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starsofang · 4 months

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Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / part 8

previous part

tw: alcohol use, angst, mentions of death

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up the next morning was the biggest slap in the face. It singed your skin with a burning sting, leaving you disoriented and lost. It was as if the brutal force of realization had hit you so hard, it knocked any form of thought right out of your mind except for pain. Irrepressible pain that caused you to feel numb.

Simon had left. All of your worried texts proved futile. What once showed as blue was now a sickening green that glared back at you. Your number was blocked, your messages unable to go through, and you were left an even shattered version than before. You were glass shards left to lay on the floor, you were a broken wind chime that could no longer provide a charming ambience.

You were broken and useless, tossed to the side like a damaged piece of scrap.

Simon had lived up to his name, and disappeared like a ghost. Drifting off into shadows of darkness, seeping into them and becoming one, never to be seen again.

You were hurt. Scratch that, that was a nice way of putting it – you were devastated. The walls you had so graciously taken down for him were now jagged pieces of debris with no mortar to glue them back together one by one. They were unrepairable, crumbling far too much to be saved.

Everything you ever learned about Simon felt like a lie, because that’s what he did – he lied. The glass was too foggy to tell the difference between what was a lie, and what wasn’t. If there were any parts of Simon that were truthful, you didn’t believe it. There was no grace of god to be there to lend a guiding hand to point you in the right direction. All you had was your gut, telling you deranged criticisms.

He lied to you, this was all a game, and you fell for it.

You should’ve known, really. A man like Simon was not one to love and be loved, not when he had an apparition named Ghost to steer him away from any attachment. After all, spirits could not grow devoted to a mere mortal woman who had nothing left to offer. You were stupid to think otherwise.

Graves was a bad enough person. He hurt you, tormented you, claimed you in order to assure your life was a living hell, with or without him. Now, the smallest part of you didn’t think he could be as cruel as Simon at this moment. It was a brainless thought, one you knew was far from true.

Simon never hurt you, nor did he treat you as bad as Graves.

But at least Graves didn’t have the gall to abandon you like an unwanted dog on the street.

Your mind was ping-ponging back and forth between truth and deception. You didn’t know what was real. It hazed over you, muting out every bit of you that was left inside and replacing it with nothing but cracked foundation.

Nothing was real. Nothing was worth it.

You didn’t leave the house for the entirety of the day, nor the next. You stayed in the confinement of your own home, feeling like a caged animal with no way out. You were slowly decaying away, losing the truest part of yourself, no longer able to see her in the reflection. She stared back at you with a ghostly image, whispering about how disappointed she was in you, how hateful she felt towards you.

She whispered about Simon, burdening you with reminders of what could’ve been if you were simply a little less broken. Bringing him up just to dig the knife in more, twisting it under your skin and basking in the bloodshed.

You were spiraling, just like you always did, because it was all you were good for. Simon was another excuse to crumble back into a deeply rooted self hatred. He was just a chess piece, a single card in a stack of dozens, while you picked it up and returned to your old game of reckless entertainment.

Day fourteen came before you know it. And you spent it completely by yourself, pondering why you ever made a deal with the devil in the first place.

It was easy to fall back into old habits when there was nothing there to offer recovery. Relapsing was what you did best, even when Simon was around, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it again with him gone. It was a part of you, this endless cycle of self abuse, and it wasn’t going anywhere. It was simply on a temporary pause, now returning with more fiery persistence than before.

Alcohol was the only home you ever knew. It warmed you to the bone, engulfing you in a buzzing fervor. It welcomed you back with open arms, holding on to you with no intent of letting go. You were its lovely hostage, and you had grown Stockholm Syndrome.

Weeks passed by of tireless nights filled with the bitter taste that burned in your throat on repeat. Weeks were spent holed up in your apartment, nursing the only friend you had. This time around, you weren’t picky. You took whatever you could get, uncaring of the repercussions

And even in those weeks, Simon never left your mind. It was like a punishment for being good enough to fuck, but not good enough to stick around. It tortured your mind to the point of insanity.

The more alcohol you had, the more the memory of him became cloudy. It was exactly why you drowned yourself in it. You didn’t want to picture Simon’s face. Didn’t want to picture the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, or the way his smile was a bit crooked and off center. You didn’t want to picture him, and the future you grew too eager for, one that consisted of the two of you. Two puzzle pieces fitting together, only to be wretched apart and pressed down in separate corners.

You were completely losing yourself. All over a man who had broken you.

The cycle repeats. And repeats. You let it repeat, until hopefully one day, the alcohol would prove to be enough to give you the death you so greedily wanted.

It wasn’t until nearly four weeks in utter disarray that the cycle began to morph, railing off of the tracks that you worked so hard to have control over.

Deep into your daily routine of excessive drinking and wallowing in your own self-pity, the door knocked. You nearly missed it, brushing it off as your imagination. You didn’t have visitors, and the only one who cared to take that spot until leaving you was Simon.

Glancing around your apartment, you visibly winced at the disheveled sight of it. Bottles were thrown around carelessly, littering the kitchen counters and living room floor, where you were currently residing with a nameless show playing on the television. Hell had flown through your apartment, and it was your fault it had gotten this way again.

Old habits die hard. And you were always its unfortunate victim when those habits needed a host to leech on to once more.

Clambering up from where you sat on the floor, you somehow made your way to the door by the grace of god. It was late, and if you read right from the clock on the stove, it was past midnight. Anybody could be outside – a killer, an intruder, a thief. It was a mix between not caring about dying, and having enough logical sense to know nobody dangerous would knock first, that had you opening the door.

An unfamiliar man stood tall in the frame, bushy facial hair, sunken eyes that barely held a spark, almost as broad and stiff as Simon. But it wasn’t Simon, and this man was a mere stranger.

“Jesus,” the man muttered under his breath at the state of you. You frowned, feeling small and weak in comparison. After a moment, he cleared his throat, speaking again. “Need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

“M’a friend of Simon’s,” he explained woefully. The sound of Simon’s name coming from somebody else’s lips and not yours had your heart clenching with a dull ache. It sent ice cold chills running through your veins. “The name’s John Price.”

You stared at him with a look of disdain. You never heard Simon mention him before. The more you thought about it, you never heard Simon mention anybody. He was an enigma that you fell into too easily without even knowing a lick of who he was outside of your temporary protector.

“If you’re looking for him, I don’t know where he is,” you replied dryly, gripping a hand on the door and beginning to close it. Before the hinge could click into place, John’s boot stopped it, wedging itself between the door and its frame. He gave you a tight smile, one that had you tensing.

“I know where he is, dove. I said that I need to talk to you.”

The two of you became trapped in a staredown, one that you were too exhausted to fight to be the champion of. Begrudgingly, you opened the door wide enough to allow him to slip in, shutting it behind him. You watched as he took in your apartment, surely judging the whirlwind of it. He wasn’t exactly the type to hide away his distaste, if his mockingly amused expression was any type of indication.

“What do you want?” you asked him, disregarding your own mess and instead focusing on him. He turned to look at you, flashing you another smile. It seemed trusting enough, kind even, but by this time, you knew better.

“Came to offer you a deal, of sorts,” he vocalized. “Might I sit?”

You glanced over at the living room, shame bubbling in you at the sight of the bottle you’d been indulging in before he came around. “Sure.”

You trailed behind him when he took his seat on the couch, letting out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into it. His display of comfort made you feel uneasy. You made no effort to join him, opting to stand in the middle of the room.

“You were rather close with Simon, weren’t you?” he asked, causing you to scoff to yourself.

“Sure. What’s that got to do with anything?” you asked grimly.

Price hummed to himself, tapping his fingers against his knee. It caused a faint, muted sound of rough, calloused fingertips to chafe against the material of his pants. “Figured so. Allow me to ask you somethin’. You know of Simon’s occupation, right?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Silly me, that’s how you met, isn’t it?” He chuckled to himself. You weren’t sure what was so amusing. “Well, here’s the thing – his performance has been a bit… hindered as of late. I have a strong inkling that it’s because of you.”

The air in the room was tense, nearly suffocating you. Price had such a soft aura that was hiding menacing intentions. You could see through it.

“I need a favor from you, doll.”

“And that is?” you asked carefully.

He smiled at you, cocking his head. “I need you to reject him. Tell him you’re better off, that you don’t need him, whatever you can say to make him get his head back in the fuckin’ game. This job of ours isn’t a joke, you see. I can’t have him slackin’ off. That’s how he’ll end up caught and thrown in jail. Once it reaches that point, I can’t help him out of it. That’s why I need you to help me before that happens.”

Your eyes widened in bewilderment at the sheer nerve of Price. Asking you to tell Simon off, to lie and say you were happy without him? Fuck, the proof was in the pudding – you weren’t, and you could almost guarantee that Simon would know you were lying from one single word. Sure, you were mad at him – pissed – but you also wanted no part in this game Price was playing.

The more you sat on it, the more it became twisted. You were thrown in a tangled web of deception and betrayal, stuck to it like glue, fighting for your way out.

But how much of it was betrayal? How much of it was trickery?

Price’s words echoed in your mind on repeat. They formed together, creating a clear picture.

Price had been the one to have Simon toss you out. He was the reason for your harrowing spiral. He was why Simon had left you, treating you as if you didn’t exist. Just a pawn in his game, and you were too stupid to realize it all sooner.

“You did this?” you snapped. Price raised an eyebrow at you, but said nothing. “You… you’re the reason for all of this, and now you’re asking me for help to lie to him? Are you insane?”

His expression twitched into a flash of annoyance before returning back to a mask. Alarms rang in your head. “I’m doin’ this for Simon. You’re a little bird he fell into when he shouldn’t have, and now I’m tryin’ to fix it before it’s too late.”

“Bullshit. You’re doing this to save your own ass.”

“I’d highly advise watchin’ yourself, doll,” Price muttered in warning, eyes narrowed and expression darkened. “You don’t know anythin’ about what we do. Don’t know how dangerous it is for you to be involved with Simon, and for Simon to be involved with you. I’m savin’ Simon’s ass from fuckin’ up one too many times.”

The atmosphere was even thicker than before. It was hard to breathe. It made you queasy, as if poisoned with a heavy gas that may just kill you if you inhaled it for too long.

Price and you stared at one another, both stubborn and pulled taut. His anger simmered to a low boil once the two of you took that silence to gather your thoughts, but it didn’t entirely vanish. You could still see a flicker of a flame in his eyes.

He was dangerous. Not somebody you wanted to get tangled up in, but you had no choice. You were too deep into this webbed mess, and it was only a matter of time before it came to bite back at you.

“What’s wrong with him?” you finally asked, voice quiet and solemn. You crossed your arms over your chest, turning your gaze away from him so you didn’t have to see his display of weak sympathy and mock judgment.

“He fell in love with you, that’s what’s wrong,” Price bit back, sneering. “Now he’s weak. Can’t do his job correctly, got his head in the fuckin’ clouds, snaps at everybody who tries to talk to him. He’s riskin’ himself, riskin’ us, and I can’t afford losin’ a brother over some girl.”

Price’s words were bitter and cruel. It only irritated you, pricking at your skin until it drove you mad. All calmness that had festered in your brief silence washed away, replaced with the old flame of your anger.

“Losing him?” You laughed bitterly, throwing your head back in disbelief. “Sounds to me like it’s your fault and not mine. Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the reason he’s all fucked up?”

Price stood from where he sat on the couch. There were no longer kind features adorning his face. It was replaced with twisted anger, morphing into something unrecognizable. When he stepped closer to you until you were nearly nose to nose, it was like looking into the eyes of a feral wolf, ready to tear you apart at any given second.

“Wise words comin’ from an alcoholic,” he muttered lowly. It was a hard pill to swallow. “I was tryin’ to be nice, doll. I was givin’ you an option. A choice. You’re just as fucked up as Simon. The difference is that you’re goin’ down a path nobody can save you from. I can save Simon.”

The words slapped you harsh in the face. It was brutal and cruel, and he showed no remorse for the damage he was doing. This was a man who got what he wanted, hurting everybody in the process so long as he achieved it. His goal was to save Simon from his impending doom, and he was willing to take you down to make it happen.

“If you really cared about Simon, you would’ve never let him get to this state in the first place,” you retorted back just as cruelly. “It’s not my fault, and I’m not going to sit here and let you blame me for it. Take a look in the mirror and you’ll get your answer on why he’s being this way.”

Silence. Aching, deafening silence. It tinged the air with a sour smell. The two of you were making no moves of backing down, and it was simply a recipe for disaster.

You didn’t know why you were defending Simon. After what he did, he didn’t deserve your care. He didn’t deserve to have you bandage over his name from the countless wounds he’d inflicted on it by leaving you behind after taking all of you in this very apartment.

However, with a missing puzzle piece being added to the pile, that being Price, you couldn’t help but offer your support from afar. It was clear he had no hand in this game. He was a pawn, just as much as you.

“I’m not helping you toy with his feelings,” you whispered. This time, you sounded defeated rather than angry. Broken, sad, dejected. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

Price sucked in a sharp breath, stepping away but keeping his gaze pointed to you. He said nothing for the first few moments, eyes flickering over the worn out lines on your face. Empty eyes, ones that were surely full of life at some point in your life. Perhaps even lit up with Simon around.

He had taken that away from you, and it was only then he was realizing how cruel he was being. All of it, for the sake of protecting his own, of protecting Simon. He was so consumed by the thought of keeping Simon out of trouble, that he only sought to create more for you. A civilian, one who simply got wrapped up in the wrong crowd.

No outsider had ever cared for Simon like Price, Gaz, and Soap did. They were all each other had, bound together by an unfortunate calling. Nobody was allowed in, or out.

Then you came along, and Ghost had quickly become Simon again.

“You’re not goin’ to make this easy for me, are you?” Price sighed, shoulders deflating, releasing its built up tension.

“No. I’m not,” you agreed grimly.

“Stubborn one, you are,” he hummed, and dare you say it, he sounded amused. “Can see why Simon likes you.”

You glanced up at him, noting the faintest of smiles on his face. It was barely visible, a ghost on his lips, but even through your hazed exhaustion, you could see it.

“Tell you what,” he began, crossing his arms to match your stance. “I’ll talk to him. See what I can do. M’not promisin’ anythin’. This isn’t the type of life I want you wrapped up in, but I can see that you’re only goin’ to wallow here until you drop dead. I don’t want that blood on my hands.”

“What are you saying?” you asked suspiciously.

“I’m sayin’, that I’ll try to see if it could work. Again, m’not promisin’ you anythin’, doll. But if you’re the reason Simon can get his head out of his ass and stop doin’ sloppy work, then I’ll see what I can do.”

It was no guarantee, but Price was trying. One moment, he was begging you to hurt Simon to the point he’d never think of crawling back to you. Now, the story had changed, and he was making a peace offering.

You weren’t sure whether or not to trust him. You shouldn’t. It was a bad idea.

But the thought of seeing Simon again, to mend the broken bond you had formed, caused you to agree.

Simon was fucked. He’d drowned himself in a world of pure guilt ever since he’d blocked your number and called it quits. He was miserable, more than he’d ever been.

He didn’t feel guilt. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all. He was Ghost, after all, and ghosts didn’t feel. Yet with you, the narrative had switched. It was as if the gates of heaven had opened up, offering him a chance at redemption. He felt everything all at once – love, care, affection, longing, heartache.

Everything felt right with you. It was like he had finally found his home, only to have it torn away from the grasp of his hands. No matter how much he tried holding on to it, it proved a fruitless effort. It was gone before he even resided.

Simon’s mind became a jumbled mess. He returned to the empty shell he was before when nothing mattered and he only saw the world through a red-colored lens. It was straining, it was harsh. It hurt to wake up everyday and see a colorless world waiting for him.

His shattered, frail mind affected everything he’d ever known. Work became a chore. He was messy, careless, and the darkest part of him wished he would be caught so he could force himself into punishment for hurting an angel sent from above that was placed in his life to nurture him.

