out. He wasn’t so brave when his organs were being removed!”

His blood boils at the thought of them hurting Four, face twisting into a glare.

“I’ll kill you.” He promises, forcing himself to sit up and look at the face properly. He’s going to remember this guy and kill him for laying a finger on his friends-

Another laugh.

“I wish you the best of luck.”

And he starts walking away.

“I’ll kill you!” He screams, unsure of where the sudden strength is coming from. But he’s grateful for it. “I’m going to kill you, you hear me?! You’ll pay for their blood with your own! I’m going to kill you!”

He has to pause, out of breath now. Slumps back again, tears burning in his eyes.

They can’t be gone… they… no.

No, they’re the strongest people he knows, Four and his unwavering bravery, unshakable Four. And Time, unwavering and confident… no.

He refuses to believe it- they’re trying to break him.

So he takes a slow breath, scrubs his face off, and lets the self pity wash away into fury.

~~~~

“How’s that cut on your stomach feeling?” He asks, undoing the bandages on Four’s bicep. Brushes his scarf out of the way, too.

“Sore,” Four admits in a volume just above a whisper. He doesn’t think the kid’s talked in full volume- or even half volume- since he woke up for good. “But not terrible.”

“That’s good, these are looking a lot better too.”

“Can we take the stitches out of my thigh?” The smith asks quietly, and he pauses.

Chews his lip- the answer is probably not, but he doesn’t want to just say that. So… “We’ll look at it in a minute.” He decides on, and Four nods.

Hyrule inspects the four slices on the smith’s calf, murmuring softly that they’re healing well.

Four doesn’t like those cuts. Not at all. All the deliberate cuts have four of them- the ones on his calf, on his arm, his bicep, and the four deep gashes on his thigh that he’s honestly still worried about.

He’s sure the four cuts and Four’s namesake isn’t just a coincidence. Something in particular happened with those ones.

“Can I ask-” he starts gently, but the kid interrupts.

“No.” Four says quietly, looking away.

“Four, buddy, we need to know-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

And they let it go.

A few minutes of silence as they clean, rebandage, note the progress and areas of concern- until Time walked into the room.

Four’s whole demeanor changes instantly, tensing up, face going stony.

Both he and Hyrule pause nervously, waiting for the explosion…

Time’s gaze flicks between the three of them, then slowly steps into the room.

“How-” Time’s voice cracks and the old man pauses to clear his throat. “How are you doing? Those… healing up ok?”

Four’s eyes are ice cold, not even sparing him a word.

Just ignores him, staring determinedly at the cuts over his bicep. He’s finished cleaning them, careful of the forming scabs over them.

“These are healing well.” He says again, if only to make Four feel… better.

It’s disheartening to see the kid so defeated.

Four just nods, expression unreadable.

“Let’s leave the bandages off tonight. Let it air out.” He suggests softly, and Four nods again.

Just looks… so worn down.

“Ok… Rulie?”

“Yep, looking good here. Cleaned and healing well.”

“Good, let’s look at the ones on your thigh.”

Four nods again and scoots his pants down, shifting the fabric of his underclothes up to reveal the deep cuts.

“How are those, any changes?”

A shake of the head.

He gently inspects the cuts, looking for signs of infection, scabbing, straining or pulling stitches…

“Looks good. Want to take these out?”

It’s a bit early, but… they could get away with it if Four wants. He’s desperate to get a smile out of the kid.

He only gets a shrug in response.

“You asked earlier.” He pushes a bit. “Do you want to take them out?”

A long second, then Four nods. “Yes.”

“Alrighty. Want me to help you, or you want to do it?”

Four holds up a trembling hand in response, answering that question.

“Well. That answers that, then.” He says lightly, accepting the small scissors that Hyrule hands him.

He doesn’t get a smile. Just a sad flick of the eyes in response.

~~~~

“There you are, think that’s good.” He says, tightening the bandages around Four’s thigh.

Four stands to adjust his clothing, then looks up at him.

“Thank you.” The teenager whispers, and he nods.

“Yeah. Anytime, Smithy. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do, alright?”

Four nods, drifting to the door.

“Four-” Time tries, but Four ignores him again.

He and Time watch Four slowly leave the room, shoulders hunched.

Time sighs slowly, sinking down into a chair.

“I see you’ve made progress with him.” He says, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what else to do.” Time says flatly. “He won’t talk to me.”

“You can’t force him.” He shrugs, moving over to the desk. Time sighs from the other side of the room.

“Did you notice Four was limping?” He asks, genuinely curious if anyone else has noticed.

“What?” Time asks quickly. Apparently not.

“Yep. Had a limp. Right knee. Hiding it well, but it’s hurting him.”

“Is his knee injured or accommodating for…”

“His ribs? I don’t know. We need to leave tomorrow, we can’t risk another day. Take the five of us, search the place top to bottom, not leaving until he’s found…”

“If his ribs are hurting him from walking he might just be accommodating to that.”

“Yeah.” He offers offhandedly, not really paying attention anymore. His mind is on their plan, frowning over the map of the base they’d sketched out. What can they do better than last time?

Things had gone wrong quickly last time- the three of them hadn’t been together, they didn’t get all of them into the base, Legend had been discovered, and Four…

He tries not to think about how bad Four’s injuries were. The way they fought to keep him breathing, to keep him alive.

They weren’t expecting any of them to be that injured. Banged up, sure. Some serious injuries, if they were unlucky. That?

They hadn’t even brought a potion- glass was… noisy. That’s a mistake they won’t be repeating when they get Sky out.

He shakes himself out of the unpleasant thoughts, focusing on what he can control now. Their plan.

“We have to assume security is going to be increased… should we brute force it..? We don’t have the numbers. Stealth mission… Wild, Legend… Hyrule? Twi will insist on going, I’m going to insist on going… is five too many?” He mutters under his breath, letting his gaze drift around the room.

Time understands he’s more talking to himself than to him, and he appreciates the quiet.

“Four’s gonna be pissed when I tell him he’s not coming… but we can’t take him. Hmm…”

It’s late. He can worry about this tomorrow- he needs some sleep to clear his mind.

He sighs, setting the quill down and standing.

Time glances up at him, looking exhausted.

“Get some sleep, Sprite,” He says softly, dabbing his inky fingers on the parchment so he doesn’t stain anything. “You look exhausted.”

“You-” Time starts, but he cuts the man off.

“I’m just going to check on Four, and then I’ll be heading to bed myself in a minute.”

Time nods with a sigh, standing and blowing out the lanterns in the room with him.

“Goodnight, Captain.” Time says quietly, and he gives a small nod as they exit the room together.

