#over the threshold ao3
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melodyquackers · 4 months ago
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Just found some SUPER old stsg sketches I made for @fushiglow 's over the threshold fic and @/illikitly (on twt) 's icarus falls fic!!!! Hope u enjoy and PLS BEAR WITH ME THESE ARE REALLY OLD
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gimmemore14 · 6 months ago
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Why is it easy to write drunk and impossible to write high 😭😭
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fallloverfic · 11 months ago
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I went overboard (and kinda cheated cause some of these were just a lot smaller to nonexistent when I started posting for them, but are definitely not now), so with the caveat this is only going by Archive of Our Own stats (and also thank you to all the amazing tag wranglers who have wrangled tags that have been the only fic in that pairing/fandom for ages, small fandom authors love you so much):
Blind Men has 15 fics total, mine is the most recent (over a year after posting), and it is the fifth Hunter/Keegan work.
Captain Laserhawk: A Blood Dragon REMIX had 5 fics before I posted the first Alex Taylor/Dolph Laserhawk fic. There are now 213 fics total and 21 Alex/Dolph fics.
It's hard to tell with this fandom because of active fandoms, backdating, and crossovers, but I posted the second fic for Castlevania: Nocturne and Mizrak/Olrox (I know because I went immediately to the tag after watching and I checked it before and after posting mine). There are now 257 fics in the fandom tag and 91 for the pairing. I also posted the second fic for Alucard/Olrox (it's been shifted out of order because another fic either backdated or added the pairing, but one reason I finally put mine up was because the only fic for the pairing at the time was one solely based on the games that predated the show by 8 years). There are now 7 fics for the pairing. I posted the third of the now 12 Olrox/Richter fics.
I created the Dorus/Styxx pairing for the Dark-Hunter Series. I still have the only fic. Dorus isn't an original character (he's a minor acquaintance in the book who meets Styxx twice), but I almost completely retconned his backstory and personality.
I started and was the entirety of the Dear Monster tag for some time (I wrote 3, there are now 4, with one published almost a year after my last fic), and I also published the only Faeryn/Allen fic.
I posted 1 of the 26 Rouxls Kaard/Mettaton fics for Deltarune/Undertale.
I posted the first Ameridan/Kordillus Drakon I fic from Dragon Age: Inquisition (there is now a second, published nearly three years after mine). I published the first Lacklon/Roland fic for Dragon Age: Absolution. There are now 21 fics. As I recall it was only like the third or fourth fic at most in the fandom tag at the time, but this is another fandom that's hard to track due to active fandoms, backdating, and crossovers. I also have 1/14 of the Solas/Felassan fanfics, and 1/41 of the m/m Davrin/Rook fanfics.
Element of Fire has 6 fics. Mine is the most recent and I posted the only Roland Fontainon/Gideon fic. And Roland Fontainon/Falaise, but I don't fully consider that the fic focus so. I think it's also the only one that even includes Roland.
I posted 1 of the 38 Augus Each Uisge/Gwyn ap Nudd fics for Fae Tales - not_poignant. That's 1 out of 15 if you only count fanworks, since all the canon and official AUs are included in the tag. I published both the 2 fanfics for Eran Iliakambar/Mosk Manytrees (the other 4 works are all canon and an official AU). I published the only fanwork for Anika/Terho (the other fic is a canon extra).
I created the crossover pairing Wing/Murata Ugetsu for Hunter X Hunter and Given and have the only fic for it.
I posted the only tagged Clark Kent/Lewis Lane fic for My Adventures with Superman. But I can't believe there isn't something else out there for a character who's technically existed since 1980. There may be one in German and another in English that's tagged for Louis Lane, the 1980 character(s), but they both predate My Adventures with Superman by some years.
I posted 1 of the 14 fics for Brad Boimler/Jack Ransom for Star Trek: Lower Decks.
I posted the most recent 2 of the 4 Van Fanel/Allen Schezar fics for Escaflowne.
I posted the only Lisava Ormevar/Aathis Rohethar fic for The Chronicles of Osreth.
I posted the 3 most recent The Hunt fics, and all 4 fandom fics are for Hendrey/Cash (fic 1, fic 2, fic 3).
I posted 1 of the 34 Link/Tauro fics. I also went looking back when I posted and at least back then I couldn't find Link/those funky tower mechanical arm tentacles, so maybe I was the first with that? Only two fics pop up when I search for them now.
This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but I recall I published the second Jaskier/Radovid V fic, and maybe the first focused on the Netflix show version (the one prior to that, as I recall, was game and/or book focused). I remember being surprised there still weren't that many when I posted my second one. Pretty sure the pairing was still in the double digits. There are now 345. I published one of the first couple fics for Filavandrel aen Fidhail/Vesemir, and I believe the first or second to specifically focus on their incarnations in The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf. There are now 37 fics. I also started the tag for Sirens of the Deep and still have the only fic in the tag.
This isn't a pairing but I somehow published the only fanfic for the Tomb Raider Top Cow comics tag? Similarly, I started the Golden Sparkle by Minta Suzumaru tag.
I published 1 of 32 fics for Anna Valerious/Gabriel Van Helsing for Van Helsing (2004).
I published the third of 6 fics for Dietfried Bougainvillea/Claudia Hodgins from Violet Evergarden. I think the second-to-last published before mine (that's currently a WIP) one came out cause I went on a sort of hiatus while posting.
This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but my fic is listed as the 9th for Rand al'Thor/Ishamael. There are now 47.
My Shutendouji/Ryo fic is the seventh out of ten fics for the pairing for Ronin Warriors. When I originally made this post, it was the sixth. I assume someone backdated a fic or retagged it.
I published the second of the now 13 Jin Marito/Tahide Outa fics for a fandom with now 91 works (Bucchigiri?!).
This is another fandom where it's hard to track things due to active fandoms, backdating, etc., but I think I posted one of the first 20 Gongyi Xiao/Zhuzhi-lang fics for The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System. There are now 114. I posted 1 of the 33 Liu Qingge/Zhuzhi-lang fics.
There are 53 works in the Kyuujitsu no Warumono-san webcomic tag and 8 in the anime tag. I think I posted the third Akatsuki Red/Shogun fic (and there are now 13), and the first Rooney/Shogun fic. There are now 3. I've posted the second of the 2 Shogun/Yoiyami Black fics.
I posted fic #4 in the See You My King/The King and Me tag, and the first Xiao Wei/Evtiti fic. There are now 2/3(?) (it's hard to tell because the tag hasn't been wrangled). I also posted the 9th + 10th most recent Mimi/Zhang Li fics. There are 12 fics in the fandom tag.
I posted the first fic for Lang Qianqiu/Xiao Mengyou or Lang Qianqiu/Xiao Shiwei, but I believe the second fic about Xiao Mengyou (the first one didn't name him). There are now 13 fics in the tag.
I posted technically the second fic of the 2 for Peach Blossom Debt. The other fic for some time was just two words that say, "Coming 2024" (it's since been edited to have actual fic in it). Mine is the only one for Song Yao/Hengwen Qingjun.
I posted the 7th fic for The Imperial Uncle, and it's the second for Jing Chengjun/Liu Tongyi. The total fandom is 17 fics.
I posted the most recent 2 of still 3 fics for The Deer King, which includes 1 of 2 fics for Hohsalle Yuguraul/Van Gansa, and the only fic for Hohsalle Yuguraul/Makokan.
I posted the still only fic for Joseph Huh/Yongsoo Ahn in a fandom that I think had a lot fewer fics before mine back when I posted it, but it has 58 now. I am using the official English translation spellings. I'm not sure what Ao3 is using.
I posted one of now 8 total fics for Choi Jong-In/Sung Jin-Woo in Solo Leveling (it had 9 when last I looked).
I posted the second and most recent fic for Jaehwan/Karlton Javier for The World After the Fall. The fandom tag has 34 fics now.
I've posted 2 of the 14 fics for Anubis/Khnum in ENNEAD (fic 1, fic 2). (It used to have 15, I guess someone deleted one).
I've posted apparently the second of 11 works tagged for Lee Hakhyun/Yoo Joonghyuk for Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.
I've posted the second of 4 fics for Chronos/Zagreus in the Hades fandom. I've posted the only Heracles/Icarus fic. I posted the first of now 14 total Odysseus/Moros fics.
For Blood of Zeus, I've posted the latest of 5 fics for Apollo/Seraphim. I posted the last two Seraphim/Heron fics in the 10 fic tag (fic 1, fic 2).
Not a romantic/physical ship, but I posted the first Mithrun & Milsiril fic for Delicious in Dungeon.
I'm currently writing a series of non-existent ships in the Ayashi no Ceres tag. Thus far I've posted one each for Alec/Ryurik, Alec/Kagami, Kagami/Toya, Yuhi/Toya, and Toya/Wei. I have one last one planned for another ship that doesn't exist. The only m/m fic in the fandom tag that isn't mine is for characters from another series. Most of the characters I'm writing don't have wrangled tags.
I've written two of the 12 Lawrence Bluewer/Edgar Redmond fics for Kuroshitsuji (fic 1, fic 2).
For The Sea Beast (2022), I wrote one of the five Jacob Holland/Original Character fics, and the only tagged Jacob Holland/The Surgeon fics (I think there are other fics, but they aren't using the wrangled tag).
For BoJack Horseman, I've written one of the 74 BoJack Horseman/Mr. Peanutbutter fics.
For Bridgerton, I've written the only Anthony Bridgerton/Lord Lumley fic.
For Epic: The Musical, I wrote one of now 26 Eurylochus/Odysseus fics (there were fewer than 7 when I published it).
For Dark Rise, I've written one of 61 Anharion/Sarcean fics (there were fewer than 46 when I published).
I have the only Babylon 5 fic tagged for Marcus Cole & Lennier, as well as Lyta Alexander & Marcus Cole.
I have the only Vlad Taltos/Haichfa fic in Dragaera, and it's one of only 15 m/m works in the fandom.
I have 1/35 and the most recent Jareth/Toby fic in Labyrinth.
I wrote the fourth and most recent fic for Ordeal By Innocence (TV) fanfic.
I started the Requiescence tag, and currently have the only fics in it, including the only Kaul/Kymil fanfic (other one is a crossover).
I wrote one of the now 96 Loid Forger/Yuri Briar fics for Spy x Family.
From what I can tell I have the only Starship Operators fanfic on Ao3. The fandom tag still hasn't been wrangled after nearly half a year.
I wrote the second of two fics for State Fair (1945).
I started the tag for Twilight of the Gods, though there were at least a couple fics for it before it was wrangled, and which are now likely in the wrong tags (one version of the tag was for a larger and incorrect fandom). The main relationships are unwrangled.
I have the only fic in the wrangled version of Koschey/Ivan for Im|mortal the webcomic. There are two others in different versions of the tag for the total 4-fic tag.
I have 1 of the now 24 Hirose Aiki/Nakamura Okuto fics for Go for it, Nakamura!!.
I have 1/10 of the Yu Shengyuan/Yuan Ying fics for Thousand Autumns.
I have 1/14 Cale Henituse/Bud Illis fics in the Lout of Count's Family tag, which is also 1/32 of the Cale/Tunka tag, and the only Bud/Cale/Tunka fic. I have 1/62 of the Clopeh Sekka/Cale fics. I have the only fic tagged for the Dragon Half-Blood & Ron Molran, which is also 1/4 of the Cale & Dragon Half-Blood fics. I have 1/3 of the Dragon Half-Blood & Sheritt fics.
Reblog and put your rare pair in the tags/comments! I want to see the depths people will go to create, for the most random two characters in the most obscure media.
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anto-pops · 5 months ago
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Midnight Rendezvous - Sylus x Female!Reader
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Summary: An unmistakable tension has always existed between you and Sylus, and despite trying, you’ve never been able to make much sense of it. He’s haughty, arrogant, and too attractive for his own good. After he intervenes and saves you from a questionable situation during a girl’s night out, he whisks you away to his house despite your protests. You want to hate him— you want to be mad at him— but it’s increasingly difficult to fight against your desires, and before long… you stop trying. 
Alternatively summarized as you and Sylus having steamy, passionate sex for the first time. 
Word Count: 13.9k
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, rough sex, size difference
Full fic can be found here on Ao3 (with more diverse tags)
The Midnight Bar was, for all intents and purposes, an eclectic melting pot for all of Linkon’s denizens. With its colorful strobe lights and intense, pounding music that poured from the open doorway, it beckoned to any and all passersby, tempting them to set foot past the threshold and lose themselves in the sea of bodies that congregated on the dance floor. More often than not, you dismissed your repetitive, fleeting inclinations to come here for a night of fun. It was easier to justify your homebody tendencies with countless excuses that all pertained to work. But not tonight. 
No, tonight you wanted to let loose. You wanted to cast aside your worries and obligations for a few hours, to have a few fruity cocktails that you knew would have you on your ass tomorrow. You wanted to dance until your feet throbbed, until your back ached, until your ears rang and drowned out the never ending cacophony of concerns that plagued your mind.
Life was… complicated. You wanted to forget about it all for once. You wanted to be selfish. 
Tara had mercifully agreed to accompany you to the club. Phrasing it as a ‘girl’s night out’ had certainly helped matters, and her light-hearted aura would do wonders for your fluctuating emotions. It was easy to stay level headed when she was around, and you found yourself wondering if the data analyst was even aware of her influence. 
From your rooted position on the dance floor, you could see Tara at the bar waiting dutifully for the drinks she’d offered to buy, chatting with the burly bartender all the while. You knew you had no business drinking anymore– you’d had three of those strawberry whatever’s already– but the night called for it, and your clammy palms craved the chilled feeling of the thick, cocktail glass more than was probably healthy. The steady ebb and flow of the music had you moving in sync with the crowd around you flawlessly; your hips swayed, your arms languidly rose above your head, and your eyes fluttered shut as you rolled your head back to toss a few strands of hair out of your face. 
Nothing else existed to you in that moment, and you were more than willing to ride the brainless high for a while longer. Wanderers, Grandma and Caleb, The Hunter’s Association, your heart condition… all of it was inconsequential. Every thought that entered your mind dissipated into nothing just as quickly as it appeared, and the last thing you planned to do was squander a second of the reprieve. 
That is, until a warm, broad hand appeared on your waist. 
Your eyes flew open at the same time you looked over your shoulder, and your field of view was instantly obscured by a familiar chest clad in a black and red button-up shirt. A smokey, almost spicy cologne flooded your senses, and you recognized the scent even before you craned your neck back to meet Sylus’ imposing gaze. He looked the same as always; annoyingly attractive. His pale hair was effortlessly combed off his forehead to showcase those ruby-red eyes that had once imbued you with a healthy dose of fear. Now though, the sight of them only stoked the flames of rebellion within you. 
What the hell was he doing in Linkon City? Why was he here of all places? 
“All this time and I only ever had you pegged as an indoor cat,” his sultry voice reverberated against you as he bent down to speak directly against your ear, and much to your dismay, you shivered involuntarily. “You never fail to surprise me, kitten.” 
On shaky legs, you managed to step out of Sylus’ reach, his fingers trailing across your hip until you were far enough away that his hand fell back to his side. His expression was the usual smug variant you typically saw plastered to his face, and he cocked his head to the side as he took in your disheveled appearance. For whatever reason, your confidence from earlier seemed to vanish completely, and you found yourself feeling incredibly self-conscious having him see you like this. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you looked… messy. The thin sheen of sweat on your face had your hair clinging to your cheeks for dear life, and the thrum of liquor in your veins warmed you so thoroughly that you were confident you were flushed from head to toe. 
Out of everyone that could have possibly crossed your path tonight, why did it have to be him? You would have preferred that Zayne walked in to chastise you for your poor life choices rather than the puffed up, Adonis-incarnate before you now. Stupid Sylus with his stupid, attractive smile and his stupid perfect body. 
Having stared at him for long enough, you mercifully didn’t slur your words when you bit out, “What are you doing here?” 
“I think I’m the one who should be asking you that, Miss Hunter.” He easily closed the minuscule distance between the two of you with half a step, gingerly putting the back of his hand against your forehead to gauge your temperature. You swatted the appendage away and scowled, your irritation rising when he smirked in response to the motion. “What will people say when they hear that Linkon’s valiant defender is drunk in the club on a Thursday night? Have you finally tossed away your self-imposed restrictions to join the rest of society in debauchery?” 
“I’m not drunk,” you retorted, and the dry look Sylus shot you conveyed just how willing he was to believe you. “I’m not! I’m just having a bit of fun. I don’t work tomorrow, so Tara and I decided to have a girl’s night out. Which means you can’t be here.” 