It was what he deserved. Simon was a man who fell in love, and Ghost was the devil that reminded him that he was undeserving. Unworthy.

You deserved better than him. You deserved the world, and Simon was the one who would take from it with greedy hands caked in the blood of God’s creations.

Everyday burned with an itch to see you, to send you a text. He missed you, but he hated himself more. It stopped him from reaching out, caused him to pull back on the reins and pace himself. Nothing could scratch the burning itch except for the brutal reminder that you deserved better.

The weeks were hell without you. He’d grown agitated at everything around him, going as far as to snap at Gaz and Johnny when they attempted to console him, to snap at Price out of unfiltered rage at what he made him do. He was too far gone, and the only foundation he had left was beginning to crumble, all because of him.

Damn Price for taking you away, and damn you for making him fall in love.

Simon didn’t know how much more he could take. It was eating away at him, like a parasite feeding off of its host, draining him of all soul. Even now, as he sat in his own apartment, hidden on his balcony and smoking all of his worries away with hopes of succumbing to the nasty tar that threatened to rise in his throat every time, he was decaying. Withering away, like a fragile flower.

The night was dark. The stars didn’t shine as brightly as they did on your balcony. The air didn’t feel as pure without you to share it with him. The smoke didn’t wisp up into silly, little shapes, and instead, tainted the air with polluted illness.

It was positively suffocating.

As Simon nursed the cigarette to the very end, stubbing it out with his boot and carelessly leaving it littered with the rest of them on his balcony, he heard the faint knock on his door. He silently prayed it was death, here to take him away and rid him of his pain for good.

It wasn’t death, but it was damn near close.

“Price,” he grumbled at the sight of the older man. It was too late for him to make an appearance, so he wasn’t sure why he did. Maybe Price had truly given up on him and was here to offer mercy.

Price didn’t care for greetings, stepping past Simon and into his apartment. Simon followed after him with his gaze, mentally preparing himself for another lecture. It was bound to happen at this point, seeing as Price was fed up.

Simon knew he was putting their lives on the line by being reckless. He just didn’t have it in him to care.

Closing the door behind him, Simon kept his distance, not uttering a word until Price spoke first. The man in question lingered around his apartment, seeming to stall with time, too choked up for words.

“You need somethin’, sir?” Simon finally asked. Price lifted his eyes to look at Simon. For a moment, they were unreadable. Masking away his thoughts, tucking them far in the back of his mind.

Price let out a deep exhale through his nostrils. He stood there in silence for what felt like eternity. Simon could see the gears shifting in his mind, working overtime.

“Go and get your bird back, Simon,” Price sighed, but to Simon, it sounded like church bells ringing on a Sunday morning, beckoning him home.

so many of y'all thought the last part was the end, but i'm not that cruel ;( i promise

#call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #john price #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #ghost cod #hitman!simon #hitman au #cod mw3 #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2

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hischeapcigar · 1 year

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𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓌𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓈

Pre-outbreak Joel Miller x reader

Part: 1 2 3 4

Summary: you're falling in love with the person your dad hates the most

Word count: 3.6k ish

Warning: none except your father is a bit deranged so maybe that's all

a/n: it was supposed to be cute little one shot but i think it's gonna be series lolol. reblogs and comments are appreciated. love you mwah

Your dad hated Joel. You never knew why but it had been like this as far as you could think. Your father played the major role in trying his best to keep you away from Joel.

BBQ party? Everyone's invited except Joel.

Your birthday? Everyone but Joel

He’s grumpy all day? Must've had an interaction with Joel

He even hit Joel, who obviously retaliated but the neighbors showed up to resolve the matter.

The whole neighborhood knew. How could they not? Your dad insulted him behind his back, which some entertained, but most of them grumbled and left the room. Because they knew Joel and they knew your dad too.

Even you felt pity for Joel, the few rare interactions told you he may look big and fierce, but he was a charmer. Sarah’s happy face was proof of his kind nature and your anxious state of mind was a reflection of your dad’s nature.

You once tried to defend Joel, but your father smashed the glass so hard, a sharp piece pierced the skin of your foot, leaving a scar.

Your parents always change the subject every time you try to bring it up,

“Its past, it doesn’t matter,” they’d say

But it mattered to you, a lot. Since the small get-together in the field the other night, when you first saw him. Sarah had lost track of his father, so you went looking for him with her, and that's when you first met him properly after like forever.

Eyes locked and you swore brown became your favorite color. Your breath hitched; mouth slightly agape. He mirrored your reaction but both of you let go just as quickly, minding Sarah’s presence. They left but he turned back to bless his eyes one more time, stealing one more glance at you. The smile he slipped, held your heart forever. You prayed to the heavens to let you both meet again.

Working in the cafe which Sarah and her friends called their “second home”, you had befriended all those little girls. It was fun to be around them, and they loved your company.

You never officially met any of their parents but one of them captured your mind since that night. You didn't know what you could do without offending Sarah.

But you didn't have to do anything, because Joel took the wheel as he showed up the next day in the cafe. Sunday meant Sarah and her friends were having breakfast together in their corner spot.

You came out from the kitchen, passing the tray of coffee to your coworker as you absentmindedly made your way to the counter, ruffling around with the drawer and all the papers.

“Hey” your head shot up to the sound of the voice and the unmistakable familiarity it carried.

“Hi” you replied breathlessly, hands frozen on the paper you just grabbed.

“Um, can I please get a pancake?” his thick Texan accent flowed like honey, his eyes warm and eager.

“Y-yeah, sure,” you could bet that you conjured him from your imaginations. Seeing him again in a person in less than a week was unbelievable

You quickly turned around to pass the order to the kitchen window but stopped just as quick, lightly smacking your forehead as you returned to him,

“Sorry, uh, which flavor would you like?” you cursed yourself for being so clumsy

He tilted his head to the side, contemplating, before he turned on his good old charm, “su’prise me, sweetheart,” he smirked seeing the look on your face.

Absolutely flustered at the nickname he just gave you, and how easily it rolled off his tongue.

You smiled, mumbling a little, “okay,” before you disappeared in the back

You took a moment, taking a deep breath steadying yourself. Hoping no one notices your flushed cheeks, and no one did.

In a few minutes, you prepared yourself to serve him. Running a hand on your outfit once smoothing it, you took the tray and made your way to Joel. You were glad he busied himself reading a magazine because if he looked at you, you would have forgotten how to walk.

“Hello again,” you announced, and he quickly abandoned whatever article he was reading,

“Hey” he smiled, looking curiously at the pancake plate you just put down, followed by a cup of coffee

“I didn’t order coffee-”

“It's on the house, since we believe it's your first time and because your daughter is our loyal customer,” you snickered

He chuckled, “I- thank you, so much, y’didn’t have to though”

“Also, i chose strawberry flavor because it’s my favorite so I'm hoping you’d like it too,” you shrugged lightly before taking a step back, leaving him with his breakfast,

Just as you turned to leave, you heard him call your name, and God that was the sweetest music to your ears. You had no idea how he knew your name, maybe sarah mentioned it, you figured

You cocked an eyebrow,

“You looked pretty that night”

Your heart warmed at the confession, “thank you Joel, you looked great too” you smiled before you left

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. Every now and then your gaze found its way to Joel. Even after he caught you stealing glances, he just smirked. He knew what he was doing to you, you knew what you were doing to him. A game for two.

You had your back on the counter, conversing with your coworker, when she pointed behind you. You turned to see Joel standing there, ready to leave.

“Thank you once again, I loved the pancake, though I can’t tell if it's my favorite”

“You could come by every week to try all the flavors until you find your preference” you suggested. Any excuse to bring him back.

“Tryin’ all the flavors, huh? I had another reasons to come back anyway, might as well try all the other flavors” smile tugging at the corner of his smile

Oh.

You didn’t even get the chance to response when he added, “hey ya mind, if y’get the uh, the cup?” he nodded to his table

“Yeah, sure” you were confused, why would he tell you what to do?

You went anyway and now you know why as you looked at the tissue piece with his number scribbled in a messy handwriting

Such a flirt. You smiled so widely your jaw hurt.

“Is this Joel or some cute stranger left a wrong phone number on the table?”

You read it for the thousandth time, indecisive if you should send it or is it a bold way to start a conversation. But then it’s Joel, he wouldn’t mind, you thought and hit send.

Your heart was beating fast, wanting to throw your phone across the room. Checking every other second if he replied, then a few minutes later,

J- “Stranger? I thought we were befriendin' each other”

you giggled at the response, feeling like a young teenager having her crush moment

“Well, we’re getting there”

J- “That so? Hope you realize your dad isn’t really my fan”

“Yes, and I wonder why” curiosity creeping back up at you,

J- “We got into a fight back then during a job we did, since then we just couldn’t get along”

Now was that too hard to disclose? Your parents were just dramatic, you thought.

Before typing your response, he started typing again so you waited,

J- “Wish it doesn’t change our sweet journey of becoming friends”

you read his text, wide grin plastered on your face , though a little disappointed that he only wants friendship, but you felt giddy nevertheless

The next week was the beginning of your new, fragile relationship. Joel would stop by at your cafe any chance he got.

I missed my morning coffee (he missed it on purpose)

I’m tired and I thought coffee might help (he just wanted to see you)

Sarah and her friends wanted pancakes (he asked them, “you guys don’t have to go, I'll get you your order if you want” he’d say and gets “okay, Mr. Miller!” “that’s so kind, Mr. Miller”)

Weeks went by, and you grew to his presence at random hours. You started to look forward to him showing up randomly. Your coworkers were quick to welcome him, noticing how your face would light up every time he was around.

He made a three-day streak of visiting before he didn’t show up for 2 days. A part of you wanted to text him to find out if he was okay, but you wanted to give it one more day, and you were not even sure about the thing you both had going on.

You were preparing the order, Oliver standing next to you, working on his order and occasionally making you laugh with his corny jokes when Gina, another coworker, showed up at your side, pulling you away from your half-done coffee,

“I’ll take it from here, go and deal with your favorite customer” she nudged your side,

You couldn’t help but let the smile make its way to grace your lips, but you had to play dumb,

“What?”

Gina gave you the stare that said really?

You snickered as you left, your heartbeat quickening, exhaustion already leaving your body as you saw him sitting at his usual spot, the corner table that nobody likes, so it’s always available, your favorite spot since him.

You reached him and instead of staying seated as usual, he got up and walked closer to you. It has been 2 days and you didn't know how much you missed him now that he was standing in front of you, all you wanted was to hug him and never let him out of your sight.

He took one more step towards you, maintaining eye contact as he slowly raised his hand to your waist and pulled you into him in one swift motion. You stiffened at first, then you locked your arms at his nape melting into his big frame. You took a deep breath like this was something you were missing all your life.

“Hello to my favorite customer,” you smiled at him when you detached yourselves from each other

“Hello to you too, my sunshine,” he replied, matching your smile

You both returned to the table, and he slid a small bag towards you, you didn’t have to open to know what was inside, strawberries, as he started getting you those ever since you told him that strawberries were your favorite.

Whenever you got free from your morning shift, you two would sit in the reserved area of the cafe just to talk. That’s what you both did. Talk about everything and anything. You didn’t need to pretend, you were completely yourself around him, and he, with you.

He kept buying you strawberries because you loved them. And in turn you would treat him with extra cup of coffee on random days

Any little time you spent together felt like an escape from reality and everything it offered. There was no toxicity, just pure, innocent and effortless conversations along with different flavors of pancakes.

Sarah admired Joel showing interest in your company. She wasn’t young enough to see how happy you both looked, and she was genuinely glad about that. She would even make excuses for Joel to come to the cafe,

Hey dad, can you please bring my notebook, I forgot it on the table and we’re discussing something

And boy would he be beyond happy whenever he gets the opportunity to show up at the cafe.

But like waking up from a really good dream,

Joel had just entered the cafe, standing on the counter, chatting with you (not blocking the way of customers) while you received orders when your eyes went wide at the figure entering through the door,

“What is it?” Joel asked casually

You ducked your head, “its dad” you whispered and saw how Joel’s face fell. You both knew you weren’t allowed to hang out with Joel, let alone be around him.

Suddenly his demeanor changed as he cleared his throat, looking down at the menu card, feeling your dad approaching. You managed to keep a serious and bothered face as you saw your dad stopping deadly in his tracks as he saw Joel. oh boy

“There are other cafes in the town” your dad grunted, indirectly referring to Joel, who only rolled his eyes in response.

You bit a smile at his reaction, “hey dad! Didn’t know you were coming” you tried to alleviate the thick tension.

Your dad gave you a tight nod, “yeah, get me two blueberry pastries; your mom called”

Never the friendly face, annoyance etched on his face like it was there since he was born. Your father was exactly the kind of customers you hated. Acting like a boss, like you owe a million dollars.

You looked between two of them before you left to get the box. On your return, you didn’t spot Joel. You frowned, wondering if your dad had said something to him. Your thoughts were cut short by your dad;

“No need to serve him, tell him to go any other cafe, there are plenty of them,”

You were speechless, he was being absolutely ridiculous.

“Wha- dad? He’s just a customer, you can't bring your years’ old absurd beef in this-”

“Do as i tell you, and if you can’t, then leave the job, you can do better anyway” he threatened in low voice, pointing his finger at you, before leaving

You knew your dad was overreacting but you kept your mouth shut because you knew he wouldn’t care about the people and just shout on you if you disagreed with him

It was midnight, your mind was running a hundred thoughts a minute since your dad showed up today. You had no idea how to tell Joel to stop coming to the café, like how could you stop him when it made you the happiest?

“Hey, you awake?” you texted joel

He didn’t reply for 10 minutes, then your phone chimed, you quickly turned it on to see his text,

J- “Yeah, I'm up, why aren’t you asleep yet?” he replied

“Wondering what dad told you today at the cafe” there was no filtering when you were with Joel, sharing every piece of your mind and not regretting it

J- “Except telling me to not ‘roam around you’ he didn't really say anything”

You were embarrassed, why did your dad have to be like that? you felt bad for Joel

“I’m sorry” you sent before typing “I just wish he wouldn’t stop you from the cafe, your presence feels natural there”

J- “Don't be sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mind it at all. He’s only looking out for you; we'll figure it out. plus, I think I can sneak in when I get the chance ;)”

You scoffed at his text, looking out for me? More like suffocating me from things that I actually like. But you felt affection for him in the way he was willing to be with you.

It had been a week, he showed up two times. Two times. A day apart. Then he disappeared for the rest of the week.

After the 3rd long day of him not showing up, you started to worry. Two hours of constant contemplating later, you decided to text him,

“Hey, Joel”

It's Sunday afternoon, 2pm. Not that Joel would have something to do so you wait for his text. You toss and twist in bed, smoking cigarettes, reading old magazines, scrolling on your phone, an hour later, there was no reply.

4 hours; nothing.

8 hours; nothing.

Next day, beginning of next week. You passed by his house, praying to get at least a glimpse of him but there was nothing.

You didn’t even see him on the streets, not with Sarah, just nowhere. As if he didn't even exist.

Still your ears pricked up every time you heard the door to the café ring, desperately hoping it was Joel, but it was never him.

Sarah and her friends were seated at their accustomed table. It distressed you to see Sarah, not knowing how to go and ask her about her dad.

It upset you even more when Gina asked you about him every other day, and more hurt when you had to lie, like “oh he’s just busy,”

But Gina knew better when she saw you with pity in her eyes, that look that told you, I'm sorry he ghosted you.

You had to hold back your tears to keep her from knowing that she was right.

But you broke down the second you locked the room to your room, lighting a cigarette, you placed it between your puffy red lips as the tears streamed down your cheeks,

“Where the hell are you, Joel?” you hit send and threw your phone as you sat on the windowsill, watching the cars go buy,

You got out of the bathroom when you heard your phone ding, you all but ran to the bed, grabbing and swiping it on,

J- “Yeah, just around. How’s everything?”