“Goodnight, Time. Sleep well.”

~~~~

His stomach rumbles as he walks down the hall, reminding him suddenly that he’d completely forgotten dinner.

So he alters his destination to the lobby of the inn, finding both of his desired goals- a plate of sandwiches Wild had made, and the smith he’d been looking for.

And a bonus- the rancher, who blinks up at him in surprise.

Four’s… dozed off on Twi’s lap.

Twi makes a slashing motion across his throat, the meaning coming across clearly: you wake him, you die.

He nods his understanding, heading to the plate of sandwiches Wild had made for dinner hours ago and taking one.

Studies Four, a task made difficult by the fuzzy blanket engulfing him.

Slow, gentle rise and fall of his chest… lips slightly parted, small hands lightly gripping the fabric of Twi’s tunic, head resting just over the rancher’s heart. Shifting slowly every so often, giving a sleepy mumble every so often.

“He alright?” He asks, and Twi sighs softly.

Makes a weird shrugging gesture, one arm gently wrapping around the smithy.

“I… I don’t know, Wars. He’s a mess.”

He nods with a sigh.

Four has been a mess since he woke up for good.

Barely sleeping, barely eating, refusing to rest from his near fatal injuries, refusing to talk about what had happened unless he thought it could help Sky…

Talking to himself, zoned out all the time, getting his attention was difficult, getting him to do something he didn’t want to do was impossible. Rest his ribs and relax for an hour? Nope.

Sleep for the night? Not happening.

Eat something for dinner? Don’t even think about it.

If you pushed the kid at all? You were on his ‘I don’t like you�� list for a good day or two.

Unless you were Time, who seems to have a permanent place on that list.

The kid could barely stand to be in the same room as their leader- he sees this causing a lot of problems if this continues.

But for now the kid sleeps- somewhat restlessly, he admits, but still sleeping.

He scarfs down another sandwich, ignoring Twi’s raised eyebrow, thinking back to the last time he ate. Did he eat lunch? Yes, he must have, it was… it…

Well… ok, did he eat breakfast? Did he… sleep last night?

No wonder he’s so exhausted.

He blinks slowly, shaking his head at himself. He’s a mess. He stands with a yawn, eyes finding Twi.

“I need to get to sleep, you want any help with him or something? Getting him to bed?”

“Nah, I’ve got him. Thanks, Cap. Sleep tight.”

“You, too, Rancher.” He nods, heading down the hall, finding his room, flopping onto the bed and crashing almost immediately.

~~~~

“What’s with the urgency, Cap?” Twi asks as he walks in with Legend.

“Plan to get Sky back.” He answers, and all the heroes perk up.

Even Four focuses on him long enough to meet his eyes, then slowly returns to staring out the window.

Now that everyone’s in the room and he’s got all their attention, he starts explaining his plan.

“Ok. Plan is to go tonight- Wild, Hyrule, Me, Twi, and Legend. We’re going stealth rather than force, so let’s try to make this an in and out entry. Hopefully no combat.”

“I want to go.” Four says quietly.

He takes a slow breath, meeting the kid’s eyes.

“Not happening. Wild, you’re good at stealth and can offer us stealth potions. We’re going to need those, the ones that last as long as you can manage. We’re going to split and search, Wild and Twi on the bottom floor, Me and Hyrule will take the ground level-”

“Hyrule and I.” Someone corrects- Twi.

“Oh, can it.” He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Legend, your job is to use all those fancy tools and tricks of yours to figure out if there’s any secret rooms or anything they could be hiding him in.”

“I want-”

He meets Four’s eyes and holds his gaze.

“Four, for the sake of your safety, no. You’re recovering, you’re exhausted, I understand you want to come with us, but your ribs are still busted, your wrist is weak, you’re in pain- fighting is going to be a challenge for you.”

“But the goal is to not be in a fight-” Four tries, and he smiles softly.

“That doesn’t guarantee there won’t be one, Smithy. You’re not coming with us. I’m sorry.”

For a second he thinks Four’s going to cry.

Then the smithy’s eyes dart away and the kid slumps in his seat.

A long moment of silence.

He addresses the group once again. “We’re leaving in six hours- nightfall. More security, but less general activity. Get what you need, eat a bite, whatever. Meet back here at nine chimes.”

Some nods, and they all disperse.

Both the smith and the rancher linger, Twi raising an eyebrow at him after glancing at Four.

Expecting an argument, he waits for the smithy to talk first- but the kid just slowly slides out of his seat and carefully makes his way out the door and down the hall with a sharp sniffle.

He makes a mental note to check on the kid in a minute.

Glances at Twi, waiting for the rancher to speak.

“He had a panic attack earlier.”

His heart sinks. “Four?”

“Yep. Kept saying… you know. What he’s been saying. Sky’s dead and there’s… no point in…”

Two trails off, and they stand in a horrible silence.

“Well.” He sighs slowly, “I was about to go talk to him anyway. Maybe…” he trails off.

“Yeah.” Twi says quietly.

Then- “Do you really think-”

“No.” He says firmly. He refuses to consider it. “Sky… no. He’s fine. They didn’t kill Four, they didn’t kill Time… I think he’s alive. They want information, and… Sky doesn’t have it. He’s gonna be in rough shape, but he’s going to be alright.”

They don’t mention the horrible minute Four wasn’t breathing.

Another long silence.

“Well…” he starts, mind going back to the smith.

He makes to leave, but Twi hesitantly takes his arm and stops him. “Wars… this is going to work, right?”

Taking a deep breath, he musters a smile. The confident, easy going one he was known for back in the day. “If everything goes to plan.”

Twi nods, unconvinced. “I don’t know what it’ll take to break that kid, but I don’t want to see it. This has to work.”

“It will,” he promises, though they both know it’s empty words.

~~~~

Four is a lump of blankets on the bed of his room when he gently pokes his head in after receiving a small ‘hm?’ When he’d knocked.

“Hey, buddy, you doing ok?” He asks softly, making his way to the bed.

The lump of blankets rustles, making room for him to sit.

He does so with a groan as his knees ache, stretching out and laying on the bed.

Four’s frozen for a moment, but slowly scoots closer.

“C’mere,” He says quietly, and Four shifts to slowly nestle into his side. He’s not a touchy person, but Four needs a hug. He can manage for a moment or two.

His arms gently wrap around the kid, rubbing his back with a yawn.

“You in pain?” He yawns, only getting another rustle from the lump of blankets.

Four clearly doesn’t want to talk, so he lets him be. Just rubs his back slowly, the kiddo slowly cuddling back, small but toned arms wrapping around him.

His eyes close for a moment, giving another yawn.

He’s never been very relaxed with physical contact, but he finds himself enjoying the relaxation.

Four somehow seems to realize this, or perhaps it’s merely a habit when Four slowly starts drawing small circles into his back.

Tracing little loops, eventually switching to what he assumes is letters and words, continuing even when his hand stops and he’s gone still, savoring every moment.

Eyes closed, until he’s drifting… drifting…

“Captain?” A voice says softly, and his eyes flutter blearily. Not wanting to be awake, he slowly sighs and curls into the blankets around him more.

“Wars, hey, time to start getting ready.” The same voice says gently, and he sighs again. Gives a mumble that even he’s not sure what he’s saying.

There’s a soft laugh, a hand touching his shoulder-

He snaps awake, shoving the hand off him, heart rate spiking panickedly in his chest.

“Hey… sorry, we’re getting ready to leave.” Twi offers quietly, and he nods slowly, trying to calm his breathing down.

Glances down at Four, ignoring Twi’s second apology. The smith is still sleeping, hair all in his face.

“Leaving… yeah… what time is it?” He says as he blinks away the grogginess, standing carefully.

“Almost nightfall. Eight and a half chimes. You should eat, we’ve still got a while.”

His eyes linger on the kid on the bed- despite Four’s insistence, he couldn’t convince himself that Four was of age.

“Wars, hey, you fell asleep, that’s all. We’re going to get Sky back. Are you alright?” Twi asks softly.

“I- yeah. Yeah, sorry.” He says, shaking his bleariness off. “Just… don’t remember falling asleep.”

It’s easier than explaining he fell asleep with Four cuddling him and the kid was at the opposite side of the bed when he woke up.

He looks back at the bed. Four’s… still asleep. Breathing slowly, lips slightly parted, face peaceful…

He shakes his hesitation off, following the rancher out of the room.

