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sentientcave · 15 days

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Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter One - The Perfect Gift

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.

~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.

"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."

"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."

"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."

"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."

Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"

Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"

"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."

"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."

Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."

"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."

"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."

You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.

It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.

“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”

You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”

“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”

You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”

“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”

Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.

As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.

The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.

You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.

Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.

There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”

You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.

“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”

Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.

You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.

You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”

So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.

“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”

He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.

Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”

You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.

And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.

The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.

You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?

Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d’ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”

“I like my apartment,” you protest.

“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.

You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.

He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”

They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”

“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”

“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.

“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”

“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.

“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.

You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”

“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”

The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”

“Terrified,” you admit.

He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”

You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.

“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.

Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.

He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.

“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”

He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”

You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.

As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.

He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.

Or worse, to play with.

You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.

Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”

So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.

“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”

“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”

“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”

“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”

I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#cod mw fanfiction #cave writing #John Price x Reader #x reader #dark fic #Price please keep your dogs on leashes they are terrorizing women #The boys missed the real retirement party because they got emergency deployed and they've been trying to reschedule all year long #Good thing they've got such a good gift to make up for it #The homies in discord agree: These guys are unsettling

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sweeneydino · 4 months

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Note to self: reading TLRBADA by @melonpalooza makes you an aw(esome)ful person.

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linked-maze · 1 month

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.:It's about Time:. part 1

A story behind how Navi and Time found each other! enjoy!

It was a cold hazy morning in the forest, after a whole night of rain. The small beam of light from the morning sun was shining through the leaves, warming up the air that was fresh and with an earthy smell. A tiny blue fairy emerged from a hole in a great redwood tree. Butt in the air, she yawned and stretched her whole fuzzy body, shaking the sleepiness out of her and flapping her wings awake. She raised her snout to sniff the air and letting out a sigh of relief. After months of winter, spring was finally settling in, and Navi couldn’t be happier about that. The forest was alive with all her favorite snacks, spiders, grasshoppers, and more! So, no time to spare! She set out to search the environment for some breakfast.

Navi flew through the cold air, the sun hitting her from above. The floor of the deep forest was filled with big old stones with beautiful carvings all over the place with moss and ferns covering the ground completely. A river close by, water flowing steadily. Navi took a glance for any danger in the area, but all seemed fine. She decided to start her hunt here. Flying down to land on some of the wet stones, almost slipping but caught her balance. She skipped along from stone to stone, stopping a bit to sip some water from a nearby plant that was dripping from the rain. Then, in the distance before her, she saw a delicious grasshopper! Navi ducked down quickly, and without making a sound she sneaked up to the prey behind the ferns, slowly approaching, ready to pounce any second now. However, suddenly a disturbance from the distance echoed throughout the deep forest. The grasshopper hopped away in fright. Navi attempted to go for the kill, but it was too late. It got away. “Tch…” Navi sighed in disappointment. She flew up to one of the tree branches high above, away from any danger. What in the world was that sound? Monsters did live in these woods, maybe it was one of those awful wolfos striding around the area, looking for their own prey. Or maybe it was one of those atrocious stalfos beating up a tree somewhere for fun. Suddenly the sound was back! It sounded like thunder rumbling! This was no wolfos or stalfos. This was something huge and dangerous. Navis curiosity got the best of her, and she set out to solve this. Navi got closer and closer to the mysterious rumbling. She flies above an ancient, overgrown temple ruin. Walls, Pillars, and statues broken down over time, greenery taken over the place completely. She has been here many times for the amazing apple trees that grow here. It has always been such a peaceful place. But not today, birds flying away in flocks, frightened by the ruckus. It sounded like a huge fight was going on!

