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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 4 months ago

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Chapter 7: It's Not A Date

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), sexism, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just a little bit smaller than the others and it's a little bit of a filler, but I promise that it is preparing for the coming angst!

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“I can’t believe you let him around those children. What were you thinking?” Annie asks wielding a curling iron like a sword. "He's a terrible influence!"

It was t-minus one hour and thirty minutes before the party started and Annie was doing your hair and makeup for the mission. Butcher decided that Ben and you would infiltrate and see if you could find anything suspicious inside, while Butcher, Frenchie, and Mm watched the streets outside the building.

Your chair was turned away from the scuffed vanity in Hughie's bedroom at the apartment the team shared. Why he had that you weren't sure, but you figured it must be for Annie. Her makeup bag, hair spray, gel, cream, curler, flat iron, and other paraphernalia was littering the soft butter colored top. There were more things sitting there than you knew the names of.

Annie had always been better at things like that than you. She'd done your hair and makeup for every high school dance and date you went on, so you'd agreed to let her do your hair and makeup for the mission. Not to mention you trusted her not to make you look too over the top or absolutely ridiculous.

As soon as she had gotten you into Hughie's bedroom she had practically pounced on you, demanding to know everything about the past few days that you had spent living in the apartment with Ben. You'd foolishly told her that you'd had to babysit the Wilson's children last night and she was horrified that you let them anywhere near him.

Granted you also would have had the same reaction if someone had told you that they had let Soldier Boy around little children.

But he wasn't terrible to them. You think to yourself. He was actually kind of sweet. It was the first time that you'd ever associate that word with Ben, but you believed that it was true. You remember how he sat with Marty at the kitchen table and allowed her to make a friendship bracelet for him. A bracelet, that he hadn't thrown away, despite what he'd told you after she gave it to him. You'd found it on the sink in the bathroom this morning when you got up, given a place of honor in the ceramic jewelry dish you used for your bracelets.

After Ben had gone out on his "date" you'd cleaned up, made your last cup of noodle, and then went to bed hoping to forget exactly what Ben was doing. The problem was that you were disappointed and you had no idea why. You'd tossed and turned thinking about Ben and the time you'd spent together watching the kids, until finally falling into an unsatisfying slumber.

Ben had sauntered through the front door at 3 am smelling like perfume and sweat, his hair tousled and standing up like someone had ran their fingers through it, while you were drinking a calming herbal tea from your favorite mug at the kitchen table in a post-nightmare haze. You'd had them your whole life following the accident that took the lives of your parents and was thankful that one hadn't hit when Ben was home. You didn't want to explain to him why you had woken up screaming and gasping for air just as you’d done since you were twelve years old.

When you'd first moved in to the apartment and you'd had the nightmare, Mike had banged against your front door, shouting for you to answer. He'd thought that someone was trying to kill you in the middle of the night, but you'd explained to him that you had nightmares and that you were okay.

The next time it happened, Mike's mother had left a large basket of herbal tea and homemade muffins outside the door of your apartment. Even though the muffins were almost inedible, it was incredibly sweet. You might not have wanted to date Mike, but he and his mother were some of the sweetest people you'd ever met.

When he saw you up, Ben had made a comment about you waiting up for him and stated that he was ready to go again if that's what you wanted, but you'd only waved your hand and rolled your eyes while taking another sip from the mug. You weren’t in the mood, not when you could still feel the chill of sweat against your skin and hear the sound of metal on concrete from the dream. He had sat at the table across from you and asked why you were still awake, you'd lied and told him that you couldn't sleep. You knew that he knew you were lying, but he only shrugged and went to take a shower while you finished your tea and fled to your bedroom to avoid him coming out in a towel again.

"He wouldn't leave. What was I supposed to do? Make him walk the plank?" You respond as Annie inserts the warm curling iron into your hair.

"He's just so-" She tugs your hair back as she curls it.

"It wasn't as bad as you think.” You consider thinking about how he let Martha make him a friendship bracelet and how he had held Joshua and made Joshua laugh. "He was actually kind of nice to Marty and to Josh.”

"Nice? Are you crazy! The guy's got a nuclear reactor in his chest and an uncontrollable temper. Why do you think it would be okay for him to be around children?”

"He didn't get angry or lose control. And I can't believe you're chastising me about this, the other day you were all for Ben and me sleeping together!"

"That wouldn't involve children." She takes another piece of your hair, gently wrapping it around the curling iron.

"Yeah, but it would still be him close to another human being-"

“He seems to be perfectly in control when he has sex. Or else there would be a string of destroyed apartments all over manhattan.”

"I can't believe you." You huff.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Have you guys kissed again?" She asks.

"I shouldn't have told you that." You grumble under your breath. "And can you keep your voice down? Ben can hear you."

He was in his old bedroom getting ready for the mission. The bedroom was exactly next to Annie and Hughie's bedroom, and you were sure that he was listening to Annie and you talk.

Because he can't keep his big nose out of anything. You think. Or rather can't keep his perfectly structured nose out of other people's business.

"I'm sure he has better things to do than listen to the two of us talk." Annie responds, but she begins to blast the ABBA gold album from her Bluetooth speaker, filling the room with the sound of 'Our Last Summer' "Come on-"

"Come on what?" You open one of your eyes to glare at her. "I told you it wasn't going to happen again."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Ben is- Ben. And I don't want to waste my time with someone who's not interested in having a relationship." You shut your eye again to avoid her gaze.

"It's not a waste of time if he looks like that-" She trails off, inserting the curling iron one more time.

"I will agree that Ben is good-looking, but that's all he is. He doesn't care about other people, he only cares about himself and what feels good." You say it, but for the first time since you'd met Ben you weren't sure if it was true. Not after he spent his entire day yesterday helping you with the kids and not after he had bought you that bookshelf.

He cared enough to get that for you. A little voice whispers. But why? You wonder again. Why would he care about something as little as a bookshelf?

"You're making that face again." Annie says. "Did something happen?"

"No. I mean- he-" You sigh to yourself. "He keeps confusing me."

"How?"

"Well the other day he bought me a bookshelf."

"What? Why?"

"Because he said that stack of books in my bedroom was annoying him." You roll your eyes behind your eyelids.

"Why was he in your bedroom?" Annie's smirk is audible and you feel your cheeks heat.

"Shut up. He needed some clothes and I had some from the last time Darren stayed with me-"

Annie audibly groans when you mention your brother's name. They didn't get along. She thought that he was manipulative and that he used you. But you didn't see it. He was your brother, your blood, the only family you had left beside your grandmother and Annie.

"Please tell me he's not coming by soon. If he does I will be busy doing anything else."

"I don't know why the two of you can't just get along-" You sigh.

"Because he's the worst." Annie states loudly, dropping the curling iron and bringing the mascara brush up to your eyes.

"Can we please not have this conversation again?"

"Fine. Close." Annie holds up the mascara brush to your eyes. "Did you at least join one of those online dating apps or try to go on a date?"

"It’s been 3 days since we last talked about this-“ You feel the gentle stroke of the brush against your eyelashes.

“So?”

“No I haven’t.”

"Y/n-"

"I know, I know. I mean Jake did try to ask me out the other day but-"

"He WHAT?" Annie squeals, awkwardness about your brother forgotten. "Next time lead with that! Did you go out with him? Did you guys talk all night long?" Annie is hoping from foot to foot now, practically dancing to the music still blasting from the speaker on the dresser.

"I said no." You open your eyes to look at your friend.

"WHAT! Why?" She looks like you kicked a puppy. "He's so perfect for you! He likes plants and he's funny and he's got a great sense of humor, plus he's gorgeous and he's interested in you-"

"First he wanted to do something today and I knew Butcher had plans for me. Second, I didn't know he was asking me out, Ben told me he was." You close your eyes again so Annie can continue to do your makeup.

"Wait, Ben was there when he asked you out?"

"We went to IKEA to get a couch for the apartment and Jake showed up and asked me out." You explain.

"You took Ben to IKEA?"

"He'd never gone there before, can you believe that?" It made you smile as you remembered how surprised he had been when you went inside. You’d had fun with him, walking around, testing out the couches, it almost felt… normal. And you kind of got the impression that Ben had a good time too. It was kind of cute when he did everyday things, when you saw him in normal settings and he was just a little bit awkward because he still couldn't figure out how to act in another time period.

"Yes I can, he's a million years old. Let's circle back to you saying no to the PERFECT man."

"He's not a million." You defend Ben. "And Jake's not perfect." You frown to yourself, thinking about the fact that Jake wasn't a supe. It wasn't something that you had cared about before, but ever since Ben brought up the idea of you "snapping Jake in half" it scared you.

Because what if I did? What if I hurt him? You didn’t know how Ben had sex so often with people who weren't supes. Maybe he just doesn't care if he does. Or maybe he’s done it so much that he’s able to control himself.

"What do you mean? I thought you liked him?"

"I mean I do. He's kind and he understands me and he loves plants as much as I do, but-" You shrug, feeling Annie begin to apply eyeliner. "I don't want to make things complicated. I mean we work together, he’s my boss. What if it doesn’t work out? Then I’d have to quit and I like my job.”

“I mean that’s kind of hot-“

“Hot in what? A sexual harassment kind of way?”

“No. It’s not harassment if it’s two consenting adults.”

“I’m still not sure that it’s a good idea.” You mutter more to yourself. But this time your mind didn’t go to Jake and you having a relationship even though he was your boss, instead it goes right to Ben. You can't help but slip into the fantasy of dating Ben, of you and him trying something new-

You shake off the image. He doesn’t want a relationship, doesn’t think that’s important. The thought is almost like a mantra, trying to convince yourself to push past Ben’s charm and good looks, but this time it makes you consider something else. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s important now, but maybe he used to think it was before Countess.

You’d heard the stories, seen the newspaper articles and clips of film of Ben and her together, remembered what Hughie said that Ben had wanted a family with her that Ben had told her that he loved her. That meant at some point in Ben’s life he had loved someone else, cared for them, wanted to be more than just fuck buddies.

Maybe he's just afraid to fall again, because he's not sure someone else will be there to catch him. Maybe Ben doesn't want to admit that he cares for anyone else because he's afraid that they'll push him away or stab him in the back the way that Countess did. And maybe he hides it all underneath the macho attitude.

Ben is strong. He told me that he didn't need anyone else. You press your lips together in a tight line. But I think he does.

You hated that she’d hurt him. You hated that she’d pushed him away, told him she never loved him, and stabbed him in the back. You couldn’t imagine doing that to someone, telling them that you loved them, and manipulating them with the promise of love. It almost made you nauseous to consider it. It made you want to travel back in time to the moment she stabbed him in the back and shove a bouquet of sunflowers up where the sun don't shine.

You pause on the thought. You weren't a terribly violent person, but if someone ever hurt your friends your anger was legendary, practically divine. You'd never thought that you'd want to do something for Ben, but you were realizing more and more that Ben was becoming your friend. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

“Alright what if he wasn’t your boss.” Annie gently brushes eyeshadow over your eyelids. “Then would you go out with him?”

“But he is my boss.”

“Use your imagination.”

The song has ended and there’s an awkward pause between the end of it and the slow beginning of the next one.

“I mean yes?” You shrug. “I can see myself with him. He’s the kind of person I’d want to date. He cares about other people, he remembers what kind of coffee I like, he actually contributes to the conversation, he makes me laugh, he actually gets my jokes, he’s nice to sit with, he doesn’t get under my skin-“ As you list each of those things you couldn't stop your mind from comparing Jake to Ben. You didn't know when Ben became the level by which you judged other men, but it had happened sometime in the past few days and you didn't know what it meant.

But Ben did remember what kind of coffee I like and he does contribute to conversations, well, he contributes with a disgusting comment… The thought trails off when you remember the small conversations that you'd had with Ben that weren't sexual in nature, when the two of you watched the movie on the couch and talked briefly about your parents, when Ben asked you how your day was the other day back at the apartment, and when the two of you talked on the couch while the children slept between the two of you. In those moments you had seen another side of Ben, the side that he seemed to hide away from everyone else, but not from you, not all the time.

Plus Ben is kind of funny sometimes, disgusting but funny. Doesn’t understand my jokes. And yes he gets under my skin but sometimes it’s kind of exciting and nice to have that happen. With Jake sometimes he’s just too happy or too eager to agree with me.

"Hmm." Annie considers. "How did Ben react when Jake asked you out?”

You don’t answer immediately. “Normal.”

"You hesitated"

"No I didn’t."

"Yes you did! He reacted didn’t he?!” Annie pokes you with her finger

"No he didn’t.” You lie.

“He did! Holy shit he was jealous wasn’t he?”

"No he wasn’t.” You swat her hand away. "He was just opinioned."

He sure looked jealous. You think to yourself remembering the way he glared at Jake from the other side of the room. The memory of the way his eyes darkened when he told you exactly why he wasn't jealous and exactly what he would do to you to make you forget all about Jake sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Yeah. Opinionated over why you shouldn't go out with Jake because Ben wants you all to himself." Annie crows.

"Shut-"

"But it doesn't matter. Because Ben's going to have a heart attack when he sees you wearing this." Annie steps back from you. "My work here is done. Try to make it to the mission without ripping each other's clothes off."

"We are not going to-"

Annie spins your chair back to the mirror and your next words dry up.

Your hair is perfectly curled back from your face, the lipstick is a dark shade of crimson that makes your lips look fuller and more plump, the eye make up is dark and dusky making the color of your eyes pop against the darkness in a mysterious alluring way that seems almost hypnotic, and your face is shaded and contoured so well that you look dangerous and sexy.

"I'll take the silence as a 'Thank you Annie! You're so beautiful and talented and you're the best friend I've ever had!'" She laughs, standing back behind you with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I mean all of that is true, but-" You stand up from the chair to get a better look. "You've really outdone yourself."

"Well thank you. Had to. It's your first date with Ben." She makes goo-goo eyes and you try to punch her in the shoulder, but she dodges it.

"Shut up. It's not." You look down at the dress that Butcher picked out for you to wear. "I love you, but I hate Butcher."

The dress was a red scrap of fabric that clung to your curves, but left very little to the imagination. It was completely backless with an exaggerated wrinkle that fell just over the top of your ass. The front was sinched at the back of your neck secured only by a small piece of fabric that you were afraid would break at any moment and fell open in a "v" that stopped just under the swell of your breasts. There was a large prominent slit that cut up the left side of the floor length gown that stopped just shy of the top of your thigh. Annie had cinched a black choker around your neck to match the black pair of stilettos you wore

Personally, you though that the stilettos were overkill, you had no idea how the hell you were going to run after the supe if you saw him, let alone fight him.

"You look so hot." Annie says pleased. "You really should wear that all the time babe. I'd take you out to dinner just to show you off."

"You're the worst." You groan.

"I love you too honey." She winks. "Now come on. Butcher and the others are waiting for us." She turns off the speaker and walks out the door of the bedroom, but you linger there, looking at yourself in the mirror one more time.

You'd never worn anything remotely like this before, but even you had to admit, you looked good.

“Come on Poppet. You can’t hide in there forever.” Butcher chuckles from the living room.

He’s having too much fun with this. You huff to yourself finally leaving the bedroom to make your grand entrance, grabbing the black bejeweled clutch as you do.

Butcher, Frenchie, Annie, and Hughie are waiting outside the door while Kimiko sits on the couch scribbling away.

Hughie's mouth drops open, Butcher gives an approving shrug, and Frenchie lets out a breath.

"You look beautiful." Frenchie takes your hand and gives you an appreciative twirl.

"Shut up." Your cheeks redden.

Hughie is still looking speechless at you. "I told you." Annie states elbowing him with a proud smile.

“You look-“ Hughie stutters.

“Good enough to eat.” Ben finishes, appearing in the hallway to your right. His hand traces the curve of your hip, thumb ghosting over your bare back.

“Just because I’m dressed like a hooker, doesn’t mean my brain’s not working.” You slap his hand away ignoring the warm feeling that remains where he touched you. You could feel your heart beat begin to pick up in your chest.

“Baby I love your brain-“ Ben smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t love your body more.”

You felt your cheeks turn the same shade as your dress with his compliment before you can stop them. It was difficult to pretend that you didn't feel any attraction for him, not when he looked so good.

He had trimmed his beard and brushed back his dark hair, so you could see his emerald colored eyes gleaming. He was wearing a black suit with a white button up shirt, but chose not to wear a black tie, instead unbuttoning the top few buttons to give just a hint of his muscular chest beneath.

Why does he have to look so good all the damn time?

“Shut up.” You grumble turning back to Butcher. “So are you happy? I dressed up, my IQ dropped a billion points.”

“Ecstatic poppet.” Butcher grins taking a sip from the cup of tea in his hand. “Now remember anything happens, you detain the supe, no killing."

“He’s talking to you.” You elbow Ben.

Ben shrugs. “I won't apologize for doing my job."

You sigh again and walk towards where Kimiko is writing in one of her workbooks on the couch.

"You look hot." She signs at you.

It had been difficult to learn the sign language she used, but you liked to think that you had a handle on it so you could understand simple conversations. When things got too confusing she would use her phone.

"I know. I was mad at Butcher at first for picking this dress, but I kind of like it." You sign back. "Don’t tell Butcher I said that."

She crosses her fingers over her heart. "Soldier Boy is looking at you."

"He’s always looking at me. I'm glad I can't read minds. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking."

Kimiko snorts, raising her hand to sign "I think the look on his face says it all."

You half turn and look at where Ben is again, he’s not talking to Butcher like you thought he was, he’s staring at you, pupils dilated, eyes darkening in a way that makes your heart feel like it's beating so hard it'll explode out of your ribcage.

No. No. Keep it together. Heart of a warrior.

"You two have fun!" Annie smirks widely, taking a picture of Ben and you like you're going to prom and you know she's going to send the photo to taunt you with it later.

“Shall we?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Ladies first.” Ben smirks.

You roll your eyes at him as you walk to the front door of the apartment. “Don’t pretend to be a gentleman Gramps. We both know you just want to look at my ass.”

“I’ll never get tired of looking Doll, especially not when you’re wearing something like that.”

A/N: I know this chapter is a little bit of a filler, but I wanted to give Annie and the reader some time together, aka. Annie telling the reader to do the one thing that we ALL know she should do. 😂

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tojiwrd · 1 year ago

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6: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings mentions toxic family, mentions of forced marriage, emotional infidelity, lots of crying, drama drama drama, confrontation, lots of reminiscing. also not proofread so im sorry for any mistakes !!

word count 4k

a/n sorry for late update lomls my gojo fate is fickle ver. came back into my life after three years of silence so this is chapter is coming straight from my bones guysssss . also i am so so so grateful for the support on this fic, genuinely makes me so happy i love u guys sm thank you SO much !! <3 also credit to the person of the art!! i can't find their name so if anyone knows then lmk <3

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

Gojo Satoru didn’t get on one knee and ask to marry you. He did it when the two of you were in the apartment he bought just a few months prior, laying on the bed as the small opening of the curtains let a thin stream of silver streams in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared because when he slipped the question while the two of you were facing one another, a hint of sleep heavy on the eyes on his moon-kissed face, he backed it up with the ring he’d carefully tucked away in his sweatpants. You swore your cheeks were hinting a fresh glow for the next week.

Maybe it was dumb to think you and Satoru, only twenty-five, would’ve worked out when he proposed on a random Sunday in bed. It did seem dumb, though, while you sat across Hana who was relaying her own proposal story. You’d tuned it out, not wanting to hear her drone on about how it was the most perfect, breathtaking moment when he got on one knee at a rooftop restaurant. You didn’t want to be there, partially because you truly felt as though Hana was painting Satoru out into someone he wasn’t, and partially because you were human and humans tend to get jealous sometimes.

It was meant to be a simple brunch with ten people, friends of friends of friends. You had Reina right next to you, Reina, whose eyes were continuously twitching as Hana would relearn a new moment from that picture-perfect night and feel the need to share it with everyone on the table. You could also see some of your own friends who were aware of yours and Satoru’s relationship look at her, then you, with furrowed brows. Hers mostly out of confusion, and at you to ask why the fuck are you quiet?

“Ugh!” One of the girls, Jia, exclaimed as Hana finally seemed to get to the end of her engagement story. “I wish I had someone like Gojo Satoru; all these men are so unromantic and act like genuine children.”