~~~~

Fifteen minutes.

He starts strapping his armor to his body.

Laces his boots.

Straps his sword and shield to his back.

One knife on both arms, one in his boot.

“Please let me come.” Four whispers, and he jumps.

Looks at the teenager, sitting up on the bed, looking miserable.

Hopeless.

He moves back to the bed, taking a seat next to the kid. Four’s eyes slowly find him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks softly instead of giving the response Four knows he’s going to get.

Soft grey eyes blink at him.

A small nod.

He reaches and gently takes Four’s hand.

“Four, buddy. I’m gonna get him back. I promise you. I’m not leaving without him. When I get back tonight Sky is going to be with me. I promise you that.”

Ten minutes.

“I’m worried about you, smithy. I think you’re pushing away what you went through to focus on Sky.”

Four looks away.

Swallows, blinking.

“I want to help you, buddy.” He practically whispers. “But I don’t know how. Do you trust me? For real?”

Four looks him in the eye again, nodding.

With much more confidence this time.

“I’m glad.” He says quietly, patting Four’s arm gently. “I trust you, too, you know. I’m not leaving you behind for anything you did. Or because I don’t trust you, or… or anything. I want you here because I’m worried sick about you. That’s all. So… can you do me a favor while I’m gone?”

Four nods slowly, blinking again.

“Eat something for me. Drink some water. Clean your wounds off, see how they’re doing, maybe even take a bath. Take some time to take care of yourself.”

Another nod.

He offers a smile, and almost gets one in return.

It’s the best he’s gotten since he got the smithy back.

“Thanks.” He says, patting the smith’s shoulder.

“Be safe.” Four whispers, and he nods now.

Offers a little smile, walking to the door.

“Safe is my middle name.”

He swears he hears the tiniest laugh before he closes the door, leaving Four behind.

~~~~

He’s sitting against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cold stone.

The guards open the cell door, carrying his food for the night, and he waits.

Waits for the one to get closer… grabs the neck of his uniform, scowling.

Shoves him roughly against the wall, using his forearm to cut off his oxygen.

“You’re going to tell me where my friends are,” he says calmly, despite the rage burning through him. “And maybe I’ll consider letting you live. Do we have a deal?”

He’s weaker than he’d like- woozy, not quite steady, hunger and pain making him less aware than he’d like.

But this is his chance- and by the goddess is he going to take it. His hand slowly finds the concealed weapons the guard has- a knife, a heavy but short club-type thing…

Takes the knife, tossing the other thing away.

“Good.” He releases some of the pressure on the guard’s neck. He feels no guilt as the man wheezes and coughs. This is the same one who bragged about torturing Four.

“I don’t know.” The man rasps shakily. “They’re just- gone. We tortured the little one- we were attacked afterwards. It was- it was chaos.”

Another long coughing fit.

“Your friends were gone. The boss was furious- we might’ve killed the small one.”

His hand trembles, knife nicking the man’s throat.

A drop of blood runs down the guard’s neck.

Before he can reply, he’s shoved roughly.

Losing balance in his weakened state, stumbling away, and something cracks over his head. He gasps, knife plunging into something soft-

For a second, he’s blind. Only seeing white, his knees hit the ground, nausea clenching in his stomach-

Ringing.

Loud ringing.

He slowly scoots to find the corner of the cell as he hears sounds of a struggle through the ringing- metal on metal of swords clashing, a pained grunt-

“Sky! Sky, Sky, hey… hey, talk to me, buddy, where are you hurt?”

“Wars..?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, Sky. I’ve got you. Where are you hurt? Drink this, bud.”

A cool bottle is nudged to his lips, hands easily moved when he attempts to push it away.

“Where’s… others?”

“Shh… drink.”

He takes a sip, sighing softly as the pounding in his head fades slowly. The ringing fades slowly. His vision clears, revealing a dusty and slightly bloody friend.

The body of his captor on the floor next to them, unmoving.

His knife sticking out of the little space between pieces of armor.

“Most of us are here, we got Four and Time, they’re alright. Promise. You just drink that, Sky. Rest up.”

He slowly finishes the potion, feeling much better afterwards. Achy and exhausted for sure, but… no longer feels like he’s burning from the inside out.

“Mm…” he tries, but his lips don’t really work.

“Good…” Wars says softly, hand slowly reaching out but backing away at the last minute. “Let’s get you to the inn, yeah? You’re safe now. I’ve gotcha.”

“Wars?! Hyrule?!”

“In here! I’ve got him!” Wars calls, making his head pound again.

“W’rs… Four?” He repeats, and Wars shushes him gently.

“He’s safe, Sky, I promise.”

He blinks grime out of his eyes, forcing himself to squint at the captain.

Legend runs into the room, kneeling next to him.

“Hey… hey, Sky.” Legend says softly, and he manages a small smile.

“Hey, Lege… how… y’doin’?”

“Good, really good, you alright? You hurt?”

“ ‘ve… been better.” He confesses, gratefully slumping into Legend’s arms when the veteran carefully scoots him away from the cold wall.

“I got him a potion, he doesn’t seem to have any serious injuries…” Wars is saying softly, and he can hear more voices slowly adding to the chorus.

Chorus? Singing… Zelda sings… he misses Zelda.

Zelda… he ought to write to her again, it’s been a while… because he was captured…

Hm. He probably shouldn’t tell her that, though.

“You can rest, Sky.” A voice whispers softly, and he manages a drowsy nod before giving in to the pull of sleep.

~~~~

“I got him a potion, he isn’t injured too bad anymore, he just needs some rest and food. Let’s get him back, we’ve been here too long.” He says, and the little group nods and readies themselves quickly.

It’s an easy trip out, to all their surprise. Sneaking past their security is… not difficult, and they only guard the cells. With little activity going on around the base, getting out unnoticed is easy.

There’s absolutely no urgency to get back to the inn like there was with Four. Sky… is… well, mostly ok.

Not really all that injured, as far as they can tell.

And he’d already had a potion.

Sky dozes off in Twi’s arms as they walk, having eaten some spare snacks and water they’d had when they got out of the base.

Not much, but more than the knight’s probably had in days.

The master sword is strapped to his back, and he has the oddest temptation to draw the sword.

His mind itches, unsatisfied with the results. He feels like he’s missing something- something important.

But Sky is with them, he’s fed and healed and sleeping gently, they have the master sword… nothing is wrong.

The skyloftian twitches.

It’s a quiet walk back to the inn.

They walk in the door, scanning Sky over for the hundredth time, meeting the others in the lobby as they walk in.

“He’s alright, he’s-”

Four’s at his side in an instant, eyes flickering over Sky, hand reaching out to gently brush over the Skyloftian’s shoulder.

“We’re guessing a nasty concussion, broken ribs, starvation and malnutrition, dehydration-”

“He has a head injury, look at his arms, put him down-”

And that’s when the seizure happens.

Twi yelps, immediately setting Sky down, Four practically shoves all of them away from the man, forcing them all to watch helplessly as Sky convulses.

“Stop!” Four says quickly when he tries to move toward his friend, and he freezes.

And they wait- not too long, until Sky slowly stops twitching and goes still.

“Sky?” Four asks softly, slowly kneeling next to the skyloftian. Blue eyes find Four slowly.

He moves next to Four, and the smithy lets him this time.

“Hey, Sky, how you feeling? You ok?” He asks softly, noting how confused the man looks.