You were taken aback by the carelessness. As if it wasn't bothering him, as much it was bothering you. As if he didn’t miss you at all like you did. As if it all didn’t matter. As if you didn't matter

“Really? You ghosted me for two weeks and now you're acting all chill?” you replied

Frustration getting the best of you, you wanted to cry again.

J- “Look, I think it’s best for the both of us”

“Fuck what you think, fuck you” you sent

You could feel the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You threw your phone on the table before falling on the bed, face first.

The next thing you know is you're sobbing, muffling the sounds with the pillow on your face. You didn't realize how much you were attached to him until now, you didn't know how much you wanted to be with him until now.

You got up to smoke a cigarette to release the stress, but you cried while exhaling puffs of smoke in the air

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him

The next two days were a blur. You avoided spending extra time in the cafe, avoided conversations with your coworkers because they ended up asking about Joel. Your father picked a fight with a random guy just because he took longer to deliver some equipment that he ordered online; it was stupid really. You avoided Sarah too, because she painfully reminded you of Joel

I'm only giving it time, I'll get back to normal eventually, you’d tell yourself

The third day, you were brewing coffee when your phone vibrated, turning it on, your heart dropped to the stomach as you read Joel’s name on it

Quickly you swiped to view the message,

J- “Can we talk?” you felt anxiety rising up. A part of you was excited that he texted while the other part of you was furious, he can't just come and go as he pleases

You were lost in your thoughts when you received another message, J- “please?”

You decided to let things be, he ghosted me for a week, now he wants to talk, he can't expect me to go back running

Putting your phone down, you carried on with your work until it was night.

You closed the cafe as you stepped out, you saw a familiar truck parked beside your car.

Unmistakably Joel.

He stood there leaning against his truck, cigarette smoke around him like a halo. He pushed himself up as he spotted you and he made his way to you.

You stood there frozen. Resisting the strong urge to go and hug him and never let go. But you stood there and waited,

He came close but didn't stop until he was only a few inches away from you. Looking at your face, examining it, eyes running all over your features,

“Sarah said you looked horrible, but God you look worse,” he whispered. Scared if he talks loudly, this all would shatter,

“Like you care?” you retorted.

That's when you saw in his eyes. Regret. Remorse. Before he hung his head down,

Slowly he reached for your hands, hanging on your sides, silently interlacing your fingers. You didn't stop him. You couldn’t

“Please, can we talk?” his voice was small as he looked at you

You nodded

He released a breath, that even he didn’t know he was holding, as he nodded too

With your fingers still interlaced, he tugged you toward his truck. You both walked the distance, hand in hand as you felt droplets of water kissing your skin.

You went rigid making Joel turn and face you, watching you wipe away the water beads from your face. A few more drops on both of you before the rain lashes down.

Joel instinctively became your human shield, as you both ran towards his truck, even though that wouldn’t keep you from drenching, but the action was so Joel. Reaching there, he quickly opened the door for you before getting himself inside from the other side.

Both of your breaths were ragged as you sat in silence.

He ignited the engine bringing his truck to life,

“Where are we going?” you broke the silence

He sighed, “I- uh, had tis place in mind but,” he looked out the window, at the rain, “‘s rainin’ so we can stay in the truck, I guess,”

“What place?” you were confused,

“Y’gonna love it, trus’ me” a small smirk growing in the corner of his lips

--------------------------------------------------------------

Part: 1 2 3

Tags: @strawberri-blonde

#im never getting over #joel miller #or #the last of us #soft joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us

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slowd1ving · 2 months

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STRESS, STRAIN: THE TALE OF YOUNG MODULUS AND A FORLORN PHYSICS STUDENT ゜゜・BLADE DRABBLE

Dealing with a stalker roommate? No problem, Kafka's got the perfect solution: staying with the unapproachable and cold Blade. Teetering the thin line between sleeping on the streets and facing his rumored wrath, it sure is hard keeping your balance when the engineering student is anything but civil. gender-neutral, physics major reader paired with college au + band au (will come into play in another part I swear) see here for some basic designs for them warnings: some violence? consumption of alcohol, arguments, blade being a dick, college au wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

✧ Perhaps it’s lucky that your acquaintance Kafka finds you at your most dire of moments, or perhaps it’s your Achilles-level misfortune finally catching up to you. Dorm changes aren’t particularly infrequent, sure—but dealing with a stalkerish, obsessive roommate is definitely story-material for when you’re downing shots. Literature major Kafka isn’t one to turn her magnanimous back on whom she considers a friend, even if said friend is currently wallowing their sorrows away by complaining about the lack of available dorms to make the switch and drowning in hard liquor. ✧ Saviour Kafka, who plays for notorious metal group Stellaron Hunters (she’s a suave electric violinist), finds this a perfect opportunity to help out the cute guitarist from the rival Trailblazers! Her deft fingers are already sending a message to her pinned contact and drummer: Bladie, finally found you a roommate. Respond. It should be okay to put two college students (in bands infamous for their tense rivalry on– and off–campus) together in the proverbial lab rat cage; after all, neither of you are aware of who the other is behind the elaborate masks. It’s not like there’s a deficit of music groups at the Astral Institute—so who will ever know? Don’t ask how she knows the face behind the pretty Venetian mask. She won’t ever tell. ✧ Honestly, she’s not sure how the bad blood started (she helped spread the rumours). All she cares about is doing you a solid!

“You think the streets will accept me for who I am?” Even with your head slumped over your forearms and the smell of cheap vodka clinging to your clothes, Kafka thinks you look naively charming in the dim amber lights of a bar pretending to be upscale. And by naive, she means very naive—for real, how can a physics major be so gullible as to not question their roommate’s deranged tendencies until it’s far too late? It’s hilarious.

She’d dissect how this mood is perfectly, pathetically fallacious to your situation; yet her mind is too honed in on the buzz of her phone as Blade finally replies to her text.

“Kafka,” you bawl into a stack of papers you’d salvaged from your ransacked dorm. “What if the asphalt doesn’t like me when I’m sleeping in the streets?”

21:48 > ok.

Kafka, being an expert at metaphorical and allegorical interpretation, translates Blade-speak easily: let’s discuss this tomorrow, please and thank you.

“Found you a roomie,” she murmurs delightedly, watching with her hawk-keen eyes as you sit up drunkenly.

“That was fast, even for you,” you wipe your eyes cautiously—still wracked with the occasional hiccup. “Who is it?”

“Blade. You know him?”

✧ That sobers you right up. Of course you know him. Nicknamed Blade for how cold and unfriendly he is, you’ve personally seen him in engineering lectures: making people shiver from just his gaze alone, and on one notable occasion, making his project partner cry after his infamously harsh criticism of her proposal. It’s common knowledge that he practises various martial arts, but the rumours that circle around him like vultures whisper of how he uses them on the streets. But whilst you doubt the reliability of the latter talk, it’s hard not to picture his hands dripping sanguine when his eyes glint the same shade. ✧ Honestly, how bad could it be? It’s not like you have any other options unless you want to wake up with your roommate standing over you while you sleep again. After her, you doubt he’ll be any more of a walking nightmare. ✧ Perfect!—Kafka is a bit too enthusiastic at your reluctant nodding, but you cast it from your mind as you pack your stuff with Caelus and Stelle standing behind you like a pair of twin guard dogs. One good thing about this is that you can finally take your guitar with you (rather than storing it safely at Dan Heng’s room) to the apartment—because of course he’s too good for the dorms. Though, after experiencing your batshit roommate, you really can’t blame him for avoiding this area. ✧ Maybe, just maybe, the rumours about him being insane too are false and you can finally have a peaceful night’s rest without fearing for your life.

Yeah right. You hate him. You genuinely hate the man over in the room next door. The passage of time on your phone indicates it’s only been a week since you showed up with five boxes of belongings and a nervous smile on your lips—but the agony you’re going through prolongs this mental period to eternity.

Sisyphus embodies futility for evermore; as do you when you’re knocking on his door for the nth time to beg him to quiet down on his drums. The timings are so meticulous and calculative that you’re sure you could work out a linear sequence to this situation if you tried.

Exhausted from the laboratory job you’re juggling on top of band practice and reading on Dirac notations? No problem—Blade’s busy expressing how you feel in terms of loud crashing and banging that you hate to admit is (very technically) skilled.

Recalling your first encounter—your nervous smile and his cold indifference as you moved into the room next to his—it’s not hard to imagine that he’d be inconsiderate of you. Those red eyes had slid right past you like oil on water: judging you to be not worth his time to even greet properly. In fact, it’s like he’s trying to chase you out so you leave him alone for good.

The deep mahogany door swings inward, and you’re left facing an unimpressed, scowling Blade. With the way he’s clutching those drumsticks, you’d think he was about to skewer you—but you’re a bit too preoccupied with how he’s only sporting a pair of loose navy trousers that cascade languidly from his hips.

“What do you want?” Laconic as ever, he gets straight to the point with his question—as if he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve come knocking. Just like this morning, just like last night, the night before, the night before yesterday’s—every damned night is a problem.

“For you to invest in soundproofing,” you scowl back, too tired to keep up the fragile facade of politeness. At least when you practise with the electric guitar, you can easily hook it up to a pair of headphones and protect the sanctity of silence elsewhere. Actually, you don’t think he even knows your guitar exists with how considerate you are of your asshole roommate.

“Why should I?” he crosses his arms, looking directly down at you. If you looked closely, the slight stretch of his lips resembled a smirk—but you’re definitely mistaken, since the man never so much as smiles. The cold expression accompanying his crude words sums up his thoughts: if you don’t like it, beg Kafka for whatever other solution she has.

His inky hair sways from where it’s tied back, and you resist the urge to yank it until he sees sense.

“For better quality of life,” you grit out.

Those eyes turn into sardonic crescents. “I’m good.”

And the door is shut.

✧ Fortunately, you’ve managed to fall asleep in the middle of the practise room before on countless occasions; tuning the heavy thumping comes easy after a while when you’re exhausted and practically dead on your feet. The problem is during the day—doing your assigned reading and writing up results from practical work comes much harder when you’re constantly accompanied by the rhythmic percussion of a madman who favours metal. It gets so rowdy that you seriously consider whether he’s part of the Stellaron Hunters and knows you’re a Trailblazer—it would make sense, after all, if he was just feeling extra spiteful. However, from the trembling students claiming to be his previous roommates, this is just common treatment: him basically telling them to beat it and never return. ✧ Two can play at that game. Upon complaining to Kafka of his (rage-inducing) musical tendencies, she suggests that you get back at him with your electric guitar. Don’t ask her how she knows, no she’s not trying to instigate and watch the chaos—Kafka attempts to reassure you. You don’t trust the shady writer one bit, but both Data Analysis major Dan Heng and Environmental Studies student March 7th give the plan the go ahead. If you’re not mistaken, you can hear a touch of personal grief in the normally composed Dan Heng’s voice—something so poignantly irritated you wonder what the story between them is. ✧ Contrary to his nonchalant attitude, it’s clear he’s annoyed by the loud chords that buzz through the apartment. As soon as he picks up his drumsticks, you plug the guitar to the amps and thoroughly mess with him. You know enough from Caelus’ repertoire to place each genre of music Blade starts to play (which is limited to metal). No problem—you play various styles that decidedly aren’t metal and are so discordant with his own tempo you can’t help but keep a grin on your lips. He’s much too stubborn to knock on your door, but the irritated twitch of his eyes in the kitchen belies just how aggravating this is. And when you know he’s scrawling down notes for his classes, that’s when you’re practising your metal riffs and playing around with the fretboard. If you’re feeling particularly nice, you’ll play along to some darkwave gothic music—something relatively more calm—but these occasions are few and far between.

Chromatic eyes pierce your back while you deftly chop vegetables for your dinner. Really, now’s the best time to do work: when you’re busy with cooking and not insistent on plaguing him with jarring melodies. For someone so logical when it comes to his meticulous classwork, he sure doesn’t seem it as he leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen—sipping water and just staring at you while you Julienne an onion.

You shoot him a withering glance as you toss the slices into a bowl on the side, and he glares at you with a matched fervour. If it weren’t for the fact that you literally don’t have anywhere else to go—Caelus doesn’t even have a couch for you to sleep on—you’d have moved out a long time ago.

It’s a rustic space: sage green cabinets filled with charming, mismatched plates and cups; glossy white counters that house various herbs and the occasional plant; a lacquered table in the middle that has a vase holding a singular dried flower. An orange lily—still retaining a vibrancy that conceals just how long it’s been there. You wouldn’t have expected this style of decor from him, but at the same time, you doubt it’s his influence so much as Kafka’s.

“Do you have a problem?” you probe icily, turning back to where you’re slicing a carrot into thin matchsticks; if there was a god somewhere, you’d hope it could transfigure the man behind you into the root vegetable you’re enthusiastically chopping.

“No.” And when he speaks again, he’s right behind you. There’s a sink to your left, but he’s much too close as his breath ghosts over the nape of your neck. Affronted, you turn around; only to watch as his eyes widen minutely, glass of water slipping out of his grasp and spilling down your front.

“You dickhead.” Your hands angrily grab at his collar—unheeding or perhaps uncaring of his reputation for violence as you feel the cold seep into your skin. You’re seething; for someone with such good reflexes, this is a new level of low in attempting to chase you out. Or perhaps it’s revenge for finally getting under his skin. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

It’s a little too late when you realise the position you’re in: skin showing through the translucent material, breathing shallow from your infuriation, face glaring right up at his.

“Sorry.” His voice rings out insincere—and there’s that damn faint smile still toying at his face as he looks directly at you with that heavy gaze. “My hand slipped.”

You shove him back, too disgusted to acknowledge him any further. Maybe if you turned back around, you’d see the tiniest pricks of red on his face as you tossed your soaked shirt into the washing machine—leaving you in a damp vest while you continued cooking for yourself. Maybe if you looked back at least once, you’d see the amusement in his eyes as you maul the bok choy on the cutting board.

Those are maybes.

There’s particular things you know for certain. One, you despise him and his existence. Two, he abhors you and your entire being—because why else would he be so insistent in making you leave out of your own volition?

✧ It’s the time of year that you hate: joint engineering classes so you can cover the materials aspect for your physics studies. Well, it’s not like you hated it from the very beginning—you’ve hated it ever since you realised that once again, you’d have to be in the incorrigible presence of Blade. While he did finally install some soundproofing in his room, he’s taken it upon himself to linger wherever you’re present. Typing up your notes on the deep maroon couch with a mug of lavender tea perched on the coffee table? He’s in the window seat, looking over a thick reference manual for tensile strengths. Going to meet bassist Dan Heng so the two of you can play around with various lines for your next song? He’s at the convenience store you briefly stop at, gazing at you before he glares at your friend. Practising a slow solo in the living room (it’s really got the best ambience)? He’s tapping out a beat that you can very faintly now hear—one that surprisingly goes with the electrifying chords. ✧ Point is, you’re ignoring him and his presence—while he’s inching ever closer. It comes to a head at the lecture hall; you decide to sit in the third row, since it’s both far from the back (where he usually frequents) and it doesn’t make you look like a beg. When you glance at his predestined seat, it’s empty—unsurprisingly as he’s there usually a minute before the professor—while the seat next to him is taken by a girl you’ve seen before. Despite his horrible personality and the (probably true) rumours surrounding him, there’s a few stragglers who genuinely want him. And you genuinely want those people to seek help because it’s clear something went wrong in their lives for them to be thirsting over a man who looks like he eats cigarettes for breakfast. ✧ He comes in late, as you expect, but you freeze as he places his bag down next to you. Aghast, you can’t help but stare; yet for once he’s not meeting your eyes, and it’s far too late to make a scene and move elsewhere—not when the professor’s just arrived and is keen to start the lecture for materials. He doesn’t talk much, but you’re so distracted by his presence pressing slightly into your sides that you forget that today the professor’s deciding on the pairs for your projects—mouth agape, you stare in shock as she assigns them based on who’s sitting nearby. To be generous, she says, yet there’s nothing generous about this arrangement as his mocking eyes meet yours. He knew, you seethe, storming out of the hall right as the class wraps up.