Truthfully, if Satoru wasn’t your ex-fiancee, you would be on the same boat as the girls who were unaware of your past relationship. Hana’s story, from the pieces you forced yourself to hear, was dreamlike. A small part of you wanted to tell her that her romantic and unchildlike husband had proposed to her, too, right after he’d done some other things that would end that conversation immediately. But you didn’t because it wasn’t Hana’s fault, even though your mind kept putting some blame on her, that Satoru broke it off with you.

“I hope all of you find somebody like Satoru. He truly is the best,” Hana replied dreamily.

You clenched your fists. Reina slammed hers on the table.

“You’re so delusional, Hana, it’s concerning.” You wanted to raise your arms and pull Reina down and ask her to shut up. To not cause a scene. But Hana looked at Reina, a confused, concerningly kind expression covering her features and you realized there lived a monster in you that wanted to see Gojo Hana crumble. “Don’t look at me all coy, high, and mighty. You don’t know shit about your husband. Why don’t you skip over these semantics and really tell them the only reason the two of you got married was because your parents forced you to?”

You delighted in the flash of anger that slid across Hana’s face as she pursed her lips, trying to find the right words. You leaned back and stared, an uncharacteristically numb look covering your features. This, a part of you realized, might be detracking you from your healing process but it was fun.

Hana looked around the table and noticed how all eyes were fixed on her figure. If there was one thing you’d learned from girls' brunches, it was that everybody loved when it blew over and left one or many people scathed. She sputtered over her words, the tangle coming out completely incomprehensible and you almost felt bad. Almost felt bad because it wasn’t expected of her to admit to a whole group of socialites that the marriage to the Gojo heir wasn’t out of love, but out of an arrangement that went in their favor. If you were in her place, you, too, would’ve waxed poetic about your marriage because if the truth would bring the palpable exciting energy down, you would feel bad.

“Perhaps it was suggested by our parents,” she started, glaring at Reina with faux sweetness. “But it was only because our parents saw how in love we seemed with each other.”

You tried to hold yourself back but it was just so simple for you to scoff at her words. When Reina looked at you, a sheen of anger coating her eyes, you pushed yourself to talk. “It’s not love if he cheated on someone with you.”

You had thought about this moment before; you’d wondered if, were you to ever meet Hana again, you would drop the ticking time bomb in her presence that might either blow up her entire marriage or just cause a small blip in the working systems of it. But saying it now, after hearing her say all Satoru had said about you was that your fathers worked together, felt completely underwhelming. Though the shoe was dropped and it was clear everybody managed to get a small tatters of it to whisper about with other people, it felt wrong. Wrong because the way Hana looked at you, eyes brimmed with tears and brows coming together in sadness, you had most likely broken a piece of her.

She gulped then cleared her throat. “Can—Can we talk outside? Alone?” she asked and, without sparing a glance at anybody on the table except for you and Reina, she walked to the sliding doors of the restaurant and into the glaring sun above.

Reina placed her hand on your forearm and said, “Come on, let’s go.” It was surprising to see a miniscule hint of guilt on her features, and you realized you had to have the conversation.

Hana had most likely heard the clicking of yours and Reina’s heels because she didn’t turn back to face the two of you. “I know you and Satoru had something going on.”

You froze, stunned and silent.

“I had heard from my mother that you both were in a relationship. He never mentioned it to me, though, and I didn’t mention it, either.” She turned around, eyes wide as she looked down and shuffled her feet in anxiousness. “I don’t know how it ended or when it ended, but I thought when he—he finally acknowledged there was something between us, the two of you were over. I didn’t want to know. We did get married because our fathers told us to, but I wasn’t lying when I said he was sweet and caring.” Her stare burned you like a billion matches. There was truth in her words, you knew—

“You homewrecking bitch!” Reina’s voice cut off your train of thought as she walked towards Hana, an accusatory finger pointed in her direction. Once again, you didn’t stop her even though you probably should’ve. “If you knew he was in a relationship, how could you even think of flirting with him? They were engaged. God! I swear, both you and Gojo are two peas in the same pod. You deserve each other.” Her words were also ringing through your head and there was confusion bubbling up within the same pot as growing anger.

“Why’d you pretend not to know when we saw you at the club?” you asked, finding your voice again, in a calm tone that surprised you, too.

Hana shook her head. Her face had curled up into fury, and you wondered if her nice, docile, angel-sent-from-above personality was a card she held up her sleeve the entire time. “I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know because Satoru was mine—is mine. You weren’t a part of his life anymore, so I didn’t want to add any worries that were misplaced.”

You wondered if you should tell her that Satoru had tried reaching out to you at Suguru’s gallery.

“If he had told me he was with you, I wouldn’t have tried anything with him.”

You were sure you had moved past everything.

After more than a year of avoiding any fire from your past with Satoru, the past two weeks had been filled to the brim with situations revolving around him. It was easy to ignore what you had with Satoru when he seemed like a distant memory and then a mere ghost in your thoughts. But when he’s insistent on giving you answers you never asked for, answers you didn’t want to know, and his wife had made an appearance that caused your brain to run without stopping, it was difficult to treat him the way you had.

No matter how much you wanted to ignore everything and reset your brain back to its default settings, you couldn’t when the world was caving in on you and reality seeped through its cracks to light a bright, pertinent light in front of your eyes. You hated Gojo Satoru with every inch of your bones, but you were never truly able to forget just Satoru himself.

Your mind had an interesting way to deal with the pile of information dropped onto your shoulders. You should’ve been reliving how Satoru made your blood boil when he got engaged with Hana, how he carelessly broke your heart because he began falling for somebody else, somebody brand new while he was taking space on your bed every night. You should’ve been, but you weren’t.

‘A relationship broken is always a relationship that could’ve been,’ is what you’d read once graffitied onto a brick wall you were leaning against with Satoru once in the middle of the bustling city streets. You’d pointed it out, he’d agreed. He’d agreed. You wish he hadn’t because there was a fragment of you that wished he remembered those words now. The devilish part of you wished that’s what he remembered, recounted abruptly while he was sleeping next to his wife.

You wished he’d think of the could’ve been’s instead of the measly fears he told you about at the gallery.

You also wish you had those fears, too. You loved Satoru to a point that he was in everything you did; your clothes smelt like his detergent because you would always take your laundry to his house for the weekends. The lamp next to your bed had his bracelet wrapped around it because he thought it was too loose on his wrist and he’d lose it. You would always accidentally call him because his contact was on your home screen, causing you to press on it when you were scrolling (he always picked up and he always talked to you for hours after, making you forget why you had opened your phone in the first place). The tattoo, a small design of baby’s breaths, on your hip reminded you of how he had held your hand through the pain.

You knew Satoru’s dreams. You knew Satoru’s biggest fears. So, why did he never tell you the fears he had for the two of you?

As soon as the thought hit your mind, it was followed by you harshly reprimanding yourself by reminding you that it was because he was getting excited over someone else’s calls, someone else’s dreams.

“Y/N, honey.” You heard your mother’s voice call from your ajar bedroom door before she hesitantly stepped in, heel-clad feet grazing over the off-white floor with footsteps following behind her. “Your friend from the gallery here to see you.”

You knew exactly who she was talking about which is why you raised slightly from your bed, a panicked look in your eyes, and only began pleading with her to tell him you weren’t here. Before you could even utter a complete, coherent sentence, Suguru had walked in with his head down and your mother simply walked out of the door, sparing you a sad smile. She didn’t know any of what had happened, but she most likely sensed it wasn’t anything worth toasting to after seeing Suguru’s mood and your reaction.

“Please, Suguru.” Your voice wobbled, a slight hiccup in your words because this was too much. Even though Suguru was somewhere on the top of your least-favorite people list at the moment, he didn’t deserve to see you get angry at him without having control over your words. “Leave.”

“Listen, listen, Y/N. I just… I heard some stuff and I needed to check on you.” His words were hesitant, as if he’d rehearsed them but had changed the script at the last minute. He walked closer to your bed and you couldn’t find the words to ask him to leave. “Hana told me—”

You snorted, cutting him off. “Hana told you what? That I ended her perfect, dreamy image of her marriage in public? Are you here to—what? Reprimand me? Tell me I was wrong—”

“Fuck, no. Stop, just for one second.”

You did stop because Suguru seemed more tense than you knew what to do with.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly addressed, his body finding its way to the edge of your bed. “I want to say I’m sorry, and you don’t have to accept it. I was wrong—I realize that now but… I was scared, Y/N.”

“Scared of what? I wouldn’t have been any worse if you’d just told me what you knew, Suguru. You hid it from me when you saw how I was going insane the month after the breakup.”

“I was scared of this. How you’ve been feeling since Satoru told you the truth himself.” You couldn’t reply to that. “But I want to tell you that even though I hadn’t told you about it, I did let Satoru know really well what he did was wrong. Not that it’s any better, but I never supported what he did. I—I couldn’t stop him from marrying her because… well, because he’s Satoru. I shouldn’t have assumed you were okay, especially not after finding out about Hana after three months. But I thought you were and—I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking straight.

But I heard from Hana earlier today about what had happened at brunch. She said she was scared Satoru would find out what she said and I—I have no idea why she trusted me with that information. I’m not friends with her. I don’t know why she told me.”

You took in a deep breath processing all the information Suguru kept on dropping. “I’m not telling Satoru anything.”

“But she—”

“She nothing. I don’t want to hear it, Suguru. Whatever she did, even if she actively tried to sabotage me and Satoru, it was on him that he let her.” Your phone lit up from beside you and you glanced at the time, internally thanking whoever controlled it for the real excuse to kick him out of your house. “I have plans with Kento. You need to leave now, actually.”

You didn’t miss the way Suguru’s face flashed with a hint of disappointment at your words.

Kento Nanami wasn’t understanding—not truly—which is why you were surprised that halfway through your date, when you told him you had to talk to Satoru, he understood. He walked you out of the restaurant, a calm, unwavering hand on your back and told you that no matter what happened, he’d be there by your side.

And though you knew you had people by your side, you really couldn’t remember who and felt a flutter in your chest.

By the time you reached Satoru’s (and Hana’s) apartment, the urge and confidence you felt when you came up with your plan ebbed away into pieces and left you lying there in a situation you weren’t sure you could face. You raised your hand up to press a finger against the doorbell regardless, trying to force away the thought that you would see the apartment you helped him move into and decorate. You briefly, for a second, wondered if he had changed it. You also wondered if it would hurt to see the small paintings you’d bought as a present for his new apartment not be in the spots of the wall Satoru put you on his shoulders to pin.

When the door opened, you were met with the same eyes that had haunted your dreams and nightmares. His mouth opened, wide enough for a fly to fly into, then he schooled his features into mere curiosity. You realized that you were the one that sought him out this time, you were the one who dropped in unannounced at his house, which meant you should speak.

“I need to talk to you.” And frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care if Hana was lurking behind him and able to hear you initiate a conversation with her husband. That was what he was: her husband before your ex-fiance.

He breathed out and shook his head as if willing himself to speak, too. “Yes. Yeah. Come in, Y/N.”

And you did. You saw the walls, the paintings, the small hearts on the corner of the dining table you drew with a sharpie, the couch you picked out, and even the necklace you had forgotten that peeked from under his coat on the coat hanger. You didn’t comment on it, though.

“Do you want water? Tea? Liquor?”

You almost laughed at the anxiousness in his voice. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”

Satoru’s expression was what you could confidently call crestfallen, and he didn’t try to hide it this time. You forced yourself not to think about it. You merely went down to the couch in his living room that you picked out and placed yourself on the left corner because you always used to sit on the right. It helped you see the TV better.

“She isn’t home.” You knew who he meant by ‘she.’

“Goj—Satoru, I need you to do something,” you said, unsure of how to start it off. In all fairness, you hadn’t prepared what you were going to say, it was just a messed up, jumbled backbone of stuff that you knew you had to tell him.

His reply was instant. “Anything.”

“I need you to not feel guilty or—I don’t know, keep feeling guilty but just keep it to yourself, okay?” You sounded like you were talking like a preschooler, and it wasn’t much different because Satoru looked at you with the hopeful eyes a kid has before you reject their wishes. But Satoru wasn’t a kid, Satoru was a man who made poor choices and hurt someone by doing something unexcusable, and that made it okay to tell him to stop.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t talk to me. If we’re in the same place, don’t talk to me. Don’t ask me not to hate you. Don’t tell me you regret what you did to me.”

It hurt to break your heart by your own words.

“Y/N, don’t do this,” he trailed off, eyes wide and filled with fear now. “Please.”

“Stop.” Your own eyes brimmed with tears you weren’t going to shed. It was fine dealing with Satoru when he tried to talk to you, but doing it on your own terms gave you an inexplicable feeling of sadness you hadn’t expected. “You’re being selfish.”

“No. How…”

“You take when you want, Satoru. You know more than anybody else that I loved you and lost myself when I couldn’t. You were there that night in the car, holding me when I cried when you left me. You left me!” you exclaimed, pointing your index in his direction that would’ve jabbed him in the face if he wasn’t further away. “You were there even after you left me. You’re there now, making me all confused and angry, when you know you can’t give me anything. You don’t have any intention of being somebody I need in my life, so leave. Make this easier for me and leave. Let me live my life while you live yours.”

He had shifted down the couch, and though he was still not too close, it felt too close.

“Don’t—fuck, don’t say that, love. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You flailed your arms in the air, his words not helping your case at all. “You can be sorry a million times over, but what’s done is done. You can’t… Fuck, Satoru. You can’t do this.”

A moment passed. Then another. He placed his head in his hands, facing ahead while you faced his shaking body.

“I love you,” he said, and you were lost.

“Don’t do this to your wife, Satoru. You love her. You’re supposed to love her. Don’t do this to someone else.”

“I love you,” he repeated, his eyes now looking into yours with a familiar fire of determination. “You know that, right? You know that I love you?” His words broke out into a sob that ripped directly from his scratchy throat. “Tell me you know that.”

“Then please leave. Don’t show up. Stop showing up, and stop explaining something that can’t be understood.”

And when Satoru placed a hand on your cheek, you didn’t push it away because you saw that previous fire dwindle within a second. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he scanned your warm face, your glassy eyes, and he noticed how you were shivering under his touch. You didn’t push it away because Satoru might’ve been selfish, but you were, too. And you would inhale the embers of him before they turned into ash.

“You want this?” he asked, but you could see he knew the answer. You didn’t reply. He continued, “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. But—But I want you to know I wanted it to be you. When Hana walked down the aisle, I thought of you. I wish you’d come. I would’ve never said ‘I do.’ I swear. I’m sorry I fucked up—I fucked us up. I got carried away and…”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t do that to her. You have a chance at being happy, Satoru. Don’t ever do what you did to me again.”

“Do you?” he asked.

“Do I what?”

“Have that chance at being happy?”

You thought about the question and Kento’s name flashed in your mind. It might have been small compared to the colossal amounts of feelings you felt with Satoru back then, but it was something. Even though you didn’t shake under Kento’s touch or feel your stomach turning upside down everytime he smiled at you, you felt safe and you knew that if you could stay, Kento would stay, too.

“I do.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, a single tear falling from his eye. “Is it wrong that I still wish it was me?”

You wanted to say no, it isn’t because a part of me wishes it was you, too. You didn’t.

He continued, “I can’t let you go, Y/N.”

Another tear, then another, till they continued streaming down his face. You couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t react to them. Not even when he took his hand away from your face to messily wipe them away between sobs and hiccups.

“You said you didn’t deserve me, and you were right. Remember that.”

And even though a larger part of you didn’t want to leave, you left, afraid that you might end up entangling yourself in his arms to cry with him. To get one taste of his lips for the last time before deciding to fuck it all and make one kiss more. To hold onto him for longer, forever. You left because you weren’t sure you could tell Satoru to leave again. You thought you still loved Satoru just not in the way you used to. But when you saw him pleading for nothing because there was no good outcome for the two of you, you realized you might still love Satoru the way you used to, just less and concealed by the hurt. You would’ve chosen all the bad outcomes and then some more if you stayed a minute longer.

#gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

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dragongirlpoet · 16 days ago

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Dark Signs 3

Summary: As Alucard grapples with his grief over what he has done, secrets are unveiled and graver foes awaken. Is it too late to save you? (Plot takes off months before *that ending* in part 2. Some parts are off-canon.)

This chapter is written in Alucard’s POV.

Themes: Dark fantasy, horror, romance, angst I Words: 4k

Warnings: MDNI. Horror, blood, gore, violence, religious themes, mentions of suicide, grief, depression, anxiety, slight smut

Pt 1 I Pt 2

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To the lovely folks who are holding out for part 3, thank you! 💛 Sorry I couldn’t put this out sooner.

@s-i-l-v-e @kawaiiskeletoneggsnerd @celly-fahrenheit @skychaser777 (tagged u guys in case!)

I tasted blood, cherry and salt.

And I wanted more, more, more.

We were tangled in each other, our bodies suspended in the cosmic cerulean of the deep ocean.

She was my salvation. Her kiss was my atonement. And her blood, oh her blood…it was a gift so heavenly. All my immortal life had desired only that very thing, and now that I had it, I couldn’t let go.

Every shred of my primordial essence — powerful yet cursed, now entombed in the marrows of her soul. My blood now flowed in hers, as her blood, mine. We were fused as one, we were divine.

My darling’s fingers traced the sharps of my jaw as she kissed me, our married blood spilling from her mouth, diluting the water. They formed red rivulets around us, as if in symbolic reverence that we were the almighty givers of ichor.

We were safe, entwined together in eternal damnation.

I love her. I love her so deeply that I’d doomed her with my blood curse, so I could have her by my side till the sun swallowed us whole. And for that, I’d forever fester in my blasphemous sin.

“Adrian…” she seemed to say, but the snare of the ocean strangled her words, slowed our every caress… as if time at all wanted to still for our undying love.

Oh what I would give to hear her voice — seraphic, like a birdsong, my name chaste upon her lips.

Her ivory chemise clung to her body like sculpted granite, her nipples just peeking through. They were for my eyes only. Yes…her being, her blood, her body…they all belonged to me.

But in that sacred moment, something felt…amiss. There were those jade-green veins, palpable under her eyes… they ran like fine cracks on marble, so like those on a delicately-carved statue.

Raven hair hovered around her tiny frame, resembling venomous serpents held buoyant by witchcraft. They were so in contrast to my gold, like the exact moment dusk bled into dawn.

There was the red rivulet again, this time saturating the white ribbons of her nightdress. They coiled around my arms, binding me to her. Not that I’d ever let go.

But I had to, for her lingering touch was frost impaling even my vampiric skin. Why was she so cold?

“Adrian…” again she seemed to call out.

Her eyes, despite being underwater, were wide open, the blacks of them bereft of the soul I once knew. She was pale. So pale. And she looked every bit the angel of death.

My angel…when did she slip from my arms?

Our fingers entwined one last time, before a sombre gloom dragged her under. Slowly she sank, like a fallen star ousted by the heavens, syphoned of its light.

But I’m right here, darling. Stay.

I willed all of my immortal power to reach for her outstretched hands, but my body was deadened, as if held prisoner by spirit shackles. Further and further she sank from me, and I so terribly wanted to tell her that wasn’t where she was supposed to go.

Words evaded me, as my tears had.

The hollow abyss seemed to rise up — impatient, almost — to receive its new sacrifice.

Blood gushed from her mouth — they were viscid, as if so thickened they had to be forced out or she would choke. The blood kept coming. They streamed out of the sockets of her eyes, running like bloody tears of the living dead.

They say that monsters like us lack the ability to fear, yet I’d never felt more afraid than I did then. The love of my life, drowning, dying, yet I could do wholly nothing. Alucard, son of Dracula — weak, worthless…

A fissure cracked her chest open, the cavity creeping wide to reveal her beating heart. Her human heart.

The blood kept coming.

“Come back to me…” I begged, the futility of it sickening me.

Still, she descended. I watched in horror as the godless ocean buried her in its oblivion, until all I was made to see was the compunction of my sins.

On her neck that I used to so lavish with kisses, lay the wounds only a wretch like me could inflict.

I did it. I killed her.

“Adrian…”

____________

I jolted awake.

A numbing despair perforated my insides, a feeling I knew all too well. I stared out the window through heavy eyelids, the red moon magnified by sweat teardrops trickling through my eyelashes.