“Mhm… ‘m ok.” Sky mumbles, eyes flicking to him before back to Four.

Four’s holding Sky’s hand… checking his pulse. Eyes lingering on his chest, watching for rise and fall…

“Sky? Can you answer some questions for me?” Four asks softly, and Sky nods.

“Good… where are you right now?”

“An… an inn. We were in the cell… Wars n Legend got me…”

“Good. Let’s get you a potion, alright? How are you feeling?”

He’s got a potion in his hands in a flash, handing it to the smithy. Four nods his thanks, eyes still on Sky.

“Just… sore. Tired.”

“Weak? Lightheaded, dizzy?”

“No.” Sky answers, and Four nods again.

Offers the potion, slowly getting to his feet.

Sky sips at it slowly, still seeming really out of it.

“Think he’s alright.” Four says quietly, looking at the ground. “That’s common after a seizure. And he had a head injury… not surprised he had one. Get that potion into him and let him sleep.”

And the smith is gone, out the door of the inn.

~~~~

It’s a long night.

Four comes back with a thick book about seizures, sitting in the room Sky’s taken with him. The kid doesn’t sleep at all, and he doesn’t have the heart to try to force the teenager when he’s not sleeping either.

So they’re both exhausted when it’s morning.

He glances at the door when he hears it open, meeting Time’s gaze. “Morning, Sprite.”

“Morning, Captain.” Time says distractedly, looking at Four. “Morning, Smithy. How’s Sky?”

Four’s eyes don’t move from the man on the bed.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The smith says in a whisper.

Time steps into the room and closes the door. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’d quite like to talk with you, though, and you’ve been refusing for days.”

He holds his breath, the tension in the room unbearable. But the silence lingers- neither one says anything.

“Four, I’m sorry.” The old man says quietly, not moving from the door.

In case Four tries to escape.

“You’re not.” The smith mutters.

Time sighs deeply, eye closing. “Ok. I’m not. I wasn’t about to watch you die when Sky-”

“Shut up.” Four whispers, eyes flicking briefly to the door.

“Four,” he pleads, and the kid jumps. “You don’t even know what happened. Sky wasn’t in the cell when we found Time, he wasn’t with you, you were actively bleeding out, we looked for him briefly but-”

“You should’ve found him, no one cares if I-”

“BUT chances were he was in much better condition than you were!” He continues over the smith.

“You didn’t know that.” Four says, voice flat.

The kid’s fighting tears back. Good- the kid needs to process things somehow. If this is how it’s gonna happen… so be it.

“We didn’t, but-”

“If it were Wind you would’ve torn the base apart looking for him.” Four whispers, voice shaking. Then looks at Time for the first time. “If it were Twi you’d want to be the one left behind.”

The old man physically flinches.

“You don’t get to choose-” the smith’s voice breaks, and the kid stands quickly. “You promised me.”

Four’s hands jump to his eyes, scrubbing furiously at them. “You promised me. And you lied.”

He stands, too, moving slowly to the smith.

“I am sorry for that, Four. But I could never live with myself if you had died.”

Tears drop down Four’s cheeks.

“And if Sky had? If he still does?” Four chokes, grey eyes flicking to the bed again.

“I still-”

“You don’t get to play god. You don’t get to choose who dies and who doesn’t-”

Four’s voice breaks again, and then the kid is just crying.

“You promised and you still lied to me.” Four chokes, staring at Time with pure hurt.

Time slowly moves to sit in the chair Four had abandoned, meeting the kid’s gaze.

“I never intended to hurt you, Four.” Time says softly. “I took a risk- I was hoping Wars or Legend had found him, and when they didn’t… you had deteriorated so quickly. We had to get going right then. We took a risk- as far as we knew, Sky wasn’t injured badly. You were. I won’t ask for your forgiveness- I only ask for your understanding. We took a risk, and I’m not sorry for saving you. But I am sorry for the pain that choice caused you and breaking my promise.”

Four scrubs at his eyes again, sniffling.

Tries to talk, but he only manages a choking noise before the kid is just bawling.

Knees on the floor, arms around himself, face tucked into his arms to hide it.

He stands quickly and kneels next to the smithy, putting a soft hand on his back.

Which quickly turns into the kid curling into his chest, arms around him.

“Shh…” he whispers as Four cries. “I’ve got you, buddy. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok.”

“This is all my fault.” Four sobs, and he freezes.

Then grabs Four tightly, startling the poor kid, crushing him tightly to his chest.

“No. No, you listen here. This is not your fault. You hear me? Everything was way outside of your control- no part of this was your fault. I promise you- you trust me, right? This was not your fault.”

Four chokes weakly, face pressing into his chest.

Hands weakly grabbing his tunic, sniffling sharply.

“I promise you.” He says, much more softly. “There was no part of this that was your fault. You didn’t choose to be captured and tortured. You didn’t choose any of this. It isn’t your fault. And I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it, ok?”

Four finally gives a weak nod, pulling back just enough to wipe his eyes, then sinks back into him.

And they sit there, supporting each other in silence.

~~~~

Sky wakes up slowly.

Much… nicer than when he had before.

Not nearly as much pain, just some lingering soreness… and he’s on a comfortable bed.

Four sits next to him, in a chair next to the bed.

Eyes locked on him, looking… nervous.

“Four.” He rasps, trying for a smile. He bursts into tears instead, startling the hell out of the poor boy.

Then Four’s fretting over him in a panic, asking if he’s hurt, what he needs, should he get Wars-

“You’re ok?” He sobs, grasping Four’s arm tightly before the kid can move.

Four nods, blinking oddly. Another nod, and Four makes an odd noise. Like a squeak.

He coughs, Four slowly helping him sit up and drink a bit of water.

“Yeah.” Four says softly, slowly taking his hand once he leans back again. “Yeah.”

He wipes his eyes, nodding.

Four still hovers, watching.

“It’s ok… c’mere, Four.” He chokes, patting the bed next to him and carefully scooting to the side. “We’re ok, we’re…” his voice breaks again, and he almost laughs.

Four joins him without hesitation, curling into his side with a shaking breath.

He slowly hugs his friend, rubbing his back. “Hey… hey, what is it?” He asks softly, and Four chokes.

“Nothing, it’s nothing, I’m fine-” Four cuts off weakly, swallowing thickly.

“Hey… hey, talk to me, what’s going on?” He asks softly, and Four sniffles.

Silence. He looks down at the teenager, worried-

“ ‘m sorry.” Four whispers suddenly, voice choked.

“No… no, no no, kiddo, you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong, ok? I promise.”

“They hurt you cuz of me- because I got hurt and had to leave- ‘n they didn’t try to find you-”

“Shh… breathe, kiddo. Just breathe. It’s not your fault. I promise, ok? You did nothing wrong. I’m glad you’re ok, and that’s all. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you if you were… I’m just glad you’re ok.”

Four sniffles again, but nods slowly.

Then- “Love you.” The kid whispers, making a small gulping sound.