“I hate him.” Your molars grind bone-against-bone as you harshly press angry chords into the fretboard. “I hate him so so so so much.”

“Who are you talking about?” March 7th—in charge of the synthesiser—glances first at the bassist to your side, then back at you. Her eyes are wide in sympathy, yet it’s useless in the face of your despair.

“Blade.” Poetically, the word is accompanied by the deep twang of Smoke on the Water as your fingers move mindlessly on your precious baby. What, your roommate?—she queries. No, a pet fish—Caelus responds, but you tune them both out.

“He knew the professor would assign groups like that,” you groan. “That’s why he sat next to me.”

“He’s definitely trying to get you to leave his apartment out of your own will,” Dan Heng’s smooth cadence is somewhat soothing—and his conjecture is one you’ve come to yourself—but the accompanying baseline he’s playing to the song makes his theory sound comical. “But he won’t screw up his own project like that.”

You sigh, and the melody falls apart as you bring it to a grinding halt.

“Believe me, I know just how much he values his projects.” Your head throbs upon thinking about that poor girl sobbing, and the bassist coughs to stifle a laugh.

“What did he say that one time? ‘Your vapid idea would be better used on death row than as a functioning building’,” Stelle—the vocalist and also the only Psychology major you know who doesn’t unnervingly stare at you—imitates the deep reverberations of his voice, and you’re astonished at how it’s recalled verbatim (down to the exact adjective).

“I’m surprised it got round that far,” you suppress a smile—after all, it’ll be your head on the chopping block next. “You should’ve gone into theatre like Caelus did.”

What a waste of talent, you shake your head mock-ruefully, which quickly turns to true woe as you realise just the predicament you’re in.

✧ It’s not a complicated assignment. Well, it shouldn’t be: designing a sound structure based on the whims of the architectural class (whom you loathe); except that Blade is notorious for being a severe critic for civil engineering partnerships—like seriously, out of all hills to die on and it’s civil engineering. You begrudgingly create a new contact for him in your phone; a digital space just for him, which almost makes you throw up at the thought.

(+2 unread messages) <Dickhead> (new contact) 10:11 > library. 10:11 > east block, 20 minutes.

You stare incredulously at the chat, which is neither phrased as a question nor a request but an encrypted demand. The fuck? Infuriated, you take the break between your reps now rather than later, swilling down water while you irritably type out a reply.

No can do. < 10:15 I’m busy. < 10:16

The reply comes less than a minute later; three dots animating themselves into existence while you wipe the sweat off your face with a towel. This prick. Well, it’s not so much a reply as an acknowledgement of your words—because he doesn’t reply, but rather your phone starts buzzing and you fumble while looking at the expletive lit up brightly on the screen.

You’re sorely, sorely tempted to press the red receiver on the device.

“What do you want?” you scowl, and you hope it translates through your voice that you’re revolted by his mere radio presence.

“Where are you?” He ignores your question; voice vibrating low through your headphones, and you can’t help but shiver, just a little. Even through the thick towel, you can still feel crescents being formed in your palm from your nails—you sincerely wish you were throttling him instead.

“None of your business.”

There’s a budding migraine blossoming to life in your temple as you finally hang up. You think that’s the end of it—after all, it was literally yesterday that the groups were assigned.

But when you shoulder the gym door open—skin still damp and warm from your shower, clean clothes sticking ever so slightly to laved skin—there’s a sleek car parked outside, and you frown when Blade opens the driver’s door.

“I’m going to report you for stalking,” you grit out, pressing your body to the cool glass of the building. “How the fuck did you know where I was?”

“Kafka,” he replies simply, and of course, that crazy woman was the one who viewed your private story and sent it to him. “I’m picking you up.”

“No you’re not.” Seriously, he thinks you’re that easy to convince—

“I’ll shut the fuck up with the drums for these two weeks.”

It’s almost miraculous how quickly you slide into the passenger seat.

✧ You’ve never been in such close proximity to him before (if you don’t count that day in the kitchen). At least, voluntarily. When you close your eyes and lean back against the headrest, you can smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. It’s different from the putrid tide of Axe the average engineering student drowns themself in—rather, it’s got the deep undertone of oud and something sweeter. You don’t expect it; maybe if he smelled like first impressions, he’d stink of blood and a dumpster fire. ✧ Don’t fall asleep—he remarks, and you can feel his eyes on you briefly. Eyes on the road, prick—you retort, but your own lids are still tightly shut. Therefore, you don’t see how his gaze traces the remaining water droplets from your shower: how his hands linger on his gear stick so he can feel the emanating warmth from your damp thigh. ✧ He freezes. Gross. He doesn’t like anyone, and only tolerates the rest of the Stellaron Hunters since they’ve seen him at his lowest and yet still find ways to bug him. And you. He wasn’t expecting you to last as long as you have. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to irritate him in your own way, and actually manage to aggravate him enough to force him into soundproofing his room. Actually, he still doesn’t know why you did that. He doesn’t know why his heart picked up slightly at the sight of you in that soaked shirt. And in the end, he still doesn’t entirely know why he chose to sit next to you for that lecture instead. It’s to annoy you, he decides. No point in deliberating too much about it. ✧ It’s surprising that the two of you don’t immediately argue over the project; some eco-facility for sports that surprisingly was chosen unanimously by the pair of you. Eyes flitting to each other and back, it was a miracle you both had the same idea somehow. And it’s surprising when despite your lack of experience in civil engineering like this (you usually opt for mechanical on projects like these), you carefully consider the missing parts in his outlines—security cameras, sound systems, and tiny edits to the structure to really amplify the architecture. ✧ He doesn’t mind your presence. That’s what shocks him. As you doze off with your head pressed into the crooks of your elbows, he doesn’t reprimand you like he would with anyone else. Instead, he places the material reference guide down and stops considering cement foundations. Before he gets the chance to poke your forehead, your phone buzzes against the table—lighting up with a name he didn’t think he’d see. ✧ Dan Heng. He knows you’re friends with the guy, but there’s a burning sensation as his eyes watch the pop-up turn into another message, then another. What does he want? In real time, there’s a particular irritation that blossoms with each new notification.

<Dan Heng> 20:19 > Are you still up? 20:19 > My roommate’s going to move in with his girlfriend, so you’ll be able to…

The message is cut off, but Blade isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what the implication suggests, and there’s a certain coolness in his eyes as he stares the message down. Isn’t this what he wanted? Yes, this is precisely the ending he hoped for: you moving out and him getting his space back to himself.

But the issue stems from Dan Heng. He can’t have that. He can’t have you moving in with that man of all people. Anyone else would be fine, he insists to himself.

Dan Heng. Dan Heng. Dan Heng.

There’s a certain hypothesis he’d like to test. With your guard down like this, he snaps a photo of you with the drool leaking onto your sleeve—sending it directly to you. Just like clockwork, your phone lights up once more with a message. It’s not ‘Blade’ that’s texting you.

<Dickhead> 20:20 > [photo.jpeg attached]

He grits his teeth, clutching his textbook until his fingers ache from the strain. No, he won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of taking his roommate like this.

He’ll play nice. When you find someone who works this efficiently with you, while managing to hold their ground under his intimidating gaze, it’s hard not to want them to not scurry away.

Eat shit, Dan Heng.

✧ Somehow, mercifully, you manage to complete the project with that weirdo. It’s strange—he’s surprisingly more cordial than ever. And with his inky hair pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched on his straight nose—it’s hard to imagine he’d ever made that poor girl cry in front of everyone like that, but you’d witnessed it yourself. So with a sigh, you remind yourself that he’s just as much of an asshole as the rumours say. But, staring at him so relaxed like this, these two different Blades are hard to ever merge.

“Something on my face?” He’s still writing with his glasses sliding down his nose. He sounds irritated, as per usual, but the tiny smirk painting his face lets you know that no he’s not irritated, he’s just being an arse just as always.

“Yeah, pen,” you mutter, looking away as he finally glances up at you. When you glance back at the desk where your laptop precariously shows the still-unfinished presentation slides, he’s gazing up at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

It almost puts to rest the image of a dickhead.

“There’s no pen, though,” he purrs, voice low while he rests the manual back on the table. “I’ve been reading all morning.”

Nevermind—he’s as much of an asshole as he regularly is.

“Who knows,” you comment offhandedly, slowly sliding a blue biro your way as soon as he looks back down. There—you attempt to inch forward to draw on his face, but he catches your wrist from across the table between you.

You freeze. Shit, you screwed up. With how relaxed he is, it’s getting easier and easier to forget the rumours of his bruised knuckles that follow him like a shroud. His eyes glance coolly at you, then at the incriminating weapon within your fingers.

“What are you doing?” Maybe he’s the questions first, beat up later kind.

“Getting revenge.” Shameless, you think, but definitely not as shameless as getting told to effectively shut up with the drums yet having the audacity to keep going louder.

His lips part, and your eyes nearly stray to the pink colour of them. Then, he smiles—something so cynical and disturbing you can’t help but shiver and twist your arm out of his hold, all so you can watch him askance.

“I can see why people find you scary,” you shudder, tapping your biro on a square notepad.

“And you don’t?” An innocuous question, but one that almost sounds accusatory.

“Nah,” you make a disgusted noise, like you’re trying to suppress vomit. “You’re just a prick.”

In the end, that same prick ends up rolling his sleeves upon your request so you can litter blue ink upon his forearms. With how pale he is, it resembles delicate ceramics painted with cerulean landscapes. And while you do include etched illustrations and swirling designs, you make sure to include several phalluses dotted around—just so he lives up to his contact name.

“Wow,” he remarks sardonically. “Maybe you should quit physics and join the liberal arts programme.”

You ignore him, taking a few shots of your handiwork and sending them to Kafka, captioned I feel like this truly reflects his personality and making sure all the tiny dicks are in full focus.

“Maybe I should,” you shrug. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you, at least.”

“Likewise,” he responds, but it’s not as satisfying to think about you quitting as he thought it would be.

It’s stupid. He finds that he doesn’t want the ink to wash from his arms, not so soon.

When you log into your account to touch-up the presentation, you spot the comment he left back in the library on the presentation slides—timestamped to the exact twenty past five.

17:20 > Maybe if you stopped staring at me, we’d be done sooner.

It’s the longest sentence he’s ever typed out to you—but that’s exactly what makes it so galling.

go fuck yourself < 22:31

22:31 > ooh you want me so bad aha

You pause, staring incredulously at the text, then to where the bathroom’s situated. The water’s definitely running.

… < 22:32 damn this idiot’s really getting scammed and hacked < 22:33 crazy < 22:33 [feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:33

22:33 > on the daily lmao 22:34 > same two old man passwords for everything

Types like one too < 22:34

22:35 > right?? 22:36 > we should be friends btw 22:36 > [Blade.] sent contact silver-W

Dang he really put a period after than name too < 22:37

22:37 > top ten edgelords 22:37 > [Blade.] sent laughing emoji

[feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:37

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the (surprisingly well-done) slides that he finally notices the string of (highly unprofessional) messages that he definitely did not write.

His head throbs and his eye twitches as he reads through them—burning holes through the wall separating him and you. He hopes you receive the subliminal nightmares he’s so graciously sending you.

It’s a fiercely deliberated decision. With a heavy heart, he finally presses [backspace] on the typo next to his nickname.

He only hopes you won’t notice.

(Silver Wolf notices—immediately screenshotting the new handle [Blade] and sending it to you.)

✧ Good things come in threes. Getting through this project, not getting beat up by that nerd, and getting through the presentation smoothly. By that, you mean you do most of the speaking while Blade clicks through the slides. However, contrary to all expectations, his voice comes low and rich—neither stumbling through the knowledge nor forgetting the important parts. It’s so shocking you can’t help but stare at him; something he definitely notices, judging by the self-important smirk he sends you. ✧ Perhaps a little too good. The pair of you leave the lecture hall separately—after all, it’s not like you want to be in his presence any longer, and he doesn’t particularly want to be in yours either. But you do want the sweet energy drink that’s been chilling in the shared fridge for the past few days: as tantalising as the very nectar of the gods. ✧ It’s when you enter an alleyway shortcut that you witness her—your old roommate. Vaguely, you recall she used to have a crush on Blade (a match made in heaven if there ever was one); perhaps that’s why she’s inching towards you with a pipe that is tetanus’ wet dream—so grimy you think you’ll immediately die if you’re struck by it. ✧ All this over him?—you think with disgust as you try back out of the alleyway, only to collide with the towering body of her boyfriend: some guy unfortunate enough to be entrapped by her pretty face and definitely not her personality. She doesn’t want you, and he (aforementioned: Blade) doesn’t want her either. It’s rather tragic, but woefully you can’t spare any pity for them: not when you’re about to get beat and for what? A successful presentation with Blade? ✧ They’re amateurish enough that you manage to evade them for a minute, but the alleyway’s too narrow to slip past them, and you’ve never been in a fight like this. ✧ You’re cornered when he appears: some twisted knight he is.

“You’re late,” you heave, bruises on your knuckles and that man’s face.

“You…” Blade trails off as he sees the blood spatters on your clothes, and his expression twists into one he’s glad you can’t see—not when his broad shoulders face you in an impenetrable wall. The two idiots—Tweedledee and Tweedledum, judging by how disturbingly gullible they are—stiffen immediately upon his timely arrival.

He’ll handle it like he always does.

But it’s certainly strange. Why does he feel so much angrier than he does normally?

✧ It’s late afternoon: dusk barely kissing the rooftops of the city, stars just about peeking from the violet firmament. You didn’t ask questions when he made enough space for you to slip out the alleyway: heart lodged in your throat as you quietly sat down at the local café with blossoming pain in your ribs and fists. Stupid, you were stupid to think that crazed girl would ever leave you alone. ✧ Maybe it’s counterintuitive to feel safe when he steps into the small building. He smells faintly of blood: a terrible, metallic odour spilling onto his clothes and flesh. But beneath that, there’s a lingering scent of that woody oud—you can’t help but sink into it. ✧ They won’t bother you ever again—he murmurs as the door jingles behind both of you. You didn’t kill them, did you?—you mutter back, half-sarcastically. No, but it probably hurt quite a bit for them—he shrugs. “Let’s go home.” ✧ Home. He says that, but there’s still that offer from Dan Heng to move in with him—one you’ll probably accept. Blade may have saved you, but he’s still a dickhead who has made numerous attempts to kick you out.

“Ow, fuck,” you hiss as he dabs antiseptic on the various cuts on your hand. It’s well into the evening now, and you’re currently sitting on the bathroom counter with your injuries on full display.

So infuriating. You glare at the man standing in between your legs—unscathed completely. Worst of all, there’s a smug smile on his lips; whatever worry he might have had over you has completely dissipated.

“You couldn’t let them hit you once?”

“Bitter much?” he returns easily, swabbing another cotton ball with alcohol and pressing it against the large cut on the side of your forearm. It stings, but you grit your teeth and bear it—much too annoyed with him to show any more pain.

In this position, the resentment you feel towards him turns faint; a veil seems to obscure the burning sensation.

“You talk too much,” you seethe. “What happened to the prick who kept his mouth shut and ignored me?”

Tendrils of his jet-hued hair brush your cheek as he inches forward. “If you like, we can go right back to that—playing at my whim included.”

He hasn’t felt like this in years—back when he was still a boy named Yingxing and unmarred by the burdens life would eventually place on his shoulders.

“Let me do it myself,” you argue back.

“Nah.” Silver Wolf will pay for calling him an old man. “You won’t do it properly.”

Another brief kiss from the alcohol against your bloody knuckles, and this time you can’t hide the slight wince on your face. It takes quite a lot of self-restraint to not dent the tweezers—he should’ve done so much worse to the two who tried this, besides beating the shit out of them and getting Kafka to land them behind bars.

“That rod probably had tetanus on it,” he shrugs, rummaging around in his disused first-aid kit for plasters and bandages.