For a long moment I just sat there, my lungs crushed by torment, my heart shattered by grief. I’d lost count of the nightmares that had plagued me over the decade…no, it’s been 96 years, Adrian. A century. A century she’s been gone.

What was I living for?

Memories I longed to forget writhed their way into my mind, forcing me to once again relive the hell that fateful night.

I had sat in the castle hall for days, her lifeless body cradled in my arms. My eyes burned from tears, and I wanted to die. I fed her so much of my blood, my immortal blood, still she slept. I summoned spirits, conjured the most powerful of magicks, still, she slept. My hope hanging by a thread, I fused my father’s sciences with my mother’s elixirs…still, she slept.

I was about to drive my own sword into my heart — the only one ensorcelled enough to kill a dhampir, when a familiar voice stopped my contemptible deed.

“Alucard! This place reeks of death, and here I thought we’d gotten rid of your father long ago.”

“Stop it, Belmont!”

“What? He may be pristine but his home sure isn’t. Alucard! Honey, we’re home!”

“Will you stop yelling?”

“Alucard’s probably busy shoving it in her, ha. I need to make sure he can hear me above their grunts and moans. Have you forgotten how loud you get, Sypha?”

“You’re disgusting, Belmont.”

“Alucard! Ah, there you are. In the hall, really? You two really are something. Do you have food? I’m starving. I…”

“Belmont.”

“Fine, fine. Beer is good as w…”

“Belmont!”

It took Belmont a long minute before he alas perceived what Sypha meant. My two dearest friends — immobile in silent trepidation, distress distinct on their faces.

“What happened, Alucard? Was she attacked?” Sypha was the first to speak. As always, her presence seemed to bring solace, but it dissipated promptly.

“I killed her, Sy…Sypha. She asked mmme… to…tto turn her, and I…I drank too much…I killed her.”

Mere speaking incinerated my throat, and it was then I’d realised I hadn’t stopped crying. I could scarce breathe through my wheezing, let alone enunciate words.

“I…I tried ever…rything, help me please…ppplease…save her please…”

Belmont, in a rare display of empathy, knelt beside us and took my hand in his. “We will find a way to save her, and we will not stop until we do. I promise.”

At his oath, I collapsed into Belmont’s arms. Anguish, shame, relief…they all coursed through my body — my face buried in his shoulders, weeping. Every emotion that I’d held in, all unfettered at the fact that I had someone, that I wasn’t alone to fight my battles.

“Fault yourself not, Alucard. She never would’ve blamed you.” Sypha’s voice was soft, soothing, enveloping us in a reassuring embrace. I fell apart completely.

A loud pounding at the doors disturbed our bittersweet reunion, arousing our every alarm. There seemed to be a clamour of sorts — yelling, mocking…definitely humans. Belmont took to receive the unusual affair, leaving a gap just wide enough to acknowledge a throng of men — bishops, priests and followers of the church.

“I don’t remember ever calling for your conceited services, Father.” Belmont sneered.

“It’s Father Caine to you, and I could hardly expect couth coming from especially you. Excommunicated and still, never learning the error of your ways…

I sense a great evil here…more so than I daresay…Dracula himself. Forgive our ruckus, for we, the good men, merely wish to rid the town of all that is malign…Hand the girl over, and all shall be well.”

Sypha and I exchanged uneasy looks. What was he talking about?

Belmont, entirely irked by the bishop’s pretentious drivel, was barely holding it in. “Take your horseshit hubris and shove it up your a…”

“Oh, but don’t you want to know why we want the girl? Not the speaker-magician…the dhampir’s lover.”

What?

The dastardly bishop, words of scorn and malice, continued, “She now has the blood curse of the dhampir, and something in that transformation awoke creatures of the night…dark, hateful creatures…ones that possess an ancient evil…It is easy. We exorcise and burn her body, and as I’ve said…all shall be well.”

Blood searing in my veins, I raced past Belmont, the parasite parish’s body dangling midair in my chokehold. Eyes bloodshot and fangs hungry, I crushed his throat harder. He let out pathetic struggles of breath, rosary still firmly clasped in his hand.

“Where is your God now, Father? If we are the impurity you so seek to vanquish, then what of the innocents you slaughtered unrepentently, all because they did not fit your cause?”

I thought of my mother, the Belmonts, the heathens who simply held their own beliefs…and most of all, I thought of my sweet angel, so kind and full of love…

“What the…” Belmont cursed when we were doused with buckets of Holy Water. The “Men of God” started chanting prayers, as if their contrived communion would somehow free their pious leader.

I let out a laugh.

“The absolute gall you have, Father. Despite my mourning, I shall grant you this last mercy. Command your men to leave and never again return, and I shall kill only you. Fail to do so, and I’ll rip the tendons from all your wicked hearts. After all, I am a monster, am I not?”

A few men flinched at my words, casting hesitant glances to the others, while some implored Father Caine to choose wisely. Such cowards.

The bishop shifted a little in my grip, a faint smirk splayed across his face. “M…ark my words, vampire. Dark times ar…are ahead…The girl must di…”

I tore his heart right out of his ribs.

He was right. I was a vampire. I was omni-sentient. I was a monster and a God all at the same time. The farcical impudence he had to order the execution of my beloved…Anyone who touches her will die.

With his blood on my hands, I felt my hunger creep in once again, ripping off the human mask I wore like a virtue. I needed to feed.

It wasn’t until Belmont started swinging his Morningstar than I realised the tumult that had ensued. “And God shits in my dinner once again…Alucard! Left!”

Veins palpitating from the heart I’d just consumed, I saw that the rest of the church, quite possibly under the predetermined order of the bishop, lit a pyre that massacred the foliage we used to read under, devoured the quince fruit trees we so loved to frolic around.

They will all die.

“Get back!” Sypha cried, mutating the fire into swirls that wavered to her bidding. She channelled them towards the men, trapping them in rings of flame. Out of nowhere, fire arrows flew in our direction, narrowly missing Sypha’s face. That was enough to send Belmont into a scalding rage.

His Morningstar cleaved through half of the men, dismembering some, dissecting others. My estoc weaved through throats and hearts, beheading some, mutilating others. The tragic irony of it all — the very men whose sole mission was to protect mankind, to do good, on an aimless rampage to kill because of a misguided prophecy.

And so the fighting went on for months, years... Night creatures, more members of the parish, vampires seeking a new world order…valiant efforts, alas they were no more than vermins effortlessly exterminated by us three.

We weren’t certain why they had kept showing up. Whether it was a curse set off by my turning her, or the fact that they simply wanted us dead…it mattered not, nor did I make it my business to find out. I was going to kill them all.

Sypha and Belmont had kept to their promise. Come hell or high water, they stuck with me, even moving into the castle with their son. We battled foes, and never once did they abandon their cause to revive the love of my life.

“Alucard, you need to seal her. Keep her somewhere safe, where no one but you can find,” Sypha had one day told me. I was no fool, I’d known they wouldn’t be around forever, and if I’d succumbed to my grief, all their efforts would’ve been in vain.

“Promise me that when she wakes, you two will look after our kids, and grandkids, and great-grandkids, and…” Belmont trailed off, seemingly stumped by staple discourse.

“They’re called descendants, you idiot.” Sypha rolled her eyes.

Managing a genuine smile I haven’t had in a long while, I replied, “I promise.”

“My lord.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to yet leave my reverie.

“My lord,” Centrio again addressed, this time with more urgency. There, bowing by the door, dressed in fine leather that I had gifted, stood the first human I’d turned after…her. I’d found him by the docks, and he was all but an emanciated vagrant on the brink of death. Perhaps it was the matyr in me, but I thought it more I had wanted to experiment…if he indeed turned, perhaps there was a way…

“The council is ready for you.”

Donning my guise of Imperious Vampire Overlord — terrifying, deadly, merciless — I made my way down to the great hall with my most loyal emissary. I clutched at the pendant around my neck — a vial forged with obsidian and laced with gold, encased with her blood. It was the only way I could feel her if she woke.

An excruciating sorrow once again took shape, like an enemy planting tiny splinters in my heart, except those splinters were tainted with the most malevolent of poisons, inching slowly to ravage my vital core.

“My lord,”

The council all greeted in unison, heads bowed in utter veneration. Men, women, young, old…I had sired them all. To have a contingency if I ever needed one, to delegate my task of finding a cure, to have some goddamn chatter in the forsaken castle…

“We’ve received word that the denomination led by Gwyth is storming in from the highlands of Brasov. They are…angered by the vampires you’ve sired. She thinks just because…”

“Just because what?”

The gathering fell silent, as if fearful to draw my ire. Good…that’s how I intended it to be.

“Tell me, Finnor, does your gallantry waver in my presence? If so, perhaps it was my oversight in appointing you General?”

“Forgive me, my lord. She thinks it’s a travesty that we, vampires a mere century old, are…” Finnor cleared his throat before continuing, “...exhausting all the human blood supply here in Braila. Some of our own have gone over to bordering cities, and they’re most displeased. She thinks that just because you’re… Dracula’s son, doesn’t give you the right…”

“Dracula’s son?” I scoffed.

“Did I not sire you all? If Dracula is my father, then does his blood not also run in your veins?

“Yes!” My council concurred in earnest.

Does that not make you powerful?”

“Yes!”

“Good! Then let them come. We will defend what is rightfully ours, will we not?”

“Yes!”

At that, they broke into a resounding cheer, half howling, the rest pounding staffs, swords and what have you on the marble floor. Contrary to the revelry below, I, worshipped like a God on my throne, felt wholly insentient. I cared not for war, nor truimphs, nor reign. If I’d created bloodthirsty monsters, it was merely a means to an end.

I wanted only one thing.

Was this how my father felt when my mother died?

“Kindly see to it, Centrio. I wish not to be bothered.”

“At your service, my lord.”

There she was — immaculate in white, clutching the garland of daffodils I’d made her, so detached from the pain I’d caused…I had all but little choice when I’d sealed her in the underground castle chambers. I had cast a spell so powerful, that save for the both of us, no one could enter, or find, our fortress in Wallachia.

Living in the castle without my friends, without her, seeing her lifeless body…it went on for months, years…I couldn’t bear it. Her lying there, bereft of a heartbeat, of a breath, broke me in ways I never knew existed.

And so I resolved to start over in Braila, it was the only way to keep her safe, it was the only way I could honour my vow to save her.

Cape dragging behind my lifeless steps, I trudged back to my study, thoughts once again lost in her. Innumerable letters I’d written, infinite words I wanted to say — all frozen and wayward like misplaced luminaries in an interstellar void.

What have I done, darling? I’ve created…abominations... so many innocent lives lost because of me…Will you still love me when you see what I’ve become?

“Adrian…”

I spun round, completely entranced by her voice.

In the doorway, against the crimson glow of the stained-glass window, wearing the white chemise just as she always had, awaited my beloved. It suddenly became daunting to breathe, my mind apprehensive to behold the sight.

“Darling? Is it really you?” I uttered, my words close to a tremble.

She said nothing, but merely moved to me with such litheness I was taken aback. Her steps were languid, like a lone willow swaying in a bleak winter tempest.

“H…how did you find me? You don’t look well, do you need to feed? Here,” I offered my bloodslit wrists to her. She pressed her lips to them at once, as though thoroughly acquainted with my gesture.

“I missed you so much, I…”

“Shhh…” she hushed, sinking to her knees.

Her hands made quick work of my trousers, and too soon had my entire length in her mouth. My cock twitched as her tongue lapped over the ridges of my growing erection, licking hurried circles around my tip.

“Fuck…baby…I missed you so fucking much…” I panted, pushing her face deeper between my thighs. “Ahhh…that feels so good…” and threw my head back, shutting my eyes, relishing in the absolute ecstasy of her eagerness.

Pumping my sex in rapid fervour, she took it further down her throat, sucking, constricting…the weight of my every burden reduced to an indistinct drone.

“Slow down, darling,”

“Yes, my lord…”

My eyes flew open. My lord?

From where I was, I alas saw it. The sable of her tresses ran an incomparable lustre to my darling’s raven. I flung the devil thrall into the windows at once, shattering the glass, red fragments giving way to golden gleams of the inconspicuous sun.

“How very dare you,” my voice dropping to a haunting hiss as I stalked towards her. “The audacity you possess to employ such pitious artifice…who sent you?”

The thrall quivered at my unrestrained wrath, straining to speak against the bleeding shards skewered in her throat.

“Y…you…did…m…my l..ord…”

I froze, the lunacy of my suffering clear as day. I must already be dead.

Refusing to bear the yoke of that truth, I instead directed all my shame and hurt at the dying vampire whom I’d sired.

“Why do you get to live, but she doesn’t? Why do all of you get to persist in endlessness, possess my blood gift, but she is doomed to sleep for all eternity? Why!”

All that remained was the anguished aftershock of my tirade, and the spurting of blood that had slivered their way to the soles of my boots.

“F…forrr…give me, mmy…lord…”

“I want you to listen closely. She transcends your every breath. You will never be her.”

I compelled my estoc to sever her head.

____________

I liked it out here. At times the ocean waves would susurrate, tonight it was a thunder against the cliffs. It offered a quiet respite from my heartbreak, the inane vampire politics, and the endless blood war of the undead.

My hair whipped in the frigid windstorm, yet I felt nothing. I was a lighthouse abandoned — hollow, crepuscular — fleeting through the years devoid of purpose. There were nights where I would see her in the middle of the violent sea — so alone, so tormented — does she know? I would cross oceans of time to find her.

Something snapped.

I remained still as death, my gaze shifting calculatedly to the untimely intruder foolish enough to trespass into my castle grounds. Their steps, though fairly distant and furtive, stood little chance against my heightened hearing.

The clanging of chains reached my ears long before my sword ensnared the metal. Holding it mere inches from my face, I studied the peculiar weapon — intricate weaving of iron, spikes flared at the tip…and that leather whip.

“Simon Belmont. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Save that garb for someone who gives a shit, vampire.”

I smirked at his salutation, perhaps a little more than necessary. “I see the Belmonts have a tradition.”

Unlike his forefathers, Simon had fallen out of favour with the Belmonts, insisting that vampires, regardless of their intent and relationship, are considered foe and should, at all costs, be exterminated with their bodies wrung out to dry.

“The odious horde you have sired are arrogant beyond their means. Do you not care for the turmoil they have caused? The innocent lives they have claimed?”

I no longer have the capacity to, I wanted to tell him.

“I come here not to befriend, or beg, or ask. Halt the atrocities of your vampires, or I shall finish what my grandfather so failed to do — kill you.”

“Are you threatening me, Belmont?”

Taking advantage of my affront, he wielded the Combat Cross — one I’d noticed too late — for it struck the pendant around my collar, barely missing my chest. I watched as the vial containing her blood fracture into pieces, her lifesource splattered and devoured by the earth below.

Seething, I lunged for Simon, teleporting behind him while coiling the Morningstar around his neck. He threshed around his imminent asphyxiation, blindly stabbing his dagger, attempting to find purchase on any of my organs.

The tip of his Morningstar however, managed to etch itself onto my arm, igniting an unsteady glow. It would not combust in me, for I was neither human nor demon. Still, a searing pain barelled through the recesses of my body.

I released Simon as he collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving from the lack of air. Hovering my sword above his heart, I recalled the promise I had made to Belmont.

“This is a fight for another day, Belmont. Take your weapons and leave, for I have little forbearance for charity such as now.”

Flinging a shard of the Transmission Mirror next to Simon, he was pulled into its magic before he could contend. As the mirror engulfed him in its sorcery, he glared at me with such loathing I thought it incredulous I had loved his grandparents dearly.

But it was his last words ahead of being teleported that unnerved me, roused me back to the verity of that very moment — “I know what you’re searching for, Alucard.”

I stared at the spot where Simon was, now an insignificant mass of rocks, amongst them lay fragments of my obsidian vial.

An uncanny cold snaked about my heart. Clutching at it, the hammering intensified to a booming knell, in the same manner as nights where the parish would pound at my castle doors with boulders, clamouring to burn her. My breathing soon withered to a wheeze, then a gasp, and I fell to my knees.

Without the pendant, I could feel her no longer.

What if she woke? The indefinite dangers she would face outside the castle walls…Simon…what if he knew a way to find her…to kill her…

I was sickened with fear. Haste was of the essence, but the Transmission Mirror teleported at random — there was no telling where I would end up. Trembling, I raced to ready my stallion.

I was going back to Castlevania.

Pt 1 I Pt 2

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winedarkthoughts · 8 months ago

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house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

#bts ot7 #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts poly au #bts poly x reader #bts polyamory

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covetyou · 1 year ago

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open hand or closed fist would be fine

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con, vaginal fisting, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V, creampie, praise kink, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.7k chapter summary: You see Joel everywhere, the sight of him alone making you even more desperate. You turn up to his door, drenched from the rain, and let him give you (almost) everything you need.

A/N: I cannot believe there's only one week to go. Thank you so much for all your support. ily 💛

The last few days I've been chanting "fist it fic, fist it fic" whenever I've gone to write for this. They hype has been real and the triumphant and feral SCREAM I let escape my body when it was done. You probably all heard it. And the amount of squeezing and examining my own hand I did this last week? Unreal. I am deeply acquanted with my own fist anatomy now.

4k of this is pure porn, 2.5k of which is fisting and the build up, my fucking god.

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song: cherry wine by Hozier

You see him everywhere. You're really not looking for him, but everywhere you turn it seems he's there too. Turning a corner as you walk your dad to a job. Talking in the street, Tess by his side, her eyes briefly catching yours as you stare, a smirk tugging at her lips when you dart your eyes away.

You even see him at work. He ignores you, of course, turning to your colleagues to pick up food, exchanging flirty quips and a wink with one of them, making her giggle and bat her lashes, before walking away without a single glance at you.

It's driving you mad. You don't want to talk to him, you wouldn't even dare to, but seeing him is sending the thread of want through you scalding hot, burning through your veins. There's no let up and there's no relief, no matter how much you make yourself come.

Thankfully, collection day comes around fast.

Your dad had been good recently, even with the change in weather. He maybe could have stretched his pills further, gone a bit longer between collections, but you were eager to see Joel again, and even more eager to have him look at you, to touch you. Seeing him around so often had done nothing to ease your desperation either, and by the time your free day rolls around you're trying not to bounce off the walls.

And, of course, it's fucking raining. You hold off as long as you can, watching as the rain drizzles consistently from the gray sky for hours. With no sign of letting up, you head out, resigning yourself to a damp walk to Joel's apartment. You're going to be wet by the time you get there anyway, rain or not.

You're not quite wet through when your cold knuckles tap against the wood of his door.

When he answers, he takes your breath away. He's stood there, pants slung low on his waist, towel thrown over his shoulder, hair damp and touselled. He's shirtless, his usual shirt no longer stretched across the width of his shoulders, and you gape at him. If the last few weeks hadn't been enough to send you stupid with want for him, this certainly has sealed the deal.

There's a glass of whisky in his hand and he takes a sip, looking at you, before he says anything.

"Did you not see the rain?" he quips.

Your skin prickles and burns just looking at him, the cold wet from outside already leached from your bones just by setting your eyes on his bare skin. You swallow heavy and he's talking again before your brain can kick into gear.

"You really that desperate, ain't you?" You don't answer him. You know he's not talking about the pills any more and you know he already knows the answer.

His eyes roll and he twitches his head to the side. "In," he says, moving from the door, taking another sip of whisky. "And take this shit off, I don't want you drippin' on my floor."

You take your coat off and hang it on a hook on the wall, reaching for the button on your pants just as he throws the towel at you.

"Dry yourself off."

You keep your eyes on him the entire time you strip off the rest of your wet clothes. Now that the towel is gone from his shoulder you can see everything - every scar and blemish on his broad torso, every curl of hair. You've never seen him shirtless and you want to take in every part of him now whilst you still can. He might dress whilst you blink and then the moment will be over. Who knows when you'll see him like this again.

"So, you're so desperate for it you came here in the rain, huh?" He asks, taking another sip from his glass. You don't answer. You're stood in just your panties now, grateful for the warmth in his apartment, but that does nothing to stop the pebbling of your nipples and the shudder that creeps down your spine.

"Dad's out of his meds, he -" you start.