“Can’t I? Or will you run to the nearest police officer and tell them that the leader of Onychinus showed face at the Midnight Bar? I didn’t think you had it in you, sweetie.” 
To hear him even suggest such a thing made your stomach sink into the floor, and you stood up straight as you nervously glanced around the room to make sure no one had heard him so boldly announcing his title. “Quiet down! I swear it’s like you want to be caught. I wouldn’t do that, I just– why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be at home?” 
At home clearly meant the N109 Zone, but Sylus picked up on your shrouded speech well enough. He fluidly shifted to allow a cluster of younger girls to dart past him through the crowd, but his eyes never wavered from yours. “Why else would I deign to grace Linkon City with my presence? I’m here on business. It’s since concluded, but I wanted to grab a drink. I wasn’t expecting to find you in the middle of the dance floor all by yourself.” 
Your tipsy brain was slow to process all of his information, the most prudent of which had to do with who he was discussing business with in this part of the city. You didn’t even bother to ask, though. Sylus could avoid your questions like he was born to do it, and you were painfully aware of how much he loved to goad you. Better to let the matter rest… for now. 
You crossed your arms over your chest– suddenly acutely aware of the plunging neckline of your dress– and did your best to sound firm. “Well, don’t stop on my account. Go get your drink so I can go back to what I was doing.” 
Those eyes of his were predatory in every sense of the word. You may as well have been naked with how vulnerable you felt on the receiving end of his unrelenting stare. “And leave you all alone here? Perish the thought.” 
Right on cue, you spotted Tara’s familiar head of hair bobbing and weaving through the crowd, both of her arms raised to protect the integrity of the two cocktails she held from the ever shifting sea of bodies. You instantly relaxed at the sight of her, and if Sylus’s raised brow was anything to go by, he noticed your change in demeanor almost immediately. He glanced over his shoulder in time to spot Tara emerging from the throng of bodies, one of the drinks in her hands already outstretched towards you. 
“The wait was crazy, but the bartender was really nice!” She had to shout over the roar of the music, an easygoing smile already playing on her lips. You took the offered beverage from her while she continued, “He gave me his employee discount for both of the drinks. I think he liked–”
You knew the exact moment Tara noticed the six foot two giant towering over you, her brown eyes becoming comically wide as she shifted her weight to look up at Sylus. Recognition flashed across her face, and for a brief moment you felt a genuine surge of panic. But then her expression smoothed out, and she gently patted Sylus’ shoulder in a friendly greeting. 
“You’re Skye, right? It’s been forever! What are you doing here?” 
Skye? You were confused for all of two seconds until you remembered the one and only time Tara had ever met Sylus; at the hotel all those weeks ago during your team building exercise. You thought he had been pretending to be a fruit vendor, up until he let you know that he would order more of the watermelon served there that you loved so much, cluing you in on the fact that he had some kind of dealings with the establishment. The enigma of a man seemed to have his fingers in damn near every pie in Linkon and the N109 Zone. 
Was nowhere safe from his influence? Honestly… 
The conversation between your two acquaintances had continued in the midst of your reminiscing, and Sylus pinned you with a knowing look, which brought yet another scowl to your face. “I’m just passing through. I happened to see Miss Hunter over here looking incredibly lonely, so I decided I’d come and say hello.”
Liar. “I already told you I was here for a girl’s night out. As you can see, the girls are back together and in the middle of something.”
Tara’s glassy eyes lit up as the worst idea imaginable came to mind. “I don’t mind if you want to hang out with us, Skye. You can be one of the girls for the night if you’d like.” 
The giggle that slipped out of Tara spoke volumes of her inebriated state, and you opted to blame all the alcohol for giving her enough courage to invite a borderline stranger into your circle. If she knew the truth about the man standing mere inches away from her, you knew her tone would change in an instant. Thankfully though, Sylus interjected before you got the chance to, seemingly on the same page as you for once. 
“Thank you for the invite, but I can’t linger tonight. You two have your fun, I’ll be at the bar for a bit before I need to head out. The fruit business never sleeps, I’m afraid.”
The ease with which he lied out of his ass was something that needed to be studied by professionals, you were certain. Still, you were grateful that he was taking pity on you and excusing himself, though you had to admit you were… surprised by it. The Sylus you knew wouldn’t turn his nose up at a chance to taunt you and keep you on your toes. Even though he had revealed sides of himself to you that you hadn’t expected, at the end of the day, Sylus was an instigator at his core. 
Red eyes glittering with mirth met yours for the briefest of moments before the Onychinus leader turned on his heel to head for the bar, and the crowd of people that surrounded the three of you seemed to part for him effortlessly. Countless heads turned to watch Sylus as he went, women and men alike staring after him with varying degrees of attraction and envy written across their faces. You could hardly blame them. 
Men more than likely wanted to be him, and women no doubt wanted to be with him. He seemed to have that effect on everyone he crossed paths with. 
“Is there something going on between you two?” 
Your head swiveled back towards Tara so fast, the movement practically gave you whiplash. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 
She playfully shoved your shoulder, which only succeeded in pushing herself away from you as she stumbled back a step. No more drinks for her, you thought to yourself. “Oh come on,” she drawled. “The tension between you and him is thick enough to cut with a knife. Plus the way he stares at you? I would melt if I was on the receiving end of those eyes.”
Thoroughly fed up with the conversation already, you simply shook your head and brought your drink to your lips, your eyes unconsciously seeking Sylus out. He was exactly where he said he would be; at the bar with a glass already pinched between his long, lithe fingers. How he had gotten a drink so fast, you didn’t know, and you furrowed your brows in confusion at the same time his gaze zeroed in on you from across the room. He raised his beverage to you and tipped his head forward in a leisurely manner, but you only gave him a nonplussed blink in response before looking away. 
“Exhibit A,” Tara tactfully pointed out when you returned to paying attention to her. “What would be the harm? He’s handsome, he’s got to be smart with all the business deals he’s involved in, he’s polite. He could be good for you if you gave him a chance.” 
“Tara, you have no idea what you’re talking about. He’s–” you cut yourself off, trying and failing to come up with a justification that didn’t out him as the head of a massive crime organization. In the end you settled for, “He’s a complicated guy. Can we just forget about it? Please?” 
“Fine, fine,” she waved off your pleading and took a hearty sip of her drink, motioning for you to do the same. “I’ll let it slide this once, but don’t think for one second that I’m dropping the subject forever. Anyways, do you think the DJ is taking requests?” 
Thankfully it didn’t take you long to fall back into your previously upbeat mood. The steady supply of alcohol and the rancorous thrum of your heartbeat in your ears certainly helped matters, and when the song Tara had requested finally came on over the pounding speakers, you shed the remainder of your inhibitions and downed the rest of your drink to free up your hands and dance wildly. It took a herculean effort not to glance back to the bar to see if Sylus was still perched on the stool in the corner, but your willpower won out in the end as you swayed your hips to the tempo of the dark, seductive music. 
Lost in the sea of bodies around you, your senses were overwhelmed with all the different sights, sounds, and smells that surrounded you. The tang of everyone’s sweat mixed together wasn’t altogether unpleasant, and the sickly sweet taste of the lingering cocktail on your lips had you wetting them as red strobe lights darted overhead. Heat from everyone packed in tight next to one another had sweat dripping down your brow, your chest, your back— so you dexterously gathered your hair in one hand to lift off of your neck to offer some reprieve. 
Tara was a blur in the corner of your eye, but you still knew she was somewhere in front of you. That was how you knew the hand on the nape of your neck wasn’t hers, and the absence of Sylus’ trademark scent told you that it wasn’t him, either. 
Ambushed by an errant hand for the second time in one night, you were quick to spin around and shove the stranger away. It was a man– an unfamiliar one at that– who looked all too put out to have been so harshly rejected within the first five seconds of trying. His hair was so black that underneath the club’s technicolored lights, it looked blue. Pale green eyes were narrowed in confusion at you, though you noticed how he immediately attempted to school his expression once you’d turned around. 
“Hey,” he called over the thrumming base of the music. “Want to dance?”
Suddenly bashful at having been so harsh, you did your best to ease up your defensive stance and allowed for a polite smile to play on your lips while you shook your head. “Thank you, but no thanks. I’m here with my friend.” 
Apparently being nice wasn’t going to work, because the stranger stepped close enough to sling his arms across your and Tara’s shoulders, and with the brief look the two of you shared, you could tell neither one of you was particularly thrilled about it. “The more the merrier! Why don’t you two come over to my booth in the corner? I’m sure my friends would love to meet you.”
Calmly but firmly, you grabbed for the man’s hand to unsling it from around your neck, taking a small step away from him as you reached for Tara. “No thank you, we’re good–”
His hand shot out quickly, and you blamed the alcohol in your system for nullifying your reaction time, because the bastard succeeded in grabbing your forearm to pull you closer once again. His nails dug into your flesh hard enough that you winced, and when you tried pulling back, you felt the telltale sting of skin breaking. “Oh come on,” he crooned, giving you an undiluted nose-full of the stale beer on his breath. “Don’t be such a buzzkill. A couple of beautiful women such as yourselves deserve a night of fun, wouldn’t you say?” 
Tara interjected this time, looking more uncomfortable than you’d ever seen her before. “We’re really fine, please let go–”
A shadow crossed your vision for a moment; large, imposing, and radiating an aura that you could only describe as murderous. Smokey cologne filled your nostrils as Sylus wrenched the man’s hand away from your arm, then picked him up by the scruff of his shirt to glare menacingly into his eyes. Over the blaring music, you had no idea what the green-eyed stranger was saying, but you could make out the sound of him stammering as he clawed at the arm that held him inches off the ground. 
For a minute, you really thought Sylus was going to end the man’s life. Even in the midst of hoisting an adult male off the floor by the fabric of his shirt, he didn’t move a muscle. It didn’t even look like he was struggling. He was eerily still, and when you moved to catch a glimpse of his side profile, there was no missing the white hot stare he had glued to his prey. 
Tentatively, you placed your hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly to get his attention. “Sylus, we’re fine– just put him down, please.” 
Aside from a muscle in his jaw ticking minutely, he gave no indication that he had heard you. You tried again, “Sylus please. People are staring, you’re causing a scene.” 
Truthfully you couldn’t care less about the people in the club watching everything unfold, but you were worried about police being called in and discovering who exactly Sylus was. The thought of him being taken away unnerved you, and even though you knew he could more than likely escape beforehand, you feared for the people that would inevitably be caught in the crossfire. 
Beneath your palm, you felt Sylus’ bicep flex before he roughly dropped the man from his ironclad grip. The stranger, wide-eyed with terror, stumbled when his feet hit the floor, but he didn’t waste any time disappearing into the crowd and vanishing from sight. You sighed with relief, grateful that things hadn’t ended badly, then looked back to the silver haired man. His red eyes were fixed on your arm where the stranger had scratched you; four stark, crescent shaped wounds were etched into your skin. Sylus gently took your hand in his to bring your forearm closer for him to inspect, lightly running his fingers over the wounds, and despite the severity of the situation, you felt your face flushing from the intimacy of the gesture. 
“Come on,” Sylus practically growled, his grip on your hand tightening. “We’re leaving.” 
“I– wait, what?” You tried wrenching your arm free from the imposing man’s vice grip, but it was like pulling at Protocore infused shackles. “Sylus, let me go! What about Tara? I can’t leave her here alone.” 
“Luke and Kieran are already on their way. They’ll take her home.” He didn’t look at you as he half-pulled, half-dragged you through the crowd towards the front doors of the club. It took everything in you not to stumble in your heels and sprawl out on the sticky, tile floor, but something told you that even if you did, Sylus would just haul you up and toss you over his shoulder before you made contact with the ground. When the two of you made it outside, the cool air was like a sobering slap to the face, and you blinked rapidly as Sylus released your hand long enough to open the passenger side door of a sleek, black car parked in the front. He gestured stiffly to the seat, “Get in.” 
The flame of rebellion reserved especially for Sylus and his insufferable brand of arrogance roared to life in a split second. Any gratitude you might have felt towards him dissipated into the air like smoke. Your eyes sharpened into something lethal, and your hands curled into fists at your sides as you stood your ground on the sidewalk– silently daring him to physically move you into the car, because you would sooner go head to head with a den of Wanderers before you let yourself be ordered around by him. 
“No.”  
“What if I asked nicely?” 
“No,” you doubled down firmly, your nails biting into the skin of your palms as you beat back the urge to smack him. 
“Kitten,” Sylus’ voice was a low rumble, but the nickname came out as anything but calm. It held a dangerous edge to it, like something akin to thunder sounding before lightning struck. “Now really isn’t the time to show me your claws. Please, get in the car.” 
“Screw you, Sylus. I already said no. I’ll walk–” 
The familiar, cold tendrils of his Evol snaked around your torso, lashing out too fast for you to track or dodge. There was an almost imperceivable tug against your midsection, and the next thing you knew, you were being haphazardly thrown into the car. Any whiplash the motion would have caused was prevented by the red mist that cradled your head. By the time you realized what had happened, Sylus was shutting the door on you and striding around to the driver’s side, ignoring the wary stares from the people outside waiting to be let into the club. 
“Are you out of your mind?” You snapped as soon as he climbed in, and your blood boiled when he wouldn’t even do you the service of looking at you while you raged. “You’re completely out of line! You don’t get to just decide to kidnap me when I’m out with my friends. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?” 
“You’ll get over it,” he muttered, throwing the gear in drive before peeling away from the curb. He spun the car around so quickly that you found yourself leaning uncomfortably against the door, and as he evened out the steering wheel and took off down the street, the erratic motions had you bouncing between the window and the center console. “You might want to buckle up, sweetie.” 
He shot you a sidelong look when you jerked on the seatbelt hard enough for it to lock in place, then snickered when you were forced to be gentler to draw the strap across your lap. “Keep laughing like that and you’ll have to sleep with one eye open tonight,” you muttered, clicking the buckle into place. 
Sylus chuckled softly under his breath, his knuckles blanching white against the steering wheel for a brief moment before he said, “I’m counting on it, kitten.” 
Insufferable. Demanding. Egotistical. Infuriatingly charming. Too suave for his own good. All of those terms could be used to describe Sylus, but even then it wasn’t enough. No dictionary in the world had enough words to characterize the man’s personality, and you were positive that if you tried finding one, you would be on the hunt for the rest of your life. 
After arriving at his house in the N109 Zone, you’d bitten his head off for not taking you home. When he had countered with the claim that he’d never specified where he was taking you to begin with, you had thrown your hands in the air and stomped away into the living room, at your wits end for the nth time tonight. He had given you a modicum of space to let you cool off shortly thereafter, until he had reappeared to let you know that Luke and Kieran had dropped Tara off at her house safe and sound. 
That had… helped your mood a little. While Sylus was an exasperating person as a whole, you knew that you could trust him to have your friend delivered home unharmed. Luke and Kieran were reliable too– at least, they were when they weren’t conspiring to get you and their boss into compromising situations.
You had never really forgiven them for setting you up that night you were searching for Sylus’ brooch. If Sylus was the ringmaster of Onychinus, Luke and Kieran were the acrobats bending over backwards to please him. 
“There’s a change of clothes by the bathroom,” Sylus’ gravelly voice sounded from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t bother looking away from the massive bay windows to acknowledge him. “You can go shower if you want. If you’re still adamant about going home afterwards, then I’ll take you.” 
You barked out a humorless laugh, and you saw Sylus narrow his eyes at you in the reflection of the window. “Why so hospitable all of a sudden? You didn’t care about what I wanted when you were hauling me out of the club like a petulant child.” 
“I’m sorry, are we forgetting the part where I got rid of the human scum that was yanking you around like a dog on a leash?” 
You dumbly shook your head, baffled and bewildered that he had justifications ready to dish out after behaving so boorishly. “While I appreciate that you intervened, I had it under control.”
One second he was across the room glaring at the back of your head. The next, he was inches away from you, peering down at you like an ominous shadow with predatory intent plastered all over his face. Sylus swiftly captured your hand in his to reveal the tiny row of scratches on your forearm, his gentle ministrations so at odds with his stormy demeanor. He cocked a brow at you and condescendingly said, “You and I have very different definitions of what ‘under control’ means, kitten.” 
“Whatever,” you muttered, easily withdrawing your arm back to your side. “It’s not like he could have done anything serious. We had people all around us, and security would have come over eventually–”
“For future reference, don’t rely on drunk patrons to protect you. I expected better from a Linkon Hunter. You have no idea what that man wanted with you and your friend.” 
“Oh, and you do?”
“Yes.”
That one word from Sylus made you pause, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and your face crinkled in confusion as you processed the meaning behind his declaration. “You… Did you use your Evol?”