“Yeah, I thought that too,” you shudder. It's this moment of casual, same line thinking that strikes you as being far too strange. He's so close you can feel each puff of air when he exhales: practically scalding the bare skin stretched over collarbones. Too close—and if he keeps talking like this, as if he’s no longer disgusted by your presence, you won’t be able to deal with it.

“What’d you do to her?” he questions, but it’s not the ‘no wonder she attacked you’ tone—rather than that, it’s like he’s trying to prompt you into distraction.

“This is actually your fault,” you scowl, irritably casting your mind back to when she used to talk your ear off about the man standing here.

“How so?” Nonplussed, he starts rolling the bandage across your arm—evidently, he’s experienced with this sort of thing.

Stalker roommate. Stalker roommate has crush on engineering maniac. Stalker roommate sees that your new roommate and engineering maniac are one and the same—you summarise, too tired to give the specifics. He sees the way your lids flutter closed from exhaustion; for once, he’ll use Kafka to get more of the information you omitted.

“Honestly, you two freaks would be perfect for each other,” you murmur absentmindedly. At that, he pulls the bandage tighter against your skin and you draw in a pained inhale.

“You should try stand-up.” His voice is thick with revulsion, and it’s quiet for a few brief moments as he gets started on patching up the scrapes left on your back. You’re sitting on a stool now: unable to see his face but awfully mindful of how his hands brush over the skin layered over your scapula.

“You still haven’t thanked me.”

“Thank you, my aggravating saviour,” you say, much too insincerely. “But that reminds me that I’ve got good news for you. That should suffice as a symbol of my gratitude.”

What is it?

“One of my friends has a room free, so I’ll probably be able to move out soon.”

The worst part is, he knows exactly who this friend is. His hands freeze on the band-aid he’s smoothing on your skin; too absorbed in his murderous thoughts to notice how you stiffen at the prolonged gesture. He’s not jealous; these are merely stirrings of friendship—this ugly, amorphous thing writhing in his gut and condemning him to senseless anger.

“That’s not good news,” he breathes, and it’s a little too quiet as he finishes wrapping the final bandage around your bruised ribs.

For the first time ever, Kafka receives a text from Blade that doesn’t consist of just one word.

<Bladie> 20:33 > I need advice.

Oh, this is interesting.

What are friends for?—she coos, making sure to show Silver Wolf the glaring achievement in Blade’s range of text vocabulary.

He’s clearly been on the rear end of bad news; while for her, on the contrary, this just means her scheme is moving along very nicely.

179 notes · View notes

perlelune · 10 months

Text

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Staccato breaths mingle with the wild drumming of your heart as Coriolanus takes you to a place unknown, so far from where you live on the outskirts of town.

The freezing air sneaks under your skirt, causing your legs to tremble. Wherever you look, you’re surrounded by darkness, a cluster of clouds cloaking the moon now.

It reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your tears soak the blue shirt of his uniform but he doesn’t seem to care. In your current upside down position, you can’t see his expression and it scares you even more.

You wonder what he’s thinking, why he’s doing this and, most importantly, what his plans are for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you inquire, your wavering voice dripping fear.

“It’s a surprise,” he announces, readjusting you on his shoulders.

You don’t like his tone, not one bit. It’s taunting with a sliver of resentment.

Somehow, you pissed him off at the bar and he wants to make you pay for it. Punish you for…for what exactly? It eludes you. All you did was dance with some guy and Coriolanus saw red.

You knew the peacekeeper was strange, but this is a step beyond that. He stole you. In public. It’s insane, deranged.

Lights finally pierce through the veil of the night, twinkling through the hazy obscurity. A faint shred of hope glimmers inside you. If there are people here, maybe you could shout for help, appeal to basic human decency. Back at the bar, no one would help you.

Part of you understands. This is the kind of fear the Capitol has instilled in everyone in Panem.

Still, a hint of bitterness lingers inside you. Not even Yara lifted a finger to help you. You thought she was your friend. But you suppose even that is asking for too much for someone like you. Even that is a luxury far beyond your means.

You confine tears. You do not wish to give the peacekeeper the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart.

He enters a building with bright lanterns scattered at its front. The smell of incense, cigarette and expensive perfume engulfs your senses, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe. A woman appears in your line of sight. She’s strikingly gorgeous. Glossy, raven curls frame her heart-shaped face and heavy makeup adorns her delicate features. She wears a low-cut red dress that must cost at least two months of your wages.

You frown, dull remembrance tugging at your brain.

Something about her is vaguely familiar.

Then it dawns on you, and your stomach coils in dread.

You’ve seen her before, at a bar in the northeastern part of town. She was working her charms on a man who slipped her a bag of coins before they disappeared together.

The urge to puke tickles the back of your throat. A brothel. Coriolanus has taken you to a brothel.

“Is our room ready?” he addresses the woman, impatience bleeding through his tone.

“It’s all been prepared like you asked, Mr. Snow,” she trills.

“Help me, please…” you beseech.

She tilts her head, a wide grin unfurling on her crimson-painted lips.

“She’s a pretty thing, your lass. Almost as pretty as you.”

Coriolanus reaches inside his pocket. The clinking of coins resonates as he drops a tiny purse in the woman’s hand. “Don’t disturb us,” he instructs.

She grabs the purse and beams at him.

“Wasn’t planning to.” Her cheerful inflection makes your stomach sink. “Our clients’ privacy is of the utmost priority.”

“Let me go you mon-”

The woman giggles. “She chirps an awful lot, that bird of yours.”

He heaves out a deep sigh, both weary and resigned. “She needs discipline, which is exactly why we’re here.”

His words do nothing to reassure you. You thrash again, legs flailing and hands reaching for any parts of him you can. He groans but doesn’t release you. He stomps upstairs.

Your mind runs wild as your fear grows. Soon, the blond reaches an ornate black door. He kicks it open with his boot. Once inside, he tosses you onto the canopy bed in the middle of the room. He slams the door closed and locks it. Your blood runs cold.

Without much thought, you clamber off the bed, awkwardly getting to your feet and heading straight for the door.

He grabs the back of your neck and yanks you away from the door. A strangled shout leaps from your throat.

Coriolanus peers down at you, bent in an uncomfortable position beneath him.

A look of mild annoyance decorates his handsome face.

“Still trying to run away? You never learn your lesson, pretty bird.”

“Let me go,” you croak, your pleading eyes searching for pity in his icy gaze. But you’re only greeted by contempt. Tears swell under your eyelids. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He snorts, like he can’t believe you’d ask something so ludicrous. He narrows his eyes at you, the fingers clamped around your nape squeezing harder.

“Why? Because you’ve been ungrateful,” he hisses.

Befuddlement trickles within you. “Ungrateful?”

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks.

“I help you, I save you.” A storm gathers in his enraged tone. “I do so much for you but you bat your lashes at some pathetic district scum?”

You cower beneath his accusing stare, in disbelief at what you’re hearing. Your lips clamp shut, your mouth quivering before you retaliate, “I’m district scum too.” You squint at him. “I’m district scum too so what do you even want with me, Coriolanus?”

He chuckles darkly, wrenching your head so far backwards, your neck starts singing in pain. He sinks to one knee, scrutinizing your shaking form on the floor.

“What do I want with you?” he echoes. His hold on your neck loosens to latch around your jaw instead. His scorching blue gaze dives into yours as his voice dips, whisper-soft. “Tell me, sweet bird, am I that repulsive to you?” Puzzled, you blink. Why does he even care what you think of him?

Your silence has him jostle your frame, as if trying to shake a reply out of you.

“Answer me,” he growls.

An hasty, breathless response tumbles out of you. “No.”

You hardly had to think, needing to simply utter the truth. Of course, Coriolanus is handsome, a feast for the eyes like a prince from a fairytale, with his smooth skin, free of any blemish, bright blue eyes and angular features. It’d be hard to deny how beautiful he is.

…But he’s not a prince, and you're not in a fairytale.

As your eyes lower, his fingers dig harshly into your cheeks.

“Look at me.” There’s a sharp edge of authority to his words. You lift your gaze, too terrified to dare divert your attention from him. He continues. “Do you find my face disgusting, my voice unbearable?” His mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s my smell. Is it atrocious?”

Tears dangle at your lashes as you mutter, “No.”

“Then why?” A blend of dismay and anger paints his features. “Why do you always run away from me? Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

“I don’t need you. I never needed you.”

His orbs flare dangerously. You shriek as he hauls you from the floor and hurls you on the bed.

“This is where you’re wrong. You live because of me. Your cousin lives because of me.” He begins removing the blue vest of his uniform, his motions irate and rushed. A lump nestles in your throat as you watch him zip down his pants next. “You owe me, and it’s about time you show me some gratitude.”

This time your attempt to flee is curtailed by a steely grip on your ankle. A knife-like sensation pierces your limb as he twists it cruelly. The pain knocks the wind from your lungs. You freeze and go limp over the sheets.

The blond’s forehead puckers, a contrite look flickering over his features.

“You’re making me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making me.”

He squeezes your shoulder and forces you to sit up at the edge of the bed. The air chills around you as he tugs down his white boxers, revealing his long, thick girth, glistening at the tip. You gulp the lump in your throat.

Your fingers clasp around the end of the bed as you gape at his erect cock. The vein along the shaft seems to taunt you. Cupping the side of your face, he nudges his tip against your wobbling lips.

“Open up,” he orders. He sneers when you don’t move an inch, “So stubborn…I can’t tell if I love or hate that about you, pretty bird.”

“Please…” you mumble, your glistening eyes rising to meet his.

He purrs, lust clouding his sky blue orbs. His thumb skims over your bottom lip.

“You’re even prettier when you beg me, birdie.” His tone mellows as he offers, “Open your mouth and I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”

Your mouth remains adamantly sealed.

Studying you, he ponders, “I’ve always found the punishment for thievery needlessly harsh.” He unleashes a dragged out, ponderous exhale. “For shame, I’m not sure your cousin will last very long here without you.” Your heart threatens to spill from your chest. A wicked, lopsided smile blooms on his lips as he fondles your cheek. “It’s a tough world, especially for a little girl all on her own, wouldn’t you say?”

Your chest collapses at his blatant threat. Even if your own fate mattered little to you, you can’t imagine Tilly fending for herself here. You’re all she has now and if she can’t rely on you, who will she be able to rely on?

Besides, she might be better now but she always had a fragile health. Someone needs to look out for her. And it has to be you.

It’s as if Coriolanus could hear every thought bouncing in your head, smugness oozing off him as he observes you.

Your lips part slowly. Victory illuminates his features.

He pumps his shaft, excitement bouncing in his orbs.

As he pushes his tip into your mouth, a hum of pleasure vibrates in his chest. You feel it through your own body and a shudder passes through you.

You quiver as you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, silently wishing he’ll be quick about it. Maybe if you do it well enough, it won’t last long and he’ll leave you be.

Still, embarrassment pools in your gut. You’re letting a peacekeeper treat you like a common whore. You doubt your dignity will ever recover from this ordeal.

He grabs both sides of your face, impatient, pushing more of himself down your throat. Your mouth aches at the corners, the size of him nearly too much to bear.

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” he rasps, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

He slides his entire length down your throat until it tickles the back of it. You fight your gag reflex. The salty taste of him spreads on your tongue as you choke on his cock, air flailing in your lungs. He licks his lips, gently stroking your tear-stained cheeks.

“Good girl”, he praises.

He starts fucking your mouth, bruising your throat with each forceful thrust. Tears and spit mingle around your mouth as you take him as well as you can. You grow numb, eyes half-seeing as you let him use you.

Coriolanus’s throaty moans fill the room. The echo of his blunt thrusting reaches your ears. You feel sick.

You close your eyes, hoping to forget, but all you can see is him, hear is him, feel is him.

You wish you could climb out of your own skin.

His pounding turns more feral. Cradling the back of your head, he shoves himself more urgently inside you. His chest ripples as he grunts.

You weep, suffocating on his length. Your stifled cries join the lewd sounds he makes. Your fists tighten around the sheets as your vision dims.

His motions become sloppier as he snarls, a look of sheer bliss decorating his handsome face.

His cock twitches, his eyes rolling back. A warm stickiness glazes the inside of your mouth. A groan leaves him as ropes of him pour down your throat. When you try to pull back, he firmly keeps you there, framing your face so you can’t escape.

The excess trickles on your chin and neck.

You shudder, quaking sobs wracking your body.

A wet sound resonates when his softening cock finally exits your mouth. You inhale a wide lungful, thankful to be able to breathe again but disgusted by the bittersweet aftertaste still coating your tongue. You wish you could bleach the inside of your mouth many times over.

He collects your tears with his thumbs, his smile growing as he basks in the sight of the mess he made on your face.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, my sweet bird,” he croons.

You plunge your hands in the frigid water, roughly rubbing the clothes against one another. You focus on a willful beer stain that won’t come off no matter how much you try. Frustration blooms inside you as the brown lingers on the beige fabric.

You grimace. This was one of your nicer blouses. Now it’s forever ruined, tainted beyond recovery.

Yara wrings her skirt above the bucket, her attentive eyes clinging to you. When she offered to do laundry together this morning, you expected a plethora of questions. Instead, she spent the last hour mirroring your silence.

You’re grateful. While her presence soothes you, there are many topics you’d rather not broach. One in particular. A memory you went to great lengths to bury but won’t let itself be erased. You feel branded, like you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

It’s a ghastly prospect, one you have no desire to mull over too deeply.

You’d rather focus on laundry today. Washing, rinsing, drying and repeating. The tedious routine keeps the scary thoughts at bay. At least for a little while.

“Tilly’s doing a lot better.”

Yara’s abrupt words stagger you. Your head snaps up. Your focus veers to your younger cousin. She’s sitting by the fire playing noughts and crosses with her friend. The two little girls are wrapped up in the thin lines they’re drawing with white chalk on the stone floor, concentration etched on their small features.

She has been doing better. Much better than she has the entire year, though it guts you to admit it. She can laugh, play, run and be a normal kid.

…And you have the little care packages Coriolanus has been dropping on your doorstep to thank for that.

It stuns you that he even found out where you live so easily. You thought you were careful.

Now you don’t even feel safe in your own modest home.

There is nowhere to hide from the peacekeeper.

While he hasn’t shown up in person, his presence hovers over every aspect of your life.

You live because of me.

“Yeah,” you reply tritely.

Hands going still in the water, Yara observes you for a while, hesitation wrinkling her features.

Eventually she dips her head, averting her gaze as she mumbles, “I shouldn’t have let him take you away.”

Guilt bleeds through her tone. Sighing, you peer at her. While you resented being on your own, you’re also keenly aware there is nothing she could have done.

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure. “I’d be scared too. I am scared,”

Though sadness still glistens in her eyes, she nods.

“Did he…” She trails off, sucking in a deep breath as if to gather the courage to speak again. Her gaze meets yours head on. “D-Did he hurt you?”

Goosebumps erupt at the base of your spine, spreading outward as your mouth trembles.

“In a way,” you answer belatedly.

Shock covers her features.

“We should tell Commander Crane…”

You scowl. “We can’t.”

Not only does the ruthless Commander of District 8 harbors little to no sympathy for anyone’s plight, he may be more concerned about your thievery charges than any misdeed carried out by one of his Peacekeepers.

Such are things in District 8. Unjust and bereft of any morsel of hope.

“But we have to do something, report him,” she insists.

Irritation nips at you. You wish she’d drop it. It’s not like anyone will come to your rescue. You’re not some damsel in distress, a precious lady from the Capitol in trouble.

You’re no one. Some might even say district garbage.

“Yara, he’s some rich kid from the Capitol, and I’m…we’re just…” The words shrivel on your tongue, hopelessness cresting within you. “It’s best to leave it alone, trust me.”

“But…”

“It'll only get worse if I fight him,” you snap.

A puzzled expression appears on your friend’s face. “Worse in what way?”

In what way indeed? You’ve no idea how far Coriolanus Snow is willing to go to torment and toy with you. There’s a glint of madness in his blue eyes which haunts your nightmares.