"Sure. S'always the pills," he scoffs. "Don't think I ain't seen you lookin' at me. It's like I'm being fuckin' watched with you out there."

You couldn't really help it, if you saw him your eyes were magnetically drawn to him for as long as possible. You didn't think you'd been that obvious but, well, you'd not exactly tried to hide it either.

He's approaching you now, whisky glass discarded on the table.

"Look at me," he says, tilting your head up with a finger. You reluctantly drag your eyes away from his chest and meet his gaze. His own eyes are burning into yours, maybe as much as yours are to his. If you didn't know better you'd think he felt as needy as you did. You hope it's even for you specifically and not just needy for a warm, wet hole.

"What are we gonna do with you, huh?" You shrug - you didn't mind what he did with you, to you, you just know you needed it. "Something's got you showing up needy and wet to my door sweetheart, gotta do something about it. Can't have desperate sluts like you lookin' at me all the time without repercussions."

At his words you tense.

"Hm? Is that what you are?" he's whispering to you now. "S'not enough that I'm giving you your daddy's pills, is it? You need me to give you more."

You nod. You need fucking more, anything more.

"Take the rest of this off. Y'know I like lookin'." He pings the waistband of your panties against your hip, the elastic sharp against your cold skin.

He could complain as much as he liked about you watching him walk down the street, but the way you looked at him in those moments would never compare to the way he looked at you now. You liked him looking.

You quickly tug your panties down your legs, wobbling as you stand upright. You reach a hand out to him to steady yourself, not wanting the humiliation of falling on your ass in front of him and desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips again. His hand reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can make contact.

His thumb brushes across the inside of your wrist. Your heart is hammering and he must be able to feel the thrum of your pulse beneath the thin skin of your wrist. Air huffs from his nose, a single dry laugh coming from him.

"You're wet already, ain't you? I can tell, sweetheart. Always been able to tell." Then he strokes a single thick finger over your body - across your arms, over the swell of your breast, down the valley between your tits, across your belly, stopping at your mound and pulling away.

"Let's get you what you need then, huh," he tucks hair behind your ear, never letting go of your wrist with the other. He's already tugging you to his bedroom when you nod, closing the door to keep in the warmth.

He drops your wrist, telling you to make yourself comfortable as he moves to the window, closing the curtains, keeping yet more heat in.

You climb onto his bed, scooting yourself up and sitting yourself by his pillows, watching his every move.

"It's been a while since I got a proper look at that cunt," he says as he turns around to approach his dresser.

You spread your legs for him instantly, no shame and no heat in your cheeks as your thighs fall flat to the bed, spread so wide the stretch in your hips is almost painful.

He laughs at you, shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he pulls his belt from its loops, placing it onto the dresser before popping open the top button on his pants. You're still staring at his crotch, willing the zipper down with your mind, when he's crawling on his knees toward you, a rough hand smoothing up your calf as he goes.

With no warning, hands clamp around your ankles and you're being yanked down toward him, slipping down the bed and back hitting the mattress with a thud, knocking the air from you.

Joel lets out a deep breath, moving closer to you, massaging your thighs in both of his hands, squeezing the meat of them and dragging thick fingers across your flesh over and over until his fingers meet at the crease of your thigh.

"Jus' look at her," he breathes, eyes transfixed on your cunt. You roll your hips, pulling a smile across his face as he tuts at you. "So desperate."

You nod, trying to hold back a slew of begging as his hands run across your thighs and finally - fucking finally - pull you apart and start stroking your lips, spreading slick over your pussy with one thick finger.

"Barely even touched any of this yet," he says tickling your clit with his index finger before dragging back down through the wetness of your cunt, "and just look at you. You're a fuckin' mess."

You wiggle at the touch of his finger, shifting your thighs to ease the stretch in your hips, and he's holding you down with both hands, staring at you with a stern look.

"I know you want me to spank your pussy again sweetheart, but keep 'em open, lemme see the mess you made."

You moan at the mention of it, tempted to let your legs twitch closed to feel the clap of his hand on your cunt.

"If you're good I'll spank your pussy another time," he smirks as he says it, but you hope he means it.

"I'll be good," you promise in a whisper, watching as his eyebrows raise at your words, shaking his head.

He covers your bared cunt with his hand rubbing softly, gently jerking the nub of your clit between his fingers before spreading them and ducking his head down to swipe his tongue where your clit peaks out from between his fingers. "We'll see how good you are."

His hand drags down you, two fingers stroking your empty hole before pushing in smoothly in one movement. Your cunt is so slick there's no resistance, and Joel notices.

"So easy," he taunts, looking down to where his fingers push into you. "You been keepin' her stuffed at home?"

You had. You couldn't lie. Tess's fingers had felt so good in you, you often stuffed three of your own into yourself and pretended they were hers. You look at him and nod, watching as a soft Fuck falls from his lips. He pushes his fingers down inside you, stretching your hole open as he massages from side to side. The deep pull makes you groan.

You feel his teeth graze your clit, making you buck into his hand just as he's pulling his fingers from you and replacing them with three, sliding them in and flexing them inside of you. He licks at you once more before sitting back on his haunches, watching your hole grip tightly around his fingers.

"My dick not been enough for you?" he suddenly asks, pulling down his zipper and tugging at his pants to free his cock.

You start to shake your head. "It is I-"

"Don't lie to me," he cuts you off, distracting you with the increased movement of his fingers in and out of your hole as he suckles your clit back into his mouth. He releases with a wet pop, giving your cunt a broad lick, sitting back once again. You watch him tug on his cock, fingers still buried in you, thighs still spread and pussy dripping.

He's reaching now, over the side of the bed, fingers keeping a slow pace inside you, the slow drag of them stretching your walls as he flexes and swirls them in you. You hear a familiar snick and look down to see a bottle just as a cold trickle of oil hits your clit, drizzling down to fingers spread into your pussy, funneling it in. He removes them, rubbing broadly over your entire mound with his hand, smearing oil everywhere. You don't think about how fucking long it'll take to wash off this time, you just think of how wet he's making you, staring burning heat straight into your core as he massages your oiled cunt with his heavy hand. You were already a slip and slide, but now you're impossibly wet, cunt and inner thighs shining with oil and your own slick.

His fingers push back into you, the stretch move obvious than before, when you realize four of his thick fingers are seated in you.

"Good girl," he says as you moan, feeling so stretched but not full enough, you want him deeper, you want more. "Your own fingers feel as good as this?"

"Not even close," you say around another moan. Of course they fucking didn't. You wondered if he ever thought about what you did to yourself in the dark of night, what you did the chase the feelings you'd only been able to get in his apartment. You wonder if he ever touched himself to thoughts of you too.

"That's cause a needy pussy like this needs more than your little fingers."

You nod. He'd never said anything more true - you needed more.

"I'll give you more, sweetheart."

A wicked smile pulls at his lips, sending a thrill through you. You'd stopped expecting anything of your visits to the nice apartment on the other side of the QZ, leaving your fate up to Joel entirely the minute you stepped through the door. You could trust him, in some sick twisted way. Somehow, he'd never showed you reason not to.

His fingers push in, curling and squelching inside you as he fucks you with them. A calloused thumb finds your clit, rubbing slick oil across the bared surface of it, making you squirm, throwing your head back as you plead with him.

"That too much?" You shake your head. "Didn't think so. It ain't enough, is it?" You say nothing, just whine through the wet sound if your pussy being fucked by four of his fingers.

There's more pressure, a deeper push of his hand, the ridge of his knuckles stretching and burning the entrance of your pussy as he pushes. The feeling startles you, and you shoot up onto your elbows.

"Wait," you gasp, "What-uhhh."

"Shhh," he says, pushing a hand down onto your lower belly to keep you still.

His slicked thumb never stops circling your clit just as the widest part of his knuckles breach you - he can feel a jerk of movement as the rock of your hips into his palm, desperate to take more of him in, is stopped by the weight of his hand on your belly.

"Fuck, that's it sweetheart. You can take it, just a little more." His words, as always, generate a surge of wetness from you, and with that his four fingers slip into you past the solid ridge of his knuckles and down to the palm of his hand. The only thing stopping him from slipping into you completely is the jut of his thumb.

You pant and still, willing yourself to relax, but instead whine with the immense fullness in your cunt. The length of Joel's cock had prepared you for intrusions battering your cervix, but his impressive girth was nothing compared to the width of his hand.

"Oh I know, I know, that's so much ain't it. So much for this little pussy." He teases a finger around the swollen skin of your hole as he admires the look of his fingers buried in your cunt.

He places a gentle kiss onto your clit, the gentlest he's ever been with you. "Doin' so good for me." He kitten licks the sensitive nub, distracting you from the stretch in your cunt, and before you know it you're liquid beneath him again, writhing on his bed and moaning his name as you get teased closer to the edge once again.

"So good. Reckon you can take it all, sweetheart." He had a knack for asking questions that were never really questions.

"N-no, I can't, it's too much," you beg, his fingers still wedged deep inside you. "This feels good, I promise."

He begins to move his hand, flexing his fingers at first, before twisting his palm this way and that. You stare, mesmerized between your legs as the opening of your cunt stretches across his twisted palm.

"S'not gonna be too much. You'll like it, I promise. Look," he pulls his four fingers from you, the burn so much less this time, and you feel yourself stretch over the bones of his knuckles again before the pressure releases and you're left totally empty.

You whine with the loss.

"She just wants to be filled up. She's gapin' and empty right now, sweetheart. She needs it." He kisses your clit again, holding you open with thumbs that you feel slip inside of you and tug you apart.

He plunges four fingers into you again, drawing them together as much as he can as he fucks you past his knuckles again in one movement, aided by the slick of oil that's now dribbling out of you and making a mess on his sheets. You only just feel his knuckles pop inside you before they're pulling out again, the sensation making you feel weak as you let your arms fall and drop back onto his bed once more.

When he goes to push back in, his thick thumb joins his fingers. You feel it as his knuckles approach your cunt, the stretch even more this time.

"Wait, no I can't do it," the words tumble from your mouth in a panic. You're gripping his sheets, trying not to slam your legs closed at the intrusion of most of his fist seated inside you.

"Yeah you can, you can take it. You wanted more. Remember how empty it feels?"

You nod. You remembered, you felt so fucking empty without him inside you.

A slick hand smooths up your thigh, calming you. "Then lie back and close your eyes, sweetheart. Greedy girls gotta get their pussies stuffed."

The hand never stops caressing your thighs, dragging oil slicked fingers up and down your skin, turning you to putty with each stroke. By the time he's pushing in again, your legs are pinned back, spread obscenely, just for him, as your pussy stretches wide over his fingers.

His hand stills on the apex of your thighs, holding you down, stopping your hips from moving as he tries to seat his entire fist in your desperate cunt. You start to whine when his knuckles pull at your entrance, the sting of the stretch stronger again now.

"You can take it, you can take it," he murmurs, spurring you on.

You breathe deeply, uncontrollable whines falling from your mouth, the stretch is so much you feel like you might burst. You take a deep shuddering breath to steady yourself, and as you breath out Joel pushes his fist in harder, any resistance giving way to his force.

The sound he tears from you as he pushes his fist fully into your pussy is animalistic, guttural. It roars from you and he continues to fuck his fist into you until your hole is clamped down on the thickness of his wrist. You throw your head back and reach for him, fingers touching his where they rest on your leg and you grab onto them.

"Fuck yeah, that's it. That's fuckin' it." He lets you grip his fingers, still moaning as the blood pounds in your ears.

He's smiling up at you, almost laughing, when you next look down.

"Got my whole fuckin' hand in your pussy sweetheart. Hole is so stuffed and stretched out now."

His cock had been a stretch at one time. You were usually so wet that it parted you easily, but you could still feel that ache inside you as you gave way to him. This was new. Even rock hard and standing to attention, his cock had a softness to it. His hand did not. Calloused palms, rough fingers and bone did not yield or give way. The ridges of his fist felt foreign inside your cunt, and yet part of you still wanted to ask for more.

One breath, then another, and another, and your fingers are relaxing their death grip on his own. He twists his hand inside you from side to side just a fraction. Feeling so much moving and writhing inside you feels strange, but the fullness in your cunt and the depth of his hand have you moaning again, throwing your head to the side.

"That good?"

"Yeah, 'sgood," you whine.

His hand twists more, the ridge of his knuckles dragging on your inner walls.

"Ohhhhhh."

"Oh fuck, that's it," he says, pulling his fingers away from your grip and finally letting go of your hips.

You hear the wet sound of his oiled hand on his cock as he strokes himself, gripping his tip tightly and jerking it slowly at the sight of his hand buried in your cunt. Your pussy pulses around his fist as you watch his thumb swipe at a bead of cum about to drip off the tip of his cock and onto his pants to join a wet patch forming there. For all the mess you were making, it seemed he was making plenty of his own.

"Sit up now, want you to watch," he's saying, letting go of his cock and stroking around your stretched hole, dragging more wetness up to your clit.

Joel moves his fist, twisting this way and that, before dragging it back from you. His hand barely releases from your cunt, the edge of you stretching over the lowest part of his palm, before plunging back in. His eyes are locked on your pussy, watching his fist gently fuck into you. You groan at the sight, at the feeling.

"That feels good, huh?"

"Yeah," you whine. "I wanna cry," you're suddenly saying, because it's true, it's so much, so good, that you want to do nothing more than sob.

"That's because you've been so desperate for it, sweetheart," he says, stroking your clit more firmly now as his hand continues its movement in and out of you, barely breaching you before punching in a little further each time. You can see your lower belly bulge and move with each movement of his fist.

"Please," you're begging again. "It's so much. It's too much." You could be begging him to stop, for more, to come, to take it out, you don't know.

"S'too much for your needy little pussy, I know, but I ain't takin' it out 'til you come on it."

"Oh, fuck."

You almost come there and then, but then he's lowering his face back to your pussy, replacing the roll of his fingers with the lick of his tongue.

You start to garble, a blurred mess of words falling from your mouth. You have no clue what you're saying, you just know that you can't stop, can't do anything but focus on the whole fist fucking into your cunt, stuffing you full as he suckles your clit so delicately.

"Stretching you out, no one's gonna wanna use you after this. Goin' to ruin this pretty pussy."

You start begging again. "Please, please ruin me. Ruin my pussy. Please, please." You feel him smile into you clit and you know you're done for.

He latches fully onto you, sucking hard as he flicks his tongue over and over. His hand punches in harder, faster, fucking you and filling you more than anything before. Your insides feel like they're being shifted with each thrust of his fist, your womb jerked forward and back. You're so near, so close and then the hand on your thigh pushes on your belly, feeling each deep punch of his fist as he bottoms out.

The pressure builds and explodes almost instantly, your whole pussy clenching down on his fist, drawing him in with each pulse of your orgasm. Your hips rock, thighs try to clamp shut around his entire body as you scream - scream - into the cavern of his bedroom. He doesn't stop, doesn't relent, fucking his hand into you deeper and deeper as you come undone beneath him.

Only when you stop writhing and your back falls flat against the bed does Joel stop, disengaging from your clit with one final pop, stilling his hand inside you.

He watches as you come down, glassy eyes staring into space as you sigh in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of your life.

"Was that enough?" he asks you as he kisses along your mound. You're shaking your head before you even realize what you're doing.

"Such a needy hole that even stuffed full of my hand it ain't enough?"

You moan, shaking your head. No. It's not enough. It feels so much, so full, stuffed to the brim, but it's not enough.

"Oh fuck, 'course it's not enough for you, sweetheart. Look how fuckin' greedy she is. You want more fingers?"

"No, no," your head is filled with as much clarity as delirium. You don't know where you are but you know exactly what you want, what you need.

"But you need more, sweetheart," he taunts, pushing his fist into you more.

"Hnnnng. Your cock," you gasp out. "Please. Your cock. I need your cock."

"Not sure you're even gonna be able to feel it after this, but I knew I'd have you beggin' for it sooner or later."

He's tugging his hand from you, gently pulling his entire fist out of your body as you bear down and groan with the pressure. It releases with a wet squelch and you watch as he immediately places it over your mound and lower stomach.

"All of that was in there," he says, almost in disbelief. He looks down at your pussy, still gaping. Thick fingers drag back down, past your over sensitized clit and around your hole, watching as you bring yourself together.

He moves closer to you, moving his slicked hand from your body to his own, covering his length with it as his palm slips over himself with ease, massaging his balls before teasing his tip. It's so angry and red now, desperate for some kind of relief, relief you want to give him.

"If you want it that bad, you're gonna have to put it in."

You grab at him, his cock looking huge in your hand. You line him up, dragging his glistening head through your folds before pushing him to your entrance. You roll your hips, feeling the ridge of him drag across your hole before you rock against him, letting the tip of him breach you. You feel your stretched walls pull around him, letting him in, wanting to swallow him whole.

"That's it sweetheart, you put it in," Joel coos, stroking your thighs as your rock yourself onto his tip. He starts to rock his hips with you, plunging his cock into your further as your hand still grips him.

You want to reach out and touch him. Run your hands across the planes of his body, feel how his muscles stretch and contract with every movement. You're still instead, holding his cock as he fucks it inside you.

"Let go now, let me all the way in." You let go of him, gripping your own thigh instead of pulling him toward you like you so desperately want, and he's bottoming out inside you with a deep groan. His cock retreats almost all the way before plunging back in to the hilt again, and you gasp when his tip collides with your cervix.

He watches your face as he bottoms out each time, eyes locked with yours. You feel so close to him, he's so near, you could just reach out and touch him, hold him to you, kiss him.

Before you know it, the world is spinning. He's pulled out of you and flipped you onto your front, laying you flat on his bed. He pulls your ass cheeks apart, notches himself back at your abused hole and pushes in with one easy movement. You grip the sheets, stifling your gasp into his pillow before he's yanking it away from you.

"Nuh-uh, lemme hear those pretty noises. Sound so good when you're moaning on my cock."

You let him hear you, not holding back a single moan as he fucks into you from behind, his weight heavy on your legs. His body falls forward, and he's threading strong arms under your body, hooking them over your shoulders. He holds you tight, the closest thing to a hug you've ever felt from him, as he pulls you down onto him with every thrust.

You're about to turn your head, turn so you can see him, so he can run his nose along your cheek, but a hand grabs your hair, yanking your head back as he slams his hips down into yours.

"Fuck," he gasps into your ear. "Can you even feel that? Can you even feel my cock?" You can feel every part, every ridge dragging across your insides in ways you've never felt from anyone before. You nod your head, hair tugged in his grip as you move.

"Oh fuck yeah, had my whole fucking fist in you but you're still clenching around my dick."

Your mind is blank, you feel dumb from his cock and his fist, fucked out whilst still being fucked. The best you can do is moan out a garbled "yeah" before going back to unintelligible babbling and moans.

"Good girl. Always takin' it all so well. This pretty pussy'll take anythin' I give her, won't she?" he whispers to you, like it's some kind of secret and not the most obvious thing in the world. He nuzzles your hair - he nuzzles your fucking hair - and you're soaring, floating above the clouds on a high you will never come down from.

"Joel, fuuuck."

He's all around you, warm breath on your face, grunts straight into your ear, the sweat of his chest slick on your back, his broad hands anchoring him down to you. You feel his whole body start to tense, shaking and quivering. His hips stutter, slamming into you hard once, twice more before he groans deep, burying his head in your neck.

His weight relaxes on top of you, pushing all air out of your lungs, but he's gone again before you start to struggle for breath, pulling his cock from your used hole. He spreads you, looking down at your pussy, pink and swollen from being so used, first by his fist and then by his cock. Cum dribbles out of you, down to your clit, and he takes his softening cock, swiping it up your folds and to your ass, squeezing out the last dribbles of his cum and wiping his tip on your ass cheek.

You lie still, hoping he'll lie next to you for a while, but his weight leaves the bed and there's the rustle of his jeans as he pulls them on. Before you can even turn around he's opened the door and left you alone, still dripping his cum.

You flop back down, face into his pillows, mind reeling. He'd been so close, felt so near. You could've reached out and touched him, grabbed him, but you didn't. And then the moment was gone. Every time you got near to something, it was gone before you could make up your mind. You were so frustrated you could scream.

Instead, you bury your head into his pillow and breathe deep, calming yourself.