Navi quietly landed on one of the big ancient statues, hiding behind it to get a peek in on what was going on, but nothing could have prepared her for what was making all that sound. It was a Goron! Out in the middle of the forest throwing around huge rocks, destroying them into small pieces. The Goron looked angry yet saddened, mostly getting his frustrations out. What was a Goron doing so far from home? Was he lost? Did he lose something? Whatever it was, he was making a commotion. Navi rolled her eyes. She had no time for this. She was about to set off again, but something stopped her. She took a glance at the Goron. Something about him seemed familiar but she couldn’t put her paw on what it was… it was like she had seen those eyes before, the right eye barring a huge scar across it. Navis memories sparked for a moment, the eyes resembling her dear old friend, but there was no way this was Link, this was a Goron. Navi felt a little bad stalking this poor Goron. So, she decided to let him be. He clearly didn’t want to be disturbed. Why else would he do his outburst deep in the forest far from home. Besides, Navi still needed some breakfast. She set off as quietly as she came. Back home, Navi was digging for worms in some dirt right underneath the redwood tree. It was no grasshopper and Navi loved the hunt of it all, but it was tasty, nonetheless. continued her day with small tasks and gathering fresh leaves for her nest. Walking down to a little puddle nearby to wash her paws clean after an evening of work, she couldn’t stop thinking about the Goron. And Link… it has been years now, but she still missed him deeply. The day she left him after completing the Dekus trees dying request, she was supposed to move on with her life. Finally reuniting with her great fairy and all her sisters in the forest. Living life with all her sisters was nice but she felt empty inside every single night, wondering what Link was up to and if he was okay… so one day she decided to go look for him! The hero she was meant to be with! But… he was nowhere to be seen. No one in Hyrule knew where he was. But that didn’t stop her! She searched for days, weeks, months! But with no luck… It was like he was gone… dead. Navis hope grew thin over the years, and she settled down in the deep forest, Abandoning her quest. But no matter what she did, she could never let him go in her heart. The day went by, and the sun started to set at around dinner time. Navi laying at the opening of her redwood tree hole, still in thought, and was not feeling like hunting. She felt restless and couldn’t focus. So, she decided to go to sleep early this time. Letting her mind rest. to be continued~

#linked maze #linkedmaze #tloz #zelda au #lm time #lm navi #fanfiction #worked really hard on this!#got a bunch of help from my friends from discord!#so credit to them!#im not the best at writing but still wanted to try it out! :D

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cursedmoon-doll13 · 10 months

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If It Serves You.

(Headmaster!Severus Snape x Reader)

Cw: Non/Dubcon + Aftermath, Afab Reader, Dark-ish Snape, Unprotected Sex, Powerplay, Sex as Bargaining, Facefucking, Crying, Fingering, Creampie, Begging, Degradation (use of slut) and Praise, Reader calls Snape ‘Headmaster,’ Former Student Reader, Mentions of Torture/Child Abuse, Denial of Feelings.

READ WITH CAUTION

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: As a professor of Hogwarts, your past ambitions, your fragile hope and unrelenting diligence have all led to nothing. Now, you are powerless beneath the rising force of He Who Must Not Be Named and his army of Death Eaters. The only thing left you have to give is your pride; your weak and vulnerable body.

Or, you beg the new headmaster to show mercy to your students in exchange for sexual favours.

Dividers by @/saradika

Of course, there was no pressing need to check and recheck the potions’ storage. Certainly no need to catalogue it twice. You did almost it out of instinct, or force of habit. Yes, It’s healthy to maintain a routine, including routine inspections, just like- just like-

“Professor ___,” comes a gruff voice from behind. In your nervous state, you imagine it is a Carrow, and freeze in panic. “Why are you here?”

You whirl around. No. It’s Professor Slughorn.

“Oh,” you straighten your robes. “Horace. I was just taking inventory.”

“Were you? I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” He says brusquely.

“Of course, of course you can.”

Your voice carries the same placid, appealing tone with which you’ve used to calm your pupils. You wince at the sound of it. Then, his expression loosens. Not immediately, but little by little, settling into the creases and wrinkles of stress and age. His walrus moustache droops into a familiar frown.

“I’m… I’m very sorry, ___,” he says. “Whenever I leave my storage unattended for too long, I take this terrible notion that some very bright and brilliant student is going to brew a polyjuice potion. Heh.”

His laughter rings rather hollow.

“Yes, those were my thoughts exactly,” you concede, heaving a sigh. “It would be so simple. Not for all of them, but some of our best could do it. And then they would make a reckless attempt at escaping, or even try to impersonate one of those Death…”

You stop yourself, and peer carefully into his face.

You’ve noticed how Horace has visibly deflated, how he has lost his colour over the past few months. How could you not? You would never accuse the Slug of being slovenly, but you’re well aware that beneath all the powder his eye-bags are as sunken as yours.