Not the least bit ashamed at having been caught, Sylus turned away from you to look out the floor to ceiling window. “He may as well have been screaming his desires with how loud his thoughts were. What he wanted was vile,” he stated roughly, “and he would have gotten it whether you were a willing participant or not.” 
The silence that filled the living room was deafening, and you nervously looked down to the floor as you shifted your weight between your feet. To hear the real reason why Sylus had felt the need to intervene… it explained the cold-blooded expression you’d seen on his face. Moreover, you were glad that he hadn’t left like he had said he would. 
Should you apologize? It felt wrong to just ignore the fact that Sylus could very well have saved your life tonight, and Tara’s by extension. He was as stubborn and headstrong as they came, but he wasn’t a monster. He had protected you countless times before now, and despite your brain’s unwillingness to fully agree, you had a sneaking suspicion that the crime lord had a soft spot for you. You’d come to terms with that fact a long time ago. At the very least, you felt like you owed him a sincere apology for being such a brat in the face of his kindness. 
If it could even be called that. 
Your mouth opened so those two little words could slip free and ease the weight that had settled on your shoulders, but Sylus’ finger stopped you. The slender digit pressed against your lips and prevented you from saying anything, and you looked up at him through your lashes as you blinked slowly in confusion. 
“Go clean up. We can talk more after, if you’d like.” 
The softness of his voice coupled with the tenderness of his gaze compelled you to listen. No retorts, no witty one-liners, no arguments formed on your tongue. For the first time since knowing him, you weren’t in the mood to butt heads or deny him. 
So you listened. 
He was waiting for you when you finished in the bathroom. 
Maybe it was more appropriate to say that he’d simply retired to his room after waiting for nearly an hour. After all, you were technically using his shower. The gray cotton pajamas that had been left for you on the bathroom counter were soft, thin, and fit like a glove. You had taken a good minute to relish in the comfortable feeling of them before slipping out of the steam filled chamber. 
Sylus was thumbing over the collection of records on the shelf when you emerged, his broad back to you as he thoughtfully debated on which one to play. He made no move to acknowledge your presence, but you already knew he had heard you walk out of the bathroom. He was too perceptive to overlook anyone sneaking up on him. 
Padding over to the bed, you sat down on the edge of the mattress and mulled over the countless different things you could say to him. ‘I’m sorry’ was seemingly the most prudent. There was also the ‘thank you’ route, which wasn’t a bad option considering he had made sure Tara made it home safely in addition to coming to your aide. Part of you even wanted to ask why he cared to go so far out of his way for you when you were merely… well, you. Sure, your paths had intertwined some time ago, and he had helped you out in choppy situations a few times before. But at the end of the day, the two of you couldn’t be more different, and it wasn’t like you’d made it easy for him to get to know you. 
Why did he care to help you? 
You could already hear his possible responses playing in your mind. He would probably say something like “I protect my investments,” or “You have a habit of looking so pitiful, I can’t help myself”. Something that would affirm that you were important to him while still keeping you at arm’s length. This cat and mouse game you had going with him was maddening, and you were starting to lose your grip on what was real and what was a facade. 
“If you think any harder, you’re going to hurt yourself, kitten.” 
Sylus’ voice drew you back into the present moment, and you glanced towards him in time to watch him slide a vinyl case off the shelf before carefully thumbing the packaging open. His captivating red eyes landed on you as he deposited the disk onto the record player, effortlessly dropping the needle down without so much as blinking. An almost bewitching melody filled the room, and then Sylus was setting down the case to walk towards you, his stride slow and purposeful. Stopping a few inches away from you, he delicately picked up a strand of your damp hair to coil around his finger as he raked his eyes over your body. 
The pajamas he’d chosen were definitely meant for hot nights, that was for sure. The soft, gossamer shorts left nearly all of your legs on display. Nevermind the racy neckline of the matching, lace-lined tank top. All in all, you were wearing more skin than you were clothes. 
“I was thinking,” you started to say, tilting your chin up to meet his unyielding stare. “I owe you an apology.” 
One perfectly groomed brow quirked up in response. “Oh?”
“I know I can be stubborn sometimes–” 
“The understatement of the century,” he mused thoughtfully. 
“Shush, I need to say this.” You sighed before pressing on undaunted, your tone hardening, “That being said, I’d be ungrateful if I didn’t acknowledge that I was out of my element tonight. I honestly don’t know if things would have gone the way you said they would, but even so I can see now that I wasn’t in a state of mind to properly protect myself or Tara. Your methods were… unorthodox, but you being there was appreciated, and I’m sorry that I snapped at you.” 
Sylus was quiet for a few seconds, taking in your words with an almost serene expression on his face. His thumb traced over the strand of your hair around his finger, then let it slip away to caress the side of your cheek with his knuckles. Your breathing hitched– startled by the gesture– but you made no move to pull away or stop him. It was rare for you to be able to perceive him so… openly. 
His voice was low, barely a whisper as he murmured, “You never have to thank me for the things I do. Especially not for tonight.” 
The way he grazed your cheekbone with his fingertips before tracing the outline of your jaw had your mouth firmly sealed. If you tried to speak, you already knew your voice would come out pitifully small. It had nothing to do with feeling small, however. The utter longing in Sylus’ gaze coupled with the almost reverent way he touched your face made you feel… important. He was looking at you like you were the only thing he cared about within the four walls, which was saying something when you stopped to consider all the valuables and collectables he kept hidden away in his bedroom. 
But you didn’t stop to think. Not really. Your brain was mercifully silent as you studied his eyes, his posture, his lips. Something had shifted between the two of you, and you didn’t know if you were eager or scared to discover what that meant. Sylus’ thumb slid over your lips, his touch featherlight as well as chill-inducing. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable as the corner of his mouth twitched up into a half smirk. 
“Let tonight be a lesson to you, kitten; never let your guard down around anyone,” his gaze flickered from your face to your chest, then lazily swept down the rest of your seated form. “Especially not when you’re out for a night on the town looking like the human embodiment of temptation.” 
“Temptation?” You echoed dumbly, and Sylus shook his head to himself as he laughed softly. 
“Don’t tell me you were completely oblivious to how you looked in the middle of the club earlier. I’ll admit, the amount of eyes you had on you made me… twitchy. I should burn that dress to cinders, but then I’d never get to see you in it again.” 
You blinked in surprise, a tingling warmth spreading from your chest all the way down your torso before settling between your legs. “I– you liked it?” 
It should have made you laugh the way Sylus had to bend down so much to put his eyes at the same level as yours, but humor had flown right out the fucking window the second he started caressing your face. His blatant desire burned you, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Red eyes bored into yours, and his face was close enough that you could see the darker shade of red that rimmed his irises. Being so up close and personal with his lips also made thinking difficult, but the one thought you managed to cling onto was how soft they looked, and how much you wanted to feel them against yours. 
This man was quickly becoming your undoing, and you truly didn’t think you had it in you to fight against your baser urges. 
“I liked the dress,” Sylus said huskily, his fingers leaving your face to ghost down the side of your neck. “I liked your heels, and I definitely liked your dancing.” His fingers moved to curl around the back of your neck, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him so that his breath fanned across your cheeks as his eyes eagerly fell to your lips. “Would you be offended if I said I like you?” 
The shallow breath you drew into your lungs was like music to Sylus’ ears, and you felt his hand stiffen against the nape of your neck as he awaited your response. Formulating words was a bit of a challenge, however, seeing as all you could focus on was the unrepentant fantasies that were currently bombarding your brain. You wanted him bad, and the wet heat ravaging your lower body was a testament to that fact. 
“I’m going to need an answer, sweetie,” Sylus purred, all too pleased with the way you seemed to unconsciously move your face closer to his. “Or am I meant to read your mind to find out for myself?”
“I’m not offended,” your response was airy– barely a whisper– but Sylus heard you loud and clear, and he grinned wickedly as his grip on your neck tightened. “I think I like you too.” 
“It’s about time.” 
Those three little words came out roughly, but you hardly got the chance to dwell on the gravelly timbre to Sylus’ voice. His lips were on yours in the next second, stealing your breath and igniting a fire in your veins that threatened to burn you from the inside out. Every one of your senses was overcome with Sylus; his smokey scent, the throaty moan he let slip, the feeling of his fingers burying themselves in your still damp hair. You heard him kick off his shoes without breaking away, and then you felt the mattress dip under his weight as he supported himself over you with one of his knees. Looming above you, you were entirely at his mercy as he used the newfound angle to his advantage, sweeping his tongue along the roof of your mouth as he devoured the minuscule sounds that emanated from you. You cautiously wrapped your significantly smaller hand around his thick wrist, drawing him close enough into your space that you had to lean back on the bed to accommodate his larger frame. 
“The things you do to me,” Sylus rumbled, leaning his head to the side to trail hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck, flicking his tongue against your pulse with a low hum. “So unbelievably perfect. You have no idea what I want to do to you.” 
Emboldened by his praise, you let your hands rest on his narrow waist so your nails could dig into the silky fabric of his dress shirt. “Show me, then,” you replied, turning your head so you could stare up at him as your teeth began to bite at your swollen bottom lip. 
In a flash, Sylus had moved off of you to wedge his arms under your armpits, effortlessly hoisting you off the edge of the bed so he could better toss you towards the mountain of pillows near the headboard. A surprised yelp sounded from you as your ass made contact with the smooth, satin sheets, and you watched blearily as Sylus deftly began undoing the top buttons of his shirt with one hand as his eyes raked over you. “You don’t have any idea what kind of effect you have on me, do you? You drive me crazy and you’re none the wiser to it. Ignorance really is bliss, huh?”
“I–” you didn’t know what to say or where to look, especially once the muscled expanse of his chest started to show itself. “I’m sorry?” 
Chuckling darkly, Sylus finished off the remaining clasps on his shirt and shrugged the attire off, tossing it somewhere near the record player before making his way to the side of the bed. “Actions speak louder than words, kitten. Why don’t you show me just how sorry you are?” His hands gestured towards his belt in an unspoken question, and while it took you a second to figure out what it was that he wanted, you were quick to shuffle towards him to get started once your brain caught up. “So eager to please… I’m impressed.” 
You ignored his teasing to the best of your ability. Cold feet wouldn’t serve you well now– not when every fiber of your being was heated with blatant arousal. The urge to please him, to pleasure him, to drive him to further madness, was overwhelming. Nimble as a cat, you undid his belt and let the metal buckle fall away with a resounding clink. The catch of his pants went next, and you made sure to glance up at him through your lashes as you slowly dragged the zipper down, reveling in the lust-filled gaze he fixed you with. 
Sylus let you do the majority of the work, only deigning to lend you a hand when you struggled to pull his pants down over the swell of his rear. A throaty laugh sounded from above you when your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at the sight of his briefs. The unmistakable outline of his girth was apparent through the dark fabric, and fuck– was he big. 
How the hell was that supposed to fit anywhere inside you? 
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” Sylus taunted, his index finger and thumb coming to grip your chin and tilt your head up at him. “Just take it slow. I’ll talk you through it.” 
All his promise did was give you butterflies. You swallowed thickly, nodding as he released you so you could turn back to the task at hand. Almost hesitantly you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his dark undergarments, taking care to let your hands graze the delectable ‘V’ of his lower stomach before you pulled them down and revealed inch after inch of his insane member. You couldn’t help it that your mouth fell open at the sight. 
Sylus’ cock wasn’t just big, it was thick. The sheer weight of it fought against its erect nature and had it drooping menacingly before your parted lips. The shiny, red tip was already oozing pre-cum, causing it to glimmer as it reflected the dim overhead lighting. A sparse collection of darker, neatly trimmed hair surrounded his shaft, and you unconsciously found your nails scraping gently through it before you took him in your hands. Even with both of the appendages working together to grip him, there was still ample space left untouched and exposed, and you licked your lips before glancing up at the silver haired man with expectant eyes. 
Sylus still looked surprisingly put together despite the circumstances, but the way his chest rose and fell quicker than normal spoke volumes of his excitement. His red eyes glittered with anticipation, and one of his large hands carded through your hair before gripping the strands firmly enough to maneuver your cheek directly against his throbbing manhood. He sighed as soon as your skin made contact with it, gently moving you around by your tresses until his tip bumped against your lips. 
“Open,” came his sultry command. 
With nowhere else to go you heeded his instruction and stuck your tongue out, ready and willing for whatever he had planned for you. He let you guide his cock into the warm, inviting prison that was your mouth, and without any further pointers from him, you took him as far as you could before you felt the head bumping the back of your throat. The urge to gag came and went quickly as you hollowed your cheeks around your mouthful, and the ragged sound Sylus let slip conveyed his approval well enough. 
It was a tad difficult to crane your neck back to sneak a glance at him, but from what you could see, he was breathing heavily and looking down at you with wonder. “You’re quite the little minx, aren’t you?” 
You hummed your confirmation, the vibrations from the action making the hand in your hair squeeze tighter around the strands, and the soft curse that emanated from him was like music to your ears. 
“Fuck– slowly now, keep your tongue out and mind your teeth. Tap my leg if you need to stop, alright kitten?” 
Stopping was the absolute last thing you wanted to do, but you dipped your head just enough to let him know you were in agreement. Sylus cupped the underside of your jaw with his free hand while the other stayed firmly rooted in your hair– fully in control of your head from that moment forward– and you allowed for your hands to slip away from the base of his cock so you could brace your palms on his toned thighs. His first few thrusts were meant to test your resolve, seeing as they were shallow and relatively wary. Your jaw stayed slack throughout all of it though, and you even took it upon yourself to tense and untense your tongue as he plunged in and out. 
“Damn,” Sylus groaned as his eyes fell shut, the euphoric sensations prompting him to increase his pace ever so slightly. Your nails scraped against the skin of his thighs as you curled your hands into loose fists, the sordid, wet sounds of your mouth making your face flush with barely there embarrassment. “That’s it, darling. You’re doing great.” 
With his fingers wrapped under your jaw, the placement of his digits allowed you to become acutely aware of the bulge in your throat. Sylus’ cock edged deeper and deeper into your mouth with every pump of his hips, and when a strangled, choking sound finally broke free from your stuffed mouth, Sylus laughed darkly before opening his eyes to turn his attention back to you. 
“I wish you could see yourself right now.” Sylus emphasized the statement with a harsher buck of his hips, the head of his cock sliding past the back of your throat and reaching far enough that you felt it near the top of your esophagus. Your eyes pinched shut as tears welled up within them, then flew open as the man above you withdrew his shaft nearly all the way to give you the chance to breathe. Greedy gulps of air were sucked down immediately, followed by a harsh cough that forced the pooling tears in your eyes to cascade down your cheeks. “You make one hell of a pretty picture, sweetie. I’ll have to keep a camera on hand next time.” 
“C-Can I try?” You rasped out the question as you worked to catch your breath, and the amusement that lit up Sylus’ features was enough to harden your determination. 
He released the underside of your jaw and affectionately brushed a few strands of hair out of your face before dropping his hands entirely. “By all means. Show me what tricks you’ve got up your sleeve, Miss Hunter.” 
You weren’t inexperienced by any means, but the impressive size of Sylus had you reevaluating everything you’d ever learned. A blow job was a blow job, however, and you were certain that your enthusiasm would help cover any blind spots that would no doubt appear. 
Sylus watched with anticipation as you took him back in your hands and smiled up at him, resting the heavy head of his cock between your lips before you pursed them to press a warm, messy kiss to the sensitive tip. The tiny, evil glint in your tear-stained eyes clued him in on just how badly you yearned to make him crumble, and for probably the first time in his life, Sylus couldn’t wait to see someone try to knock him down a peg or two. 
With your eyes still glued to him, you slipped your tongue out and ran it slowly over the slit before curling the muscle around the swollen head with a soft sigh, gently stroking him once, then twice. You twisted your wrist slightly as you opened your mouth again to suck wetly at the pre-cum beading before your eyes, laving your tongue over the head hard enough for Sylus’ eyes to narrow for the briefest of moments. His hands clenched at his side, the insatiable urge to fuck into your mouth again taking over him, but he refrained from interrupting your show through sheer force of will alone. 
You smiled coyly up at him, entirely aware of the larger man’s internal struggle, and slowly slid his cock back into your mouth so your lips sealed right over the head as you sucked. It was wet and messy and noisy, and Sylus couldn’t help the way he twitched forward for more as a string of broken curses fell from his lips. 
Your eyes fluttered shut as you tilted your head to the side to mouth down Sylus’ length, sucking gently and soothing your tongue over the warm flesh as you went, and if the feeling and the sight of you wasn’t enough to leave Sylus a panting, eager mess, the slick sounds of your mouth would fucking do it for him. He kept his hands off but groaned loudly, trying his best to indicate that you should absolutely keep doing exactly that. 