You go quiet.

You pick up the drenched blouse from the bucket of water, wringing it until your hands start to hurt.

Yara’s soft voice rises, encouragement laced in her tone.

“Hey, I’m sure he’ll get bored at some point, move on,” she says. “I mean he has to, right?”

She smiles at you and you return it.

“Right.”

But deep inside, you’re not so sure, dire thoughts of pretty boys with devilish smiles swaying in your mind.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games

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itsruki · 5 months

Text

Corruped by the grim reaper

Dom!Older!Hanma x Sub!Innocent!Younger!reader

MDNI! MINORS DO NOT READ!

Masterlist:

a/n: so uhm.....I finally did it.....friends I am not sure if I like it...BUT I TRIED

synopsis: Hanma is in a relationship with Y/N, who is an innocent Model Student. He is older and takes advantage of her inexperience

Trigger warnings: afab-reader , mentions of unprotected sex, fingering, Oral M/F, older person taking advantage of younger person, mating press, petnames: Doll, Doll Face, Baby Doll, Princess, Baby

word count: 3601

You knew Hanma was bad news. You are aware. A part of you wishes for you to rub off on him and become a functioning member of society; the other part loves how deranged he is. He was almost double your age. With your tender 18 years, he really shouldn't be with you. Sometimes you question why? Even though you know the answer: You are untouched. You are untainted. An innocent angel, for him to corrupt. You are the picture-perfect girl. Rich parents, youngest daughter, top of her class, honor students, a full scholarship already waiting for you, head of the whole student body. You are the shining image of a model person, and that's what he wants to break. He wants to ruin you.

He was a patient man. He didn't need to rush it. Not only that, but he knew you would fall for him and become his little play thing. "Open your window, doll." he texted you at 2 a.m. He knew you were up all night studying. You stood up and opened your window, just to see him waiting in front of it. "Shu, why are you here?" you told him you would be busy for the day, so you pouted a little as you were looking at him. He climbed into the room through the window and stretched. "Is a man not allowed to come see his girlfriend~?" that made you blush. He knew what he would have to say to wrap you around his finger. "I-I told you, though, I'm studying!" you responded. He is just so distracting.

You didn't even know how you two ended up dating. You met him at a club. It was your first night going out since you just turned 18. Your best friend has pestered you about going for weeks until you finally budged. While being there, she ditched you to dance with a guy. You were trying to just sit by the bar and wait for a while, hoping she might come back. A little later, a man approached you. First, he just asked you if you would want a drink, which you declined politely. After that, the man became more and more agitated, until he tried to grab you by the arm and drag you away. That's when Hanma showed up. He grabbed him by the back of his neck while asking "I see, someone wants to play a game~♡" The man looked at him in shock. It was almost as if he knew who Hanma was. Hanma had this charming yet somehow threatening smile. It felt as if he was enjoying the encounter, as if he liked picking a fight. The man apologized profusely before leaving the scene. You bowed down and said "Thank you for your help, Sir" Something in his eyes sparked. "You are quite the polite one, doll~♡" you blushed, and his smirk grew. He was defenrly older, you could tell. "Would you mind if I sit next to you, doll~?" You shook your head and gestured for him to sit. After he sat, he smirked at you and began a conversation. "So, you seem like quite the young lady~. Are you even old enough to be here~?" Again, you blushed. You looked at your hands that are on the counter of the bar and nodded "uhm, I'm 18." he giggled, and God, his giggling was so hot. It was this....dark and raspy sound... "so you are a full blown adult now, huh~? You have to be careful, little lamb or a wolf will come and try to eat you up~♡" It didn't sound like a warning....more like a threat...or a promise. "T-thank you for your concern Sir." you stuttered. Again he chuckled "Dont call me that. It makes me feel old! My name is Hanma. Shuji Hanma....and yours, doll~?" he tilted his head and gave you a taunting half smile. "U-uhm.... Y-Y/N L/N" He makes a long hmmm sound as a response "I like doll more....you wouldn't mind me calling you that, right doll~?" It was less of a question and more of a statement, as if he had already made up his mind about that. "Do you have a boyfriend, dollface~?" you shook your head "No. No, I do not." he chuckled again, this time darker. A shiver running down your spine. "Well, isn't that my lucky day~?"

After that night, you and Hanma started to see each other regularly. A couple of months later, you two became a couple. At first, the large age difference really bothered you, but at this point, you don't care anymore. You keep it a secret from your parents, but that's only to not worry them. They want you to focus on your academics.

So far, nothing physical has happened between you two. He stole some kisses from you and touched your hip here and there, but it seemed like he was trying to be respectful. He is 27 after all. He wouldn't want to take advantage of you.........right?

He dropped himself on your bed and yawned. "I won't stop you from studying, doll~. I just came to see my girl~. Go on; I will be completely quiet~." You gave him a skeptical look, but he just gave you a juvenile smirk. You walked back to your desk and began to work on your studies. The whole time, you felt his eyes lingering on you. It made focusing so unbearably hard. You felt your blood rush into your core as you desperately tried to distract yourself with the global economic impact of the French Revolution.

While stuck in your not-so-pure thoughts, you felt his hands on your shoulders and stiffened up. He chuckled, "You seem tense~. Care for a massage, doll~?" you blushed and slowly nodded. He began to massage your shoulders. His strong hands were just the right amount of firm. In the corner of your eye, you see his tattoos on his hands: "Sin" and "punishment". Your brain wandered again....asking yourself what it felt like around your neck. You shook your head to throw out that thought, but then you heard his voice, right behind your ear, "´something bothering you, doll~?" A shiver ran down your spine as a small gasp escaped your mouth. "N-no. . I....I'm okay." He was so close that you could smell his scent. It's a mixture of cologne and his natural smell. It's deep, earthy and manly....your breathing becomes more and more deep. You try to center yourself. Your body is working against you. Hanma turned the chair around and looked into your eyes. He was towering over your tiny body. "I think it's time for a break, doll~. How about we give you a proper massage~?♡" he gave you a mischievous grin, and you blushed some more "W-what do you mean?" he chuckled. "I mean, you should undress and lay on the bed, so I can help you relax, doll face~" your face turned darker "U-u-undress?!" you almost shouted before realizing what time it is and keeping it down. "Don't worry, doll face~. I will really only massage you~. You know how I always say, I will only go further if you ask me, yourself~" That was true. Hanma always told you that. You have to explicitly ask for his affection. Kisses included. You gave it some thought before you nodded. "B-but you have to turn around until I lay on my bed!" he chuckled again. He finds it incredibly attractive how shy you were.

He turns to the wall as you slowly take off your PJ shorts and your shirt. You revealed a simple white bra with a little lace and a few ribbons. It encapsulated so well, what kind of a timid, innocent angel you are. He would obviously sneak some glances at you, unknown to you, of course. You turned around, seeing he was still facing away, before slowly unhooking your bra. Then you walked over to your bed and layed down on your stomach. "D-done." you whispered, and you heard a chuckle as a response. He walked over and climbed on top of you, kneeling only a little lower than your ass. He would only grace your back with the tip of his fingers first, causing your body to respond with goosebumps. "Do you want to start, doll~?" You blushed and then nodded. He chuckled as a respons "use your words, beautiful~" You cleared your throat before answering "y-yes...we can begin..." First, he resumed to firmly massage your neck and shoulders. You gave out some moans, it looked like you were actually pretty tensed up. Then his hands slowly lowered over your back. "Your skin is so smooth, doll~. Makes me want to just eat you up~.♡" You blushed but kept your face buried in your pillow. As he went over your back, he also massaged the sides of it, almost accidentally touching the sides of your breasts as well. A small whimper was escaping your mouth. He doesn't comment on it, and somehow it made you hope that he didn't notice. His hands go lower, just above your ass. He rubs and massages your lower back for a while before going lower. You began to tremble and he noticed that. "Don't worry, doll~. This is all part of the massage~. I just want to make you feel good~.♡" You tried to stay calm as he began to fondle and massage your ass. He is rough with it. You couldn't help but moan. You tried your hardest to muffle it. You heard his chuckle. He moves his hands even lower, begging to knead your thighs. His hands were dangerously close to your clothed folds. His hands grabbed and fondled your thighs, up and down. Your panties soaked through more and more.

"Turn around now, doll~. It's time to massage your front~." you turned around, an arm over your face to cover how red you were. "You are so cute, doll~. I love when you get all shy on me~." he began with your collarbone. You saw his hand tattoos on your body now. He took his sweet time to touch your chest, not actually massaging your boobs. Your nippels were perky and hard, and at that point, your mental fortitude was almost completely gone. He leaned forwards and whispered into your ear "Do you want me to massage you everywhere~?♡" and all you could do was nod. "Words doll~. Use your words~." you shivered "y-yea~ please~" he chuckled dark before his hands cupped your breasts. He began with gentle fondling. "So soft, so perfect~ just the way I like'm, doll face~.♡ " his fingers circled your nippels. Making them hard and visible. "They look so tasty, baby-doll~. Can I have a taste~?♡" you squirmed under his words and nodded as you could only answer with a breathy "y-yes...." his head leaning down as he began to lick and kiss your collarbone and then slowly moving further down. Before he sucked on your pointy nipples, he circled his tongue around them a few times. He started with the left one. He took his sweet time before finally wrapping his lips around it and sucking on it with the hunger of a starving man. Meanwhile, his right hand would work on your other breast. Your breathing picked up as you threw your head back and moan out "Shuji~!" he looked up and let go of your nippel for a moment "keep your voice down, doll~ we wouldn´t want your parents to interupped our little fun time; would we~?" Shuji pressed his face between your tits "fuck....I love your tits so much, doll~. I could die sucking on them and be happy~." he went and began to suck on the right nippel. Your hand found your mouth and covered it to muffle your moans. One of his hands slowly moved down your body and you felt it on your abdomen. He looked up again, his eyes dangerous, like a predetor; ready to devour his prey. "Do you want me to make you feel good, princess~?♡" you blushed. He had you wrapped around his finger. You nodded and just said one word. "Yes."

His hands slid down your body before finding the waistband of your panties. He pulled them down your legs and held them in his hand. He gave your panties a nice and deep wiff "hmm~ I can smell how fucking wet you are for me, princess~.♡" which made you whine. He spread your legs and looked down on your pussy. "Prettiest fucking pussy, I've ever seen~.♡'' He used his index and middle finger to rub over your lips and you moaned and bucked your hips into him. He used his other hand to hold your hips locked onto the mattress. "Stay put, doll~. Let me do my magic~.♡" his fingers coated themselves with your pussy juices while he drew circles around your clit "so fucking wet for me, baby doll~. Looking so fucking tasty~.♡" he said, moving his head closer to your pussy to get a better look. Then he slowly pushes his index finger into your folds. You threw your head back one more time as you moaned out his name into your hand. Tears build in the corners of your eyes. He looked up and smirked "so sensitive, doll? I barely started~.♡" he slowly began to pump his index finger in and out of your tight pussy. "Fuck, baby~, you are so fucking tight~.♡ we will need a lot of prep before i can fit in there~.♡" you barely could make out what he meant as your head was high in the clouds. His middle finger found its way inside of you as well. You put yourself up on your elbows to watch his fingers sink into you. He licked his lips before rubbing more cycles around your clit with his thumb. You bit your lip to not make too much noise. He picked up his pace, which caused your breathing to be faster as well. Your eyes widened as you felt something in your body to happen. "Ahh~ S-Sh-Shu! So-something...is happening!" he grins as he places his hand on your bladder and presses down while he curves his fingers inside of you upwards. You eyes widened as you slapped both of your hands on your lips to control the moans and shouts that come out of your mouth as your body began to uncontrollably twitch. "Im-im gonna pee, Shu! Stop im gonna pee!" but he didn't stop "Let it out, baby. Just let it happen, baby doll~.♡" and with one final pump of his fingers, your body began to spasm and you came all over his hand. You squirted for the first time. "Good job, doll~. I knew you were a squirter~.♡" you panted. Tears running down your face, and your cheeks flushed red. He loved how you already looked so fucked out, eventhough if he hasn't actually fucked you yet.

He leaned down, using his hands to open your pussylips for him. "Itadakimasu~.♡" You were still too out of it to realize what he was doing until you felt his tongue licking up all the juices you just produced. Your eyes widened as you bucked your hips into his face, one of your hands in his hair, the other still on your mouth. He eats you out like a hunger-stricken man as his nose keeps rubbing against your clit. You could only babble incomprehensible nonsense. His tongue reached deep, and your knees were weak. One of his hands moved back to your clit while the other remained, pressing down on your bladder. Your body felt the next orgasm already approaching as you bit down on your tongue as both hands grab his head, pressing him further into you. "Shuu!" You moaned out his name as you came into his mouth. He licked it all clean. Then he looked up to you. Your hair was messy, your face was red, and more and more tears running down your cheeks. "Was that good, doll~?♡" No answer; you were unable to make a singular sentence.

You barely noticed him getting up. He took off his shirt, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. When his pants hit the floor, you saw see his massive bulge. He was hard, and he was large. Your eyes widened, and you gulped. He smirked at your reaction. He then slowly pulled down his boxers. His cock was springing free. It's so pretty. It's long and girthy. Furthermore, it was veiny and had a cute pink tip. The tip is covered in precum, which he spreaded over his cock with a few pumps. "Come here, doll~. I want you to make me feel good too~.♡" almost like hypnotized, you climbed off your bed and kneeled in front of him. His left hand found its way in your hair. "No teeth, baby-doll~. Now open up for me~." You did as told and opened your lips. He guided your lips around his cock. You could only take half of him before you started gagging. "This won't do, doll~. We will have to try harder~. I know you can take it all~.♡'' His grip on your hair tightens as he pushes your head further. Your tears became more and more. "Shhhh, relax and breathe through your nose, doll~. You can do it~.♡" you tried to do as he said and it made it a little easier. Once your nose hit his abdomen, you just tried to steady your breathing. You felt how hard it was to breathe until he pulled back and you coughed. "Good girl~. Sucking my cock, already, like a pro ~.♡" he pushed you back onto his cock and began to thrust his cock into your mouth, fucking your pretty lips. "Fuck. So fucking good~." he fucked your mouth for a few minutes until he pulled out and pulled you up.

He kissed your lips before pushing you into bed. He spread your legs and you watched him spit in his hand before spreading it over his cock with some pumps. Then he placed the tip on your folds and rubbed up and down your lips. You couldn't help but moan. This time his hand found its way on your mouth "shhhh, baby-doll~. You have done so well so far~. Now let Daddy make you feel good~." Your eyes twitched when he called himself that. Once his cock was coated with your juices, he pushed in. A sharp pain hit your body as you began to wince and cry. He slowly kept pushing in as he leaned over you. "I know baby~. It will only hurt for a moment~. But you are daddy's big girl~, right? You can do it~...fuck....hmmmfff... you are so tight, princess~.♡" Once he bottomed out, he waited for a moment. He just looked at your face. You closed your eyes and tried to breathe carefully. He removed his hand and replaced it with his lips, kissing you passionately. He slid his tongue past your lips and began to dance with yours. His hand was going back to your clit, drawing circles around it. He begins to slowly move his hips. You moan into the kiss but he didn't let go. Instead, he picked up the pace. He can see that the pain seems to have left you. Instead, it's pure ecstasy. His cock was large and slightly curved upwards, so it hit all the right spots. Your hands clawed into your bedsheets as he fucked into your tight pussy. He pulled the kiss back as he repositioned your legs on his shoulders. He pressed down and had you in the mating press now. Your eyes widened as he hit even deeper now. Your brain was completely empty as he bullied his way through your pussy and against your cervix. "Do you like that, baby doll~?♡ having me fucking your little virgin pussy while your parents sleep in the room next to us~? You love the thought of them hearing, right~? Fuck, you are squeezing down on me, baby doll~. I can feel you clenching on me~. What a naughty girl~. I'm going to ruin this pussy~. I will mold it just for me~.♡" He gave your ass a firm slap, which made you whimper. You felt the climax approaching. "You're going to cum soon, doll~? You're going to make a mess on Daddy's cock~? Do it, baby doll~. Do it~!♡" and with that, you creamed all over his cock. He kept fucking into you for a while before he chanted one thing, "Fuck!" until he shot his thick ropes of cum into your pussy. You felt him filling you up. Your brain is completely muddled up. You only knew one thing.....you could never live without this feeling anymore.