He squeezes the kid tighter, blinking yet more tears out of his eyes. “I love you too, kiddo.”

~~~~

Sky doesn’t have another seizure.

He improves rapidly, much to all of their relief.

He grows more comfortable, the lethargy wearing off, gets back to walking around, eating with them…

The skyloftian clings to Time and Four in particular.

Time still tends to stick to himself- never one for intimacy like that- but Four…

Four won’t leave Sky alone.

The smith follows the skyloftian around as often as he can, sitting next to him during meals, sharing the room and eventually even bed when Sky assures the kid he’s ok with it, and doesn’t sleep well unless Sky’s nearby.

Sky seems to enjoy it, never pushing the smith away and seeming… happy.

Their both dealing with their kidnapping and torture, but… he’s glad they can find comfort in each other.

Always has an arm around the kid, or his sailcloth, letting Four lean on his side when they rest…

Sky in particular struggles with nightmares and flashbacks, which Four helps with. A lot.

He confesses once, in a shaky whisper, that Four’s screams haunt him. The ugly scar on Four’s side that Sky’s eyes linger on, Four’s hand lingers on when the skin is exposed… and Four sleeps curled up on that side. Protecting it.

It’s a sad realization that Sky actually points out without meaning to.

Four’s drifted off early, curled up with his head on Sky’s leg, and the skyloftian casually asks “Is that the side he was cut open on?”

They all pause to look at the kid, and he nods slowly.

“Yeah. The side he’s curled around? Yeah… see the stitching in his tunic? From being repaired. That’s the side. Weird he sleeps on it, wouldn’t that hurt?”

“He always sleeps on that side. Won’t sleep otherwise. It’s like he’s protecting it- see how his arms are?”

Dead silence as they all realize this.

He slowly shifts Four to undo the belt the kid wears all the time, slowly pulling his tunic up-

“What are you doing? Wars?” Sky protests quietly.

“Making sure nothings wrong with it.” He says equally quietly, and that silences the group.

It looks fine, just a long gash of scabbing from his rib cage to his hip. Hyrule gently prods it, checking for tenderness and other signs of internal bleeding, reporting that there’s nothing.

So he’s not in pain. Probably.

Just… well, traumatized.

Sky helps him pull the kid’s tunic off, taking his headband and boots off so they can actually put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, Sky goes with him.

He carries the smith, waking past Legend, setting him gently on the bed when he gets to the room Four and Sky had been sharing.

Knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped around his stomach where the cut was.

“How the hell can he sleep like that?” Legend says, having followed him to the room.

Sky gets ready for bed, too, giving a small smile at them.

He has to laugh. “Right? Looks crazy uncomfortable.”

They watch the pair for a moment, then he sighs and leaves the room with the veteran.

“Think they’re gonna be ok?” Legend asks, uncharacteristically uncertain.

He takes a glance at the veteran, then nods his head.

Starts down the hall to his room, stretching slightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re gonna be just fine.”

~~~~

44 notes · View notes

pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part eight

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

hope is a dangerous thing.

a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.

You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.

“Let me through the gate.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.

She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,” she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”

They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”

She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.

Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”

You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”

“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.

“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”

“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”

“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”

The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”

“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”

“Bat’s not enough for you?”

“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”

Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”

He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?”

You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”

You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”

“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”

“No. Second.”

“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”

“Have you done this before?”

You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”

“Did he live?”

You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”

He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”

“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.

“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”

“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.

“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”

“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”

You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”

“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”

“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”

He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”

“Good.”

You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”

They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.

He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.

He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.

But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.

Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.

But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.

Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.

That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.

You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.

He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?

Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.

God, he loved you so goddamned much.

A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.

It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.

He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”

He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.

Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.

There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.

The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.

“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”

Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”

The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about; Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.

“Are the kids okay?”

She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”

Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.

“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”

“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”

You lift a brow. “And?”

He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”

“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”

Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”

“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”

Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.

“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”

He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”

You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”

McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”

You swallow hard. Shit.

The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.

They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.

The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.

Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.

And you’d been eating the same things they had.

The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.

“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.

A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.

And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.

But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.

They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.

You wait for nightfall, and you run.

You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.

Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.

The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.

There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.

You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.

Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”

“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”

You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”

“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”

“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”

His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”

You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.

He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”

You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.

“What is this?”

There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”

“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”

She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”

“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”

You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”

There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”

PREV | NEXT

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

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moltengoldveins · 4 months

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*vibrating out of my skin* b-bbphhh….. beeduo. But its. It’s the Minotaur. and Theseus. Has someone done this? Please tell me someone has done this.

Tubbo as a boy trapped in the most technologically advanced maze ever made, learning engineering from the walls meant to contain him, his selfish father (Schlatt) so shamed by his ‘mutations’ he spreads rumors that the boy is a monster, throwing sacrifices to the maze every seven years. Tubbo’s never been able to save them in time. Something savage is in the walls, hunting, and while the maze is built specifically to keep Tubbo alive, it is not so for the foreign prisoners.

Meanwhile, Ranboo is the prince of an oppressed kingdom, forced to give blood sacrifice every seven years. His father (Phil, not the most common dynamic but roll with it it becomes relevant later) tells stories of the kingdom’s former glory, the glory lost when their most famed general fell to the war, taken and by all accounts killed by Tubbo’s father. Ranboo decides to go on a quest to slay the monster his people are being fed to, and further, to live up to the memory of that lost general and kill the enemy king, freeing his people. He promises to lift white sails if he returns alive, and that his men will lift black ones if he dies. (There’s some Lady of Death symbolism happening here, work with me) Importantly, his father gives him an old token of a ‘lost friend’ before he goes, an emerald on a chain. He says it’s for good luck, and guidance. He seems… really sad about it tho. Hm. Surely that’s not important.

Niki is the vassal/adopted daughter/ healer?? Of Schlatt, who sneaks out now and then to give Tubbo snacks. The maze likes her, and she is the only one the old warden told its secrets to before he escaped with his son. She cannot navigate the twisted paths like Tubbo, who has spent his entire life walking those halls, but she is protected from whatever is in the walls. She could get Tubbo out, but they’d have nowhere to go, so she waits. Every year, she prays she will find a way to get them out. Every seven, she prays Tubbo will not have to watch any of the prisoners die.

Ranboo arrives and threatens Schlatt, who only laughs at the boys boldness and throws him into the maze first. (Oddly, while he took every stitch of gold from Ranboo’s neck and hands, he left the earring. He said something about it being ‘fitting. It’ll finally die with its partner’)

just when Ranboo is about to be thrown in, Niki, who couldn’t bear the thought of such a kind looking kid dying so horribly, sneaks him a sword and a ball of golden thread. “It will guide you when you need it. Sam made it as a last resort.” She whispers, right before the gates close.

Tubbo, furious at his failure seven years ago to save any of the hostages (he was twelve. There was nothing he could have done.) manages to get to Ranboo just in time to keep the monster away from them both. The maze closes around them and for a moment, it looks as if they’ll fight. Then Tubbo smiles, and Ranboo lowers his sword, and the two of them are friends in seconds. Tubbo takes Ranboo back to the little room he’s set up shop in, boasting about his inventions but clearly Very unaccustomed to speaking with Actual People. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Ranboo is the physical child of two polymorphed dragons and the adopted child of an angel and a goddess. He isn’t accustomed to speaking with Actual People either. They get along smashingly.

Tubbo and Niki have made a plan of escape, but never had chance to use it. Now that Ranboo can offer sanctuary, it’s just a matter of getting out and running, but Ranboo refuses. He can’t leave whatever monster is really in the walls for anyone to find and either die to or take advantage of, even if he does destroy Schlatt’s regime. Tubbo insists it’s impossible to even find the thing, its lair is in the fabled ‘center of the maze’, which even he has never been able to find. And even if he could find it, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be killed in an instant. Whatever the thing is, it’s a better fighter than anything else in the nation: that’s why it was locked away. Ranboo offers Tubbo his signet ring (kinda a proposal gesture, we’re Not Acknowledging That RN Tho, We’re Both Traumatized and Trying Not To Die) and tells him to flee to the Antarctic Empire after Niki’s plan to kill Schlatt succeeds. That way Phil can help them, even if Ranboo doesn’t make it.