His head fell back between his tense shoulders as he let out a low, rumbling moan, shivering when you curled your tongue around the underside of his cock and breathed a soft chuckle against him. You worked to stroke the parts of him that your lips weren’t worshiping, and the smooth, even touches were made even smoother by the copious amounts of saliva and pre-cum that already soaked his shaft. Sylus’ leg twitched minutely, his knee banging against the side of the bed frame, but all he could feel was your soft lips at the base of his cock followed by an agile twist around the slick head, smearing all the combined moisture around blindingly. He didn’t think it could get any better than that, but once you dipped your head low enough to take the skin of his balls into your mouth and suck delicately, Sylus was fighting to keep his head out of the clouds, because the sensation was absolutely otherworldly. 
“Fuck,” came Sylus’ garbled, gritted voice, his stomach tensing as his hands finally returned to your mussed hair. “Alright, you’ve proven your point, kitten.”
Hardly, you thought. You ignored the high strung edge to his voice and continued your ministrations, wrapping your lips around the head and taking him as deep as you could before you swallowed, and when Sylus choked on a rough gasp in response, you withdrew slowly, using the tip of your tongue to press along the underside of his cock. Sylus desperately wanted to stop you, because the last thing he had anticipated was cutting all the fun short by finishing in your mouth of all places– but then your tongue swirled around the tip again while you stroked every wet, exposed inch– and his fingers tightened around your strands of hair as he fought the urge to shove his cock back into the welcoming embrace of your mouth. 
He didn’t think it was possible for such a tiny thing to have such a dexterous tongue. There was simply no way anything born of this Earth could possibly be this versatile. 
“Enough,” Sylus growled abruptly, willing his brain to supersede his baser urges as he promptly pulled you off of him by your hair. The sting from the motion made you gasp, but the pleasure that came with being so easily manhandled quickly overshadowed the pain, and your hooded eyes drank in the sight of Sylus as you breathed in deeply. 
Red eyes hazy and unfocused, chest rising and falling rapidly, and a pretty flush you’d never seen before sneaking up his neck and spreading across his cheeks and ears. Oh yeah, you thought, he was definitely getting close. 
“Don’t look so smug,” Sylus rumbled, the slight strain in his voice barely noticeable. But you were a Linkon City Hunter, and being perceptive was technically a job requirement, so you absolutely took note of it. You couldn’t help but grin– awfully proud of yourself for riling him up this way– and let go of his cock to brace yourself on your arms as you leaned back. 
“Sorry, I just really liked the face you were making.” 
His eyes narrowed in an unspoken challenge, and before you could so much as blink, his larger body was covering the bulk of yours as he hoisted you back up the mattress so you were leaning against the throne of pillows once again. Red tendrils of his Evol aided him in the removal of your shirt, the lacy attire vanishing from view as he crawled backwards just enough so he could slip his fingers under the waistband of your pajama shorts before he said, “I hope it was worth it, because now it’s my turn to see what kinds of faces you’ll make, sweetie.” 
The effect his words had on you could have honestly been deemed concerning, and the pure bolt of arousal that shot through you when he started to drag your pants off without breaking eye contact was like nothing you had ever felt before. As soon as he had tossed your bottoms to the floor to join his own pile of clothing, he wasted little time in settling between your outstretched legs, wrapping one of his thick forearms over your waist to hold you in place as a devious expression spread across his face. 
“Try to hold still for me,” he breathed out softly. You opened your mouth to reply, but your words got cut off the second one of his fingers slid along your slit and pressed against your clit, wringing a strangled gasp from you as you inadvertently bucked your hips up into his touch. He tutted disapprovingly, “That’s the exact opposite of holding still.” 
“I–” another gasp filled the room as Sylus took to drawing languid circles around the bundle of nerves between your legs, the accumulated moisture there making the action effortless and positively heavenly. It took an insane amount of restraint to keep your hips still despite the blissful torment, your breathing becoming increasingly erratic as Sylus played with you, testing your reactions and pushing your limits as though your body was a new toy he was trying out. Your nails dug into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself, your bottom lip throbbing as you savaged it with your teeth. 
As soon as Sylus’ mouth appeared against your entrance, there was no stopping the unconscious jerk of your hips against his face. His muffled laughter against you didn’t help matters, and you wheezed shakily as you grabbed for a fistful of the sheets with one hand while slapping the other over your mouth. Keening, desperate little moans slipped through your fingers, Sylus’ tongue reducing you to a brainless pile of limbs faster than you could process. The tense muscle probed and swept inside of you while his thumb rubbed maddeningly over your clit, the dual stimulation borderline torturous, and your stifled groan drew Sylus’ attention as he increased the tempo of his tongue. 
The arm draped across your waist extended in the next second, and you felt as the silver haired man grabbed for the hand covering your mouth. You let him pull your arm down to your side, his palm tracing down your heated skin until it reached your own, and then he was intertwining your fingers together to hold the limb there. His lips left your core for the briefest of moments, just long enough for him to murmur breathlessly, “Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me, kitten. I want to hear all of it.” 
It should have been anatomically impossible, but you somehow managed to flush even deeper than before. Sylus kept his eyes on you as he returned to licking and sucking at your soaked center, his pupils blown wide and completely dilated as he worked to tear the most sinful, desperate noises from your scratchy throat. He truly looked like some kind of irresistible sex demon– risen from the depths of Hell to torment you and reduce you to a brainless, twitching mess of a human– and God was he succeeding. You were torn between wanting it all to end with your release and simultaneously wanting it to continue forever. 
The idea of staying here for the rest of eternity was not an unpleasant one. Not in the slightest. 
Sylus’ thumb vanished from your swollen nub, replaced almost immediately by his mouth as he sucked the tender bit of flesh between his lips, and the cry that ripped from your chest was unlike any sound you had ever heard yourself make. Your spine arched clean off the mattress, your hips pressing against Sylus’ face so forcefully that you were certain you had to be suffocating him, but as you tried to writhe away from the overwhelming ecstasy, Sylus clenched your hand tight in his and held you firmly where you were. 
“Fuck– Sylus, please, please,” you babbled mindlessly, the tight, hot feeling in your lower stomach roaring to life as he teased his tongue over the small bit of flesh held firm between his soft lips. “I–I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come–” 
The euphoric rush within your body was more powerful than any Aether Core. It was dazzling. Your muscles tensed, your mouth fell open, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hips bucked harshly against Sylus’ unrelenting mouth as an orgasm unlike any you had ever experienced washed over you. The sound of your hoarse voice dimly registered in your ears as you came, and you faintly realized that you were screaming– but there was nothing in the world that could interrupt the extraterrestrial experience you were currently living through– so your voice reverberated off the walls of the room until you were wholly and truly out of breath. 
When you finally sagged back into the mattress, Sylus had eased up the intensity of his ministrations, much to his credit. His tongue made one final plunge into your wet walls to lap up the evidence of your pleasure before he pulled away entirely, and all you could do was tremble beneath him as he pushed himself up onto his knees. 
He made no move to release your hand as he crawled over you, instead lifting and pinning the joined appendages beside your head before he dipped down to passionately kiss you. Sylus growled savagely as he swallowed up your pitiful mewling, every tiny sound you made fueling something deep inside of him. Trapped under him with nowhere to go, you were entirely at his mercy as his free hand came to slip under your neck in an attempt to deepen the kiss impossibly further. Sylus forced more of his tongue into your mouth and imbued you with the taste of yourself, humming thoughtfully when he felt your nails dig into the back of his hand, at which point he pulled back to stare down at you.
“I should count myself lucky that I have no neighbors this deep in the N109 Zone. I wouldn’t be surprised if you scared Mephisto off with that scream.” 
“Screw,” you panted harshly in-between the words, “that bird.” 
His hand clenched around the nape of your neck as a wicked smile stretched across his face. “You’re actually screwing me, in case you’ve forgotten. Or is your head still somewhere above the clouds?” 
Leave it to Sylus and his smartassery bring you back down to Earth. “One of these days someone is going to cut out your mocking tongue,” you grumbled under your breath, though there was no genuine animosity in the statement. 
Sylus only laughed, his red eyes twinkling with amusement and pure male satisfaction. “If that someone is you, I think I can rest easy. You seem to like my tongue far too much for that to be a viable threat.” 
“…Touché.” 
His lips resumed their relaxed exploration of yours, bestowing a few quick pecks to the corners of your mouth before he peppered a trail of kisses along your jaw, bumping your head to the side with his own as he went. His warm breath fanned across your sweat-slick skin as he sanguinely said, “I think you’ll like the other parts of me, too.” 
On cue, you felt the hard length of him settle against your thigh as he continued to press his lips against your thundering pulse, your hand coming to grip his firm bicep as arousal buzzed through you. Not a shred of doubt existed within you as you hummed your approval, angling your head to the side to give Sylus more room to lick a broad stripe down the column of your neck. You wanted more, and you were well past the point of pretending you weren’t keenly interested in experiencing everything the leader of Onychinus had to offer. 
In an act of complete and utter depravity, Sylus began rocking his hips against your thigh to rub his cock against your heated skin as he unabashedly groaned into the crook of your neck. You felt his sharp teeth clamp down on the skin above your clavicle before he sucked lightly, laving his tongue over the little bit of flesh he managed to latch on to. The barely there sting was more pleasant than anything, and you sighed contentedly when you felt him move higher to repeat the motion on another patch of unmarred skin. 
A small, needy sound came from deep within your chest when Sylus abandoned his hold on the back of your neck to feel his way down your prone body, your eyes falling shut as you relished in his gentle fondling. You felt his fingers graze over your collarbone, then over the hardened peaks of your breasts, before settling between your legs once again. His touch against your clit was slow and testing, prompting you to lean your head back with a quiet gasp as you rocked your hips into Sylus’ hand. The movement played into Sylus’ steady rocking nicely– your pelvis elevating and sliding against his cock easily– and the low-pitched groan of approval he met you with had you smiling softly to yourself.
When Sylus pushed his finger into you again, you bit your lip at the same time he pulled his mouth off of your neck. You opened your bleary eyes to peer up at him, only to find that he was watching you with a tender sort of reverence. You flushed brightly under his flustering gaze, suddenly incredibly bashful at having him watch you so closely even though his mouth had just been ravaging your most intimate area– but despite that fact, you found yourself angling your face to the side in an attempt to hide your reactions. 
“Oh no,” Sylus uttered, a lone tendril of his Evol snaking out to turn your face back to him. “No hiding, kitten. I don’t intend on missing a single one of the pretty expressions you make.”
As though to punctuate the statement, Sylus curled his finger inside of you up– just enough that he found the spot he’d been searching for– and his efforts pulled a strangled moan from you at the same time your hips jolted against his palm. “Sylus, I– hng–” 
Your pleading was cut short by Sylus adding a second finger before he repeated the motion, taking care to slowly rub the pads of his fingers across that same spot over and over again, evidently drawing immense satisfaction in watching you wriggle and twitch under him. That damnable smirk of his showed itself once more as he pressed into the spot more insistently, his eyes devouring every inch of you as your stomach tensed and your toes curled, a telling warmth bleeding through your chest and coiling its way down between your legs. 
It seemed impossible for any one person to be so good at this. Then again, this was Sylus, and you were fairly positive finding people’s weak points was something of a speciality of his. 
The fact that your weak point was buried knuckle deep inside of you was irrelevant. 
As Sylus continued to rub little circles over your sweet spot, he lowered his head once more to work yet another dark bruise into your skin, silently filing away the mental image of your body tensing and arching beneath him for later. The sight of you alone was enough to leave him breathless, but as nice as the imagery was, what really got to him were the sweet, gorgeous sounds of your voice. Your lips parted around quivering moans, tiny gasps slipping through every now and then, and your stammering pleas filled the quiet air around him and imbued him with a newfound sense of urgency. 
Sylus had always loved the sound of your voice, but hearing what it was like when it was hitched and raspy, repeating his name like a mantra… he knew then that there was no better sound in the world. It would be all too easy for him to become addicted to it– to you. 
As your whines became more urgent, your hips practically riding his fingers as he brought you close to the edge for a second time, Sylus couldn’t help but feel a sense of male pride. He was the one pulling those noises from you. He was the one you were calling out for, the one you were trusting to take you higher, to hold you and kiss you and make you feel good. He was the one making a noisy little wreck of you and branding you like he was born to do it. 
He needed more. Sylus needed to feel you from the inside out, and the way his cock twitched in response to the thought was all the motivation he needed to withdraw his fingers from your soaked heat. 
You were positively wrecked already– gorgeously so– with your eyes glazed and unfocused, your lips parted freely around beautiful moans and brainless praises, breathless whines of Sylus’ name escaping you alongside the rattling breaths you sucked down. He almost hated that he was interrupting when he murmured, “What do you think, sweetie? Think you’re ready for me?” 
Your eyelids fluttered as your brain returned to the present moment, having completely spaced in lieu of Sylus’ never ending finger torture. Scrubbing a hand down your face, you rasped out, “F-Fuck, yeah, I’ve been ready. You’re the masochist drawing this out.” 
Sylus laughed– the sound deep and rich– before pushing himself up and sitting back on his heels, the heavy head of his cock dragging over your impossibly wet entrance as he got settled. He finally let go of your hand to maneuver you exactly where he wanted you, your knees resting on either side of him as he gripped your waist with fiendish strength. 
“It’s not masochism, sweetie,” he purred, sliding his rock hard member up and down your slit to further tease you. “I’m being attentive. There’s a difference.” 
Sylus’ idea of being ‘attentive’ bordered dangerously close to persecution, because you were hanging on by a sliver of a thread after all his prep work. You swallowed thickly and wriggled your hips against his solid manhood, aiming to drive him into action before you lost your mind entirely. “I’ve been spoiled more than enough. If you’re any more attentive, the sun will start peeking through the blinds.” 
“Would that be so bad?” Sylus pressed the blunt head of his cock against your hole, not pressing in yet, but applying enough pressure that your heart rate quickened in your chest. “If I have any say in the matter, we’ll be seeing the sunrise regardless.” 
In one quick, fluid motion, Sylus effortlessly rolled his hips forward and pressed into your fluttering walls, a throaty growl reverberating within his chest as he was overcome with your unbelievable heat. The abrupt intrusion was far from unpleasant, but it was sudden enough that your mouth fell open around loud, stuttering moans, your eyes rolling back in your head as Sylus gingerly worked more of himself into you. Your hands scrambled for purchase against the silky sheets in an effort to compose yourself, and by the time he was sheathed nearly all the way within your core, your patience had evaporated. 
The size of him was insane. You could feel every inch of him, every vein that lined his incredible length, and the way he pulsed against your walls reignited the flame of desire that burned in your blood. 
“Sylus– God– Sylus,” you wheezed, tilting your head back as you forced yourself to relax your muscles. Rocking your hips up in search of stimulation wasn’t enough, not by a long shot. You needed to get fucked through the bed. You needed Sylus to plow you like the fucking world was ending, and the visceral want that coursed through you was so strong that you wanted to cry. 
Sylus groaned your name, the combined effect of you calling for him and the feeling of your absolutely drenched cunt sucking him in deeper making his goddamn head spin. He wanted to be gentle– to let you get acclimated before he went any further– because it wasn’t egotistical for him to acknowledge that he was big compared to you. But when he felt the heel of your foot press against his lower back, silently urging him to move, his reservations dissipated into the night like vapor. He knew what you wanted, and being the thoughtful, quick learner that he was, there was nothing holding him back from giving it to you. 
“No God here, kitten.” Sylus rewarded you with a deep, grinding thrust that left you frantic with hunger. “It’s just me, and you’re being so good for me.”
Before you even had time flush with embarrassment, Sylus gripped your thigh with one of his hands and braced himself over you with the other, then pulled out nearly all the way before ramming his cock back into you. 
Your shrill voice echoed off the walls of the bedroom, and your spine rounded clear off the mattress as you half whined, half screamed in ecstasy. 
Every slam of Sylus’ hips knocked the breath out of your lungs, his powerful, cervix kissing thrusts leaving you winded as you blindly gathered a fistful of satin sheets in your trembling hands. His brutal rhythm never faltered as he pounded into you with inhuman stamina, breathing loud moans of your name while a mix of concentration and pure bliss settled over his stunning features. Lost in the throes of rapture, you could barely find the brainpower to appreciate the sight of him above you, but you sure as hell tried. 