“It is unfortunate that one of my… One of our best…” It seems that he cannot finish his sentence. Nonetheless, you know who she is.

“It’s a very unfortunate thing,” Professor Slughorn mutters idly. “Very unfortunate…”

He’s fiddling with a ring on one liver-spotted finger. His lips purse periodically, as if a throb in his temple is threatening to burst.

“Horace, It’ll all be alright,” you try to reassure him, knowing you cannot guarantee this.

The only response you receive is a distant nod. He does not stop fussing over his ring. Then, he turns abruptly stony again:

“Well, then,” he says. “You’d best be on your way.”

He dismisses you as curtly as he would a student, but you don’t protest. You know that when you leave, he will pacify his anxiety with a sleeping draught.

As you exit the dungeon and traverse the silent halls, the early winter chill rattles straight through your bones. It seems that Hogwarts grows colder each passing day; colder and emptier. Even when teaching, your classroom is as quiet as death.

Alchemy has never been a popular elective, and now you are down to very few students. Some had also disappeared completely over the Summer, mostly those without Pureblood status or families to support them… You try not to ponder too deeply on it. For their sake - and perhaps also for your own - you keep it together.

Yes. You must stay stubborn and strong. Especially considering what you are about to do now.

You shiver in your thin robes outside of the Headmaster’s office. The griffin sentinel glares haughtily down at you, and for a second you fancy it alive, judging you guilty for some crime. Thinking this, You glance this way and that, wary of onlookers.

But all of the students are asleep; or at least, they should be. Most of your coworkers have also retired for the evening. You here stand alone.

You take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Sugar Quill.” Your voice echoes eerily.

The griffin does not budge. The new headmaster has changed the password, of course. You suspected as much, but it was still worth attempting.

“Amortentia,” you try next. No response.

You shift, acutely aware of how ridiculous you must appear; a Hogwarts professor stumped by a statue.

“Polyjuice. Veritaserum. Bezoar… Asphodel.”

Nothing.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you huff, already spiked with tight, uneasy tension. “It was so much easier when Dumbledore…”

A low, heavy rumble breaks your train of thought as the spiral staircase emerges. You quickly mount it and climb upwards, boots clattering on the rising stone. It gives way to a large study lined with bookshelves.

You’ve made it into Dumbledore’s office.

Except it is no longer his. You must remind yourself of this fact often, and each time it stings, like a tiny pricking thorn ingrown into the heart. The study is far draughtier than you remember; devoid and bereft in the absence of Fawkes.

No, Albus is not here. Instead, what scowls over at you from behind the Headmaster’s desk is the unmistakable face of Severus Snape, and he does not appear pleased to see you.

“Kindly inform me why you are in my office.” His voice is slow and measured, but you can sense the venom lurking underneath.

“I don’t remember ever giving you the password,” he continues, alighting from his chair. “Or have you picked up that nasty eavesdropping habit from one of our pupils?”

He spat that last word as if it was a curse.

“No, Severus,” you say quickly. “I guessed it.”

Severus. Or Professor Snape. But now…

You think you catch him pale ever-so-slightly, or perhaps that is the dim lighting of the room, casting dark, creeping shadows across the floor. While there has never been a cordiality or warmth to your relationship, you recognise that you have been spared the worst of his barbed hostility.

Before now, that is; now, the distance between you is far too great.

“Did you now?” He sneers.

In response, you draw up, mindful not to appear challenging as you tip your chin.

“I’m here because I have a proposition for you,” you announce clearly. “I hoped you would be reasonable and hear me out.”

Snape’s eyes narrow icily and suddenly you are in his Potions class again, overseen with strict authority. One wrong move, and the concoction will spoil and poison you. His black robes billow as he approaches, expanding like the hood of a cobra.

“There is nothing you could possibly offer me,” he says, folding one shrouded arm over another. “And so there is nothing to discuss. Leave.”

Your nerves are strung so tight, you can’t help but object: “The Carrows are far too cruel in their methods! Too brutal. The students-”

“Are very fortunate to have been granted mercy by the Dark Lord,” Snape interrupts, and you swallow thickly. Of course, you could not have forgotten the festering dark mark that now itches underneath his robes, writhing and serpentine.