Unspooling the golden thread, Ranboo follows it to the center of a maze, where he finds… a study. It looks like it was torn through by a hurricane, then carefully rebuilt, and half of it is filled with untouched and unfinished mechanical structures. He other half is filled with notebooks, maps of the maze, and frantic scribbling. “Another hunt today” one says “I only knew because my claws were scraped.” “I woke with blood in my teeth” another page says. “I think it was a person. I think I was a person, before. I don’t think I am anymore.”

He doesn’t have the time to piece things together though, because a hulking figure twice his size emerges from a side door and slams into him. He barely manages to knock the blow of a massive axe away, and squinting in the low light, he sees a long-haired, red-eyed man in a tattered uniform and a cape, face twisted and malformed with scars and massive fangs. The uniform is that of Ranboo’s home country. The cape is eerily similar to the one on Phil’s old portraits, before the war.

‘Oh.’ Ranboo realizes, right as he gets kicked through a wall of foliage. ‘You’re the reason my dad is so sad all the time.’

it really seems like all is lost. The man is clearly rabid, insane and muttering to himself, eyes glowing crimson. But right as he’s about to kill Ranboo, he sees the earring, and he stops. He turns to a drawer in one of the desks and pulls out a matching earring, and the light fades from his eyes.

‘im sorry’ he says, ‘I’m not a man anymore. They took that from me. It was some kind of curse. They made me kill my own people. They made me a creature.’

‘well, that’s nothing new’ Ranboo shrugs. ‘Curses can be broken, and I’m rather good friends with a few creatures at this point. What’s one more?’

so they escape, the earrings doing something?? To help keep the man calm. Niki burns the tree in the center of the castle and Techno (because we all knew it was Techno) triggers the self destruct system he’d found in the maze during those few moments of sanity between all the hunting. Niki also remembers a rant or an offhand comment Schlatt made at some point early in her apprenticeship about how to break some curse in the maze, something he was gloating about that she only really gets once she sees the massive fellow being led out of the maze by a very excited Ranboo.

everyone escapes and there’s more Plot but the important bit is: Ranboo forgets about the sails. As they near the harbor, they see a cloud of ravens flying in from every direction, and Techno Loses His Mind. Turns out that only happens when Phil is Really In Danger, Dying, or, hypothetically, dead of grief from the loss of what he believes to be his last living family member. (Yes we have the option here of perms-killing Phil right in the final stretch but I Choose No, because No) There’s a very dramatic reunion where Techno is midway to War Mode while Phil is definitely post-giving-his-soul-up-to-Lady-Death-now-that-everyone-I-love-is-dead, Just-Back-From-Being-Dead-And-Not-Sure-Why-His-Wife-Didn’t-Keep-Him-This-Time??? before Ranboo Explains Everything. Tubbo and Ranboo end up platonically married like Ranboo’s father and Tubbo’s weird uncle in the walls before them and ruling the country as King and General. Niki gets a bakery and a chance to use her alchemy powers for yummy purposes instead of poison. Everyone lives and is happy. The end.

#molten rambles #technoblade #mcyt #philza #tubbo #ranboo #beeduo #emerald duo #fanfic ideas #mcyt fanfiction #DO YOU SEE MY VISION #DO YOU COMPREHEND #It’s a syndicate fic technically

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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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Musics

Casey Sabol- Flora and Fauna

Jonsi- Stars in Still Water

Philip Lober- Clockwater

Crywolf- Abbadon

Autoheart- Factories

Hauschka- Subconscious

Mr FijiWiji- Thought Police

Paraphon Tree- Macro Worm

Tender- Handmade Ego

M83- Walkway Blues

Badflower- Move Me

Mat Kearney- Ships in the Night

EDEN- 909

The Postal Service- The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

Crywolf- Fallout

Halocraft- Chains for the Sea

Thomas Bergersen- Into Darkness

Message to Bears- Two Finds Two

Needtobreathe- Prisoner

Sadistik- Gallows Hill

Bloodywood- Dana Dan

Oh Hiroshima- Holding Rivers

Leonard Cohen- You Want it Darker

Twisted Jukebox- The Witch and the Butterfly

Astronautalis- The Wondersmith and his Sons

Koste- Satellite

Oceans of Slumber- To the Sea

Roy Blair- California

Nothing but Thieves- Afterlife

OMN- In Quiet Rooms

Everything Everything- The Wheel is Turning Now

Zack Hemsey- Nice to Meet Me

If Only the Trees- Disappear

Lost Society- Stitches

Stormzy- Dreamers Disease

Vancouver Sleep Clinic- Unworthy

ODDKO- Disobey

Sadistik- God Complex

Def Leppard- Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad

Joywave- Nice House

Example- Midnight Run

In This Moment- Half God Half Devil

Des Rocs- Suicide Romantics

Missio- Cry Baby

In This Moment- Mother

The Pretty Reckless- Absolution

Missio- Sing to Me

Crywolf- Fawn

Grandson- Stigmata

Freelance Whales- Broken Horse

Hammock- Things of Beauty Burn

Koda- Angel

Nothing but Thieves- Tempt You

Needtobreathe- Wasteland

Apashe- Fake News

Crywolf- Anachronism

Induction- Queen of Light

The Crucifix- Cursed Birth

Poison- Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Powerwolf- Sanctified with Dynamite

Hammock- Wasted We Stared at the Ceiling

The Correspondents- Inexplicable

ODDKO- Censorship

Nita Strauss- The Wolf You Feed

Cats Never Die - Field

Two Steps from Hell- Away with Your Fairies

DROELOE- Lilypads

Greybloom- Sage

NEFFEX- Bite Me

Cosmo Sheldrake- Wriggle

The Black Dog- Neither/Neither

Dan Deacon- When I Was Done Dying

Marcus Warner- Liberation

Rage Against the Machine- Calm like a Bomb

Arizona- Nostalgic

The Animals- House of the Rising Sun

Nine Inch Nails- The Hand that Feeds

Crywolf- beauty is not a need, she is an ecstasy (respirate)

Two Steps from Hell- Amaria

These have nothing in common except that I like them. Have fun

#musics #this from my drafts I needed to post it

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siriusleee · 10 months

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adamantine chains | part 11 - finale

"Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus." "What does that mean?" "Love is rich with both honey and venom." "I suppose that is true." Or which in König finds you broken in the mountains. König | F!Reader a/n: if you like this, and you can, consider donating on my ko-fi or commissioning a custom fic. We'll we're finished. I know I'm the worst at replying to comments, but I want every to know who has - you've really kept me going with this.

find the rest of the chapters on my masterlist

König agrees to your suggestion of a hike. He zips you into your jacket, protection from the snow that threatens to flurry on the mountain. His hands tease against you, tickling the sensitive skin beneath your ears until you twist away from him.

"There's a trail near here," he says, nearly lifting you off your feet as he straightens the shoulders of your jacket. "It's a fifteen minute drive. I've got sandwiches made - do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm good."

Camera around your neck, you follow him out of the house. You make sure to leave your phone in the bedroom, tucked beneath your pillow. You'll check the doctor's voicemail when you get home; you don't want to spend today worrying after all the time König has been gone.