Sylus’ muscles rippled with power as he held himself over you and pumped his hips; his abdomen undulated, his shoulders tensed, and his lower half moved in a way you could only describe as wave-like. It was too much, and yet you couldn’t get enough of it. Every time he would withdraw his cock and leave you nearly empty, another toe curling thrust would follow, the force of his hips connecting against your ass jolting you up the bed until you were bracing your hands on the headboard, pushing back against him desperately. 
Entranced by your attempts, Sylus let you move back against him for a few beats– just enough to appreciate how your ass bounced against his pale hips– until the urge to take you over again completely filled him. He groaned, low and savage, and released his hold on your thigh to slide his hand under the curve of your spine, pressing you against him hard enough that you could barely move at all. Your whimpered protest fell on deaf ears, and Sylus hauled you back down the bed to pin you under him with his upper body in an act of complete possession, and you were almost tempted to pray when you heard his animalistic growl against your ear. 
Sylus leaned his weight onto the hand braced against the mattress before fucking into you harder, faster, his long thrusts switching to deep, hammering ruts that drove the swollen head of his cock against your sweet spot so fast and so precisely that it damn near knocked you out. If you could use words at all anymore, you would have warned Sylus that you were about to come. There was no fucking way you couldn’t– not when you were so full of his cock, your throat raw from sucking him off earlier and from screaming. You were being held down and fucked like you were Sylus’ personal toy, his nails scratching at your back as his hand curled into a fist in his efforts to hold you closer to him. 
“You feel–” Sylus gritted through his teeth, the deep tenor of his voice making you clench around him impossibly further, “–so fucking incredible.” 
All you could manage was a broken stammer, “S-Sylus, I’m– I’m–” 
The soft strands of his hair brushed across your cheek as Sylus’ face loomed directly over yours, and when you blinked up at him with glassy, unfocused eyes, his one command threatened to bring tears to your eyes. 
“Don’t even think about coming.” 
Your noisy, incoherent pleas were ignored as Sylus continued to dominate you. Somehow in the midst of railing you through the bed, he moved his hand away from your back to dexterously maneuver your bent legs up, hooking them over his shoulders before bracing his weight on his forearm, and the result was catastrophic in the best possible way. Every inch of your body was vibrating, the pleasure mounting in your lower stomach driving you to abandon your hold on the sheets so you could rake your nails down Sylus’ shoulders. Fighting against the urge to finish was nigh impossible, your focus shifting to the feeling of his muscles working to fuck you as well as the enticing sound of skin slapping against skin. 
Your vision was blurring. Your legs were quaking so violently that you were surprised Sylus wasn’t shaking along with them. He laughed wickedly as he took in the sight of you beneath him, dragging his free hand down to feel around your body for something. Through the haze of it all, you didn’t realize what he was searching for until you felt his fingers on your clit, and the sound that left your mouth wasn’t one that you’d ever thought you could make. 
He wasn’t just a masochist, he was a fucking sadist. 
Your head snapped back against the bed as you wailed desolately, your begging and pleading reduced to shaky iterations of “Pleasepleaseplease” as the pain from being on edge for so long drove you to madness. Overwhelmed tears streaked down your temples, frustration and desperation and too much fucking pleasure twining together with the sharp ache of holding back. Every one of the sensations that wracked your body pooled into an immense rush of stimulation that had you moaning out a string of incomprehensible curses, until finally Sylus decided to have mercy on you. 
“Eyes on me, kitten. Show me what you look like coming on my cock.” 
He didn’t have to tell you twice. 
Sylus’ finger flicked over your now tender bundle of nerves once, twice, and then the world went white around you. You could dimly register Sylus’ gravely moans as he watched you crumble, his brows pinched with focus as he drank in the sight of your lips parting around a rattling gasp, his rough thrusting never letting up. It was so good– better than anything you had ever imagined– and your body trembled violently as Sylus’ movements became more erratic, but all you could pay any attention to was the blistering heat that flowed through your veins. 
Amidst the exultation of your release, you felt Sylus’ hand return to yours, your fingers interlacing in a contrasting act of tenderness as his thrusts became shallower, his breathing turning heavier. He committed the expression on your face to memory instantly, and it took everything in him to savor every second of your fluttering walls sucking him in deeper before he was coming too– one last powerful thrust finding its mark. Thick, hot release filled you, the added sensation bringing you higher than you thought possible, and Sylus groaned appreciatively as he ground his hips against your ass to milk every last drop into you.  
You were still catching your breath when Sylus finally stilled his movements, his haggard panting reaching you through the distant buzzing that rang in your ears. There was no way for you to know how long the two of you laid there joined from the waist down, but you knew that it took a good chunk of time before either one of you could think clearly enough to form words. Eventually, his soft hands gripped your calves to guide your legs off his shoulders and towards the mattress, the trembling limbs settling there like dead weight. 
Sylus brushed his fingers against your neck to rouse you from your post-coital state, and when you cracked open your heavy lids to peer up at him, his expression was one of relative amusement. “You alright, sweetie?” 
“Mhm.” You hummed your response, and even though your tongue felt like lead in your mouth, you managed to mumble, “I can’t feel my legs.” 
The sudden bark of laughter that burst from Sylus was something you’d never heard before, and you watched as he shook his head to himself before slowly pulling out of you. Part of you missed the feeling of him stretching you the second he was gone, but a bone deep fatigue that was much stronger than your meager feelings was winning the war of what you deemed important. Your eyelids started to slide shut of their own accord, every muscle in your body going lax as you melted into the bed. 
Sylus watched you with a measure of worship, utterly transfixed by everything about you. He gently skimmed his fingers over your stomach as he moved to settle against the pillows, taking exceptional care not to jostle you too much while he got comfortable. You didn’t seem to think similarly, however, because as soon as you felt his weight ease into the mattress, you were throwing your arm over his broad chest and hitching one of your legs over his, effectively straddling him sideways as if he were your own personal body pillow. 
He laughed softly, moving to cradle you close with one arm while his other moved to lovingly brush your hair out of your eyes. Sighing contentedly, you fixed your eyes on the record player across the room, suddenly overcome with a strange sense of fondness for the Onychinus leader. “You know,” you murmured, your voice slightly muffled against his firm chest. “You’re not what I expected, Sylus.” 
“Hm? What exactly were you expecting?” 
The cautious edge to his voice told you that he was prepared to hear the worst, but you surprised him by rolling your head to the side to plant a chaste kiss right above his heart. “It doesn’t matter. I just know that I wish more people were like you.” 
Sylus smiled, letting his head tip back against the headboard while he used his Evol to turn off the lights, plunging the room into comfortable darkness. “Careful, kitten. Keep up the flattery and I won’t take you home in the morning.” 
Your hand traced lazy shapes against his torso, and the corner of your mouth quirked up as you glanced up at him through your lashes. “I don’t work tomorrow… besides, I seem to remember you saying you’d keep me awake long enough to see the sunrise. Or were those just empty words?” 
A devilish grin stretched across his face as he took your hand in his, pulling you to the side until you were made to roll entirely on top of him so you were straddling his hips. His lower half began to rouse back to life as you settled into place in his lap, and Sylus gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger as his lustful gaze bored into your very soul. “I was going to be nice and let you sleep, but if this is the game you want to play, then I’ll hold true to my word. Any objections?” 
Your fingers wrapped around his thick wrist as you brought your face closer to his, your eyes greedily falling to his lips. It should have worried you how addicted to him you already appeared to be, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Sylus’ cock twitched against you as your gaze rose to meet his, a silent challenge twinkling behind your irises. 
“None at all.” 
“Then it’s a deal.” 
As the night droned on, you came to realize that these were the sorts of promises that you didn’t mind making with him, especially when the sunlight streaming through the curtains hours later conveyed that Sylus had made good on his promise. The break of day didn’t stop him though– not in the slightest. His stamina and vigor remained intact as he dutifully ravished you all through the early hours of the morning, and as you fell apart beneath him once more, the only thing you knew for certain was that it was going to be a long, long weekend.
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kymsys · 3 months ago
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so backstage huh 👀
Suguru himself had programmed this throbbing beat. He’d personally added the warm, wet slap delay to the handclaps. He’d played this gutter filthy bass line with his own fingers. Even the breathless gasps that punctuated the chorus were a stroke of genius on his part. If Sugar was provocative, it was precisely because Suguru had made it that way. The song was smooth, slick, sexy. Glossy like a cherry — like he’d drizzled sweet honey over the beat — but as that familiar rhythm trickled down the length of his spine then, the producer found himself wishing he wasn’t quite so good at his job. It didn’t matter how many times he’d heard the song in the studio — nothing could have prepared him for seeing Satoru perform live.
Or, Satoru shows Suguru what "beautiful" really looks like. Hope you enjoy this collab with @fushiglow on this sexy scene set after chapter 11 of Over the Threshold!
Read 'Dolce' on AO3
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d-z20 · 27 days ago
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Neighbourly Care part 4 (NSFW)
Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader
Summary: You go over to Agatha and Rio's for help with your Spanish class and they do help but you also get taught another lesson
-OR-
Agatha fuck you in their home office (while you practice Spanish with Rio) and when you make a mistake she stops fucking you until you get it right.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Mommy Agatha, Daddy Rio, more smut, orgasm denial (Rio), squirting, praise, slight degredation, strap on use, even more smut
Words: 4.6k and 80% is you getting fucked
A/N: This one's for all you burnt out gifted kids out there. Also, my Spanish really isn't very good, especially when I'm writing gn!Reader in a gendered language 💀 I'm sorry if it's jarring.
AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Master List
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It’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and you’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, a growing sense of frustration gnawing at you as you stare down at your Spanish assignment. Your sweatpants are cosy and your cropped vest keeps you cool, but none of it is helping you figure out why this language feels so impossible to grasp.
Your workbook lies open next to your laptop, half-hearted notes scrawled across the page. The conjugation charts mock you, the verbs swimming together into an indecipherable mess. You sigh, running a hand through your hair before grabbing your phone and opening up the messages.
MILFs Anonymous
~13:26
You: any chance i can come over for some help? 😩
You stare at the screen, gnawing at your bottom lip as you wait for a response. It doesn’t take long.
Agatha: Try again, darling.
You: uhhh
~13:28
You: Necesito ayuda con mi español. ¿Puedo ir a vuestra casa, por favor?
Rio: Claro que sí, cariño :)
Agatha: You used Google Translate, didn’t you?
You: Sí 😁
Agatha: We’ll be back from shopping around 4—come over then.
The messages bring a small smile to your face, despite the knot of nerves tightening in your stomach. You can already hear Rio’s warm, teasing tone in the words and Agatha’s steadier, more composed presence offering quiet reassurance.
Your mind drifts back to Thanksgiving dinner. You’d mentioned, almost as a throwaway comment, that you were struggling in your Introduction to Spanish class. It had been enough to spark Rio’s interest—her eyes lighting up as she eagerly offered to tutor you. Her enthusiasm had been impossible to resist, especially when paired with Agatha’s wholehearted support.
“You’re welcome over anytime,” Agatha had said, her voice kind but with an edge of finality that left no room for argument. “You’ll get the help you need.”
And now, here you were, agreeing to yet another visit, the prospect of being in their presence again already making your skin tingle.
The clock ticks on as you attempt to focus on your workbook, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the two of them. You wonder what kind of "lesson" Rio has in mind and whether Agatha will be there to offer her own... unique form of support.
When the clock finally strikes 4, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, calling out as you head for the door.
“I’m going over to Agatha and Rio’s!”
Your mom’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “Okay, sweetie! Your dad and I are out with Aunt Carol for dinner, so we might not see you when you get back. Make sure you thank them for all their help!”
“Will do!” you reply, slipping out the door and walking the short distance to their house.
Your heart pounds as you approach the door, excitement and nerves intertwining. Before you can knock, the door swings open, and Rio stands there, her eyes lighting up as she sees you.
“Right on time,” she says, her voice a little higher-pitched than usual. She looks slightly flustered, a flush on her cheeks as she waves you inside. “Come in, come in.”
You step through the threshold, noting how Rio shifts on her feet like she’s barely holding still. She gestures toward the hallway, motioning you ahead of her.
“Agatha’s in the office,” she says, her words rushed. Her lips twitch into a quick smile as she guides you down the hall.
The office door is already open, and Agatha’s presence is immediately noticeable. She’s reclining on a sleek leather couch, looking effortlessly casual in a soft rust-coloured jacket and a white top. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and there’s a small smile on her face as she watches you enter.
“Perfect timing,” she says warmly, her tone smooth.
Rio closes the door behind the two of you, crossing the room to sit at her desk opposite Agatha’s. She moves quickly but jumps slightly when she sits, her hand gripping the edge of her desk for a moment as she adjusts herself in the chair. Her cheeks are still tinged pink, and you can’t help but notice the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“You okay?” you ask, sliding into the chair at Agatha’s desk.
“Fine!” Rio chirps, her smile a little too wide. “Let’s get started, yeah? Verb conjugations—your favourite.”
She flips open her own notebook, launching into a rapid explanation of present-tense endings. You do your best to focus, but something about her energy feels off. Her breath catches occasionally as she talks, and her legs bounce slightly under the desk.
Behind you, Agatha doesn’t say a word. You can feel her eyes on the two of you; her calm, steady presence is a stark contrast to Rio’s restlessness. When you glance back at her, she’s lounging like a queen, one arm draped over the back of the couch, her lips quirked in a knowing smile.
Rio’s voice quivers slightly as she explains another verb conjugation, her hands fidgeting with her notebook as though it’s the only thing tethering her to the moment. You do your best to follow along, but the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Alright,” Rio says, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal. “So for nosotros, hablar becomes—”
“They deserve a break,” Agatha cuts in smoothly, her voice like honey.
Rio immediately stops talking, her eyes darting nervously toward Agatha, who is now sitting forward slightly, her hand resting on her knee. She pats her lap, her lips curling into a gentle yet commanding smile as her gaze lands on you.
“Come here, sweetheart,” she says softly, the words sounding so innocuous yet carrying an undeniable weight.
You hesitate for a moment before standing, your heart thudding in your chest as you cross the short distance to her. Agatha’s hands immediately find your waist, guiding you to sit sideways in her lap. She wraps her arms around you, holding you close as she presses a kiss to your temple.
“Much better,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your skin.
Behind you, Rio shifts in her seat again, her breath hitching audibly. A quiet whimper escapes her, and you glance back to see her biting her bottom lip, her fingers gripping the edge of her desk like she’s barely keeping herself together.
Agatha notices too, of course. Her sharp eyes miss nothing. “Continúa mi amor,” she speaks to Rio, her voice low and lilting.
Rio blinks rapidly, her cheeks flushing even darker as she nods. “Sí, mi vida.”
She fumbles with her notebook again, launching into another explanation about verb conjugations, but her words are stilted, her voice trembling slightly.
Agatha’s hand rests innocently on your thigh at first, her fingers lightly tracing small circles through the fabric of your sweatpants. You try to focus on what Rio is saying, but the warmth of Agatha’s touch is distracting. The circles grow larger, her fingers inching higher with every pass, and soon you feel her hand creeping up toward the apex of your thighs.
Your breath hitches, and you glance up at her. “What are you doing?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Agatha smiles down at you, her expression sweet but laced with something far more mischievous. “Teaching you a lesson,” she replies smoothly, her tone teasing. “I haven’t forgotten about yours and Rio’s little escapade in the hotel room that morning.”
Your eyes widen in realisation, and as you shift slightly in her lap, you catch a glimpse of her phone resting on the arm of the couch. The app open on the screen makes your stomach flip—it’s the controls for a long-distance vibrator. You glance at Rio, who is squirming more noticeably now, her breath coming in shallow pants as her eyes dart between you and her notebook.
“Rio is going to learn to keep her hands to herself,” Agatha continues, her voice low and steady. “And you, sweetheart, are going to learn to control yourself.”
Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you swallow hard as she gives you a gentle nudge. “Stand up,” she commands softly.
You obey, your legs shaky as you rise to your feet. Agatha’s hands find the waistband of your sweatpants, her fingers tugging them down with deliberate slowness until they pool at your ankles.
“Mmm, such a good pet,” she hums, her praise making your cheeks heat as you step out of the fabric and sit back down on her lap.
This time, she adjusts your position, guiding you so that you’re sitting more squarely in the middle of her lap. As you settle, you feel something hard pressing against you through her pants, and your breath catches in your throat.
“Now,” Agatha says, her tone deceptively calm as she leans back slightly, one arm draped possessively around your waist. “Let’s see if you and Daddy can do as you’re told.”
You swallow hard, nodding as you try to focus on Rio, who looks just as flustered as you feel. Her cheeks are tinged pink, and she avoids looking directly at Agatha’s hand, which rests high on your thigh. Rio clears her throat, her voice trembling slightly as she continues.