The bed shifts again soon after. You didn't hear him come back in, but Joel's rough hands are lifting your legs and pulling the fabric of your panties up to your knees before he climbs on top of you and yanks them up the rest of the way. He massages your ass in his hands, smearing the remnants of his cum into your panties with the action before climbing off of you.

"You gotta go," he says, simply.

You turn round immediately, panties crooked and not quite covering your pussy. You scramble for an excuse, a reason to stay.

"What if my clothes are still wet." You want more time. You want to stay longer, cocooned in the warmth of this room. Maybe if you stay longer you'll get to feel the weight of him on top of you again.

"It's still rainin' outside so they'll be wet when you get home anyway," he doesn't look at you as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. "Pills are on the table."

And he's stalking out of the room again. You see him flop down onto the couch and pick up a book, as if nothing had even happened, as if the hand holding the pages open hadn't just been buried in you.

There's a chill in the room as you stand. Your clothes are still wet as you put them on. The pills burn your hand as you pocket them, wanting to do nothing more than throw them back at him. If they were for you, you would.

He doesn't walk you to the door, doesn't see you out. You unlatch it and twist the handle yourself, pulling it open and stepping through.

"You gotta stop lookin' at me so much," he calls out as you go to leave. "Not gonna protect you if some asshole thinks you're one of mine."

You don't turn to look at him, you just leave, slamming the door behind you as you make to walk home in the rain.

You didn't even want him to kiss you anyway.

next part

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goodlucktai · 23 days ago

Text

raised on little light (3/?)

rise of the tmnt word count: 4k as you can see the chapter count has become a mystery even to me, i really was not anticipating another leo pov and yet the blue boy got me. as always big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for making this au richer and more lived-in than it would have been without them title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

2020

Leo is being carried.

The rest of the world is a shapeless blur of muted color that slides in and out of focus the second he lets his mind wander, so he clings to what he knows. He’s three-fourths little brother down to his very core, and he knows exactly what it feels like to be picked up and taken somewhere by someone who wants him to go to bed, or come eat dinner at the table, or just be held until some danger is gone and a safe place is found.

The footsteps beneath him echo in all directions even though they’re only resolutely headed in one, and there is a constant dull drum of water moving through pipes, punctuated by drips and splashes, and a stale, pungent smell that coats everything like a layer of growth.

One sewer tunnel probably sounds like any other, but Leo would like to believe that he knows the way home when he hears it. He runs the risk of being wrong and finding himself someplace unfamiliar but he opens his eyes to take a peek anyway.

It’s dark, with only passing moments of light from grates overhead to see by, and it takes a few more minutes than it should for Leo to realize that he does know where he is. He knows the poorly designed clusters of pipes, the faded brickwork covered in faded spray paint that a much younger Michelangelo left there before he ran out of room and had to branch out farther, the upcoming intersection with a maintenance tunnel to the left that always floods when it rains, where four little kids used to race paper boats.

Home, Leo’s heart cries out. He’s so close now. For a crazy minute back there he thought that he’d never go home again.

Belatedly, he thinks to pull his gaze inward, up toward the face of the person carrying him. Leo’s at an angle where he can really only observe a spotted cheek and a stubborn chin in profile.

The guy who appeared out of nowhere to save him, the stranger who isn’t really a stranger if the ancestral magic in Leo’s chest that reaches eagerly towards him is to be believed. A bigger turtle who did what bigger turtles always did and carried the smaller one.

Giorgio—that’s what he said his name was. Another painter.

Another brother, Leo thinks, catching that thought with both hands and holding tight to it before it can disappear. It’s as quiet and slippery as a fish and Leo’s out here on a boat without a net.

“You know the way,” Leo says. It must be kind of abrupt from the way Gio’s eyes dart down to his in surprise. “You said you did,” Leo adds, to prove he’d been paying attention. “But how? Are you sure you’re real? Or are you a psycho—psy—pomp—uh—the thing that guides people’s souls when they die. You can tell me, I can take it.”

If this is death it’s not too bad. He’d been imagining something a lot worse. But he can see Gio frown, and feels him shift Leo a little closer, as if daring any other monster lurking in the dark to try its worst.

“You’re not dying,” the spotted turtle says. “You’ll be fine.”

Leo assesses himself. Everything is a little floaty, a little hard to hold onto, and his head is killing him. He feels the way he did in the prison dimension, where gravity was an afterthought, half-heartedly doing its job. This feels alarmingly like that.

He wants to believe he’s out, that home is just a few city blocks away, that he’ll follow his little brother’s paint trails all the way there, but he didn’t earn that miracle. It’s hard to understand why he would have gotten one in the first place.

He was so sure he was done for. Doubt creeps in. He tries not to be afraid.

It’s not about me, Leo thinks, but the mantra is losing some of its steel. He’s still that stupid, selfish kid that nearly got everyone killed, after all, he really hasn’t learned a thing. Even though he knows what he deserves, he still wants the other thing. He wants to go home.

Eventually, Leo realizes that a faint low buzzing in his ear is actually humming. Gio is humming. It’s an unasked for, undeserved comfort, but it soothes the sudden sting of fear like lidocaine. Leo absorbs it, then abruptly something clicks in the back of his mind and the song resolves itself into one he recognizes.

Three little birds sat on my window…

“Oh,” he says, “I love this song. You must not be an alien after all, not if you know what good music sounds like.”

“Is that how that works?” Gio stops humming to ask. He’s not smiling, but his voice sounds like one anyway.

“Hey, I’m the expert here,” Leo says importantly, proud of himself when he only slurs on the sibilants. “You’ve passed the first part of my litmus test. Now I just need you to select all the images that contain bridges.”

“Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.” Leo is about to explain the joke when Gio goes on, completely straight-faced, “We don’t have CAPTCHAs on my planet.”

It takes a moment to register—a longer moment than it should, which Leo is happy to blame on his concussion and Gio’s frankly amazing poker face—but when it does, Leo can’t help but laugh.

He hasn’t laughed since the invasion started, and for awhile back there he was pretty sure he’d never laugh again, but now he’s wheezing breathlessly even though it sparks pain all through his ribs, half-smothered against Gio’s shoulder.

When he thinks to look, he sees Gio smiling for real this time.

I don’t know where you came from, Leo thinks, or maybe says out loud, but I’m glad you’re here.

Gio’s step falters a little bit, but he keeps walking.

The closer they get to the turnstiles that serve as the front entrance to the lair, the more clearly Leo can make out raised voices. The confused rambling in his brain goes quiet and his heart sits up at attention, because it sounds like Mikey is shouting. It sounds like he’s crying.

“Oh, no,” Leo says. “We gotta—hey, we gotta get in there.”

He is abruptly aware of his missing swords, the lack of any suitable stand-in for him to transform into a sword. He’s tapped out, he doesn’t think he could so much as walk a few steps on his own, but he won’t let that stop him. He would portal to the moon a hundred times if it would take that grief-adjacent anger out of his baby brother’s tone.

Gio doubles his pace, because he’s clearly a turtle with his priorities in order, hopping the turnstiles and shooting like an arrow through the messy living room toward the garage where all the noise seems to be coming from.

Mikey’s still shouting. The sound is grating and horrible, like it’s hurting his throat to do it, like it’s about to either ratchet up into a shriek or double over into a howl at any moment. Leo can’t make out what he’s saying, but he doesn’t need to know to be unsettled by it. He’s never heard Mikey sound this way before, not even when they lost Gram-gram and the first lair and had to leave dad behind. What could possibly be worse than all of that?

“That’s my sunshine,” Leo tells Gio seriously. “Shouldn’t sound like that at all. World might still be ending.”

“As far as he’s concerned, it is,” Gio replies. “He thinks his big brother died.”

Leo’s stomach lurches sickly, an instant, intense reaction, because his mind connects ‘big brother’ straight to Raphie and then draws another line to connect Raphie to ‘died,’ and then everything falls out from under him like the ground is gone and the sky is gone and it’s just bleak empty horrible nothing in all directions.

Only he can hear Raph’s warbling rumble from down the hall now, all thick and syrupy, stuttering in a way that’s unlike him. It puts a hard pause on Leo’s panic, yanking up the emergency brake. Raph is alive.

His twin is also Mikey’s big brother, and maybe that’s who Gio meant, but now that Leo has had a moment of stunned disorientation—confusion that is sitting with itself instead of just screaming wordlessly in both his ears—he realizes Donnie’s little light in Leo’s soul is as warm and alive as ever. So is Raph’s, and Mikey’s, and April’s, and dad’s. Their constellation hasn’t gone dark anywhere. If anything, it’s one star brighter than it used to be.

Then they’re in the doorway and there’s no more time to think because Leo is staring across the garage at his family, who are all staring back at him. The sudden silence rings for a very long, stretching second. They’re all there—everyone Leo held close to his heart in hell, everyone he was ready to die for.

They’re all staring at him like they’ve just seen a ghost. They’re all very still, like the ghost might disappear if they’re not careful.

This is when Leo should say something. He had—back in the prison dimension, he had so much he wanted to say to all of them. So many last words and goodbyes.

When he opens his mouth, what spills out is, “I’m sorry.” He’s looking at Raph, his Raphie, whose right eye is inflamed and puffed closed, whose left shoulder still hasn’t been bandaged by anyone. It must hurt. Leo hates that it hurts, that it’s his fault it hurts. “I’m sorry,” he tries again. “You’re my hero. That’s what I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly Donnie is right there, so fast he must have teleported, which is not a thing that Leo knew Donnie knew how to do. He wastes no time pulling Leo into a crushing hug and they sink to the floor beneath Leo’s weight.

Leo’s ribs and leg scream in protest but that’s their own problem. Donnie’s snuffling wetly, sad softshell sounds that make Leo’s heart crack right down the middle, that hurt like knives in his stomach, that override every single other thing in the universe. He hugs Donnie back as hard as he’s capable of. He’s not letting go until someone wrestles him away.

A smaller body collides with them both and the embrace changes shape. Donnie would only loosen this particular brand of death grip if it was to include their baby brother. Mikey burrows right in, shoving his damp face against Leo’s shoulder, his whole body heaving with how hard he’s sobbing.

And then they’re all seized in huge arms and held securely against a rumbling chest that Leo would know anywhere. He’d know Raph even if he was deaf and blind and numb, he’d know him at the end of the world. The whole world.

“Leo,” Raph sobs. It’s all he can seem to manage, so he says it again. “Leo.”

“You scared me so bad,” Mikey chokes out. “Lee, I thought, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Leo can’t move more than to press his cheek to the top of Mikey’s head. “Reports of my death have been greatly—”

“Make one single joke and I’ll murder you, and no jury on earth would convict me for it,” Donnie hisses against his temple, still roughly more turtle than person.

“Noted,” Leo mumbles, and then makes an upset sound because Raph is setting them all down and Mikey is peeling away just barely and he doesn’t know why they’re letting go even that much until familiar hands are cupping his face. “Daddy,” he realizes, going boneless. “I missed you.”

It’s nowhere near big enough to describe how badly he wanted his dad when he was on the other side of that portal. He doesn’t know any words big enough.

“I missed you, too, Baby Blue,” Splinter says, stroking the stripes on Leo’s cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, unendingly gentle, the way nothing in the prison dimension was gentle. “Luckily we will not have another opportunity to miss each other for a very long time because you are grounded for the next century.”

An excuse to stay home forever is not a bad thing to the person Leo is currently, but he still has a brand to maintain, so he says, “Hmf. I want my lawyer.”

“She’s already filed a motion to withdraw from the case, on grounds of her client being an uncooperative little shit,” April says from somewhere above him, voice drawing in closer as she presses a firm kiss to his forehead. “You’re doing the time.”

“This whole justice system is a scam,” Leo says. He has to blink hard so he doesn’t lose focus, there’s still one person he hasn’t put eyes on. He’ll have bad dreams if he falls asleep before he checks in on everybody. “Where’s Junior? He’ll be on my side.”

Something uncomfortable and guilty steals across his sibling’s faces—the faces Leo can see, anyway. Donnie still has his tucked in the crook of Leo’s neck and shoulder and doesn’t seem inclined to change that anytime soon. Raph ducks out of the way a little, and Mikey says, “He’s—yeah, he’s here—”

The human boy who shuffles forward is wringing his hands, face ashen and tacky with old tears and eyes glassy with new ones. He looks more anxious and sick to his stomach now than he did when he was unwillingly pitched through a time gateway by the remnants of his doomed family. The second he meets Leo’s eyes he crumples to his knees so he’s looking up at Leo instead of down, this poor kid they all owe so much.

“I’m so sorry,” Casey says. His voice doesn’t tremble or break but there’s barely any air behind it, like it’s taking everything he has to get the words out. “I closed the portal on you. I killed you. I’m so sorry, sensei.”

Leo hates everything about this. He lurches forward, gets exactly nowhere with all the people holding him, but manages to free an arm and snatch up one of Casey’s restless hands.

“Three things,” he says, wishing he could be more eloquent, “and you need to listen.”

“I’m listening,” Casey whispers.

“I told you to close the portal. I put that on you. That wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have made you do that. Right after you lost your dad. That was just—horrible for you—and when my brain isn’t a scrambled egg I’ll make it up to you. I will,” he adds fiercely, when Casey opens his mouth to interject. “Hush. You’re still listening. The second thing—you didn’t kill me, I’m right here. Alive, not a ghost.”

Not a ghost, he thinks, because no one would go all the way to the prison dimension to save a ghost. And no one would hum for a ghost, or carry one home, or share a stupid joke to make the darkness around them not so dark. Not a ghost.

“And—you’re still listening?” Leo checks. Casey nods jerkily like a puppet on a string. Leo squeezes his hand and says, “You saved us. You saved everybody. Don’t be sorry. You’re a lifesaver, Casey Jones.”

That child soldier comportment finally dissolves enough for the shaken seventeen-year-old underneath it all to peer out, devastated, orphaned, displaced. He holds Leo’s hand in both of his own and nods again.

“How did you get out, Leo?” Raph asks, absurdly tentative as he asks the question they’re probably all wondering. He sounds afraid to jinx his good luck.

“New brother,” Leo says. “Who is not imaginary. Or an alien. He was tested extensively and passed with flying colors.”

“Good to know,” April says, gently stroking his sore head the way he could remember her doing every time he was sick since the age of seven. Then she pauses. “Wait, did you say—”

It’s funny, they’re all ninjas or ninja-adjacents, and they still managed to completely forget about the whole entire extra mutant turtle in the room. The turtle who carried Leo here, who Donnie extracted Leo from in the first place, who has been quietly observing their reunions this entire time.

So overall, situational awareness is definitely an area that needs some improvement, but in their defense it’s been one hell of a day.

Gio, for his part, is as good as a statue in the doorway. Every warm hint of feeling Leo managed to thaw out of him is back behind a resting murder face, that face that stared down the Krang General without flinching.

“Hi,” he says once the entire room is staring at him, as unflappable as ever. “Gio,” he adds, by way of introduction.

He’s so cool, Leo thinks, or maybe says out loud, if the sidelong looks his siblings give him are any indication. It’s hard to keep track when all he wants to do is lay his aching head down for roughly fifty consecutive hours.

“Oh,” Mikey says, wide-eyed. It’s a sentiment echoed on Donnie and Raph’s faces, too.

They’re letting themselves feel it, recognizing him the way Leo did in that connected place where their ninpo lives—the steadfast red mountain, and brilliant purple lightning, and cheerful orange bonfire, and mischievous blue wind, the landscape that Leo knows as well as he knows his own face in the mirror.

There’s another feeling there now, another color; a fifth presence. Soft, unassuming gray that could turn stormy in an instant. Calm water meeting the shore at low tide. Miles away yet, not quite close enough to touch, but undeniable. A piece they hadn’t even realized was missing until it wasn’t anymore.

“Little Spot?” Splinter blurts. He looks rattled. If he wasn’t kneeling on the floor already he might have fallen over. He pushes himself upright, bracing himself on Raph’s shoulder, and says, “It is you. One of my sweet baby turtles. But how can it be you? I watched—the day we escaped the lab, a machine went haywire, and you were—”

“The light you saw back then was a portal,” Gio says. His tone gives absolutely nothing away. He could just as easily be talking to anyone about any old thing. “It didn’t kill me. It just took me someplace else.”

“A portal,” Splinter says numbly. “All this time, one of my babies has just been—someplace else.”

“Splints, how can you be so sure?” April says, more out of journalistic curiosity than any real disbelief.

Splinter beckons at Gio with both hands. There’s a brief, stilted pause on Gio’s end, and then he obediently folds to his knees so the rat can reach him. He looks like the very last thing he’s expecting is to be held the way Leo was held just minutes ago, his spotted face cradled carefully in his dad’s hands. Suddenly he looks his age.

“Yes, look at that,” Splinter says warmly. “He has my eyes, just as his brothers do. There is no mistake. He is one of ours.”

From the way Gio blinks, it’s his first time hearing anything like that. His stillness now is more aligned with a prey animal than a badass alien-killing predator, as if he’s keeping himself safe by not moving a single inch or even breathing visibly. Leo feels a pang in his stomach, made lonely just by proximity to that expression on his new brother’s face.

Stick around, Georgie, Leo thinks, and you’ll forget what it felt like to be alone. I promise, I swear.

“Oh, what?” Mikey whines thickly, rubbing his face dry on Leo’s arm like the brat he is. “We had another brother this whole time and we’re only just getting him now? That’s not fair!”

“Clemmys guttata, an aquatic turtle,” Donnie says, bright-eyed with interest. “Clearly a man of distinguished taste. I’ll need a blood sample.”

“Donnie,” April says with an air of exhaustion.

“Raph has so many questions,” Raph admits.

“I’ll answer them,” Gio says calmly. If he’s overwhelmed, it would be nearly impossible to prove it. “But first Leo needs a medic.”

It’s comical the way everyone springs into action the second they finish processing that statement—or it would be, if Leo wasn’t suddenly un-hugged by a whole bunch of people. Displeased, he says, “He doesn’t need a medic, he is a medic. I know exactly which of my bones are broken, thank you very much.”

“You have broken bones?” Donnie snaps. “And you’ve just been sitting on the floor letting us manhandle you like an entire idiot?”

“Infirmary,” Casey announces, already halfway across the room. “Sensei trained me in field medicine, I can help with anything short of open-heart surgery. Are we stocked?”

“Who do you think you’re dealing with?” April says, which means ‘yes, our resident paramedic is pedantic about one thing and one thing only and that’s having enough medical supplies to outlast a zombie apocalypse.’

Leo is scooped up in Raph’s arms, handled much more carefully now that everyone is aware of his not-entirely-intact state. Normally at this point he would be sinking, lulled into uselessness. The adrenaline fading, the individual hurts jumping up and down and waving pompoms to get his attention. He’s so close now to being able to just lay down and let someone else take care of things, but—

But Gio hasn’t made any move to join them. He’s lingering behind, like he’s trying to be respectful of someone else’s family during this difficult time. Or like he’s just waiting for them to forget about him so he can disappear.

Leo’s heart jumps as panic seizes him by the throat and all quiet, peaceful thoughts of passing out go up in smoke.

“Wait,” he blurts, lurching forward so suddenly that Raph almost drops him. “Hey, don’t go.”

What if the Krang comes back? What if Leo gets lost and ends up in the prison dimension again? What if he never got out in the first place? Leo is pretty sure he’s home for real, and he’s almost one-hundred percent positive that everything is okay, but he wants Gio to be here just in case. He wants all his siblings safe where he can see them, including this one.

Leo doesn’t realize he’s reaching until his open hands are taken carefully. Gio holds them and leans in to look right at Leo so Leo can look right at him. His eyes are deep and dark but there’s rich, warm brown in them when the light’s just right. His face could be carved from stone, but it softens for smaller turtles.

Gio glances up at Raph. Leo doesn’t have to look to know that Raph is probably smiling warmly back at him. If Gio is looking for a reason to leave, he won’t find one there.

Donnie is a harder sell on most days, but not on this one. He’s still got one hand wrapped around Leo’s arm. He’s still shivering off and on, like he just had a really close brush with his absolute worst nightmare and now he keeps seeing afterimages of it each time he blinks. Donnie would be willing to make peace with Big Mama and Witch Town and the Purple Dragons all in the same day if they were the ones who brought his twin home—but since it was Gio, he gets the free lifetime pass into Donatello’s good graces, which is a lot like winning the Powerball jackpot on your first try.