He pulled out and laid next to you on the bed. He leaned out of bed, grabbed his pants and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit it and began to smoke before pulling you to his chest on your hips. "What a good Job, doll~. You fuck like a pro~. I can't wait to ruin you some more~. You're all mine~. Nobody else will have you, you hear me?~" you nodded. "No, baby~. Use your words and tell me that you're mine~." You were still panting as you tried to collect a sentence "only yours, Shu…" He chuckled. "Who do you belong to, doll~?" He stared into your eyes, and you stared back, "You, daddy!" His eyes sparked with joy. That's all he needed to hear....you are now his toy.

Taglist:

@umalovesyoux @sleeplessreader12 @animeangel21 @kariatenoh @bakuhoethotski @sanzuspwncess @sanzusbaby @hanmastattoos

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #shuji hanma #shuji hanma smut #tokyo revengers smut

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weebsinstash · 6 months

Note

Thinking bout how mean demi Alastor would be regarding the post cheating/meltdown/breakup sex… he’s still a sadist and now that he’s more comfortable with physical intimacy and like 20% more deranged that def gets reflected in his “catering to your needs”. Overstim, edging, anything that leaves you at his “mercy”

Reader, visibly sweating because YOU know that HE knows most of the dirty dirty nasty NASTY SHENANIGANS you've committed in the last month or two of Just Straight Up Sluttery: so Alastor, now that you've discovered this new part of yourself, surely you've, uh, developed some new tastes and healthy outlets for intimacy?

Alastor, who's just spent the last several weeks rounding up all your sexual partners and he does mean ALL of them to torture every last detail of what you did out of them, and has recently discovered how much he likes the feeling of a riding crop in his hands, along with a list of kinks where cheating/cuckoldry is definitely NOT one of them: oh yes :) healthy outlets :) so anyways my pet, about your punishment--

You're just like "ok Alastor um, since you're new to this and old fashioned you probably want to, cuddle, and, ease into it, and--" bitch he wants to tie you up. Bitch he has developed SUCH a craving for watching you tied up and helpless because, oh you're so sweet and vulnerable and need him to protect you ❤️ his sweet vulnerable little doe ❤️ aw, your struggling is so cute ❤️ do you want to be let go? Guess you better beg nice and pretty~

I dunno man... I was LITERALLY discussing a concept like this with an asexual buddy of mine actually, the amount of aces horny for Alastor is giving, truly, and we were MUTUALLY like, "listen... listen... asexuality is real and we respect that, ok... but it's also a spectrum... and I want this man going his entire life and afterlife not caring or having a taste for those things UNTIL he meets you and he has to deal with, discover, and come to understand all his new desires" and I keep thinking of multiple ways to swing that?

Just him having his equivalent of his first schoolboy crush and not knowing why he can't stop himself from laughing at your jokes? Why is he suddenly so... POSSESSIVE of your company? Why does he want to hurt the men who come around you even more than usual? He goes to Rosie for advice and she's just, DROPPING HER TEA CUP, "oh ALASTOR HONEY, you've got yourself a little crush!!" and all but squealing with delight as she wants ALL the details and, well, Rosie IS a trusted friend... and once he starts talking about you, he can't stop himself for some reason, he just enjoys sharing little details and stories and things about you amd, oh gosh Rosie you should hear this thing that happened the other day it was just the most charming little--

I want this man coming to take you back and he's kicking some door down and he finds you THROATING A GUY. I want it AWKWARD. I want him finding you doing something that immediately makes everyone involved go OH SHIT. I want some dude freaking out hollering "THE RADIO DEMON?!" because he and a buddy were spitroasting you on your hands and knees and you give a very recognizable "alastor????" around the dude's meat CLEARLY KNOWING THE GUY and your unlucky one night stand has his Oh Fuck moment as he makes perfect eye contact with the notorious cannibal who is currently witnessing this, uh, gentleman having his hand fisted in your hair as he--

Just the mental image of, it's the end of the night or even the morning and the fucking sun is coming up or, their time equivalent of sunrise since I don't think they have like days and nights, but, Alastor is just sitting there reading a book humming to himself, completely put together not a hair out of place, with candles going, a gentle song on the radio, and beside him you're just facedown completely naked in bed with welts all over your ass as his shadow gives you a nice aftercare massage. Dude just sips some coffee, humming and smirking as he regards you "now did we learn our lesson about... making impulsive unsafe decisions without consulting our partner?"

you, still face down as your legs still refuse to stop shaking: that if I want to get fucked really hard all I have to do is commit adultery?

Alastor, who has recently discovered all the Super Fun New Ways he can fuck 'discipline' you for riling him up and getting him jealous on purpose because now that he's finally acting like this it's all but making you a cat in heat 'being a brat', smiling with legitimate sadistic glee as he reaches for a pair of leather gloves: incorrect :)

#yandere hellaverse #yandere x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #yandere stuff #AND THEN VOX FINDS OUT AND HES SO FUCKING JEALOUS. 'OH SO YOU CAN FUCK T H E M BUT NOT ME' $*$&“#sinprompts #hh

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monimccoythings · 6 months

Text

Human!Alastor x Daughter!Reader: Devotion

These are all part of the same AU, I suppose, or not. But I like to think they are all part of the same AU, sometimes I forget what I write. Now this are just some deranged feelings and thoughts of Alive!Alastor.

Reminder: Alastor is in hell for a reason.

Tw: obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, mentions of blood, implied murder, manipulation.

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog

Alastor had never been a sentimental man. Of course he loved his mama, she was a wonderful woman and her death had definitely caused him a great amount of grief.

And then you came along.

Your soft skin, your chubby hands that tried to grasp his larger fingers to no avail, your wide unfocused eyes that darted everywhere, taking notice of everything. How delicate you felt in his arms, you fit perfectly, like you were made to be there.

How easily he could break you, he ponders. One little snap and there would be no more of you. It would be so quick and simple. There was only one little thing.

He adored you.

Your quiet little coos, your incomprehensible babbling that sounded like you were trying to carry an adult conversation with him, the way you squealed with joy whenever one of your favorite songs started playing on the radio. You were delightful, and provided him with more enrichment than any of the bumbling fools he usually associated himself with could provide.

As years passed by, you started to get bigger, your world expanding, your knowledge growing. And with it, came the risk of having you slip away from him.

He had modeled you to be his perfect little angel, his little fawn. His obedient child. He would not allow anyone to take you away from him. He was your guardian, your protector. Some asshole looked at you the wrong way while you two were going on a walk? He was never heard of again. Some low-paid teacher was becoming some sort of role model to you? Ooops! Accidents happen!

He found that his reasoning for protecting you was also a good excuse to indulge in his darkest desires. A way to calm the itch that was always nagging at the back of his head.

Alastor did it for you. He was making the world a safer place for you. No matter how much fun and enjoyment he got out of it. None of those buffoons would ever taint your innocence with their dirty souls. Not even himself.

He would take his secrets to the grave, always hidden behind a wide smile. he would be the good father, the charming radio host, the modelic citizen. The blood in his hands, as delicious as it tasted, would never stain your clothes.

No one would keep you two apart, he would make sure of that. He was all that you could possibly ever need. Your world started and ended with him, as it should be. Let him be the barrier between your purity and the rotten society that lurked outside.

He suffered everytime you were forced to spend time apart of each other. Couldn't you see it? Did you feel it too? Whenever you were in school or he was working, it was complete suffering for him! His fingers drumming impatiently on the surface of the table, counting the seconds until he was back at home with you. Only the mental stimulation that took directing, writing and starrring in his own radio show for which he held great passion and the delightful hunt his side job provided were enough distraction to cope with his sorrow.

When did he become so emotional? He should be feeling embarrassed of himself or at least be very thankful that his mask of sanity wasn't cracking with all those feelings. Instead, he found himself embracing them. He embraced the painful worry about your wellbeing and his influence over you, the obssessive and twisted love he felt, the need for control, to ensure you remained his innocent and good child, and the bitter despair at your absence that sunk into his heart like a knife. Only his little baby could give him such a rush.

He was sure that not even death would be able to take you from his hands. He would personally fight God, the Devil, and anybody who got in his way. Alastor would tear the fabric of reality apart just to get to you.

You would never run away from him. There was no reason to, as he had made you as devoted of him as he was of you. Or at least he hoped so.

Having you leave him would surely break his heart, as it would mean to Alastor that you had chosen to do things the hard way. But maybe, after a very detailed and complex planification on his part and some casualties orchestrated by him, Alastor might be able to convince you to return back home, with a grim reminder about the dangers of the outside world.

For there is no safer place on Earth than in your father's embrace.

#hazbin hotel #x reader #reader #alastor x reader #alastor #tw: obsessive behavior #tw: possessive behavior #tw: controlling behavior #hazbin hotel x reader

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ladykailitha · 6 months

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Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 13

Second one for today! Again, I will be being out two chapters a week until it is fully posted.

The Grammy's!!! Steve has a rough time of it with his recent coming out as Eddie's boyfriend. Some people are just that vile.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

****

Steve was pressed up against Eddie’s side, Eddie’s arm was wrapped around him, his fingers nervously playing with Steve’s earring as they politely laughed through the comedian’s opening monologue. They were forced to smile when a joke was made about them. All the while the entire table was seething.

Finally the jackass got off the stage and the real show began.

They sat through all the technical awards and clapped at the appropriate places.

They sat through the country, rap, R&B, and pop awards. Finally it was time for Best Metal Album.

Steve grimaced through the painful “banter” between the pop princess and the nearly dead former rocker who was hitting on her.

Finally they got through the nominees.

“And the award goes to....” the pop princess said, drawing it out for dramatic effect.

“Corroded Coffin!” the aging rocker shouted into the microphone.

Suddenly their whole table was on their feet screaming and cheering and crying.

Eddie gave Steve a quick kiss before the band got up and thanked the appropriate people.

Eddie was last. “Thanks to my Uncle Wayne without whom I would be alive. And to my new good luck charm and love of my life, Steve Harrington. Love you, baby!”

Steve smiled and mouthed “I love you too!”

And then the seat fillers came. A couple of them were knothead alphas who tussled briefly for who was going to sit down next to Steve. Steve shared a glance with Elinor, Gareth’s escort date. They both rolled their eyes.

The alpha who lost went to go sit next to Elinor while Steve was forced to endure this thug in a tux.

“Escorts like you are so frigid,” he sneered. “I was surprised to see that you were actually dating Eddie Munson.” He leaned in close and Steve could smell his breath. “But I guess whores like you tend to go for rockers and A-list actors.”

“There’s always a caveat to everything,” Steve hissed. “Nothing is as black and white as you’re making it out to be.”

The alpha laughed. It was loud and abrasive. “A whore is a whore no matter how tarted up they look.”

Steve leaned back out of his space. “Well, I get the last laugh asshole.”

The alpha frowned but then Troy, Xander, and two very beefy looking security were hauling him to his feet.

He yelped but didn’t struggle when he saw how outnumbered he was. He spat Steve’s direction, but the spittle didn’t even make it past the guy’s lips, making him look deranged.

The seat next to Steve was suddenly filled by a lovely beta woman who gushed about his dress.

Apparently she was a fan omega designers because they had a unique take on what it meant to be feminine.

Steve ended up giving her the name and number of the designer and she went away chirping happily.

Then Eddie was back and it was fucking relief.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured gently when he got settled in.

Steve smiled up at him. “Nothing my hot shot team couldn’t handle. But I’m all better now that you’re here.”

Eddie hummed, barely keeping his annoyance in check. But he had to force down his impulse to hunt down that alpha and rip his stomach out through his throat. Steve had been on the receiving end of worse bullshit than this, he had no doubt.

He must have been scenting his rage pretty strongly because Steve was rubbing his nose along his gland and murmuring what a good alpha he was.

But the band wasn’t in their seats for long as they were up next to perform their hit single “Hell’s Lookin’ Better Than Heaven”. Steve sighed at his loss but thankfully the next seat filler was stately looking gentleman who had been to fifty of these events as a seat filler. He loved the free food and even though they weren’t allowed to drink, they got sent home with a nice bottle of wine at the end of the night to make up for it.

If Steve hadn’t been excited to see Corroded Coffin play, he would have spent the whole time talking to the dear fellow.

Between him and the beta woman, Steve was able to relax again.

The song was okay, but the way they put their heart and soul into their playing, Steve could see why they were so popular.

Sadly the song was over and so was Steve’s time with the gentleman. Whom Steve was happy to tell Eddie all about.

Eddie smiled that sweet dimpled smile and kissed Steve cheek. “He sounds wonderful, Stevie.”

If Corroded Coffin won the next two awards, they would be backstage until the end of the show.

So Steve decided to soak up as much attention from Eddie as he could. He giggled a little when Eddie when right back to rubbing Steve’s earring.

“It’s my good luck charm now, baby,” Eddie cooed. “Not gonna be able to stop.”

Steve kissed Eddie deeply. “And I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Musicians, actors, and athletes were all superstitious by nature and he had been taught to lean into that regardless of what his beliefs on the matter actually were.

Besides Steve got it. Win a game three times in a row wearing the same pair of socks? Those are lucky now.

So if Eddie thought rubbing Steve’s earring was lucky, then he would let him continue.

Then it was time for the Song of the Year.

And at least this time the presenters didn’t try to make horrible small talk before they announced the winner.

“And the award goes to...”

“‘Hell’s Lookin’ Better Than Heaven’ by Corroded Coffin!” they shouted into the microphone.

The band was losing their collective shit.

Eddie picked Steve up and spun him around. “We won!”

“Sure did, love,” Steve murmured. “Now go up and get it, you beast!”

Eddie spun him around again and then ran up after his bandmates.

“This is the one we never expected to win,” Eddie said into the mic, tearing up. “There were too many great songs nominated. But this is an absolute honor. This one is for you, mama!” He kissed his lips and blew it to the sky.

He stepped away from the mic to let Jeff and the producer to give their thanks.

Then they all walked off stage.

Steve was on pins and needles now. Either they lost and would be back down in their seats for Solo Artist of the Year or they would win and they would be be doing the whole press junket again.

The big jumbotron showed the band backstage as the nominations were read, they had their arms around each other and their heads down.

Last year’s winners fumbled with the envelope as they struggled to get it open.

The bassist gripped, “Who the hell seals these things?”

Finally the drummer just ripped the top off like a letter and flipped it open.

“Corroded Coffin!”

The jumbotron showed Eddie and his bandmates just jumping up and down screaming. Then they were being shoved back on stage by their manager, Benny.

Eddie kissed all the other band’s members on the cheek as he went past them to get their final award for the night.

Steve let out a wolf whistle. Eddie looked out into the crowd and spotted him waving and whistling.

Eddie waved back.

“God,” he breathed into the microphone. “I am so grateful, I am just overflowing with gratitude to the academy and all those who voted for us. This album came from a place of love and how to find it in the darkness. It means so much to me that it found a place in people’s hearts. Thank you!”

Each of the members of the band gave their speeches and they were ushered off stage again.

Steve didn’t even bother looking at the person who filled Eddie’s seat. The show was almost over and he was so ready to be out of there and out of this dress.

He knew it made him and whoever he was with look good. That was the point of it after all. But he couldn’t wait to get into the suit and mesh top that he was wearing to the after party.

He stood up and Robin was at his side in an instant.

“Eddie told me to tell you to go ahead and get changed,” Robin said into Steve’s ear to be heard over the din of the exiting crowd, “he’s going to be awhile.