The wind has shifted through the night, pouring down colder from the mountains - the heater in the car doesn't do enough to warm you up in the short drive it takes for you and König to make it to the trail head: a small cut out in the trees that line the road that winds into the mountains. You try to take the backpack of lunch, but König takes it from you before you get the chance to get it on your back.

"Watch your step, Taube; the trees here have a habit of reaching out and grabbing you."

His voice is light, but the image doesn't make you giggle like it usually would.

König sets the pace, slowing down for you when he realizes that your legs could never keep up with him. Every so often the two of you stop so that you can take a picture, you try to capture the way König walks ahead of you - like he's spent his entire life prowling these woods and he's finally back home.

"The first time I saw you here," König says, walking just slightly in front of you, "I thought you were dead. You were so still, and so blue that I didn't even realize you were breathing."

A stitch is building in your side, and it tugs on your lungs when you speak.

"What made you save me?"

König pauses without looking back at you. When you catch up to him, he looks down at you, the mask he usually wears outside of the house hiding his expression.

"You were so beautiful. So still and quiet. I would have never been able to live with myself if I left you there."

You wind your fingers in with his, breaking the gaze between the two of you as you speak, pulling König forward.

"I thought I was dying," you start, rubbing circles on the back of König's hand, "I was praying that I would die quickly. Everything was going so slow. I thought - I thought you were the wind picking up and carrying me down the mountain, you were so soft."

König's hand squeezes yours painfully, and you know he's back there with you, remember the walk down the mountain with you in his arms.

"I was so scared of you when I woke up," you continue, not pulling away from König even though the feeling of him squeezing your hand is starting to hurt, "I thought you were some monster come down to get me. I dreamed of my grandfather; he was telling me to run. And when I woke up, I thought you were who he was warning me about."

The two of you crest a fallen tree, König lifting you up so that you can scuttle across.

"Oma told me I was a fool to keep you here. I have connections in the United States - I could have sent you home any time you wanted. But I wanted you to stay with me."

It's a confession; König says it in a whisper, refusing to look down at you. You grip his hand tighter as the two of you turn a curve in the trail, the trees dropped away from the side of you guys to show a view of the mountain - the village just a speck in the distance.

"I know. But I never asked you to either."

"I laid in bed with you," König's voice is basically a whisper through his mask as the two of you press on, following the faded signs promising a stop to rest, "you were so cold. Oma and I couldn't warm you. We tried everything. But you were screaming in your sleep, and you didn't stop until I got in with you."

You know he's waiting for you to recoil, to pull away at the confession that he crawled into bed with you when you were still just a stranger to him. Instead you pull him towards you, feet catching on one of the roots emerging from the ground below.

The snow starts to fall when the two of you pause on the switchback, a fallen log where you take your rest. König hands you your sandwich, as you watch the snow melt the moment it hits the ground.

You eat slowly, trying to figure out a way to capture the way the snow hits the ground for half a second on camera. König wanders towards the trail edge, peering down the sharp face of the mountain at the jagged rocks below.

So when hot hands grab you, you scream, camera smashed beneath your feet as you try to struggle away. Before König can get back to you, there's a knife under your jaw and the feeling of familiar hands around you.

König finds you pressed tightly against Marcus and freezes, hands half raised in a defensive position. They stare at each other over your shoulder before Marcus pulls the knife closer towards you.

"Take your mask off. I want to see your face."

König, so slow you're almost not sure he moves at first, peels the mask off, blonde hair stuck sweaty to his forehead. You can see his pulse jump at his throat, but he looks like he does this every day.

The knife is cold against the soft bite of your underjaw. It bites into you; you can feel your blood warm as it runs down your neck and onto your chest. He still smells the same as he always has. Mint and cognac - a bitter that you'd never gotten used to.

"It's been a long time, I'm surprised you're still here with him."

You claw at Marcus' arm, trying to pull him away. Trying to get a better purchase against the wet ground.

"Marcus what are you doing here?"

"He didn't tell you, did he?" He growls in your ear, eyes still trained on König. He jerks your hair back, forcing you to make eye contact with König across the trail. "What he really does for a living. That's why you're still here, why you haven't left yet."

A low growl emits from König, and you realize with a second sharp cut of the knife beneath your chin, that he's been the wolf stalking your dreams. He has been the warning you were supposed to heed.

"I bet he told you he was in the Special Forces? Right?"

Marcus shakes you when you don't answer fast enough, and König lurches forward, only stopping when Marcus digs the point of the knife into your throat. A warning to stop, to stay frozen.

"Answer me."

"Yes! That's what he told me!"

Marcus laughs mirthlessly in your ear, the hand that's not holding the knife wrapped around your stomach, pulling you closer to his body. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, and his breath - spearmint like always - washes over your face and turns your stomach.

"He's a fucking liar," Marcus growls. "He's a fucking mercenary. All those times he's been gone away from you he's been out killing people. How else do you think he can afford to take care of you? You fucking leech."

"Marcus please-"

"He's the one who tried to kill me."

At his words, König stiffens, hands curled into claws by his side. The only thing marking him from a statue is the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But König doesn't make a move to say anything against him. His lip curls, teeth digging into his lip.

"He was supposed to kill me. He came after me because of my job. Can you believe that? You've been fucking the man who tried to kill me. He was so busy trying to save you that he didn't realize he left me alive. Tell her!"

"Taube, listen to me-"

"Don't you fucking - you don't have the right to call my wife anything other than her name."

With every word Marcus speaks, he digs the knife in deeper. You clench your jaw together so tight you feel the ache in your teeth, trying to bite back the scream growing in you.

"You're wife?" König's voice is low, dangerous, and teasing. "She never seemed very sad that you were gone. She never seemed like your wife when she was in my house - in my bed."

"She's mine - you've done nothing but defile her."

"Nein. She doesn't belong to anyone, not like you want her to belong to you. But know - when we make it down this mountain, she'll be my wife. Have my last name."

The knife beneath your jaw loosens for a half a second before digging in again; you can feel it dig into your jawbone. This time you scream, biting it off halfway when Marcus jerks you. König circles the two of you, mask discarded in the dirt beneath him. He doesn't look at you.

"Did she tell you?"

Marcus' voice is razor thin, and you know he knows. Knows about the doctor's appointment, about the phone call you've been trying to avoid. Whatever he'd been looking for in the house, he'd found a different sort of secret.

"Marcus - please."

Your blood feels frozen against the front of your jacket.

"She's pregnant, you know. Your bastard child."

König doesn't move, but his eyes betray him. Marcus picks up on the way König's eyes open just a millimeter wider, and keeps the taunt with glee.

"Oh she didn't tell you? I'm not shocked - she's probably scared of you. I saw them all, all the pregnancy tests in the trash when I broke in. Do you know what she used to tell me when I mentioned kids? She would laugh at me - tell me she never wanted to have kids."

Marcus is winding up; his hands shake so bad that you feel the knife cut nicks into the bone. The pain is sharp enough to make you want to pass out, but you keep your feet under you to the best of your ability. König's lips twitch up, his incisor digging into his bottom lip. You can see his thoughts behind his eyes - know he is measuring what to say next.

"Of course I knew; when I fucked that baby into her we laughed about how you never could."

That does it; Marcus' hand jerks down, cutting you from your jaw to your collarbone. You hit the ground hard, vision white at the pain. But you keep your eyes König, trying to keep your focus from shifting into black.