And Mikey, of course, is everything bright and sweet and spoiled in the world, beaming at Gio and gearing up to baby brother his way into getting exactly what he wants, accepting no substitutions.

“Come on, at least give us the chance to win you over,” he wheedles. “I’ll make my world-famous breakfast empanadas in the morning if that sweetens the pot!”

Gio seems to have no idea how to look directly at Mikey’s shining face, so he looks down at his own hands instead. Leo holds onto them a little tighter, and it feels almost like being back in the prison dimension, knowing the most important thing he can do is hold on.

Come in already, Leo imagines calling out to the tide, that distant crashing water still dithering off the coast, still making its mind up about making this place its home. We saved a spot for you.

“Stay,” Leo says stubbornly. Unreasonably, maybe. Gio came here from somewhere, and presumably has somewhere to go when he’s done killing aliens and babysitting clingy turtles, but he can belong to them, too, can’t he? They’re all big kids, they can share.

Whoever else loves him out there in the universe must love him enough to share, or they wouldn’t have let him go in the first place.

“Let’s make a deal,” Gio finally offers.

“I’m listening,” Leo replies, game face on.

“If you accept all the medical attention Casey decides you need without sulking or fast-talking or trying to sneak off,” Gio says flatly, that blink-and-you-miss-it humor, “I’ll stay for breakfast.”

Leo gapes at him, game face off. “Uh, hey, new guy, what gave you the impression I would do any of those things?”

Donnie doesn’t bother containing his snort, amusement breaking through the stormy upset on his face, and Mikey laughs out loud. Raph’s chest is rumbling, affectionate and happy, and Gio is gazing at all of them like he knows exactly how much their smiles are worth.

Like he knows exactly how much Leo is worth, and he’s willing to stick around anyway.

“Deal?” Gio says, quiet and kind.

“Yeah.” Leo matches his tone without meaning to, all but whispering, “Deal.”

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt oc #hamato leonardo #hamato michelangelo #hamato raphael #hamato donatello #april o'neil #casey junior #my writing #tmnt fic #the archer au

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milliesfishes · 8 months ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎAll Night౨ৎ꣑ৎ (Pray You Catch Me Part Four)

[fem reader] contains: mentions of pale skin, poisoning, mentions of cheating, mentions of miscarriage, innocent reader, reader cares to some level about snow. pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader summary: (au) you’ve been married to the president of Panem for awhile now, and you thought things were going well, until you find out he’s been cheating (Chapter 4) author’s note: last chapter! I've worked awhile on this one and I hope it's good. About 4k words. This was the ending that made sense for the character, and I hope it's satisfying! Thank you for all the love and support on this series <3 Series Pinterest Board Series Spotify Playlist

The first time you’d gone out since you were engaged, Coriolanus gave you a rose.

It was one of his family’s special ones. You knew it was special, knew the flower was the Snow family’s signature. This gesture was almost more significant than the ring.

As you’d reached for it, your thumb had snagged on one of the thorns, a red pearl of blood blooming from the skin. He’d been a gentleman about it of course, snatching a handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressing it to your finger. As he’d held your bleeding hand in his warm one, those ice blue eyes concerned and, so you’d thought, caring, you’d nearly swooned.

Little had you known, it wasn’t the last time you’d be cut by something of Coriolanus Snow’s.

When you woke up the morning after the gala, he wasn’t there. There was a warm spot in the bed next to you, and you rolled over into it, burying your face in his pillow and inhaling his scent. Sometime last night, he’d taken your dress off, and now you were in one of his shirts, no buttons done. Your underwear was the same color as it, white and lacy.

Immediately, the crush of feelings from the night before overwhelmed you, and you hugged his pillow to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut, legs drawing to your chest. Tears filled your eyes as you recalled all that had happened.

The events of the night flooded your mind like a tidal wave, washing back and forth, replaying, uncovering new details each time. Him carrying you up the stairs. Taking your dress off. Kissing your forehead and telling you to sleep.

Each new facet of information confused you. He was gentle last night. Like he cared about you. The cold, uncaring president of Panem had brushed his fingers over your cheek and told you to stay with him for the night. He’d seemed worried.

Before you’d found out about his infidelity, you’d thought he liked you.

Afterward you were convinced he hated you.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

The complex mind of Coriolanus Snow was an enigma you’d never tried to untangle before because you’d never had to. Now it felt impossibly necessary. He’d cheated on you. He’d hurt you. But last night it’d been like he cared about you, been sorry for how you felt because of him.

It was all a wildfire of tangled contradictions.

A crush of feelings overwhelmed you, and you stayed curled up in a ball on his side of the bed, his pillow hugged tightly to your chest. Your eyes were screwed shut, a pitiful attempt to keep the tears from falling.

There were soft footsteps, and then a weight on the bed next to you. A warm hand placed itself on your thigh, rubbing it soothingly. You inhaled softly, settling into the spot and trying to suppress whatever feelings arose with his touch.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and you opened your eyes, looking up at him. The corners of his lips turned up, just slightly, but you saw it.

You searched his eyes, not even sure what you were looking for anymore. He kept his hand on your thigh, the weight of it comforting to you.

Coriolanus’ hair was damp. He was shirtless and it was clear he’d just showered. He smelled like soap, clean and perfect. You knew you looked a mess, with your curly hair and dried tear tracks staining your cheeks. But the way he looked at you, one would never know that.

You sighed softly and looked away, one of your supposedly withheld tears sliding down your cheek.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, reaching out to catch the tear on his finger, pushing it away.

You tried to look away, but he pulled you into him before you could protest, pressing your face to his shoulder. Weakened from your internal emotional fight, you clung to him, his arms the only solace available.

Coriolanus stroked your hair, his fingers roving over your messy curls. “I like your hair like this,” he mumbled after a long beat of silence. “It’s pretty.”

You didn’t respond, face still buried into him. He was so warm, his skin slightly damp from his shower. It was strange to be so casually held by him after everything. But despite your trying to deny it, you’d missed him.

“Wear it like this for me more often?�� Coriolanus asked quietly, thumb rubbing over your hairline.

Silence.

Sitting up from him, you buried your face in your hands, the pure feeling in you more overwhelming than you could say. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, reaching for you, but you shook your head and he stopped.

“What happened last night,” you inhaled softly, your voice small. “Can never happen again.”

“Which part?” he questioned, his face even.

“Any of it,” you said, removing your hands from your face. “The controlling, the secrets, how vulnerable-” you cut yourself off, realizing you’d gone too far. “None of it.”

“I never meant for you to see me with her,” he said plainly. Coriolanus firmly grasped your hand in his. “It wasn’t what you think.”

“Then what was it?” you asked frustratedly.

“I ended it,” he said firmly, voice hardened, but not toward you.

Your eyes widened slightly, lips parting. An ocean crashed in your ears as you looked at him, trying to find even a hint of a lie in his eyes, but there was none.

He continued. “The day after our anniversary I was…” he trailed off, wincing a little at the thought. “I was supposed to meet her. But I didn’t. Last night she confronted me and I told her it was over.”

A confusing mix of emotions were released upon you. Anger at the situation, at him for ever stooping so low and thinking it wouldn’t affect you. Guilt, because in a way, you felt as though you were betraying yourself by hearing him out. Relief because he had ended it, at least somewhat of his own volition.

You brought your hand to your forehead, covering your face. “You…”

“It’s over sweetheart,” he said, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “I promise it’s all over.”

“You’ve withheld the truth before,” you said quietly, moving your hand away and looking at him. “How do I know…how do I know it’s true?”

Coriolanus inhaled softly, looking at you, his gaze intense, passionate. “I could never begin to tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t do this to hurt you. Foolishly I didn’t even think it would affect you.”

You just watched him as he attempted to explain, eyes soft.

“I approached her,” he admitted, looking down only briefly before he set his eyes on you again. “She was more than amenable. It seems her marriage with the senator isn’t what she’d hoped.”

“How long?” you asked, your voice even, face somber.

“Two months ago,” he said honestly.

Closing your eyes, you nodded, head bowing as you processed the information. Two months…not as bad as some of your suspicions, but it still stung nonetheless.

“You were…right last night,” he admitted, and you could hear that it was hard for him to say. “There was too much at my disposal, and I didn’t resist the temptation.” He turned your head to face him with his hand, tilting your chin up, and you did not resist, opening your eyes. “I know I did something awful, and worst of all, I hurt you, sweetheart. I am the most sorry about that.”

It was all too much. His apology, his touch, the earnestness in which he did it. Because you didn’t know any better, you turned back into him, breathing softly against his chest. Coriolanus moved so his back was against the headboard, and he held you close to him, your head tucked under his chin. His parted thighs cradled your body between them, pressed nice and close. And you didn’t mind one bit.

Therein laid the danger.

The rest of that day was spent in and out of bed, but mostly in.

You didn’t stray far from his arms, only getting up to eat and shower. It was like a cloud had come over you, and the confusing emotions from earlier played a big part in it.

He’d apologized, which was a step. But you were hardly concerned with forgiving him. The main worry on your mind was the stupid, unreasonable, uncontrollable feeling inside you that you’d thought you’d suppressed. It killed you inside that even though he’d hurt you, you needed him, wanted him even.

These were the things you struggled with until the next day, when something you’d seen concerned you, and you were forced to have a real conversation with him.

You were standing in Coriolanus’ study, a bevy of newspapers and magazines spread out before you. All of them carried a headline bearing the same news: that you were pregnant.

Just as you’d feared, the pictures from the gala, taken from unflattering angles, zoomed in on your husband’s hand around your waist and covering your stomach, holding you in what must have looked like a protective pose.

Coriolanus was sitting behind his desk, expression firm, hands clasped and covering his mouth. He lowered them to his lap. “They’re just rumors.” He gave you a pointed look. “Right?”

You nodded assuredly. “Right. But what about this one?” The magazine you showed him was a slightly smaller one, opened to a page with a title: “PRESIDENT SNOW CHEATING?”

Coriolanus reached for it and quickly read the story, a brief narrative about how someone had seen him with a mysterious woman at the gala. He looked up at you. “Well, at least it’s not in the main papers.”

“But it’s there,” you pressed, taking the magazine back. “And it’s true. And we both know that the true stories always end up in the bigger headlines eventually. This could ruin everything.”

He nodded, finally seeing your point. The image he’d built up- a loyal husband, dutiful politician- could be tarnished if anyone asked the right people and found out he’d slept with the wife of someone below him.

Coriolanus lifted his chin, studying you for a moment. His eyes held something you didn’t recognize. “What do you think we should do?”

You were surprised. He was asking you what he thought they should do? Biting on your lip, you looked away for a second, mind working fast.

Looking back up at him, you said, “What if…” you trailed off, nervous he’d shoot it down. He noticed.

“This story affects you more than anybody,” Coriolanus stood up, coming around to lean against the front of the desk, closer to you. He folded his arms, nodding encouragingly at you. “We’ll put out whatever story you come up with.”

Nodding back, you took in a breath before speaking. “What if we played on this-” you gestured at all the pregnancy headlines. “-and said I had a miscarriage?”

He was quiet.

You continued, a little shakily. “It’ll garner sympathy from the public and seemingly confirm this ‘self found’ story with an official statement.”

Coriolanus nodded again, curtly. “We’ll put out a statement right away. It’ll be in all the headlines by tomorrow.”

Eyes a little wide, you were slightly surprised he’d agreed. Coriolanus was concerned with his image above all else, and he’d trusted you to come up with something benefitting it- and liked the idea you had.

“Okay,” your voice was small, and you looked down again. “If that’s all?”

“There’s another gala in a fortnight,” he said, eyes still on you, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on the desk. “We’ll have to play the part. And there’ll probably be questions.”

“I can handle that,” you said reassuringly. “It’s not any different…”

He understood what you meant when you trailed off. It wasn’t any different from pretending they were in love for the public. This was just one more thing. “Of course.”

You stood quietly in front of him, fidgeting with your hands. He looked tired, running a hand through his hair. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, and his tie was loosened. Evidently even without news of the headlines it’d been a rough day. You felt a twinge of sympathy, and then your body acted before you did.

Moving forward, you wrapped your arms around his middle, head pressed against his chest. Immediately he brought you closer to him, pressing your little body into him. You sighed as he did, and he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m sorry this got out, sweetheart,” Coriolanus murmured against you, holding you tight.

This was the second apology in two days, and it sent a spark of hope straight into you.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, lifting your head from his chest and looking up at him. “It’s easily fixed.”

“Still,” he breathed, looking concerned. “This on top of everything…”

“I know.” You laid your head back on his chest. “But it’ll be okay. We’re nothing if not good liars.”

There was a pause, and then he breathed a laugh, kissing your head again. “I’m trying not to be.”

PANEM’S PRINCESS SUFFERS A MISCARRIAGE

It seems things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows with our president and first lady. A statement was put out this morning by the official staff stating that the beloved wife of President Coriolanus Snow suffered a miscarriage early this week. In the statement they ask for privacy on the issue, but will continue to appear at select public events while they navigate this tragedy.

The gala was very nearly torture.

An endless sea of sympathies and unsolicited advice showered over you, all while clinging to your husband’s arm the way you thought a woman who’d had a miscarriage would. And indeed they believed it.

Although you knew the ruse was for the best, it was an exhausting act. Coriolanus kept his regular stone-faced facade, but you knew he was weary of it too. He kept his arm tight around your waist, pressing the occasional kiss to your hairline, seemingly not only for your comfort, but for his as well.

In order to give credit to the story you’d put out, the two of you spent weeks in solitude. You weren’t allowed to go out with your friends or attend parties. Coriolanus was able to work from home, so he was occupied, but you were utterly alone.

The time ate away at you as if it were years and not weeks. The distance from your husband swallowed any affection he’d born toward you beforehand. You were still sleeping in a separate bedroom, not yet ready to take that step again.

Once again, you were painfully reminded that Coriolanus was all you had. When you’d married him, your family had all but forgotten you, except when they needed your husband’s connections. You had little in the way of friends. With nobody else to turn to, you had been forced to make him your everything. And now you both wanted and didn’t want that, so the only solution was distance.

At dinner every night, you drew into yourself, hardly noticing him across from you. It didn’t matter anyways. He was always reading something. You could tell he was stressed, and many times when you’d walked by his office you heard hushed, urgent conversations.

But one night when you were nearly finished with your meal, he looked up, noticing your blank stare. “Is everything well, sweetheart?”

Automatically you nodded. “Of course. I’m just…tired.”

There was no fooling him. “Tell me.”

You shook your head. “It’s not important. You’re so busy-”

“Sweetheart-” Coriolanus reached over and took your hand, squeezing it lightly. “-please.”

Inhaling once, you looked down at your mostly empty plate. “I…it’s just been…lonely around here.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern. “You’re lonely?”

You froze, unsure if it had been a mistake to tell him. “I-”

Coriolanus shook his head, putting an end to your objections. “I apologize sweetheart. I’ve been too preoccupied with work to notice.” He ran a hand down his face, looking stressed. “Things have been tense. Actions will need to be taken that…it doesn’t matter. I’ve neglected you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy…I’m sorry I even brought it up-”

“No, it’s not okay,” he said quietly, meeting your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

A few mornings later, you walked into your room to find the prettiest black cat curled up on a red pillow on your bed. You gasped and moved forward to it immediately. “Hi,” you breathed, petting it gently. The cat lifted its head into your hand, purring, and you smiled.

There was a note on the bed, and you picked it up.

I never want you to feel alone.

-CS

There was a red ribbon around the cat’s neck, and when you inspected it closely, you could see the name “Willow” embroidered on it in gold. A smile spread across your face, and you laughed a little, delighted by the surprise. You picked up the cat and held him close, your heart fluttering.

He cares. It felt stupid to be this excited over the fact that he’d noticed your troubles, but you couldn’t help it. The signs of his affection were becoming more apparent, and it couldn’t be denied.

Your husband had hurt you to a degree you hadn’t thought possible. It was hard to forget that, everytime you looked at him or thought of him.

But he was sorry. He’d apologized, hadn’t demanded that you immediately come back to him or forgive him like you thought he would’ve. The only question was why?

Willow was your companion for the rest of the day, purring contentedly beside you as you read and occupied yourself. The cat reminded you of the one you’d had in your childhood, and you wondered if Coriolanus had known about it.

That evening, you were a little late to dinner, having made sure Willow was settled before you went downstairs. You descended with a smile on your face, ready to thank Coriolanus for the gift. He was so thoughtful, so caring towards you.

When you entered the dining room, you were greeted with an unexpected sight. Your husband was sitting at his usual place, and another man was standing beside him, a bottle in his hand. He was saying something to Coriolanus in hushed tones, and he was nodding. The man exited the room and left the bottle beside your husband, who finally looked up at you.

He smiled tightly. “Sweetheart. Come sit-”

“Who was that?” you asked in suspicion, making your way over to him.

Coriolanus’ expression was even. “Just someone who’s helping me.”

Immediately suspicious, you pressed. “Helping you with what?” You were standing closer to him now, eyeing the uncapped bottle on the table.

He saw you looking at it and reached for it, but you were quicker, snatching it up and reading the label.

There was a beat of silence as it sunk in. Your head snapped up, eyes wide as you looked at him, panic flooding your body. “Poison?”

Coriolanus sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It sounds worse than it is.”

“Then tell me,” you demanded, worry in your face. “Why the hell are you using poison?”

“It’s been suspected that my enemies will try to use it against me,” Coriolanus explained calmly. “It’s being inducted slowly into my food so my immune system will get used to it”

The beat of your heart grew quicker as you fixed your horrified gaze on him. “Of all the stupid, paranoid things to do…it could kill you!”

“It won’t kill me, sweetheart,” he kept his tone even, standing up and trying to calm you down. “The situation is under control-”

“There’s no way to control poison,” you scoffed, looking down at the bottle. “You do all these awful things for yourself and don’t even think about how they’ll affect anyone- how they’ll affect me.”

His gaze softened, and he reached for you, hands on your shoulders. “I promise, this isn’t going to end badly. Please, sit and we can talk about this.”

You saw that yelling at him wasn’t going to make him see it your way. So you took a deep breath, thinking through your actions. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said, hand on your back as he tried to lead you to sit down. “Now-”

In a swift action, you lifted the bottle to your lips, the poison burning your throat as it went down. Coriolanus’ face fell in shock, and he knocked it out of your hand before you could drink the whole thing, glass shattering on the floor. He called your name in burning tones.

The effects were fast acting, and your legs weakened, your husband catching you, kneeling on the floor and cradling you in his arms as he yelled for help while looking more panicked than you’d ever seen him. You saw black spots before your eyes, and the only thing in your line of blurry vision was him.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he said urgently, clasping you close to him. He looked terrified. “Please…don’t…don’t go…”

You were too feeble to respond, and in the background you heard quickened footsteps, and voices. Coriolanus looked up, shouting something you couldn’t make out and then turning back to you, pressing your cheek to his chest and lips to the clammy skin of your forehead. “Stay here…eyes open for me, come on…”

But the weakness overtook you, and blackness enveloped your vision. The last thing you heard was his voice, calling your name over and over again.

“...starting to wake up…”

“...lucky the antidote was on hand…”

“...a few days, at the most…”

You opened your eyes groggily, your senses starting to awaken as well. There was a warmth pressed against your side and fur under your left hand. Willow.

There was another hand in yours, squeezing it, the cool of a ring relief on your hot skin. You blinked, trying to sit up, but a gentle arm held you down.

“Don’t, you need to rest,” your husband murmured, and you turned your head to the side, able to make him out, his worried expression. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “Just stay down.”

“How long have I-” you asked, your voice scratchy from not being used.

“Two days,” Coriolanus said, getting up from his chair and kneeling beside you, still holding your hand. “You scared me, sweetheart, never ever do anything like that again.”

“You were going to kill yourself,” you said softly, trying to sit up again, looking at Willow curled up at your side. “And you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No angel, I wasn’t,” he said, still sounding frustrated. “It was all under control. You just drank it-”

“I don’t care how under control you thought it was,” you protested, albeit still a little weakly. “I couldn’t let you…couldn’t…” Your head was spinning, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Coriolanus sat on the side of the bed, trying to make you lie back down.