“¿Cómo se dice... they speak... en español?” She asks, gripping her pen tightly.
“Ellos hablan,” you manage to reply, though your voice wavers when Agatha’s hand starts to move. Her fingers trail lazily up your inner thigh, barely brushing the fabric of your underwear.
“Muy bien, cariño,” Agatha murmurs, her lips brushing against your ear. “But don’t lose focus now. Keep going.”
Rio nods quickly, her words spilling out in a rush. “Y... y cómo se dice... we are speaking?”
You open your mouth to answer, but it’s hard to form a coherent thought when Agatha’s fingers are now teasing the edge of your underwear; her touch so light it sends shivers up your spine. Your hips shift involuntarily when her fingers dip below the fabric, and Agatha hums in approval, her grip tightening around your waist to hold you still.
“Estamos hablando,” you finally gasp, the words barely audible as Agatha’s fingers press more firmly against you.
“Perfecto,” Agatha purrs, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “But you’re trembling, sweetheart. Are you sure you’re concentrating?”
Rio looks like she’s about to combust, her leg bouncing under the desk as she stumbles over her next question. “¿Cómo se dice... uh... you are speaking?”
You try to respond, but your voice falters when Agatha’s fingers begin to move in slow, deliberate circles. A soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment.
“Focus,” Agatha whispers, though her actions are anything but helpful. “Vamos, nena. Dime la respuesta.”
You choke out, “Tú estás hablando,” but your voice is barely steady. Rio squirms in her chair, her breathing uneven, and her gaze flickers to Agatha’s hand for the briefest second before she looks away again, biting her lip.
“Very good,” Agatha praises, her voice sending a thrill through you. Then she taps your hip, her fingers stilling for a moment. “Lift up for me, sweetheart.”
You hesitate, glancing at her, but the look in her eyes leaves no room for argument. You rise slightly, your legs trembling, and she reaches into her waistband, pulling something out—a purple strap larger than the one she used on you before. She pulls your underwear to the side before guiding you back down onto her lap.
The moment you’re seated again, you can feel it—hard and unyielding—pressing deeply inside you. Your breath catches at the sudden, overwhelming sensation, and Agatha smirks, her hands settling firmly on your hips to hold you still, ensuring you feel every inch. The pressure against your walls is unrelenting, a heady mix of pleasure and control that sends sparks shooting up your spine. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, each shallow breath catching as heat pools low in your belly, threatening to consume you entirely.
“Now,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry, “let’s see if you can finish your lesson without completely falling apart. “Adelante, Río, y no seas fácil con les.”
Rio’s throat bobs as she swallows hard, her wide eyes betraying the tension coiling in her body. Her voice is barely a whisper as she continues. “¿Cómo se dice... we spoke?”
You open your mouth to reply, but Agatha’s hands begin to guide your hips in slow, deliberate movements, each motion sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. The friction is maddening, stealing the air from your lungs as a soft whimper escapes your lips. Your pulse thrums in your ears, and your thighs quiver, every nerve alight with sensation as you struggle to keep your focus, the words slipping through your mind like water through a sieve.
“Ha-habla…mos,” you stammer, but your voice is shaky and breathless.
Agatha chuckles softly, her lips brushing against your neck. “Otra vez,” she says, her tone carrying a hint of mockery. “Try again, sweetheart. Say it louder. Let Daddy hear you.”
Across from you, Rio is barely holding it together. She rocks faintly in her chair, her thighs pressing together as if seeking relief. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, and her free hand grips the desk so hard it looks like she might snap the wood in half. Her breath comes in uneven gasps; a small whimper escapes her as she fights to maintain her composure.
“Vamos,” Agatha whispers, her breath warm against your ear as she tightens her grip on your hips, helping you grind down harder against her. The tension inside you builds with every slow, deliberate movement, your body instinctively chasing the friction. A soft, needy sound escapes you, and you shiver as her voice washes over you, low and commanding, grounding you even as she unravels you. “No te distraigas.”
You let out a shaky moan, your head falling back against her shoulder as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. Your heart pounds, your skin is flushed and hypersensitive, and every touch feels amplified, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Words hover on the tip of your tongue, but they dissolve into broken gasps before you can speak.
Just as your eyes flutter shut, lost in the haze of it all, Agatha reaches for her phone with one hand, tapping the screen. 
“Ughhhh, Aggie, no,” Rio whines frustratedly, her body jerking slightly at the sudden loss of sensation. She glares at Agatha, who raises a single brow in amusement.
“No tan rápida mi vida,” Agatha says smoothly, her voice dripping with authority. “You’ll wait until I say so.”
Rio bites her lip, her cheeks flushed, and you can feel the tension in the room thickening.
But you don’t have time to dwell on it—Agatha’s movements beneath you are maddening, each shift sending a spark of pleasure through you that makes coherent thought nearly impossible. Her hips tilt upward slightly with each slow, deliberate thrust, the firm pressure pushing you closer to the edge with every pass. It’s intoxicating, the way her body presses into you, filling you with a deep ache that you can’t escape. You try to answer the next question Rio poses, but the words come out in a garbled mess, your focus completely shattered.
Agatha clicks her tongue disapprovingly and stills your hips with a firm grip. The sudden lack of motion leaves you aching, your thighs trembling as you try to shift for relief, but her hold on you is unyielding. The throbbing heat between your legs grows unbearable, each second of stillness stretching endlessly. The whimper of frustration that escapes you only earns you a soft mocking chuckle.
“¿Qué dije sobre enfocar?” She scolds, her voice low and commanding. “Answer Daddy, or we stop right here.”
Your face burns with embarrassment as you force yourself to focus, stumbling over the words as you manage to form a proper sentence. Agatha hums in approval, but she doesn’t let you move again just yet.
“Good,” she murmurs, her hand sliding up your side in a soothing gesture. “See? You can behave when you try.”
She waits until Rio asks the next question before finally resuming her movements. This time, her hips push up into you more deliberately, slow and measured, as if testing your resolve. Each thrust presses into the perfect spot, a deliberate rhythm that makes your breath catch and your knees tremble. It’s almost cruel how slowly she moves, dragging out every sensation until you’re teetering on the brink.
Rio’s eyes widen, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She clears her throat and stammers out the next question, her voice barely above a whisper. “¿Cómo se dice... they danced?”
You open your mouth to answer, but Agatha’s hands start guiding your hips again, setting a slow, torturous rhythm that has you clenching your teeth to stifle a moan. The friction is maddening, each grind of her hips sending shockwaves through your body that leave you gasping for air. You feel impossibly full, the steady motion of her beneath you making your head spin as heat coils tighter in your core.
“I—I don’t—” you start, but the words dissolve into a whimper as Agatha’s fingers slip under the hem of your cropped vest, brushing against your nipple.
“Don’t stop now,” Agatha murmurs, her voice like velvet. “You can do it, baby. Say it.”
Your answer is a garbled mess, barely comprehensible as you fight to stay coherent. The thrusts beneath you grow slightly firmer, and she pinches your nipple, drawing a broken cry from your lips. The steady pressure and her soft words blur together, leaving you utterly at her mercy.
Across from you, Rio is trembling, her fists clenched at her sides as she rocks forward slightly in her desperation. She bites her lip, her cheeks flushed as she tries to keep her composure, though her glazed-over expression betrays her struggle.
Agatha notices immediately. Her sharp eyes flick to Rio, and her lips curl into a dangerous smile. “¿Qué crees que estás haciendo, amor?” she says, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. “Stand up. Legs apart.”
Rio hesitates for a moment before obeying, her movements stiff and jerky. She stands with her legs spread slightly, her hands clenched into fists as she tries to keep still under Agatha’s watchful gaze. The air between the three of you feels electric, charged with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.
“Good,” Agatha says approvingly. Her focus returns to you, and her tone softens. “Now, let’s finish this lesson with one more question.”
Rio swallows hard, her voice shaking as she asks, “¿Cómo se dice... we ate?”
Your mind is a haze of pleasure and tension, the words slipping from your grasp as you struggle to focus. Each deliberate thrust from Agatha beneath you sends fresh waves of heat through your body, clouding your thoughts and making it nearly impossible to form words. Your hips instinctively try to grind against her, desperate for more, but her firm hands keep you in place, controlling every movement.
“Co-com—” you stutter, but you can’t get the syllables out.
Agatha stills your movements suddenly, her grip on your hips tightening as she tilts your head to meet her gaze. The abrupt stop leaves you trembling, every nerve screaming for relief as the tension in your body builds to unbearable levels
“No te distraigas,” she scolds gently, her expression calm but firm. “Answer Daddy. Now.”
The commanding tone snaps you back into focus, and with a shaky breath, you finally manage to stammer out, “C-comimos.”
Agatha’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. “Well done,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then her hands slide back down to your hips, and she resumes the slow, deliberate rhythm that has you gasping for air. This time, her thrusts are more purposeful, each one pushing you closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your vision blurs, your body trembling uncontrollably as you give in to the sensation.
“You’ve done good enough, sweetheart. No more questions. Now it’s time for you to enjoy yourself.”
Her attention shifts briefly to Rio, who looks like she’s about to unravel completely. “You,” Agatha says sharply, her tone brooking no argument, “will stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. Just watch.”
Rio’s breath hitches, her body trembling as she nods, her eyes fixed on the two of you. Her gaze feels like fire on your skin, but you’re too far gone to care, completely lost in the steady rhythm of Agatha’s movements and the way she keeps pushing you closer, her voice a soft murmur in your ear as you come undone.
Agatha’s hands tighten their hold on your hips, her fingers digging in just enough to anchor you to her. The slow, deliberate thrusts beneath you become a little harder, a little deeper, and the sensation sends shockwaves through your body. Each motion builds the pressure inside you, pushing you closer and closer to a breaking point that feels just out of reach.
“Such a good little slut,” Agatha murmurs in your ear, her voice a molten whisper that makes your toes curl. “You’ve been so good, finally learning some control.” Her lips brush against the curve of your neck, and her teeth graze your skin ever so lightly. “I want you to fall apart for me. Completely.”
Your body arches against her as she begins moving you faster, her hips meeting yours with a precision that’s almost too much to handle. The heat pooling low in your belly threatens to consume you, each thrust sending sparks shooting up your spine. You can’t hold back the moans spilling from your lips anymore, the sounds filling the room alongside Rio’s uneven breaths.
One of Agatha’s hands slips between your legs, her fingers circling your throbbing clit as her other holds you steady. “That’s it,” she coos, her tone laced with both encouragement and command. “Cum for me, darling. Let it take you over.”
Her voice, her touch, her presence—it’s all too much. The tension that has been winding tighter and tighter finally snaps, and the release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your entire body trembles as the pleasure surges through you, every nerve alight as you cry out, the sound raw and unrestrained. The slick evidence of your release soaks into the fabric of Agatha’s pants, sdrenching her completely and leaving a visible mess against her thighs. She doesn’t seem to care—if anything, it only makes her smirk widen, a flicker of pride in her darkened gaze.
Agatha doesn’t let up, guiding you through every second of it, her hands and movements steady even as your body shakes with the force of your climax. She whispers soft praises in your ear, grounding you as the intensity leaves you breathless and utterly undone. “Look at the mess you’ve made,” she chuckles, her tone almost teasing as her fingers trail lazily over the damp fabric. “Such a good little thing for Mommy.” Her lips brush against your temple as she slows her movements, her hands now soothing rather than controlling. “So perfect. I knew you could do it.”
You slump against her, utterly spent, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her arms wrap around you securely, holding you close as you come down from the overwhelming high. For a moment, the room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing and Rio’s soft, stifled whimpers from where she stands frozen, obediently still but visibly affected.
Agatha strokes your hair, her voice a gentle murmur against your ear. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” Her lips press against your forehead.
You let yourself melt into her, your body boneless and your mind hazy with satisfaction. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register Rio’s quiet, needy sigh, but Agatha’s warmth and the steady rhythm of her breathing lull you into a calm, contented state.
She slips out of you and holds you tight, her hands brushing soothing circles over your back as she presses gentle kisses to your temple. When she finally moves again, it’s to slip one strong arm beneath your legs and the other around your back, effortlessly lifting you into her arms. You can’t help but sigh and rest your head against her shoulder, utterly spent but feeling safe in her hold.
As she carries you toward the bathroom, her voice cuts through the stillness, firm but not unkind. “Rio, my love, go order us something for dinner—whatever you want.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, and Rio, still flushed and squirming with pent-up frustration, lets out a soft, frustrated sigh before nodding obediently.
“Fine,” Rio mutters, her voice tinged with both respect and disappointment. You catch the faintest hint of a pout as she heads toward the kitchen, her steps slow and reluctant.
The bathroom is dimly lit, the soft glow of candles casting warm light over the tiles. Agatha sets you down carefully on the edge of the tub, steadying you as she kneels to turn on the taps, adjusting the water until it’s just right. As the tub fills, she helps you undress; her touches gentle but reverent, as though she’s still savouring every inch of you even in this quiet, intimate moment. When she lifts you into the water, you can’t help but let out a contented sigh as the heat soothes your tired muscles.
Agatha slides in behind you, her strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back against her chest. The steady rhythm of her breathing and the warmth of the water lull you into a peaceful haze, her presence grounding you completely. She holds you close, her chin resting on your shoulder as her fingers trace lazy patterns along your arms.
“You were so good for me tonight,” she whispers softly, her voice low and soothing. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” Her lips brush against your temple, and you lean into her touch, the quiet intimacy of the moment filling your chest with warmth.
After the bath, Agatha wraps you in a plush towel, her hands steady as she dries you off, and helps you into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you return to the living room, Rio has returned with bags of takeout, her flushed cheeks, and the subtle shift of her legs betraying her discomfort. Agatha smirks knowingly but doesn’t say a word as she settles you onto the couch, pulling you snugly against her side.
The three of you share the meal together; the atmosphere warm and comfortable despite Rio’s occasional squirming. She shoots Agatha a few pleading looks, but Agatha only raises an eyebrow in silent challenge, her arm tightening around you possessively.
“Eat,” Agatha says calmly, gesturing to Rio’s plate. “You’ll get what you need—just not tonight.”
Rio huffs softly but obeys, though her fidgeting doesn’t let up. You curl further into Agatha’s side, feeling utterly content as the soft hum of conversation and the flicker of the TV fill the room. It’s a quiet, peaceful end to a long, intense evening, and as you drift closer to sleep, you can’t help but feel grateful for the comfort of the two people by your side.
READ THE NEXT PART
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y'all already know what I'm gonna say... please reblog and comment if you enjoyed. I love reading what you have to say about it, it really makes my day <3
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pedgito · 4 months ago
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𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | Logan Howlett x reader
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summary | with no threshold for pain, logan finds that losing control with you is easier, triggering a thirst that is insatiable.
author's note | um.......yeah idk. i have no excuse and while i still write predominately for pedge boys i had to. i couldn't help it. am i sorry? no. is this insane? a little. special thanks to @ovaryacted, @pr0ximamidnight & @wannab-urs for being the best and reading this over
content warning | 18+ smut, written with x-men (2000)!logan in mind, mutant!reader, established relationship, hand kink (and sensitivity), pain kink, blood kink, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), exchange of bodily fluids (yes its bl*od), mentions of exhibitionism, also kinda body worship, this turned out way kinkier than it was supposed to be
word count —2.2k
Logan was never soft, but he’s learned to smooth out his sharp edges for you.
And while he was never shy, he wasn’t always open about his claws slipping out near climax when things got a little too out of control or his mind would slip, bordering into that animalistic ferocity he sometimes drifted into when he was more desperate.
Just a touch, a lick, a press of his skin against yours and he’d haul you onto whatever surface was close by and rail you into a near amnesic state of consciousness. It made you feel like you were floating, allowing his superhuman strength to lift you up and off to bed, spending most of those nights in his room rather than your own.
You weren’t a thing, it had never been established. But, Logan has grown comfortable, familiar, and he was appreciative of it, even if he didn’t show it. It came with the kisses when you slipped into his room after heavy training evenings or a night where he just needed some entertainment, something to keep him occupied. 
He liked your company even if it was never spoken aloud. 
The signs came when you would scoot away on the couch to give him space when you both would drift into meaningless conversation that would in turn mold into you, in his lap after a soft tug and a complacent smirk on his face.
You’ve grown fond of him, his wittiness and unrestrained personality that was often subdued under a dark, brooding facade, his body too—strong, chiseled arms and a well-defined chest. He was big, everywhere. All-consuming and just bordering on the edge of too much. But, it was his hands that really pulled you in.