Steve nodded. He knew the drill. She had his garment bag slung over one arm as she led the way out of the main area and into the halls. Troy was right behind them.

Robin led him to a room he could change into and Troy stood guard outside the door.

Steve stripped completely, changing everything including his underwear. Thongs were great for mini dresses but a literal pain in the ass for suit pants.

He refreshed his makeup and double checked his hair. Once he was satisfied, he nodded to Robin.

She knocked on the door to let Troy know they were coming out.

“Eddie’s security just checked in,” Troy said, falling in step with both Robin and Steve. “He’s on his way out to the front and will meet us at the car.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said and let them usher him to the car.

Just before the stepped out, Troy whispered. “There are press out there and they’ll want you to comment on Corroded Coffin’s wins tonight. But their management wants you to ‘no comment’.”

Steve took a deep breath. He knew why they didn’t want him to say anything, but he was proud of them all for their well earned wins. Steve looked to Robin.

She shrugged. “I mean, you aren’t under contract with the label anymore not after you two officially became a couple, but don’t rock the boat too hard, yeah?”

Steve nodded again and stepped out back onto the red carpet.

“Steve! Steve!” came the shouts of the paparazzi.

“Are you and Eddie going back to your hotel to celebrate?”

Steve snorted, that one was easy. “No comment!”

“Eddie is expected to be at the Vanity Fair after party, are you going to be there?”

Steve glanced down at his changed outfit and raised a questioning eyebrow at the guy before rolling his eyes and ignoring him.

“Steve!” another paparazzo called. “What are your thoughts on Corroded Coffin’s wins tonight?”

And then it hit him. Why the label didn’t want him to say anything. The first time he had heard the song they were nominated for was that night. He wasn’t a fan of Corroded Coffin. He had friends that were, but he wasn’t.

“I’m happy they won,” was all of he said.

It wasn’t the ‘no comment’ the label wanted, but it was vague enough that he could get away with it.

Troy and Robin nodded. He had said the right thing.

There were more questions thrown at him but he sailed through the ordeal with aplomb.

He slipped into the car, hoping that Eddie was already there, but no such luck.

“You okay?” Xander asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

Steve let out a sigh. “Yeah. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Xander raised his eyebrow and Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve admitted. “I wasn’t expecting it from a seat filler. I thought they vetted those more thoroughly than that.”

Xander nodded. “Starcourt management is already looking into it. That place was filled with escorts, how did that guy manage to not offend one before you.”

Steve hummed his agreement. He had wondered that, too. “I think he was after me specifically. I got asked if clients had canceled on me after it was announced I was dating Eddie. I know none of them canceled...”

“But maybe it angered people who were going to request you enough to not even try?”

Steve nodded back. “Yeah.”

Just then the door was yanked open and Eddie practically threw himself onto the backseat of the car.

He was pissed.

Steve immediately went into soothe alpha mode. “Hey, love, you okay?”

“I’m suing someone for slander,” he huffed, “and before you think I’m over reacting, Benny, my manager is the one that suggested it.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “If it was about me, sweetie, you’re going to have to get in line behind Starcourt. They take those things very seriously.”

Eddie blinked at him a moment, but that seemed to settle something in him and relaxed. “Good.”

Steve giggled as he was pulled onto his lap. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. You were three for three tonight.”

Eddie kissed him soundly. “I was indeed, I was right. You were my good luck charm.”

“Pleasure to have been of service,” Steve cooed.

Xander pulled out into traffic and Steve slid off Eddie’s lap and sat down next to him.

“It was a little rough today,” he murmured.

Eddie sighed. “Yeah, it was. I’m not sure why. Gareth has taken escorts to events before as have several people I know. But they were out to get you tonight.”

Steve sighed and took Eddie’s hand. He played with the rings as he gathered his thoughts.

“I think it’s because I’m so young in being courted,” Steve murmured.

Eddie frowned and turned in the seat a little to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Most escorts that bond are in their late thirties/early forties. Meaning they’ve had a couple of decades under their belt, but I’m not even thirty yet and all they can see is someone who is trying to honey trap one of the greatest rockstars of the era.”

Eddie rubbed his face with his free hand. “Shit, baby. I didn’t realize. But it’s ridiculous because you made more last year then the whole band did. If anything, I’m trying to honey trap you.”

Steve lowered his eyelids. “Does that mean we’re going to get sticky later?”

Eddie nearly choked on his own tongue. “Yeah, baby. We’re gonna get sticky tonight.”

Steve leaned in close, but Eddie put up a finger. “After the after party, you fiend!”

Steve pouted, but he wasn’t serious. He knew that Eddie needed to see and be seen after winning big tonight.

He just was going to tease his boyfriend about it first.

****

Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

@maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv

@wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee

@littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @y4r3luv @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt

@apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @eyehartart @mangoinacan13 @demolvr

@ellietheasexylibrarian @rememberthatiloveyou @slowandsteddie @r0binscript @alyelf

@melodymeddler @mogami13 @annabanannabeth @disrespectedgoatman @manda-panda-monium CLOSED

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #omegaverse #rockstar eddie munson #omega steve harrington

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foursaints · 1 month

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wow peter moodboard pinned post. things are getting serious

gripping you. peter pettigrew is charming, clumsy & meek but ultimately cheerful, beloved by his friends and a large slice of the hogwarts student population.

he’s a mousy-blonde polish darling who has the most easygoing wallflowerish way about himself, but there’s a part of him that’s impish, too— he looks exactly how you’d imagine puck from a midsummer night’s dream. all round cheeks, fluttery eyelashes, and jokes that are just a fraction too mean.

he dresses like a teenage boy who had an unfortunate mix-up with a slavic grandma: dirty trainers paired with denim jeans and an old lace apron, multicolored woolen scarves and paisley-print baklavas. he's outgoing whenever his friends are popular, always with a sunny disposition and perfectly game!

except the entire time in his mind he is literally a deranged 1950's housewife who just smelled another woman's perfume on her husband's collar. he's trembling furiously in his apron and he's about to bludgeon his whole family to death the frozen steak !

#a #HI LANE SORRY FOR THE MUCHO TEXTO #peter tag 🐀#his switch up from james to tom is so spurned-housewife-who-just-murdered-her-ex if you really think about it. he's like ... round two!

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meanbossart · 7 months

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its funny looking between his former fixation (orin) and current one (astarion) and noticing he has a very obvious 'type'. what made him so taken with orin, though? what did he like about her? did he not have any initial misgivings? was he ever concerned she might turn on him?

B)c Please know how happy it made me to finally have someone spell this out lmao. It's absolutely true, at least within the dynamic that DU drow shared with each of them; there are a lot of parallels to be found between Orin and Astarion.

The tough part of this question however, is that I have a very difficult time pinning Orin down. She's easily the most elusive character out of the Chosen, and while I understand this Is likely a consequence of being underwritten, I also see a certain charm in a character who's lack of development is part of their tragedy - whose story is very much about not being allowed much individuality of their own, and having no resolution. I think this is a space worth playing in.

I couldn't tell you what the hell Orin likes, what she was like besides blood-thirsty and deranged. I can barely fathom her sitting down to have a conversation with someone. Think about it - she was raised from childhood in the Bhaal temple, both her parent's were faithful servants and she was essentially groomed from birth to be either Bhaal's Chosen, the Dark Urge's consort, or a sacrificial lamb. Nobody had ANYTHING to gain from allowing her to develop any humanity.

Of course, this doesn't mean she doesn't have any, deep inside. We see glimpses of it in fairly difficult-to-get dialogue regarding her origins during act 3. My very vague take on Orin is that she was a determined and persistent person who learned to make her circumstances work for her as best as she could, who had a strong sense of her boundaries but a horrifically difficult time differentiating between negative emotions - this is why I personally don't even know whether she """"led DU drow on""" our of malice or self-preservation. Perhaps she didn't know either - I think whenever Orin felt sadness, discomfort, anger or even happiness or love, she found a way to turn it into bloodlust and sadism, every time.

And it's in part this elusiveness that would have attracted DU drow. What did Astarion have to do to get DU drow to pursue him? He had to feign disinterest, he had to pull away - the fact that Orin never allowed DU drow to get close enough to truly know her plays a significant part in how unhealthy his attachment for her became.

That said, this was a long game - he did become infatuated pretty much from the moment he saw her when they were both teenagers. This is a much simpler concept to understand - he was profoundly emotionally inept and neglected, and she was probably the prettiest thing he ever laid eyes on, not to mention the only other person in the temple close to him in age.

Truth is, they did have a lot in common on the very basis of having been so thoroughly stripped of their humanities, but It was a closeness born entirely from circumstance - the implied vulnerability in the type of life they shared together, even if they never spoke about feelings or shared what normal people would qualify as a "sweet" moment. They didn't really use their words, and when they did, they were like daggers - twisted murder sibling banter.

But when they had to work together it was very different. They played off each each other like match and friction, like two fitted cogs turning a wheel. There must have been nothing that swelled DU drow's heart more than when they killed together, perhaps even more than when Orin hurt him. He loved seeing her in her element and yearned for nothing more but to be let into the joy she found in it.

He Never had any misgivings. He always thought she would come around (to him) eventually. He was completely and entirely blind to how much her resentment towards him grew throughout the years, how he lost a sister through wanting a lover.

#ask #du drow lore #orin the red #bg3 spoilers #durge/orin

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merbear25 · 5 months

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Playing with fire (Yandere! Caesar x Yandere! fem!reader)

So many had been chased away by the intensity of your adoration, leaving you broken-hearted time and time again. When you started your new semester, you found yourself enchanted by the passion that radiated off the professor. With such charm pulling you in, your old obsessive habits resurfaced, only this time your love interest appeared to be more…deranged than the others.

a/n: Caesar gives off yandere vibes, and it’s one of many things I find fascinating about him. I personally envision the reader getting her Master’s or PhD, but no age is mentioned.

CW: NSFW! MDNI! Yandere themes (stalking, possessiveness, obsessiveness), University AU, some angst, rough sex, vaginal penetration, facial.

Mending your heart took a lot out of you; the mental exhaustion of having to put together the scattered pieces each time someone shattered it was taking its toll. With so many practically fleeing from your love, you regrettably tried to fix yourself, thinking that if you were more normal, you’d finally have your love reciprocated. Despite taking such actions for what everyone labeled as self-improvement, it felt as if you were losing a part of yourself. Would you really have to change how you loved in order to be loved?

Sitting in the lecture hall, you tapped your pen against your notebook waiting for the beginning of the semester to officially start. With the clock ticking into position, the professor made his grand entrance right on time. While the others continued talking amongst themselves, your eyes were fixated on him. The long, wild hair, his intense golden eyes and the way he held himself with such confidence, all of which were a recipe to destroy the progress you’d been making.

A familiar feeling burned inside you the longer the class went on. His charismatic deliveries on each piece of information coupled with the passion he had for his subject were sedatives, numbing you to the dangers you were surely going to be thrown into.

Upon dismissal, the others were gathering their belongings, filing out of the lecture hall, yet you remained in your seat. Infatuation left you blind and deaf to what was happening around you. Only when his gaze fell on you and a smirk stretched his purple lips was your trance broken. Flustered and embarrassed about getting caught leering at him, you fumbled with your things and left as quickly as possible—the heat of your blush searing your cheeks. His eyes followed you all the way out those doors and a faint chuckle chased after you.

As the semester progressed, your desires for him had only escalated: keeping track of where he went, his personal habits, who he spoke to, how often he spoke to them, how long he kept people in office. Fighting against your paranoia was a losing battle. You fretted that these other students and colleagues of his were somehow more favored than you, despite you being at the top of the class—even having you forget about the small bits of praise he gave you all while flashing you that bewitching smile of his.

Why did so many have to talk to him? Because he was the head of his department. Okay, but why did he have to keep them in his office for so long? Your mind scattered to all of the possibilities, each one more soul-crushing than the last. Peering around the corner, your malice burrowed into whoever came out of that room. Anticipating him to pivot, your old habit to snake away behind your barrier took over.

Working on assignments was a fine way of passing the time. You knew he parked on the other side of the building, so it was easy to relax in this sense of security you’d cushioned yourself with. However, with comfort comes slip ups.

Satisfied with what you’d done for your class with him, you closed your notebook. “Please tell me you plan on revising those.” That same alluring voice from just moments ago was now in your ear.

Being caught off guard, you were at a loss for words. All you managed was to squeak out an ‘of course’.

Placing his hand on the backrest of the bench, he leaned down, forcing your heart to pound furiously against your ribcage. “I have a fun idea. Would you like to come with me?”

Such a curious invitation left you hypnotized, having you nodding and obediently following him out to his car. Momentarily halting at the surprise that this involved leaving campus, he was ready with reassurance, “It’ll be worth it. I promise. Just get in.”

A slight twinge of uncertainty was easily overshadowed by your unchaste self-involvement with him. Pleased with how compliant you were only whetted his appetite for what he had planned.

Willingly following him over the threshold of his home, he was sure to lock the door as he projected his voice across the room to you, muffling any signal to panic.

Only half listening to him, you followed the line of photos he had hanging up on his walls. Each one showcasing his achievements, aiding your admiration in him.

“You know, you have a promising future in your field, too,” there was a sincerity to his compliment. When you turned to face him, you suddenly felt bites of bashfulness prickling your cheeks.

He sighed with a hint of affection. “Such a winsome look for one who’s hiding some dirty secrets.”

“What do you mean?” Your faltering tone failed to convince him of your innocence.

Humming in amusement of having successfully called you out on your suspicious character, he used it as a segue to the main course, “You know exactly what I mean.”

His longing became more persistent, itching for him to push forward. “Have you any idea why I brought you here? You would’ve been too loud. I can see it on your face—you’re a screamer.”

Seduction dripped with each word, glazing you with just the right amount for consumption. Your look batted between his eyes and lips while he closed the gap between you. You nodded and enticed him. “Let’s gorge ourselves then, shall we?”

Feeling like his intensity was being met, you were pulled into his arms and forceful lips crashed into yours, desperation to satiate this yearning pouring out of them.

Getting caught in his whirlwind of passion, you wanted to ground yourself for a moment, “W-wait.” You gasped.

Frowning at your sign of resistance, he reminded you of your concerning behavior towards him, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? What you’ve been after?”

Worrying you’d miss your chance at finally having a partner who’d relish in your intensity, you admitted to this being something that before you’d only dreamed of.

“Then don’t you dare take it away from me,” his words sounded more like a threat but worked wonders on your deluded idea of romance.

Your place in this hyper-sexualized indulgence was made crystal clear: you were to be used as he pleased. Being tossed around by someone who was swelling with as much desire for you as you had for them was a godsend. It led you to believe you would never again have to hide such a disturbing love from him.

Slapping yourself up and down on his now utterly soaked length, your moans filled the room. He ran his hand up your enticing neck, settling it at the back of your head. He huffed from the constant berating on his senses, “It seems that your siren calls have entangled me.”

With a sly grin, he tugged on your hair, forcing your head back and exposing your neck to his hungry fixation. Your breasts frantically keeping the pace of his thrusts was keeping him mesmerized. Licking and suckling on your tender flesh, your body writhed under his touch, which earned you a guttural groan.

Witnessing tears swell up in your beautiful eyes only provoked his brutality. His ego was being inflated with each shriek and tremble he forced out of you, while you both stood at the cliffs of ecstasy ready to take the plunge into the rough waters below. Letting those waves wash over you, he was close behind.

Tossing you on your back, he roughly grabbed your tear stained face and he commanded, “Open that pretty mouth.”

Such alluring doe eyes fluttering their long lashes at him brought out his carnal need to mark you as his. With his hand gripping your delicate neck, he grunted upon releasing his own pent-up craving for you, coating you in the sin he’d kept hidden all semester.

His obsession for you dripped down the sides of your face, piquing your want for more from this relationship. As his eyes scanned the work he’d done to you, a satisfied expression painted itself on him. Without having to say anything, there was a mutual understanding that neither of you were going to back down.

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