“But it isn’t enough,” you say, throat sandpaper dry. A rush of urgency floods your system. Now. It needs to be now, before you lose your courage.

(A gash on the cheek, a row of dark-purplish bruises and welts, a swollen eye, whippings and burns, scars from chains, all so frightened, but brave still.)

“If you agree to grant my students your protection,” your voice falters. “I will give… Myself to you.”

The silence that follows is agonising. His expression is indecipherable; taut and stiff. You’re beginning to think that maybe you weren’t transparent enough.

Your trembling hands drift towards your top buttons, and you start to undo them bit by bit.

“Stop,” Snape orders.

At this, you freeze. Your heart plummets starkly into your intestines. Oh. You hadn’t even considered that he would - or could - reject your offer. You fear you may have tipped the bubbling cauldron over and left it melting through the carpet. As you linger numbly, Snape’s tongue darts between his lips. Light flashes behind his stern black eyes.

Perhaps he’s considering it, perhaps…

“Come here,” he says sharply. You obey.

Shuddering in the winter chill, you watch the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, the twitch of his lids as his gaze dips steadily downward… Snape’s forefinger comes to brush the fabric from your shoulder, his knuckle grazing your collarbone, and your pulse quickens anew.

“I’ll do anything,” you plead. “Please, Severus.”

“You will refer to me as ‘Headmaster,’” he corrects.

“Headmaster…”

You suck in a shaky breath. Standing this close to him, you can make out the lilac rims of his sunken eyes and the worry lines on his forehead.

He’s tired… The thought springs to mind, unbidden.

The hand that tends to the rest of your buttons is not rough, but the coldness of his touch makes you flinch. Snape pulls down your outer robes in one swift motion, and you can’t help but gasp. Your nipples perk from the chill, skin prickled with goosebumps. Underwear was unnecessary, and though you knew that from the start, you are stripped so quickly it still leaves you cringing. He moves to fondle your breasts, and your breathing shallows. You stare desperately towards the floor, towards some old, faded tea stain.

“Fall on your knees, ___,” he tells you.

You kneel quickly in front of him, and he moves to cup the nape of your neck. You don’t need to be instructed; you do your best to steady your hands and unfasten the button over his crotch. You nudge out his dick, and see that he’s already half-hard.

Before he changes his mind, you spit into your palm and use it as lubricant as you get to work jerking him off. You can feel him watching you, silent and still. This situation is completely wrong, all wrong, but the awkwardness of it is almost juvenile.

“___,” he calls above you. You stiffen. You know that cautionary tone. “If you have enough cheek to wag your tongue at me, you can also use it for this.”

You nod faintly, licking your lips. Of course, you should have prepared for this, too, but you have barely even steeled your nerves. Hesitant, you lean forward and run your tongue along the shaft, tracing a vein. Your movements are practically mechanical; dispensing small, kitten licks over the tip, continuing to stroke him. This is now a kind of out-of-body experience for you, the sort of bizarre circumstance you can only encounter in a very strange dream.

But then, Snape decides your next course of action for you, clutching your jaw and muffling your whimpers as he sinks into your mouth.

A teardrop falls softly onto your chest, and it only occurs to you now that you’re crying. You gag out a sob as the tip of Snape’s cock hits the back of your throat, unable to prevent loose spit from dribbling down your chin. Above you, his breath hitches.

“Open your eyes,” he demands.

You didn’t know you had closed them; squeezed them tightly shut. You peek up at his pale face.

His pupils are blown wide, almost entirely black. Snape forbids you to keep eye-contact with a firm grip over your head, and you gag again as he rocks his hips. You clutch his thighs for purchase while he fucks your face, tears streaming down your cheeks. For distraction, you try to focus on him, and his pleasure-stricken expression lulls you in like hypnosis; the tightness of his lips, his dark brows slightly furrowed, the minute twitches in his jaw.

Snape’s thrusts begin to stutter, but he tightens his hold on you and forces you to take all of him. He drags in a sharp intake of breath, and warm, slightly bitter cum pools onto your tongue.

“Swallow it. All of it.”

You gasp for air, gulping it down hastily.

“You'll be getting used to the taste of me. Stand.”