Thumbs pressing beyond swollen lips as you run the surface of your tongue against his skin, an aid to muffle the whimpers that slip beyond your lips when you’re trying to be quiet—when Logan needs you quiet, teetering on a dangerous line of exhibitionism if you keep it up.
Or the length of his hands squeezing against your hips, pulling you back to meet his thighs as his cock spears you open, his palm often finding on your lower back as he presses you further into the mattress, ass angled up as best you could manage when he was rutting himself into you like he was in heat—gruff, wet pants of a gradually building high against your skin that drove you wild. 
His claws have slipped out a few times—your headboard remained the proof as he’d rid himself of his own long ago, deep but thick holes in the wood that you’re almost positive continued into the drywall. He’s ruined a pillow or two, but there was a surge of excitement that came along with it. 
The sound of them as they slip beyond his skin, not even the slightest grimace on his face as it happens, ultimately taken by his pleasure in overdrive, the action always registers half a second too late.
 Thankfully, you’ve come to sense it well.
You always know just where to touch—what drives him wild and extracts the feral nature in him and what softens his steely regard. Touches along his jaw pull him in, lips pressing against the spot on you mirroring your fingers on him. 
Sometimes it’s nails digging into his indestructible skin, irritated and swollen marks that would fade as quickly as they appeared, no use in drawing blood as it never spilled.
But, the soft and intriguing sounds that slip as you run your fingers along his forearm are something you take note of over time—occasionally just a tickle that he shrugs away with a soft chuckle, slipping his hand between your bodies to play with your clit, leaving him just out of reach as he circles that sensitive bundle of nerves, urging your eyes to stay on him, with him.
He’s always good at talking you through, gentle words of encouragement married with tight, guttural groans as his cock sinks into you, a hand at your thigh to keep you spread open, his gaze always wandering down to marvel at the sight of you and him and you take him so well—he’s told you a million times over by now.
Occasionally his hands will make a slow crawl to your shoulders or your neck, curling around the muscle and cradling you, like an anchor for himself. Your own fingers spread over his grip, right along the ridge of his knuckles. 
At first he tensed, his hands slipping away in a hurry to grip another part of your body, lower, deeper—disconnecting helped and even if he had learned to control the urge to a degree, there was always a chance.
Logan wasn’t oblivious to your own regenerative healing—not entirely indestructible, although the lack of pain receptors made you a viable asset for a plethora of things but being on the other end of a spar with him was still nothing to take lightly, a man of challenge himself, you weren’t leaving that fight without a couple knicks and cuts even though as soon as they appeared, they were then non-existent.
Physically, you were a challenge, nothing for people to underestimate. The perfect torture device, the ideal punching bag. You've learned to subdue the emotion and the mental toll it took, but with Logan, there was an openness to be vulnerable, knowing that you needed the pain just as much as it often displeased you.
Where Logan fears worry and shame, you find the care and curiosity in soothing the spots where his claws tear through, a gentle squeeze of your fingers in the spaces between his knuckles, a kiss to each one and down his wrist, a show of affection while your eyes never leave his own.
Sometimes you did it absently, on the couch while you both drifted to sleep after a long day or during a movie that you’ve thrown on to distract Logan from his own mind—some days he just needed you around in whatever form you had to offer.
There wasn’t a single part of him you didn’t admire and one night, like tonight, things reach culmination and Logan slips.
His mouth waters at the sight of you on your back, pussy on full display and your thighs spread wide under his grip as his cock sinks deep and pulls out, right to the tip before he’s drilling himself back inside of you, fingers twisting into the sheets so hard they often rip, eyes drifting close as your head keens back in overwhelming pleasure.
“Bub, eyes on me,” Logan coaxes, his fingers curling around the top of your thighs as they squeeze, keeping you apart and open, pliant under his touch, “keep ‘em on me.”
He hips still, waiting, watching—you peek your eyes open with a shy smile that is met with a smirk, his eyes brimming with warmth, nodding as you listen.
 “Right there, that’s good.”
You roll your eyes fondly, a flutter of your lashes as he pushes inside of you unexpectedly, a sharp and wild snap of his hips that pulls a surprised gasp from your chest, squeezing instinctively around him in response—again and again as your thighs press further and further in until he’s nearly at your chest, his knuckles grazing the underside of your breasts and you beg, tongue wetting your bottom lip as you speak.
“Don’t—please don’t hold back,” you plead—to some degree, he always did, shared mutant powers aside there was always a deep need in Logan’s psyche to protect and inadvertently to shield, “all of it—want all of you.”
As to seal the words with truth, your fingers slide over his hands gripped tightly at your thighs, keeping them still as your feet curl around the back of his thighs and pull him in. Deeper, tighter. Logan chuckles at the motion, almost taunting. There was a sensitivity to the spot where his claws pushed through, a warning of what was to come and like all the other softer, more receptive parts of him, the touch surges a sense of hot, angry need through his entire body.
Easy, his eyes read.
“I like it,” you admit with a gentle swirl of your hips to bring him back, followed by the slow angle and snap in response, “—lose control a little, Logan. Let it out.”
“That part of me—“ Logan begs, but there’s a quiet noise of disapproval from you, your eyes softer as you admire him.
“Is part of you,” you remind him, “and I—“ like an absolute menace, he penetrates hard, rubbing the sensitive swell of muscle inside of you that makes you dizzy, “fuck—I don’t need you to hide yourself.”
Logan goes quiet, contemplating but observant as his hands squeeze against the sound of surprise you make as he grazes your g-spot, a fist pressing against his groin that flattens out into your palm, feeling the flex of his muscles as he works himself inside of you.
“I wanna feel it, I need it to hurt,” You beg, his brows drawing in—pensive for a half-second before you can see the flip of a switch in his head, “you can lose control with me, Logan.”
He practically vibrates as the growl emits from his chest, watching his hands squeeze impossibly tighter before his claws are our, unsheathed before you and you can’t help but smile, a millimeter from splicing through skin that could never keep the memory of it and you run your finger along the base, the slight flicker of discomfort in his face that fades as you began to move against him again.
There was something about pain, that stinging feeling of a wound as the adamantium sliced through you, along the swell of your ribs and breasts, a trickle of blood falling from the cut before it disappeared—and instinctively, Logan’s hand settle away as he leans in and swipes the blood away with his tongue, eyes locked on your own and you quiver, mouth opening in a silent gasp.
He moans at the taste, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the action and to make matters worse, he speaks, blood on his tongue and teeth, “M’pretty sure she tastes even sweeter.”
His eyes flick toward your cunt, a whimper in protest at the loss of his cock as he slips out of you and sinks to his stomach in one fluid motion, his slick covered cock ruining your sheets as he drives his tongue inside of you, nose pressed against your clit as he satisfies the loss of him with more, claws dragging dangerously close to your hips, the tips of his claws pressing into the skin.
His tongue drags up to you clit, lapping up the mix of sweet slick and his own, your hands pressing over top of his to force the sharp edge deeper, slicing through your skin until you feel yourself on the verge of passing out, a small pool of blood gathering at your pelvis.
Your own fingers drag through the thick crimson, spreading it over his waiting mouth as he grins, a perfect picture of greed and pleasure as he dives back into your cunt, a hurried and overwhelming pace against your clit driving you over the edge within seconds, your orgasm crashing toward you far faster than you’re expecting as you cry out, hips lifting from the bed but not without a fight, Logan’s grip pressing you down into mattress to clean you up.
All of you.
He rises with a grin, brutish but charming as he kisses you, tasting yourself on him as your own blood smears your lips, giggling softly into his mouth.
“Inside,” Logan already knows, fist curling around his cock as he slips back inside of you, “—oh fuck, Lo—“
“Greedy girl,” He admonishes amorously and returns his hurried pace, claws sinking into your pillows and mattress, a sorry that would come later for the action but you needed him now, “gonna let me fill you full, huh?”
You nod jerkily, forehead pressed tight against his own as he huffs into your open mouth, a mingling of sacred noises between each other as his hips falter, a broken gasp falling from his lips as he snaps his hips once before he’s buried to the hilt, coming deep inside you cunt.
His claws retract synonymous with his climax as he settles against his now bare fists before he’s falling onto his back with a huff, looking like a fucked-out mess with his hair even more askew than it always it, blood drying at the corner of his mouth as you roll onto your stomach and grab for his hand, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with a soft smile, figuring you must be quiet the sight yourself.
“You have to stop worrying, Logan,” you remind him gently, dropping his hand to move closer, his arm extending and pressing against your back as you curl into him, your fingers tracing along his jaw as you speak to him, “that you’re going to scare me away.”
“You still have time to run,” He jokes lightly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to his tone and you shake your head with a quickly developing smirk.
“Only if you’re chasing after me,” You challenge, leaning forward to nip at his jaw, surprised when he returns the action as he buries his pith against your throat, rolling you onto your back with a laugh that bursts from your chest.
“That can be arranged, bub,” He promises, nosing himself into the sensitive spot behind your ear, “I’d sniff you out in seconds, anyways.”
-
divider creds: @saradika-graphics
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awritesthings1 · 1 year ago
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Gone with the Leaves
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Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader
Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.
ao3 link
A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)
-
“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”
You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.
Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”
This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.
You made sure you looked the other way.
“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.
Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?
“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”
Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.
Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.
“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.
There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.
Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.
He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”
Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?
Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.
No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.
You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.
The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.
“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.
Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.
“Eh?” Came his gruff response.
Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.
-
The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.
Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.
He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.
Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.
“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.
Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.
Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.
“Then what are you, eh?”
A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.
A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”
He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.
Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.
Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.
You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.
“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”
-
The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.
“What’s this?” You asked.
“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.
You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.
“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.
“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.
“Hm, I didn’t notice.”
“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”
Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”
Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.
“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.
“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.
Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.
“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.
Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.
“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.
You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.
It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.
“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.
She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?
You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.
“It’s perfect!”
“How many carats?”
“My Mary would be so jealous!”
After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.
Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”
She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.
“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.
You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.
Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.
Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.
Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.
“Fuck!” Catherine spat.
(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)
“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.
-
Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.
“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”
No, you didn’t know.
“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.
You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.
What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.
-
The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.
When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.
Tommy had to be beside himself.
A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.
He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.
“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.
Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.
“No.”
George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”
Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.
“We’re going.”
You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.
At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.
“What the fuck happened?”
He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.
“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”
His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.
“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”
He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.
“I thought…” He broke off.
His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.
“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.
“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”
You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.
Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.
Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.
“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”
“From now on—”
“Thomas—”
“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”
‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.
Was he?
“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.
You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.
“You have me.”
3K notes · View notes
kiss-inthekitchen · 10 months ago
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pairing: spencer reid x reader
set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)
word count: 4.7k
notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)
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You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 
You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 
So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.
You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 
You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 
That is, until you opened the door. 
“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  
"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 
“Sure looks that way.” 
"At least it's a queen?" 
There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 
"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 
"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 
"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 
"–mind as long as you–" 
You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 
"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."
"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  
It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 
"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.
"Right."
The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.
"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 
"No, you're not doing that."
"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.
"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 
Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 
God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 
Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 
Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 
Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 
“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."
You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 
The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 
“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.
"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  
You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 
Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 
From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 
He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 
Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 
Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 
Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 
“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  
You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 
Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 
“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 
You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 
He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 
“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 
“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 
“Sorry,” you managed. 
“For what?” 
“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 
“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 
Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 
“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 
“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 
“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 
“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 
“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 
“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 
“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 
“You just said ass.” 
“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 
“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 
“I knew you’d agree.” 
“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 
Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 
Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 
You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 
But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 
Eventually, exhaustion won out. 
You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 
You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 
Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 
“Hey, you okay?” 
“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 
“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 
“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 
You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 
He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 
“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 
“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 
“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 
“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 
“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 
“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 
“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 
It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 
“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 
“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 
“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 
“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 
He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 
“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  
“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 
“Don’t profile me.” 
“I’m not. I just know you.” 
You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 
“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 
“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 
“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 
You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 
“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 
“I told you to stop profiling me.” 
This time, he just hummed in response. 
“And so what if I stuttered?” 
“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 
Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings from him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 
“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 
“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 
“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 
“That all makes total sense.” 
“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 
“Now tell me the rest of it.” 
“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 
You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 
“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 
“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 
It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 
“Yes.” 
You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 
Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 
“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  
You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 
He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 
“It is.” 
“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 
“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 
Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 
Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 
“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 
“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 
“I was not–”
“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  
“Oh, this was such a mistake.”
He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  
“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 
He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 
“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 
You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 
“Are you certain of that?” 
“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 
“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 
Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 
He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 
You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips. “It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 
“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 
After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 
For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 
You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 
“Okay, was it just me, or–” 
“That was crazy,” you breathed.
“Crazy,” he agreed. 
“Spence?” 
“Yeah?” 
“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 
Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 
“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 
“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 
“Well, you kissed me.” 
“I did.”  
“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 
“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 
You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 
“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 
“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 
He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 
“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 
“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 
“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 
“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 
You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 
“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 
“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 
“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 
“You’re such an ass.” 
A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 
You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 
Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 
You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 
You text back: okay? 
Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 
You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 
You: what did u say? 
Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 
You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 
Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.
You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 
You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt
You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 
Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night
You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 
Spencer: Oh
Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here
You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much
Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 
You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 
You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 
You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 
“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 
Shit. 
“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 
Unbelievable.
You: you’re unhinged :*
Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 
You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 
Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 
You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 
Spencer: Stop flirting with me
You: bc you’re too delicate?? 
Spencer: Yes 
You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 
You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that
You heard a page turn. 
You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 
This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 
2K notes · View notes
penvisions · 29 days ago
Text
stages of devotion {holiday hustle}
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Pairing: Holiday Impaired! Joel Miller x Expert Holiday Baker! Reader
Summary: The holidays came fast this year, but with it comes a father and daughter pair you didn't ever expect to see again.
Word Count: 4.7k
Warnings: holiday triggers, holiday stress, baking stress, food industry triggers, family issues, minor off screen family dynamics, super soft yearning, mutual pining, sexual tension, smut, p in v, creampie, joel's dirty talk deserves its own warning, lemme know if i missed any!
A/N: so its a few days after the holiday that i announced this on. so so sorry for the tease, y'all. finally made it to my "weekend" only to get sick :c trying to make the most of the days though (within reason). love y'all and hope you enjoy this!
ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi
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The holiday season sucks.
That’s about all you’re confident in as you twirl the piping bag in your hand for what feels like the thousandth time that morning. There’s an entire rack of pies beside you, tray after tray that needs to be garnished with cremieux and a little chocolate coin that has the first letter of your bakery branded on it in gold. Behind it are three more of the same pie. Behind that are four more of apple.
Apple and pumpkin. The only flavors you offered for the season. One hundred each, plenty enough to keep you afloat for the next month or so if you sell out. Especially if you sell out the display case as well.
Your bakery is small, just you and your friend Colbie. Something to be passed in the blink of an eye on the busy downtown street. But it was born of passion and creativity, a space you carved out in the big scary world all for yourself. You’re none the wiser of how your day will turn out as you continue to pipe the faintly black spotted vanilla over the remaining pies, moving onto fetching things out of the oven as timers begin to go off and garnish the ones already chilled from an earlier bake.
Just down the street, Joel and Sarah are strolling down the sidewalk from where they parked the car at the end of the block.
“Don’t see why the crew needs more food, baby girl.”
“Because we need to show our appreciation for them, dad. They’re working the morning of thanksgiving, for crying out loud.”
“This isn’t exactly a tax write off…”
“Dad!” The exasperated teenager nudges at his side with her shoulder, catching his ribs lightly. But he doesn’t stumble nor do his steps falter, he lets her win a lot of the time but this? He still loves how she tries to roughhouse with him only to realize that he’s always gonna have the upper hand unless he gives into her. Her pout and huff draws a laugh from deep in his chest.
“It’s true! I gotta pay for it all outta my account, not the business. We already picked up breakfast for everyone and half the men are gonna store it in their coolers for a later time.” He pivots her toward the doorway just past a large window display, squares of glass allowing for a glimpse inside a local bakery.
“Don’t you put the catering on the business card?”
“Well yeah, but their overtime for today is coming out of it too.”
“Maybe if we ask the owner, they can discount us or something?” Sarah is suddenly stopping just inside the threshold, watching with wide eyes as her father walks in behind her. The scent of fresh baked bread and flaky pastries welcomes them despite the empty lobby. “Is there a reason you’re so hesitant to use the company card? I thought the business was doing good?”
Joel heaves a heavy sigh, placing both his hands gently on her shoulders to hold her attention and give her all of his.