“No,” you tried, struggling deficiently. “You…I couldn’t…”

“I know sweet girl, I know,” he murmured, sitting against the headboard and moving his hand to the back of your head so your face was against his chest. “Just rest.” You gave up, closing your eyes as you leaned against him. It just felt so nice being in his arms. “I’m not going to sleep.”

“That’s fine,” he said softly, both his arms around you, Willow getting up to lie across your lap. “Just rest.”

You stayed like that for quite awhile, until your dizziness passed, and you were able to sit up and look at him. Settling a little more into him, you took your hand in his, playing with the fingers, twisting the rings. Then finally, you whispered, “I’m sorry…for scaring you.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“I didn’t want you to do it,” you murmured, looking up at him. “You were going to hurt yourself.”

“I know,” Coriolanus lifted your hand, kissing your fingers and keeping it clasped in his. “I understand.”

“So you won’t do it again?” you asked with wide innocent eyes.

He paused, looking down at you, his face seeming to soften. Then, a hint of a smile. “No, sweetheart. I won’t.”

Satisfied with the answer, you leaned against him again. Then you spoke again. “You were that worried about me?”

“Of course I was,” he muttered against your head. “You’re my wife.”

“We both know this isn’t what it was,” you whispered, hand running up and down his chest. “This isn’t…how you would have acted before…everything.”

Coriolanus was quiet. Then he nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “You’re right.”

“So what changed?” you asked, looking up at him.

He just looked at you for a moment, and in his gaze you saw a thousand things. But most of all, you saw something you yourself had struggled with all this time.

“When you threatened to leave that night,” he started, his thumb tracing your hand. “It made me realize a lot of things.”

You nodded, watching him try to formulate what he wanted to say.

“I took a wife for the image,” Coriolanus admitted, looking down at your joined hands. “You knew that. I vowed a long time ago that I’d never fall in love because it weakened me. I’ve been burned by it before, and I couldn’t let it happen again.”

He was the vulnerable one now. You’d heard whispers of his past before he’d courted you, but never dared to ask. And even now you knew you wouldn’t press further than what he’d tell you. Past was passed.

“I didn’t expect it to happen again. I avoided it, thought I’d marry someone I disliked, hated even,” he continued. “But then there was you. You were perfect, and I thought I could resist it. I tried everything I could think of. Even…” he took a deep breath. “Even sleeping with another woman, so I could convince myself I didn’t care.”

The pieces clicked into place, and your eyes widened a bit. “That’s why you did it?”

Coriolanus nodded gravely. “But when I saw how much it hurt you I couldn’t anymore. So I told her it was over. Kept my distance from you for the past few weeks because I knew if we were too close I’d risk falling in deeper. It was about control.”

Everything he was saying was shocking you to the bone. He had cared about you all this time? He just hadn’t wanted to admit it?

“When you drank that poison,” he said quietly. “It threw my entire world off its axis. I was terrified I would lose you. And I realized…I wanted you to know how I felt. Before you woke up I was worried you would die without knowing.”

“Knowing what?” you asked softly, even though you already knew.

“That I love you.”

Your eyes were soft, but held disbelief. He loved you. And you knew in your heart it wasn’t another trick, another mind game he was using on you..

“You love me,” you repeated, squeezing his hand.

“I love you,” he affirmed.

You felt it bubbling up inside you, the words, the emotions, and finally you didn’t fight it, looking into his eyes as you said it. “I love you too.”

He brought his hand to your face, his expression so sincere you were worried it wasn’t real. But it was, you knew it was. “You’re not just saying it because I said it?”

You couldn’t help your smile. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in Panem, was worried a woman didn’t mean it when she said she loved him. “I love you,” you leaned in and kissed him softly, the first real kiss you’d ever had. “I love you.”

He pulled your head back and kissed you as if he’d been waiting forever for it, as if everything he’d been holding back was free now. Your head was spinning, not from the lingering effects of the poison, but from the butterflies that you didn’t bother quelling.

You both pulled back, and you smiled softly. He held you close, more tender than ever before.

“This sounds pretty bad out of context,” you murmured, snuggling against him. "But I'm glad I caught you."

Coriolanus smiled, that rare genuine smile you had a feeling would be directed at you a lot more now. “I’m glad too.”

Previous part come talk about coryo here!

#coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coryo x reader #the hunger games fanfiction #married to young president snow #milliesfishes #coriolanus x you #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo snow #president snow x reader #young president snow #Spotify #milliesfishes coryo

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sinnabarmoth · 23 hours ago

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Tribute for the Dragon (9/18)

(A/N: Halfway done! And it is still Christmas when I am posting this so consider this a very last minute Christmas present to all who celebrate and to those who don't! Love ya!)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: The morning after (i'm just letting the tags speak for this one.)

Content Warnings: Adult language. Blowjobs. Cunnilingus. Horns as handlebars. P in V. Dirty talk.

Length: 4k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Read on AO3

When you made it back to the mountain it was incredibly late, or incredibly early depending on how you looked at it. In an hour or so the sun would start to rise. You were tired and Sylus was tired and without any word to each other you meandered back to the bedroom together and collapsed onto the mattress to go to sleep.

Sylus pulled you close, keeping your body nestled in the curve of his body. You thought maybe it’d be uncomfortable considering how much of his arms was covered in scaled armor but nothing poked into you. You weren’t caged, you were protected. Before you drifted off to sleep he pressed one more kiss to the back of your neck.

You could not say how long you had slept or how late in the day it was when you woke. You really needed to talk to Sylus about getting a clock back here so you could gauge when you were waking up.

Speaking of Sylus. You were still pressed against him. Sylus was fast asleep yet. But not all of him as you soon realized. All through the night you had not felt any part of his armored arms poking into you, but you felt something now remarkably lower.

Slowly you turned out of his arms. He slid onto his back without you keeping him anchored on his side. The sheets dipped and rose over the curves of your body, but one part was noticeably more tented. Your legs pressed together as you carefully moved the sheets back, making sure not to wake Sylus. He had changed into looser, more comfortable pants to sleep in last night when you returned so there was little to resist the stretch of his cock.

Last night had been all about your pleasure, he hadn’t taken anything from you. Then on the way home he kept whispering all the things he planned to do to you in the morning, making you a flustered mess. You were going to return the favor before he woke up and put his plan to fuck you senseless into motion.

You kept an eye on his face, making sure he didn’t wake as you slid your hand past the waist of his pants and felt his hard cock against your palm. After so long spent thinking about it you finally had it in your hands. Sylus was still asleep but he seemed to shift some as you touched him.

A smile grew on your face as you extracted his cock from his pants so you could access it easier. Gods, it looked even bigger than when you saw it in the hot spring. You moved your hand up and down, stroking him, watching as he got harder and his cock grew red with need. You were a bit worried before that with him being a dragon there’d be some big difference between your biologies but you were glad it seemed to be as every bit as normal as a human one. Bigger yes, but otherwise normal.

A bit of pre-cum built at the head and you bowed your head to lick it up. Oh gods, he even tasted good too! It was normally salty and a bit bitter, but he was not bitter. He was spiced and sweet like a salted caramel dipped in cinnamon on your tongue. You wanted to taste more.

You took the tip of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. You opened your mouth wider and bobbed your head up and down, taking him down your throat a little at time. Were you going to be able to fit all of him in your mouth? You weren’t sure. The thought made you even wetter.

You kept one hand wrapped on his cock and moved the other between your own legs. You moaned around his cock as you began teasing your clit. Your eyes fell closed as you focused on bobbing your head in time with the strokes you played across your clit.

A hand fisted into your hair and your head was forced down fully. You gagged as his cock hit the back of your throat, tears welling in your eyes. “Play with fire and expect to get burned, little bird.”

It was awkward to do with his cock down your throat but you looked up through your watering vision to see Sylus awake with a hungry look in his eyes. “I feel I should thank you for such a pleasant wake up call.” he said, running his hand over the back of your head but not letting you up. “But I also know I didn’t give you permission. What should I so about that?”

You wanted to say something but quite literally could not get the words out.

He chuckled darkly, his cock twitching in your mouth. “I’ve thought of this exact image so much in my brain, actually seeing it, feeling it, is another thing entirely. Now that I have you here, what should I do? I could keep my hand fisted in your hair or use your mouth to jerk myself off or put you on your knees and hands behind your back as I fuck your throat.”

Oh gods above…

Your hand was still between your legs and as if on instinct you stared swiping at your clit again. Sylus caught the motion. “And I see you like that idea too. I’m learning so much about you, little bird.”

He pulled your head off his cock and you took in ragged breaths. You didn’t have much time to catch your breath before he pulled you back up the bed and trapped you under him. “Keep playing with yourself. I want those pretty little fingers of yours deep in your pussy. Stretch yourself out for me.” he said before claiming your lips in a bruising kiss.

You did as he said and shoved two fingers into your cunt as he ravaged your mouth. You could feel his cock trapped between your bodies, grinding against your wrist.

“Sylus,” you murmured against his lips, “I…I’m gonna…”

“Already?” you could hear the humor in his voice. “My dear little bird, you wanted this so badly, didn’t you?”

You fucked your cunt faster. His voice alone, spoken in that deep primal growl could be enough to make you come.

“Well?” he said. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.” your pussy clenched around your fingers. You could feel your orgasm building. “Yes I did. I do!”

“Good. Now don’t stop fucking that pretty pussy of yours until you come.” He moved further down to your neck, refreshing the bruises he put there last night and adding a few new ones.

His head dipped even lower to your chest. Your nipples strained against the thin white cotton of your sleep chemise. He tweaked one nipple in his hand, pinching and pulling on the hard sensitive bud and took the other into his mouth over the fabric. He sucked hard on it, lathing it with his tongue so the fabric turned sheer. He gave it a small tug with his teeth then traded, his mouth covering your other breast while his hand teased your other nipple through the wet cotton.

“Sylus! Fuck!” your legs were shaking, so close to release. “Sylus please! Please!”

“Go ahead. Come on your hand as I play with your tits. Come for me!”

So you did and it felt like your body had broken apart, shattered into a million pieces.

Your chest was heaving, your legs twitching, your hand still stuck in your cunt as you rode out the final waves and tingles of your orgasm. Sylus grabbed the hand that was between your legs and stuck your glistening fingers in his mouth, sucking the juices off of them. His eyes closed as he savored the taste.

“You taste divine.” he muttered, giving a gentle nip to your fingertip after he was done. “I want to taste more.”

“Oh gods, give me a second to breathe.” You placed a hand on his chest to slow him down.

“Hmm,” he clearly wanted to keep going but rolled off of you so you could take a moment to catch your breath. “I suppose this can give you the chance to disrobe in case you don’t want me to tear this nightgown off of you.”

“That too.” you sighed, curling your body towards him.

He tilted your head up and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.” he said.

You laughed. “Good morning to you too.”

“Since we’re taking a moment to breathe before continuing, I feel there are a few things we should go over if we are committing to doing all of this.” he said. “There are certain things you should know and what we should try to avoid.”

“Like what and why?”

“Well, the biggest thing is biting.”

“Biting? A little too late for that, don’t you think?” you gestured to your neck.

“Yes. Honestly that was somewhat careless of me to bite you as much as I have.”

“Why?”

“Because biting while engaged in intimacy could accidentally make us mates.”

“Mates?”

“Yes. I suppose it is the closest thing to a human wedding you could get in the dragon world. Granted, biting alone cannot make us mates, there is a whole ritual for it that we’d have to engage in, vows that evoke magic to complete it all. But I do not know how many of the rules of dragons apply to me, so best to try and minimalize it as best we can. Once a bond is made, it cannot be undone.”

“Alright. And what happens if we do accidentally become mates? What does that mean?”

“Mating attunes the couple together on an emotional and physical level.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning wherever you would be, I would feel a pull towards you. Your pain is my pain, and your pleasure is my pleasure. It also opens the channel for breeding.”

You pressed your legs together, glad he wouldn’t be able to tell you were slightly excited by the idea of him breeding you. “When you say opens the channel…”

“Dragons can only breed when they are mated. So as long as we are not mates there should be no worry about you becoming pregnant.”

That was a relief. As much as the idea of him fucking you with intent to get you pregnant did turn you on, you knew you did not want a child yet.

“So…what are we going to do now?” you asked.

“Well, I only got a small taste of your arousal and I want to make a meal out of it. So you had better take off that nightgown now before I rip it off.”

You nodded, quickly shuffling around so you could pull the gown off over your head. Sylus had pushed his pants the rest of the way off. His eyes roamed over your naked form, taking in every dip and curve. “By the hells you’re exquisite.” he dragged a claw down your chest to your navel, watching as goosebumps erupted along your skin.

He got to your legs and pulled your knees apart. His tongue ran across to wet his lips as he stared at your cunt. “You are soaked, little bird.” He ran his mouth across your thigh, sucking bruises onto the soft supple skin. “And so warm.”

“Sylus…” you fisted your hands in the sheets.

“And so sweet.” he liked a stripe straight up your cunt to your clit.

Your head fell back against the pillows as he teased your clit with the tip of his tongue, working over the bundle of nerves mercilessly. He sucked hard on it and your hips jumped to meet his touch. He placed a hand on your abdomen to keep you still as he continued to assault your clit until your legs were shaking.

“You’ve made such a mess,” he whispered, giving your clit a final kiss before he moved down to your pussy. “So much arousal is leaking out of this pussy. You want to give me a feast, don’t you?”

“Yes, please Sylus!”

“Then I will enjoy my meal with vigor.” he dove between your legs, lapping up the arousal that leaked out of you.

He groaned, sending tiny vibrations up your spine. He wouldn’t stop talking, even with his mouth preoccupied. It was hard to hear muffled between your legs but you thought you picked out a few short words. “Taste…drown in…fuck…every day…”

His tongue plunged into your cunt and you tried to close your legs. He grabbed one thigh with his hand and the other was grabbed by his tail. He pulled your legs wide, keeping you spread open as far as you could go. “None of that.” he muttered, “I want easy access to my breakfast.”

He went back to devouring you. The sounds his mouth made against you were obscene and not at all quiet. If there was any doubt to how wet you were it was gone. If anyone else had been in this mountain they would have been able to hear the wet slurping sounds that accompanied your moans. And Sylus was not stopping!

You could feel yourself moving towards another orgasm at lightning speeds. Your body was restless, unable to writhe with him pinning you down. All you had were your hands. They went from fisting the sheets to rubbing your breasts. Until that is you reached for the man between your legs. Your intent was to grab his hair but touched his horns instead.

You grabbed his horns, pulling him closer so he couldn’t pull back even a little from your cunt.

The moment you did he moaned, his eyes opening and staring straight at you from between your legs. His pupils were blown wide and you remembered what he said before about his horns being sensitive. A smile grew on your face and you gripped them harder. He moaned again.

You couldn’t really see much past Sylus’s hulking frame but you were sure you felt the bed moving further down. No doubt Sylus grinding his red hot cock against the mattress. Fuck you wanted on it! Wanted to be what he was rutting into instead. But you could tell Sylus wasn’t letting you go anywhere until you came on his face.

Your words were replaced with sharp panted moans as you felt your climax edging closer. Sylus was not letting you drop his gaze and it was that intense eye contact as he drank you down, body and soul, that made you tip over the edge. Your head snapped back against the pillows, moaning aloud to the ceiling as you came all over his face. Your only tether to reality was the grip you kept around his horns as your ground your cunt against him.

“Fuck…” you whimpered. Every little touch made your breath hitch.

Sylus released your legs at last but you didn’t even have the energy to close them.

“Have I worn you out already?” he asked, tracing soothing patterns along your thighs.

Your eyes cracked open again. “Not yet.” you shuffled onto your knees despite the pleasant ache in your body. “Not until I get to fuck you properly.”

“You are a wonder.” he kissed you and you could taste yourself potently on his tongue. “And since you like being in charge, I’ll let you take the lead this time. If you want to fuck me, then fuck yourself on me. I want to see you bouncing on my cock.”

“Oh gods…” Such filthy words.

“If there are any gods they’re not looking down on us, little bird. They don’t have my permission to see or hear you in this moment. This is all mine.” he grabbed you flipped you over so you were on top of him. “Now fuck me.”

This man, this dragon, was going to be the death of you. You would not survive hearing him say such things every day.

You shuffled back a bit so you were straddled over his hips. His cock was between you, still hard and begging to be touched.

You took him in your hand and pressed the head of his dick to your clit, teasing it again. Sylus watched your movements, breathing heavily as you smeared his pre-cum over your clit. Then you lifted your hips up, notched him at the entrance of your cunt, and sunk down.

It took some time, even after how much prep had gone into stretching you out you still needed to shimmy yourself down the entire length of it a bit at a time. Rocking your hips up and down, taking more inside yourself with every shallow thrust. Fuck he was so big! He was stretching you out like you had never been before. There was a slight burn but it only added to how good you were feeling finally having him inside of you.

You finally made it down fully, your hips flush to his as he laid fully sheathed inside you. You let out a shuddering breath as you let yourself just feel him in you. Fuck you felt so full! Your hands were on either side of the gem in his chest, keeping yourself balanced.

“You’re so fucking tight.” Sylus panted, “Didn’t even know if I was going to be able to fit in you for a moment there.”

“Barely.” you took in a shaky breath. “Why did we not do this sooner?”

“Because you got all embarrassed about it and said that the one time you masturbated in front of me that it was an anomaly that would not be repeated. So much for that, huh?”

“You really want to be a brat about it while I’m sitting on your cock?”

“I think the fact that you are sitting on my cock means that I do get to tease you about it. You wouldn’t even let me see you naked and now here you are.”

“If you’re going to be a dick I can just get off and take care of this myself.”

“Now why would you do that when you said just a minute before that you were not done until you got to fuck me properly?”

You smacked his chest. “You are such an ass!”

“That’s hardly a way to talk to your master.” he had on a wide shit-eating smile. “Now, do as your master says and ride my cock like I know you want to.”

You bit back a colorful response. Pleasure first. Wringing his ass for being a cocky bastard later.

You lifted your hips up till just the tip was in you then slid back down. Your body was getting used to the size of him, opening up a little more with each thrust. The friction went from burning to so sweet in no time at all. It felt as if he had been made to fit perfectly in you.

Your thrusts got faster and shallower as you began chasing your pleasure in earnest. Fuck you felt so full!

“That’s it.” Sylus moaned, holding you by the hips, helping to keep you moving. “You feel so good wrapped around me. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t think you could even if you wanted to. Your body was working off of instinct. Chasing pleasure and release, recklessly and without any inhibitions. All your body new was harder, faster, more. More! More! More!

You grabbed your breasts, playing with them as you rutted against Sylus.

“Do what you need to make yourself feel good.” Sylus kneaded your ass. “You look beautiful like this. Wild and desperate with lust. Moaning like a bitch in heat.”

Your pussy clenched around him. “Do you like that? Like when I point out how shameless you are? How do you think your little village friends would feel about you, knowing that you’re bouncing on a dragon’s cock like this?”

“Sylus, please…” you fell forward, catching yourself on his shoulders. You weren’t going to last much longer.

“So informal. Am I not your master?” he said, his voice a low growl. “I can tell you’re close. If you want me to help you come you need to ask.”

“Sy--” you got a warning hit to your ass when you tried to say his name. It only ignited you more. You were tempted to keep saying Sylus instead just to get him to spank you more.

“Master,” you said, your voice slurring with pleasure, “Will you please help me come? I want to come on your cock. Please!”

“That’s better.” he grabbed you firmly and started fucking up into you. “Oh hells, I’m gonna come. Want me to come with you?”

“Yes! Yes! Please master!” you whined. “I want you to come with me! I want you come inside me!”

“Oh fuck!” his claws dug into your flesh. If he had stabbed into you, you hadn’t noticed. You were so close! So fucking close!

“Kiss me!” you struggled to form words. “Please!”

Sylus claimed your lips in a searing kiss. Your attention was elsewhere so it was slightly awkward, a little sloppy. But damn it did it just feel so good to kiss him. Your hands wove into his hair as you moaned into his mouth.

“Sylus!” Out of your mouth came a sharp scream of pleasure that had tears rolling down your face. It felt like your body had been struck by a lightning bolt as you came with Sylus. Your cunt clamped down hard around him, milking ever drop of his cum out of his cock.

He was still fucking up into you as he came, slowing down and letting you ride out the high for as long as possible. You were breathing hard, little whines and moans still escaping your throat as you danced between pleasure and reality.