Snape urges you up and steers you over to his table. Before you can blink, you’re whirled around and caged against his desk. The edge of it cuts harshly into your naked thighs, and you yelp. You can feel his long black hair sweep over your neck, a sensation that is almost ticklish. Snape yanks down your robes and they fall limply around your boots. Now, you are truly exposed, shivering and naked. The only source of warmth is his body heat pressed into your back, the starched, dark fabric of his clothing.

His cool hand dips around and feels down your stomach, and your breath hitches as Snape unexpectedly plunges several fingers into your pussy. You shock yourself with how slick you are, mortified at the way he tsks behind you:

“Little slut. Is this what you’ve always wanted?” Snape hisses into your ear, spreading the pads of his fingertips over your labia, teasing your clit.

“Yes!” You choke out.

“Yes, Headmaster,” he pinches your clit warningly and it feels like an electric shock.

“Yes, yes Headmast- ah…!”

He starts to rub in rough, merciless circles, and you immediately try to stifle a cry against your wrist. Snape rips it impatiently from you.

“Don’t even try to deny it. I can feel how wet you are.”

It’s surely not the truth. Surely, you tell yourself...

One long, deft forefinger slips into your slit and pumps steadily in and out. You let out a soft moan, unable to resist the quivering thrill that coils in your abdomen. You didn’t realise he would even try to prep you, and, against your will, you feel some of your fear dissipate.

“You think I didn’t notice, did you?” He scoffs. “Always so desperate for my attention, always clamouring for a better grade.”

Memories of your seventh year at Hogwarts resurface and spiral dizzily in your head. The newest, youngest professor, but strict and competent, and—

Dark, sweeping cloak, black hair, black eyes…

I even once wished I could brush away the strands…

Then he retracts his fingers, slowly, torturously, You hate how you yearn for his touch in its absence, how you crave the buzz to smother your discomfort.

Snape bends you cleanly over the polished table, your still damp breasts pressing into the hardwood. He traces a long, thin finger down your back, tracing languidly across your spine; you could almost believe his touch is tender. Almost. Instinctively, you try to turn your head to face him, but he denies you with a firm hand gripping the base of your neck. You whimper as he lathers cold precum on your thighs, positioning his straining dick over your entrance:

“…Or was it praise you were hoping for?” His voice is low and subdued. Snape’s breath fans over you, and for a moment you falter.

No, of course you don’t expect—

No, not from Professor Snape. Only your best was acceptable. To elicit a nod of approval, or even a commending glance, you couldn’t possibly hope—

“Headmaster, I— I only ever wanted you to…”

“Beg for it,” his tone sharpens again.

Snape slips the tip of his cock inside your folds. But then, he stops, and does not move. You are trapped between his desk and him, left pitiful and squirming.

“Headmaster,” you say weakly. “Please.”

“Please what, ___?”

You grit your teeth, still bristling at the indignity of it all. But you know that, whether he’s enjoying himself or not, Snape has the patience to wait this out.

“Please, fuck me!” you plead.

You gasp as he grips your thighs and slides himself in further with a lewd, wet sound. Your walls stretch around him as you adjust to his length. He groans softly and rolls his hips, sinking deeper into your cunt, until you’re utterly full of him.

Despite it all, it feels sinfully good, but his movements are so sluggish that you can’t help but whine pathetically into the wooden table.

“And what exactly is it that you’ve always wanted?”

What I always wanted, when I was in Potions class…

“For you to p-praise me, Headmaster.”

In an instant, you realise this is true. Deep down, you have always hoped for his sole attention… And now he’s invading that dark, primordial world in between, spurring on those secret and forbidden desires you should never have conceived.

Snape slowly pulls out, dragging every inch of his cock, and then snaps his hips back in, briefly hitting that sweet, sensitive spot that has you seeing stars.

“Please!” You add, letting out a shrill moan.

“And do you? Do you want this…?”

He mutters so quietly, it almost sounds like he’s begging you. Snape’s pace is set now, rocking powerfully into you as you fill the air with loud, desperate whimpers.

“I do!” You breathe, mind-numbingly uncertain.

But it doesn’t matter anymore if you want it or not; the sensation is so overbearing and so ruthless, unforgiving and unfair, just like him. You’re barely cognizant of the arms that curl around your naked waist, almost embracing you, until they provide cushioning against the sharp desk.