The moment Marcus' hands leave you, König springs on him. You had imagined what he did when he was away, but there was no amount of imagination that could have prepared you to watch him tear Marcus apart.

He is the wolf your grandfather warned you about - all gnashing teeth and curved claws. The two of them tear at each other, but König is feral. He fights Marcus with everything in him; through the tears in your eyes you wonder why Marcus even tried; there is not a moment where König isn't ripping into him. The knife that had been beneath your jaw flashes, and you hear König grunt. You worry that it had found its mark, buried itself inside him, but the next moment it's flung into the woods.

It could have been hours your blood mixed with the dirt and new snow or minutes in the time it took König to destroy Marcus; the only think you know as you watch Marcus' limp body thrash around is that König had already killed him, and the anger kept him going.

When he finally lifts off of Marcus' limp body, the blood runs down his face, pours from his mouth. But you know it is not just his. It's viscous and heavy against his pale skin, leaving crimson trails as it drips down.

You've never seen that look in his eye before - the sharp flint that strikes against the gentleness he normally has inside of him. The adrenaline inside you doesn't differentiate between touches; ears still ringing with the sounds of König's growls and Marcus' screams as he was being torn apart.

So when he reaches out to you, you flinch back, hand scraping against the rocks beneath you. Something wild inside of you screams that he is the predator to run from; that the blood pouring from your jaw and chest are from him. König doesn't flinch back, just crouches down before you, wiping away the blood from his mouth casually.

"You are going to pass out Taube if you don't let me stop the bleeding."

You can't speak around the pain, around the shaking and the shivering. Slowly, the flint in his eyes starts to dissipate. But you don't move towards him.

"Remember the last time I carried you down Taube? I was the West Wind, and so gentle with you. It's just like that this time."

You skitter back from his hands that reach out again, but this time you're stopped by a stump in your path. König sighs, hands on his thighs, ready to push himself into a standing position. You think that when he speaks again, he's going to be angry, but his voice stays soft.

"Remember Taube. You are mine, and I am yours. Please."

Finally, the fear starts to loosen inside of you, and you reach out to König, hands needing to find some purchase. His hands find you, pressing against the blood that still flows on your jaw. He picks you up, the West Wind again, and your blood mixes with the viscera on his shirt.

Your vision slips in and out on the car ride, but König's voice is gentle the entire time. You can't make out what he's saying to you, sharp German intermingling with English. At times you think he might be speaking in Polish, your grandfather's voice rumbling out of him.

But his hands are warm when the hospital is cold. When the doctor tells him to leave, König argues. You try to tell him to be nice, but you can't make your mouth open up wide enough.

You dream again of your grandfather, crying gently as you hold his hand. You're in his hospital room again, but this time you're the one laying in the bed. He apologizes to you, and you try to beg him to stop. You can't listen to this - can't listen to him begging for your forgiveness for something you can't even remember.

But he doesn't stop.

Warm hands brush the hair out of your face, and pull you out of the dream. The room rolls around you, and you heave, stomach acid and bile the only thing that can come up. A gray basin is shoved beneath your mouth.

Your jaw burns where it stretches - your chest where it pulls as you heave up an empty stomach. Gentle German tries to soothe you, but you don't stop until your entire stomach is empty.

"Hush Taube. I don't want the nurse to tell me I have to leave again."

König swims into view, one hand still in your hair and the other holding the bed rail so hard he's white knuckling it.

"Why?" Your voice cracks beneath the strain of not being used, "why did the nurse tell you to leave?"

You hope that he can hear the teasing edge of your voice. When he smiles, you realize that he doesn't have his mask on, eyes dark from lack of sleep.

"They wouldn't let me bathe you. They said I could make you bleed again. But I couldn't stand seeing you like that, so - " he trails off, smiling sheepishly.

"So you were rude?"

"I suppose."

His fingers trace the edge of the bandage that starts at your jaw; the itch of the adhesive is starting to pull at your skin.

"How bad is it?" You ask, refusing to look down at the stitches on your chest. König sighs, resting his head against the edge of the bed so that he's eye level with you.

"The doctor said your jaw was wrecked, but they put it back together. You'll have a scar on your chest, but he said it could heal nicely."

The dull ache of pain is starting to build; you know you only have minutes left to talk before you can't anymore.

"Am I hideous?"

"Disgusting."

It hurts to laugh. The IV in your arm crinkles as you shift, trying to turn to face König better. He looks as horrible as you feel, but you keep that to yourself. His breath is warm on your face.

"I'm sorry Taube."

"König-"

He hushes you, hands gripping the bed rail so hard you think it might shatter beneath his fingers.

"No Taube. I should have sent you home. I should not have kept you trapt here with me. I didn't give you another choice. I just - I was so in love with you from the moment I picked you up. And this is my fault."

His hands shake, just minutely enough you can barely see. You hook one of your fingers with his, trying to calm whatever is threatening to break through.

"And now this - he could have killed you. And the baby-"

Even in the haze from the pain and the painkillers, you can tell this is what he has been sitting here worried about. What he's been racking around in his mind to try to tell you.

"Did the doctor confirm it then?"

"I am sorry Taube."

And you know that he is apologizing for tying you to him, for what he thinks is some sort of death knoll he has rung for you. You pry his fingers off of the bed rail, and grip them tightly between your own.

"König, it will be ok."

His voice is steady, even though he can't look at you when he speaks, his eyes trained on where your hands hold him.

"I didn't even do you the honor of marrying you first."

The pain in your jaw is too much to speak anymore. König notices, and reaches over your body to press a button wired to the opposite side of your bed. Beside you, some machine starts to whirl, the liquid in the IV starts to flow. You can feel the burn in the crook of your arm.

You fall back asleep with the warmth of König's hands on your own.

When you get home, bandages on your chest still being changed every two days, König tucks you into the spare bedroom. Into your bedroom. Each day you can open your jaw a little further, Valentina coming to visit you with some horrific soup that she swears her grandmother makes and can heal everything. Behind her back you pour it down the kitchen sink.

Some days Oma comes to see you, helping you change the bandage that disappears between your breasts. König's hands had shaken too hard the day you asked for his help. But when the stitches are ready to be cut out, you ask König to go with you.

The sound plucks at something inside of you when the doctor snips the stitches away, leaving you with a trail of small holes down your chest - Frankensteinian in nature. König helps you button your shirt, fingers pulled away as far as possible from the swell in your stomach.

The ride home is quiet, fingers tapping against the window. Outside the snow is starting to grow thick, and the ice on the road gets thicker each day. The blacktop rolls smoothly underneath the wheels when you finally grow the courage to speak.

"Are you ever going to let me move back into the bedroom?"

König 'hmms' at you, fingers tapping against the steering wheel anxiously.

"The house only has two bedrooms," you explain, shifting to relieve the pressure that starts to grow on your hip. "Unless you want to give the baby the big bedroom."

König's breaths are measured, and you give him the time to shuffle his thoughts before he speaks.

"You do not wish to go back home when the baby is born?"

"Why would I do that?"

You know König is thinking of a thousand reasons, but he doesn't voice any of them. When he speaks again, his voice is thin and nervous, accent so thick you can barely understand him for once.

"Do you want to come back to bed with me?"

Fingers sneaking across the center console, you touch him gently on the thigh.

"Every night."

The snow crunches beneath the tires as König turns into the driveway, lights illuminating the side of the house. Neither of you move once he shifts into park, engine idling smoothly in the winter air. König speaks as he turns the key, killing the engine.

"How about tonight?"

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