You melted against Sylus, your body going lax as the orgasm faded away and all that was left were two sweaty bodies still mingled together. Sylus had released your hips and crossed his arms over your back, holding you close to him as you caught your breath.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

“Physically or mentally? Cause I’m not sure which is which right now.” you nuzzled your nose against his neck.

“Wasn’t too rough? Didn’t hurt you?”

“No. It was good. Really good.” you felt like going back to sleep. “Are you as tired as I am?”

“No, but I get the feeling you don’t have as much stamina as me.” he smoothed out your hair. “Lasted longer than I thought you would though.”

“Yay…” you shifted on top of him. His soft cock still wedged in your aching pussy. “Can we…?”

“Yeah. Here we go, I’m gonna pull out now.” he pulled you off him and a shiver ran up your spine without him inside you anymore. You could feel the warmth of his cum spill out of you.

“Gonna need to clean the sheets now.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Relax, you’re going to feel the after effects of this soon, so rest now.”

“Yeah…” you looked up into his red eyes and smiled. “Can I have another kiss?”

“You can have whatever you want, my little bird.” he kissed you sweetly. “Anything for you.”

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads mc #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #dragon sylus #lads dragon au

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sissylittlefeather · 9 days ago

Text

If I Can Dream: Chapter 3

A/N: I hope you are all enjoying this one! I love Jo so much and this story is about to really heat up. Head to my Masterlist for the first two chapters!

Summary: It's 1975 and Jo Bellamy has been in love with Elvis for 20 years. She doesn't even care that they haven't met yet. All she needs is a chance and she's determined to get one

But Elvis doesn't feel much like Elvis anymore. What happened to the man he used to be? He's pretty sure he's long gone.

Can a chance encounter with Jo change the ill-fated trajectory of his life?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, we've reached the smut! Oral sex, p in v sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, also erectile dysfunction frustration

Word count: ~4k

But he misses her in his arms, the big bed feeling cold and empty.

******

Jo drags herself through work on Thursday, coming home to immediately get in the bath with a bottle of wine. She puts on an Elvis record, the B side to Promised Land, and sobs to the sound of his voice. She knows it's silly to be sad over something that never really happened, but she'll never stop loving him. The record stops and she gets out of the tub, wrapping herself in a fluffy robe and resetting the needle. It’s Midnight plays again and she lays on the bed crying with the album cover in her arms. She's in this position when Evelyn calls.

“Oh, Jo-Jo, surely you knew it wasn't going to go anywhere. The man dates beauty queens and Playboy bunnies.” Jo takes a big gulp of wine.

“Yeah, but you weren't there when we woke up on the couch together. We talked for hours.” Evelyn sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, you're right. But will you give it up now? You met him. You went to his house. And now it's done. So please, ask Alan to the wedding. I don't want you to be the only one without a date.”

“Yeah.” Jo takes a deep breath and sighs. “Yeah, I'll ask Alan tomorrow.”

******

Elvis spends the whole of Thursday in bed. The aching loneliness is back and he just can't seem to find a reason to do much else. At around 1am, there's a soft knock on his door.

“Who is it?” Jerry pokes his head in the door.

“It's just me, boss.”

“Hey, Jer.”

“You alright?” Jerry enters the room and sits on the end of the bed.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Elvis doesn't move from his position in the bed on his side. Jerry looks at him silently for a while. He's not sure what to do to help, but he knows he needs to try something. An idea comes to him; it's risky, but he has to try.

“What happened to that girl?” Elvis tries to keep his breathing even.

“What girl?” Jerry rolls his eyes. He knows Elvis knows who he's talking about.

“Jo? Wasn't that her name?”

“She's gone.” Elvis closes his eyes and tries not to picture her, think about her laugh, or the scent of her hair.

“I thought she lived in Memphis.” Jerry knows he's pushing his luck here, but he's not going to give up.

“She does! Leave me the fuck alone, Jerry!” Elvis sits up and yells, cringing with the stiffness of having been in bed all day. Jerry purses his lips.

“All I'm sayin’ is you were happier in those 24 hours with her than you have been in years. Maybe it's worth givin’ her a call.” He stands and walks from the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Elvis lays back down and tries to think of anything but Jo, but it doesn't work. Eventually, he sits up and stares at the phone. He picks up the receiver no less than four times before he gets up the courage to dial her number.

Jo’s phone rings and rattles her from her deep slumber. Her head already hurts a little from the wine, but when she realizes what's happening, she takes a deep breath and grabs the phone.

“Elvis…”

“Hi honey.” She looks up at the ceiling and tries to keep her tears in her eyes. “Were you, um, were ya sleepin’?”

“Yeah, I was. It's almost 3am. Again.”

“Oh…” Elvis starts to lose his nerve, thinking this was a terrible decision. “I'm sorry; I-I'll leave ya alone.”

“No! It's okay. I'm… glad you called…”

“Are ya?” She laughs softly.

“Yeah, of course I am.” He smiles and relaxes into the conversation. His first instinct is to ask her to come over, but he stops himself before he does. He's afraid that might send the wrong message.

“You workin’ tomorrow?” She sighs.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He nods, forgetting that she can't see him. And then it just slips out before he can stop it.

“You should come over when you're done.” He cringes a little, knowing that this whole thing is probably a mistake.

“Elvis, I'd love to, I really would, but I promised my niece I would take her to see Christmas lights.” Jo curses under her breath, hating the idea of turning down a chance to see him again. “Why don't you come with us?”

“Oh, honey, I-I-I-�� He stumbles over his words trying to come up with an excuse.

“I've just decided. You're coming with us. I think you need to get out of that house.”

“Jo, honey, I don't-I can't-”

“What? Ride in a car? Yes you can. I'll pick you up around 5:30.” Something about the way she says it makes him feel like he couldn't say no even if he wanted to.

******

At about 5:45pm, Jo pulls up to the Graceland gates with her niece Amy in the backseat of her old pea-green car and asks to be let in. Jerry is so happy to see her back that he's practically bouncing when he opens the front door.

“Hey, Jo! He'll be down in a second.” She nods and they wait in the foyer. Eventually Elvis comes down in a two-tone blue suit. He had originally had on one of his tracksuits but decided to change at the last second, and he's glad he did. Jo is so cute in her little cowl-neck sweater dress and boots that he almost hopes photographers will find them. She lights up when she sees him and he can't help but smile too.

“Hi! This is my niece-” The little girl sticks out her hand.

“Amy Louise Jenkins.” Elvis smiles down at her and takes her hand, shaking it gently.

“Elvis Aaron Presley. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Jo has to physically stop herself from melting on the spot. “How old are ya? You seem about the same age as my Lisa Marie.”

“I'm seven, but I'll be eight in May.” He nods.

“I was right. Lisa will be eight in February.” She smiles and turns to Jo, taking her hand in one and Elvis's in the other.

“Let's go see some lights!” Elvis looks at Jo over Amy's head and shrugs. Jo suppresses a grin and they make their way out to her old, beat-up car. Elvis looks at it and turns to her with his eyebrows raised.

“Not all people drive Cadillacs.” Jo whispers.

“No, honey, I know that. It's fine.”

The rest of the evening passes with all three of them belting out Christmas carols as they drive around the wealthier neighborhoods in Memphis looking for lights. In the beginning, Elvis wouldn't sing, but with some gentle cajoling from Jo and Amy, he finally breaks down. When Blue Christmas comes on, he sheds any last hints of nervousness and puts on a full show. The girls both applaud wildly and he has to grab the wheel when Jo almost crashes into a parked car in her enthusiasm. When he does, he unintentionally puts his arm behind her on the seat and she leans her head on his shoulder.

“You want me to drive, honey?” He speaks softly, enjoying the feel of her so close to him.

“Yeah, do you mind?”

“Not at all.” She parks the car and he replaces her in the driver's seat. He's surprised but pleased when she settles onto his shoulder again.

By 8 o’clock, Amy is snoozing soundly in the backseat and Elvis follows Jo's directions to her stepsister’s house. When they get there, Jo looks into the backseat and sighs.

“I'm not sure how I'll get her to the door without waking her up.”

“I got ‘er.” Elvis is not sure where his confidence comes from, but she's no bigger than Lisa Marie and he carries her all the time. They get out of the car and he scoops Amy into his arms, walking up to the front door. For a second, he forgets who he is until Jo's brother-in-law answers the door and his jaw drops. Jo realizes what's happening and interjects.

“Hey, Rob, this is Elvis.” Her brother-in-law scoffs.

“Yeah. I know.” Elvis tries to smile genially.

“She fell asleep in the car. Hope this is okay.” Rob nods, still a little starstruck and takes Amy from him.

“Thanks…”

“Goodnight, Rob.” Jo takes Elvis's arm and turns him around to head back to the car. She can only keep her giggles under control for a few feet before she lets them out. He looks at her, amused.

“What's got you tickled?”

“His face! I forgot who you were for a second.” He chuckles.

“Honestly, so did I.” They get back in the car and she leans on his shoulder again for the drive back to Graceland.

When they get back to the house, Elvis parks Jo's car in the driveway and his stomach sinks at the thought that she'll go home soon. Again, he wants her to stay, but he's nervous about her expectations in the bedroom.

“Can I come in?” He raises his eyebrows, surprised at her boldness.

“Umm…”

“I'm just not ready to go home yet. And I feel like every time I leave, the likelihood of seeing you again decreases.” He swallows, knowing that she's right. The more he allows himself to think about it, the more he worries whether this should continue. But when she's here right in front of him, it's hard to turn her down. He feels himself nod.

“Yeah. I dunno what we'll do-”

“We'll find something. Let's go.” He has to admit, her happy-go-lucky attitude is infectious.

They get into the foyer and she looks around the house while he stands there awkwardly.

“Umm…”

“You don't have a Christmas tree.” He hadn't even realized. Usually he's instructed someone to set it up by now, but this year he forgot.

“No, I guess I don't. I'll have someone set it up before Lisa Marie comes.”

“We’ll do that!” He looks at her confused.

“Tell someone to set up the tree?” She purses her lips.

“No, ya brat, we’ll do it ourselves and decorate it.” He scowls.

“I ain't a brat.”

“I know. So quit actin' like one. Let's get the tree. Where is it?”

“I think it's in storage somewhere. Mary probably knows.”

“Well, okay then. Let's go.” She walks towards the kitchen and he follows her. He's quickly learning that when she puts her mind to something, she's going to make it happen regardless of the obstacles. In general, he's not used to this level of agency or determination in a woman, but at his age it's kind of nice to not be in charge for once.

With Jerry and Mary's help, they manage to locate the tree and boxes of decorations. It takes them a while, but after lots of direction from Jo and laughter from both of them, they manage to get it done.

“Okay, plug it in!”

“Yes ma'am, miss bossy.” He gives her a little salute and she giggles. The sound of her laugh warms him from the inside out and he thinks to himself that taking her instruction is worth it for this feeling. The thought gets even stronger when he plugs in the tree and she squeals with delight.

“Oh, it's so pretty! Elvis come look!” He stands and walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist instinctively. Maybe he could just let this happen.

“It is pretty.” He murmurs in her ear.

“You know the best way to look at a Christmas tree, right?”

“This seems like a pretty good way.”

“C’mere.” She moves away from him and he decides he needs to get her back in his arms as quickly as possible. He watches as she lays down on the floor with her head up under the tree. “Ahhh, get down here. It's gorgeous.”

Shaking his head, he lowers himself to the ground and grunts as he arranges to be under the tree. He's not sure how he'll get up again, but when he sees her with the colored lights shining on her face, he decides he doesn't care.

“Isn't it pretty?” She looks over at him and he brings his hand up to her cheek, running his thumb across it gently.

“Beautiful.” He can no longer stop himself as he leans over and presses his lips to hers.

The kiss is soft and sweet, but when he pulls back to look at her, his heart skips. He hasn't felt like this about a woman in a long time and it scares him. She leans in to kiss him again and he backs away.

“You wanna tour?” He smiles awkwardly and she blinks a few times.

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” She's completely confused by his quick shift, wondering if she's done something wrong, but she follows his lead as he moves from under the tree. It takes them both several tries and quite a bit of grunting, but eventually they both make it back to standing. He holds both of her hands in his and looks down at her. Almost against his will, he leans in and kisses her softly. There it is again, the heart skip that makes him so nervous. He pulls back from the kiss and just looks at her. She's completely perplexed by his kisses and subsequent hesitation, but before she can say anything, he wraps an arm around her waist and starts to lead her through the house.

The last place he shows her is the pool. He realizes it hasn't been drained and curses Jerry. It's freezing outside, so he holds her again from behind with her head against his chest.

“We should jump in.” She says quietly. He laughs and presses his lips to her temple. Why can't he keep himself from kissing her? He’s torn from that thought when she speaks again. “I'm serious! I've heard it's good for you. Let's do it.”

“Honey, you're crazy.”

“Am I? I'm doing it.” She pulls away from him and walks to the edge of the pool.

“Jo, no. It might be dangerous.” Putting her hands on her hips, she turns to face him.

“Nah. And anyway I thought you were a daredevil? What happened to the guy who had firework fights?”

“He had to grow up.” There's a hint of bitterness in his voice. She shakes her head, walking towards him and resting her hand on the side of his face.

“No. Time passed. Growing up is optional.” He leans down and kisses her again. It's like he can't get enough. She mumbles against his lips. “I refuse.”

Then, she turns and takes off running, jumping into the pool fully-clothed. The cold water overwhelms her body with sensation, shocking her system.

“Jo!” When she surfaces she lets out a little scream and shivers.

“Come on! Don't make me do this by myself!”

“You're fucking crazy, honey.”

“Yeah! And you're a pussy.” He scowls again, his masculinity offended.

“No, I ain't.” Her teeth chatter, but she refuses to back down.

“Prove it.” He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Damn it, honey.” She giggles as he walks to the edge of the pool. He looks up at the sky when she gestures for him to join her. The stars twinkle down on him and he wonders: what if he does take this plunge with her? Would it kill him? Unlikely. And if he doesn't do it, what is he choosing instead? Suddenly, he's not just thinking about the pool. He looks back down at her, shining with life and sparkling like the stars. “Alright, fuck it.”

And then he jumps. His whole body screams when the icy water crashes into his skin. But he survives and feels more alive than he has in years. He surfaces and pulls her to him, kissing her deeply. This time when his heart skips, he leans into it, slipping his tongue into her mouth and pushing his body against hers. Every part of him buzzes with life and need and something he can't quite put his finger on. She shivers in his arms, not sure if it's the cold from the water or the heat from the kiss that's running through her. He pulls back and runs his fingertips down the side of her face.

“Honey, you're shakin’. Let's go inside.” She nods and kisses him deeply again.

They manage to get out of the pool and run through the house to the upstairs bathroom, giggling like teenagers and dripping all over the carpet. He starts a hot shower and they both start stripping off wet clothes. When they're down to their underwear, he grabs her and pulls her to him, crashing his lips into hers in a full open-mouthed kiss. They tumble into the shower together and moan as the hot water touches their skin. He doesn't stop her when her hand drifts below his waist, dipping into his underwear. To his own surprise, he's hard as a rock and he groans as she strokes him gently. His hands move over her whole body, unclasping her bra and pushing her panties down frantically.

“Bed?” She mumbles as she removes his underwear, leaving them both naked. He's so relieved she suggested it, he nods vehemently without moving his mouth from hers. A decade ago, he would've just bent her over in the shower, but now he needs something a little more stable. What he doesn't know is she does too. She might be 4 years younger, but she's no twenty-something and the thought of getting on her knees in the shower is not appealing. They quickly dry off, still pressed together, and he walks her backwards into the bedroom, where she lays on the bed and he crawls on top of her, dropping hot kisses on her skin wherever he can reach. She spreads her legs and he goes to push into her, but the move from the bathroom was a little too much for him.

“God fucking damnit!” He curses loudly and she grabs his face.

“It's okay.” When he tries to protest, she shakes her head and pushes him onto his back. “Do you think this is the first time this has happened to me? It's okay, Elvis.”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, but he whips them open again when he feels her mouth around his soft cock.

“Honey, I don't know if-”

“Shh. Let me work. You just think about what it would feel like to fuck me. Focus on the sensations of it. Tell me how my pussy feels, babe.” She goes back to moving her mouth on him.

“Jo…”

“Tell me.” He sighs and closes his eyes again. What she's doing does feel really good and imagining having sex with her is easier than jumping in the pool was, so he tries to think about it.

“It's tight… wet…”

“What else, babe?”

“It's… squeezing my cock just right…” He starts to get into it, losing himself in his fantasy and the way her mouth and hand feels on him. “I can feel you cum; you're so sexy when you cum for me.”

He moans softly and she tries not to smile as he begins to harden in her mouth. She swirls her tongue around his sensitive head and takes his balls in her hand to massage them as she works.

“Fuck, yeah baby. God that's good.” In another few seconds, he's as hard as he was in the shower and she sits up, stroking him with her hand.

“You wanna actually feel me now? See if your imagination was right?” She hovers over him, dragging the tip of his dick against her entrance to cover it in her arousal.

“More than anything.” He grabs her hips and she whimpers as she starts to sink onto him, moving slowly to give herself the chance to adjust.

“Oh god… fuck.” She groans as he fills her fully, his cock so deep inside her as she grinds against his hips. She starts to pick up a steady rhythm of sliding him in and out, bouncing and rolling and moaning.

“Better… it's better…” He groans, running his hands up to cup her breasts. She arches her back as she pushes him even deeper, his cock hitting her g-spot with every movement.

“Fuck, Elvis…”

“You've got a dirty mouth, honey.” She laughs.

“You didn't seem to mind when it was wrapped around your cock.” He blushes a little, still unaccustomed to women who own their sexuality. His hands move down to grip her hips as he helps her move on him.

“Careful. Keep this up and I'll fill that pretty little mouth again.” He grabs her chin and runs his thumb along her bottom lip. She pulls his thumb into her mouth and swirls her tongue on it.

“You promise?” She smiles mischievously and he grabs her, pulling her down onto his chest.

“Gonna fill this pretty little pussy with cum first, honey.” He whispers in her ear as he starts to thrust up into her from underneath. She whimpers, the change in position pushing her to the edge of an orgasm.

“Yes! Oh god… I'm so close…” He feels her walls flutter around him and grunts.

“Come on, honey. Cum on my dick. Let me feel it.” That's all it takes for her to tumble over the edge into oblivion, her pussy pulsing around him as the pleasure runs through her body like lightning. The feeling of her throbbing around him is enough to throw him over the edge too and he holds her tight to his chest as his orgasm rips through him, his cock emptying deep inside her.

They lay there for a bit trying to catch their breath, both of them trembling. Eventually he loosens his grip on her and they relax. She lets him slip out of her and then rearranges to lay next to him in the crook of his arm. Her fingers run through his chest hair and he kisses her forehead.

“Hey, honey?” He turns a little to look down at her.

“Yeah?”

“What is this?” She lifts her arm when she feels his fingers on the skin of her ribcage. He lifts his head a little to try to see what he noticed when she was on top of him.

“It's a tattoo.”

“I didn't know women got tattoos.” She rolls her eyes a little.

“Janis Joplin has one.”

“What's it say?” He tries to read it, but he's at the wrong angle.

“‘To live would be an awfully big adventure.’ It's from-”

“Peter Pan.” She looks at him in awe.

“Yes, how did you-?”

“I read a lot, honey.” He runs his fingertips over the words softly. “You know, you've always reminded me of someone. Now I know who it is.”

“Who?”

“Tinkerbell.” She laughs and kisses his nose. He looks into her eyes and she stops laughing. The reality of the situation hits her like a ton of bricks and all of a sudden her eyes fill with tears. She squeezes them shut to try to keep the tears from falling and buries her face in his chest. “Hey, hey. What's wrong?”

He finds her chin and makes her look up at him, the tears sliding down her cheeks. She desperately searches for a way to express what she's feeling, but the words aren't there. Finally, she's able to choke out something.

“Nothing’s wrong. It's good. Isn't it? It can't be this good.” He softens and kisses her forehead, pulling her in close.

“Oh, Tink. It is good.” He looks down into her face, holding her cheek in his big hand. “It is good.”

Too good, he thinks as she nods and settles against him. Too good to last.

******

What will happen next?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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