“You take me so well,” he murmurs, “So well.”

Your head spins, threatening to give up on you completely. You could never have predicted such a drastic change in demeanour. The way he’s treating you now is so different from his earlier cruelty; his affectionate caresses might be almost loving.

“So tight, so good for me…” He groans again, heavily, and the vibrations thrill up your spine as he spears you on his dick. “You’re doing perfectly.”

He kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, sighing blissfully. You can feel the spiking thrum of Snape’s heartbeat, the soft touch of his lips on your neck, kissing reverently over your shoulder blade. You wish you could just see the expression on his face, if you could only see Severus for one moment…

“Headmaster,” you pant, craning your head.

“Don’t,” he says hurriedly. “Don’t look at me.”

Snape doesn’t relent, forcing you firmly in place with a hard squeeze on your shoulder. There’s something thick and vulnerable in his voice that you can’t place, but all you can respond with is a needy cry as he speeds up, angling his thrusts just right. You can feel the familiar shock of pleasure coiling up in your belly now, surging from how deep he reaches.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, aren’t I?” He snaps without warning, bursting with emotion again. You can only nod frantically in response.

“Yes, yes, Headmaster!” You sob, your eyes stinging with tears again.

Snape’s movements only grow stronger, his breathing heavier and huskier. His fingernails are digging small, half-moon indents into your skin. You don’t try to stifle the wanton moans that spill from your lips anymore, clawing for purchase at the wood.

“___… When you cum, you cum for me.”

Uncontrollably, you arch into the table. Your leg is cramping up from the exertion, muscles pulled taut, and you’re going to, you’re going to—

Your orgasm drowns the rest of your thoughts in static, white, hot bliss that smothers you. Snape shudders and moans as he buries himself to the hilt, pumping you full of his seed. His black cloak sweeps over you as he pulls out, far too soon, leaving you quivering and dripping with his cum.

The last, mangled strands of lucidity swim hazily in your mind. It takes a moment for you to remember why you were here at all.

After a few seconds, he releases you from the confines of his desk without a word. You bend down and hoist the ring of fabric up past your hips again, though your skin is sticky and damp. After a deep, shaky breath, you dare to glance at Snape.

There’s a thin sheet of sweat beading his forehead. Snape helps you pull your robes over your shoulders. He silently fastens your buttons back up again for you, and his touch is surprisingly gentle. You don’t rebuff him. Your hands are trembling enough as it is.

“Promise me that you’ll…” You halt.

Your vision is still blurry, but you could swear he looks like the old Severus. Not the figurehead or the professor, but the man. The Severus you once knew.

There’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t understand, and maybe you never will.

You’re so dead tired you can barely drag your feet back to the staff’s living quarters. You wake Minerva— or, no, she is already occupied by her usual routine of restless pacing, tugging at her tartan dressing-gown. While she does interrogate you a bit crossly, you can tell she empathises with your ‘insomnia.’

After that you gulp down a contraceptive and stumble into bed, boneless and weary. You don’t cry at all, though you feel that you probably should.

In a way, you’re glad that Minerva doesn’t appear concerned or worried for you. That means she hasn’t found out. There was a persistent paranoia in the back of your mind that she had, that Minerva had seen or heard or sensed it somehow.

You wonder if she’d feel disgusted, or if she would simply pity you. Maybe that would be worse.

You flick your wand and flush out the light.

No. No one needs to know what you’ve done.

A month passes. The grip of winter releases its hold, and spring emerges in its wake, fresh and pure. It’s as if you can finally breathe again.

You hope that you do not imagine the way your student’s faces regain some semblance of warmth. You hope you do not imagine the unmarred bodies, mercifully free from wounds. You also hope that it is not their own schemes or plans that embolden them.

They should leave those matters to you.

Somehow, it feels like the nightmare is almost over. But not yet. Not yet. You still await your orders, and nurse lofty dreams of freedom in your heart.

When night falls, you strip off your underclothes and climb the spiral staircase once more. It is not excitement that tightens your chest, but it is also not dread. Perhaps something else you also do not understand, and cannot afford to think of now.

Headmaster Snape is standing by his desk. You realise he’s been waiting for you. He has that strange, mystifying look in his eyes again.

He offers you a hand.

“Come here,” he says.