“Everything is fine, Sarah.” His brown eyes take in the way her own multifaceted ones gleam in the bright sunlight shining in the muted green space the lobby has been painted. Plants alive and well, live wood bar top against the window for people to sit at. “Money is my worry, but there ain’t nothing to worry about okay?”
“We can still ask after a discount, it doesn’t hurt, right?” Suddenly shy, her eyes break contact with his and turn down to her scuffed shoes. “I know that it’s new, but the therapy sessions aren’t exactly cheap or covered by the insurance.”
“Hey now, don’t go worrying about all that either.” Joel’s voice is so soft, floating through the air and sneaking into the kitchen through the siding of the swinging door. You pause in the rosette you were piping atop a cake, just little personal ones with autumnal flowers for the season. “I’m the dad, and that’s a dad thing, okay? You want to keep goin’ and that’s all that matters. Just want you to be okay, that’s all I ever want ‘cause I love you so damn much, okay?”
She nods once, still not bringing her eyes back up but she huffs out a giggle when he leans down and kisses her cheek, deliberately nuzzling the scruff on his cheek against her own.
“Besides, I don’t wanna bother them, baby girl, it’s such a small place.” With that settled they both turn back to the display cause and counter, just in time to see you approach through the window in the door.
“Joel?” There’s no hiding the smile that breaks out across your face as you push through the swinging door that leads separates the kitchen and public area. Even despite the inner turmoil you had endured after first meeting him. The will he won’t he of leaving your number for him…
“Camp lady! Dad, look, it’s her!” The excited teenager hops up and down on her long legs, arms hanging onto one of Joel’s and she jostles him. The slight melancholy of her previous words and worries forgotten with the aid of Joel’s soothing ones and your appearance. “You work here? That’s so cool!”
“Yes, Sarah, honey, I see her.” He rolls his eyes for you to see as she skips forward up to the counter. He looks good, if a little tired. His scruff is longer, body a little leaner than when you had seen him last…two months ago now. You had been so sure he would call or text, reach out in whatever way was easiest for him. And when he hadn’t…you had thrown yourself into work and prep for the holiday season. Reveling in the night you shared and taking it for what it was, not letting the lack of communication taint what had been an electric connection. His eyes are glued to you, ignoring the twirling and excitement of his daughter as she flits in front of the display case.
As you round the corner of the counter and display case, it’s obvious how busy you’ve been in the morning hours as stains darken the fabric. Reaching with a flour dusted hand, you go to shake the man’s hand but he surprises you and pulls you into a tight hug. The smell of his spicy cologne and wood shavings spurs butterflies to life in your belly and heat rise to your cheeks.
“It’s good to see ya, darlin’.” He whispers in your ear, voice all baritone gravel. He releases you just as Colbie enters back in through the front door. You see the way her eyes widen at the show of affection, she knows you better than anyone and casual touch is not something you’re a fan of. But you can tell that she immediately knows who Joel and his daughter are if the sparkle in her eye and the smirk she flashes at you says anything.
“I’m so sorry, I thought I locked the door behind me. Want me to keep it unlocked, we’ve got about fifteen minutes until we’re open.”
“Leaving it open will be fine, do you mind-“ The timer pinned to your apron tie goes off and a second later the one for the oven blares from the kitchen.
“Got it!” And she’s rushing behind the counter to slip back through the sliding door.
Joel looks like he’s about to apologize for barging in, Sarah leading him in the early hour. Coffee thermos left on the counter in the rush and his brain is working overtime without it. The pickup order she had placed with a breakfast place too busy for him to grab something there. You wave him off with a soft smile, not minding the intrusion one bit.
“My dad would not shut up about you on the way home, especially since we still have that air mattress you leant us! Thank you again so much for that, I didn’t want my dad to have to sleep on the ground with his bad back.”
“Hey now, you’re a little too forward with the embarrassing details.” Joel’s bashful words are bathed in an even tone, trying to parent his daughter but still treat her like the independent person that she is.
“So what can I do for you?” You try to fight the slight awkwardness of randomly happening across them as customers in your shop and you swear you see Joel duck his head as he roughs a hand across the back of his neck. Your causal tone and polite smile dousing the hope that had flared in his own chest when you walked out from the kitchen. “I’ve got plenty of pastries, the pies aren’t quite done yet but if you need one or two, I can add the finishing touches real quick?”
“Dad, we should get them pie! Like one each, you think? There’s five on the crew and then the secretaries too, they should get one since they’ll be waiting for us in the office. We can put the bonus checks on top with some pretty stickers! Oooh, dad we gotta stop at the art store now!”
“Sarah, honey, take a breath.” Joel claps hand over her shoulder and she beams up at him. “We only got half an hour to get to the office.”
“Oh, that’s okay! We can still do the pie each thing, right?”
“Whatever you wanna do,” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, her kinky curls flattening as he does so and earns him a grumbled ‘spent so much time on it this morning, old man’.
“So that was seven pies then?” You ask, trying to keep up with the both of them, they’ve got such an easy-going way that they communicate. Their bond obvious and their love pure as you had witnessed back at that campsite, he wants for her to have everything he can give her. It’s admirable, a good man, a good parent.
“Uh, make it ten, please.” Joel steps up to the counter, taking out his wallet from a back pocket. “Half pumpkin, half apple. So folks can pick whichever one they want.”
“Ten, got it. It’s gonna take me a few minutes to finish up, do you want a coffee while you wait?” And you swear his gaze hardens as he looks up to see the price displayed on the screen, card ready to press against the pad after you finished punching in his order on your own side of the register. The same way they had just before he had kissed you, angled toward you in front of that fire, the determination set his face in such an endearing way.
“Would be wonderful, darlin’. Just a black drip, if it’s not too much trouble.”
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“Hey, just so you know, ‘m sorry I didn’t call.” Joel shuffles on his feet, watching as Sarah starts up the truck and begins to dance to the loud beats he can make out through the cracked window. You had walked out with the pair to help load the bags into the extended cab of the gleaming gray truck. “I wanted to, but-“
“Life is hectic sometimes, it’s okay. I’m not gonna say I wasn’t disappointed, but I do understand.” You know he’s got a lot more going on in his life, with a child he’s raising on his own. The bakery keeps you busy, hours not quite the same as everyone. You never want to feel like you’re holding expectations for a life that just doesn’t fit into your schedule sometimes. And that included Joel, his own busy schedule not allowing for personal indulgences either. It’s hard not to feel like it’s a cruel twist of fate, that you two met only to realize the puzzle pieces of your life don’t quite match up.
“The paper, I had it. Put it in my pocket but my brother snatched the flannel instead of his own at the work site and washed the damn thing.”
“Little brother?” You tilt your head to the side, all too familiar with the chaos of sheer unpredictability one could bring.
“Yep, meddling, clueless little brother.” He’s fascinating, every little detail you learn about him draws you in closer, a pull toward the man you’ve only gotten glimpses of as of yet.
“Mine is pretty clueless too, god love him.”
“But- uh…oddly enough,” A large hand rubs at the back of his neck, the muscles of his arm straining against his flannel sleeve and catching your eye. “Mine is having a small dinner tonight, just us two, Sarah and his wife. Their twins. I know you got work today and don’t really know me at all, but I was wondering if-“
“Apple or pumpkin?” Lips pulling into a wide smile, you swear your heart is about to beat out of your chest, thudding wildly the second you realized where he was going with his explanation of his own holiday plans.
“Huh?”
“Do you want me to bring an apple or pumpkin pie?” You look up at him through your lashes, heat blooming in your chest at the insinuation he wanted you there, at the invitation you hadn’t been extended in years. Everyone always wanted the good you baked, the bread, the skills you had for the kitchen. But they never particularly wanted you around for the holidays. The family disappointment, for not being married, for not having kids, for not finishing school, for being too different.
“Darlin’ you don’t have to bring anything, just want you to come and be my date.”
And he couldn’t have said anything more perfect as you feel your throat constrict and tears well up in your eyes.
“Hey now, I mean it.” He’s shifting, hands reaching for you and you feel a little sorry for the ‘oof’ he lets out when you crash into his open arms. “Wanna get to know you, but only if you want that too. If we can carve out some time for each other.”
“Of course, Joel. That would…that would make me happy.”
“’m droppin’ Sarah off now, gotta head to the site for a few hours but I can pick you up here once I’m done. That sound okay to you?” He looks so hopefully, so happy that he can ask you in person, can ask to see you again now that he’s found you and it melts your heart. You’re sure the smile you give him is just as dopey at the one he’s beaming down at you.
“Yes, that sounds perfect. Here.” You pull away from him just enough to reach into your back pocket and brandish a business card at him. The thick cardstock is embossed in gold lettering, your name and number displayed on it proudly. “This is a little more permanent than a flimsy piece of paper.”
He pulls one of his own business cards out from his wallet as he securely puts yours away.
You continue to feel the warmth of his fingers passing it to you even hours later as you hold piping bags filled with cooled frosting, as you add frills and garnishes to pastries set in the cooler after leaving the oven a nice golden brown. And even as you feel your face heat up at the confrontation Colbie sneaks in throughout the day about your ‘gentleman caller’.
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Around noon, Joel’s truck parks out front of the bakery. He’s showered, it looks like it as you see the shine to dark curls. He’s taken a shaver to his scruff as well, it’s not as long as it had been this morning.
“Please tell me you’re closed tomorrow.” Joel taps the hours displayed on the door as he steps through it, the gold lettering telling him that you were in fact not. But open at seven am sharp. Looking up from where you’re closing down the register, you hold up one finger up to indicate you need a moment.
As you continue, you can sense his gaze as it takes in the space you poured your blood, sweat and tears into. Devoted hours to manifesting and making it a reality. The case is completely empty, parchment paper adorned with errant crumbs all that he sees inside through the shiny glass.
When you step out from behind the counter, bag and keys in hand, you clock the second Joel realizes you’ve taken a moment to change as well. No longer in your dirty apron or black athleisure, but in a skirt that flows to about midthigh, tights underneath and a thin sweater. Your hair is down too, now, no longer pulled back into low pigtails and covered with a beanie for safety reasons around the kitchen.
“Darlin’, you look-“ He swallows, tongue watering as he takes in the sight of you all dolled up for him, for a date with him. “You look amazin’.”
“Just some spare clothes I had in my office. Didn’t wanna roll up to your brother’s house covered in flour and chocolate.” He’s shushing you as he ambles up, pressing his lips to your forehead as he cradles your face.
“He wouldn’t have cared and neither would I. Today is about family, no matter their shape or mess, got it? Miller households are safe places, you hear me?”
The drive over to his brother’s is short, the two of them in the same neighborhood but different blocks something that tickles you to know end. Watchful big brother, independent little brother who didn’t want to stray too far. It’s endearing, so different from you own family. Parents live upstate, brother is still in university, opting to live in the dorms instead of with you. Younger sister god knows where now, she pops up every year with a crazy tale of where she ended up for most of the time she had disappeared.
His brother doesn’t seem surprised in the least when Joel shows up on his doorstep with you at his side, his greeting a wide smile and bright eyes. His wife, Maria is just as easy going, just as welcoming. Praising you for bringing dessert and that she had totally blanked on it for after the meal in the hectic planning of the day.
The atmosphere is cozy, holiday cheer abundant despite the temperate Texas weather that plagues the state year round. Sarah is particularly excited to be helping out this year, the first she’s old enough to. A set of twins half her age run around with shrieking laughter as Joel and Tommy chase them around and keep them busy while you help out in the kitchen as well, not wanting to just show up and sit around waiting for everything to be done.
It's so different from your usual meal alone, normally just leftovers from the day before on a tray as you settle in bed and binge watch something once the bakery closes up.
It warms your heart and makes you feel full in a way that being with your family never has. From the easy going conversation with Maria, the light teasing and focus of following instructions from Sarah, stolen glances with Joel, the wide brimming smile of his brother as he realizes that the scene is a little more complete with you there now.
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“Tell me I can kiss you, please.” Joe’s lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver at the vibrations that caress the sensitive skin. He’s been angling closer all afternoon, the couch cushions flattening and sloping. Pooling you closer to where his thick thighs rest, to the intoxicating warmth of his body and the heady smell of his spiced cologne. The movie credits are playing softly on the screen, everyone well fed and just now recovering to tend to things such as packing up leftovers and beginning to organize what was left.
The second you two were alone, Joel had used the arm he had slung up on the back of the couch around your shoulders to tug you in close. Tucking you into him, he used his other hand to pivot your legs into his lap. He’s kneading the skin there, over your tights. Thick fingers daring to trace higher and higher as he pulls back to look into your eyes.
“You’re so goddamn pretty, baby, can’t believe my streak of bad luck.” And at the flash of guilt in the depths of warm brown eyes, you surge forward and kiss him with a ferocity that startles him. The small ‘humph!’ and the tightening of his hand around your thigh curls desire low in your middle as his tongue eagerly meets yours as you part your lips.
“Bad luck, good luck. Doesn’t matter.” You manage between deep kisses, hands threading through the thick locks of chocolate curls atop his head. “We’re here now, I’m here with you.”
“Good.” He’s swallowing the moan that bubbles up from how he presses into you, how he pulls you flush with him.
“Joel! We got a house full of impressionable kids and you’re just makin’ out on the couch with the baker?”
The deep rumble of his chuckle does nothing but make your stomach jolt as heat lances through your core. The sound hitting deep and making you bury your face in the man’s neck as he parts only his lips from yours.
“Gotta embarrass me always, huh?” He’s holding you tight still, hands gripping and knuckles straining with the effort it’s taking to stop his ministrations.
“Just keep it in your pants, we’ve got everything packed up for y’all to take home. Sarah’s tucked into the spare room, helping out this year really took it outta her.”
“That where she snuck off to?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. We can watch her for the night. She don’t go back to school until next week right? Just come get ‘er tomorrow. And you,” Tommy aims twin finger guns at you. “Are welcome back anytime, Maria really appreciated the help in the kitchen but mostly I think she just loved having another woman around to chat with. Seriously, she’s gonna offer to come by the bakery and grab lunch one day soon.”
With that, Tommy saunters back into the kitchen with a snicker of his own and some words you can’t quite make out to the woman in question.
“Well, what do ya think?” Joel moves to whisper in your ear again. “Wanna come back to mine? Or I could take you home? Whichever you want, sweetheart.”
The sudden image of you and Joel tangled up on top of your bed has you kissing him full on the mouth one last time.
“Take me home and then take me to bed.”
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Giddy anticipation fills the cab of his truck, the engine ticking as he shuts it off and just sits back for a moment. His eyes find yours and you can’t help the giggle that bursts from your chest, hands tangled and fingers twisting around each other in your lap. His hand reaches and takes one of your own, engulfing it with the sheer size difference. His beautiful hands that craft houses and woodwork, his beautiful hands that raised his amazing, rambunctious but sweet daughter, his beautiful hands that held his young nephew and niece with such care. His beautiful hands that you’ve felt explore your body twice now, the urge for him to do so again so strong it makes you feel dizzy.
“I can leave if you’re nervous, darlin’. No pressure, no hard feelings.” Joel Miller, the man that he is, knew just what to say to ease your worries.
“No, no. I just…”
“Thank you, for today.” You whisper, emotions getting the better of you. “I really thought that…this year I’d be alone again. My family only ever asks after desserts, always schedules the meal late and too far away for me to make the drive. I…I really liked spending time with you and your family today, they made me feel so welcome and included. It- it was really nice, Joel.”
The trembling of your lower lip is embarrassing but you can’t fight it off as you bare your heart to the man beside you.
“Hey now, it’s okay. I got ya,” He’s shuffling closer, the console pushed up to allow him to slide across the bench seat. “They loved you, ‘m sure they wouldn’t mind seein’ you more.”
And it’s easy, the way he soothes the turmoil in your mind, begins to help heal the trauma that bubbles up this time of year.
It’s easy how he kisses you and makes you feel like the most important person in the world.
It’s easy how he let’s you guide him into your home with clasped hands and a shy smile.
It’s easy the next morning when you wake up beside him, his naked body like a furnace under the sheets as it wraps around your own. The hours posted on your bakery door correct except for the day that follows any holiday. His breath little puffs against the back of your neck as you both share a pillow, while your exhalation becomes needy as you feel an ache between your legs. Little whimpers thrown into the air with no regard to how desperate they sound.
Heat sparks through you as you recall the desire in his hooded eyes the night before as you straddled him, taking your time with lowering yourself onto his hard cock, already dribbling when he had shucked his pants off for you to see all of him for the first time. The sight of him sprawled across your bed, head thrown on the pillows and bronze skin gleaming in the low lights strung up over your bed had all but turned you possessive. The memories were too much, kindling desire and pleasure in you in such a way that should be a warning in itself that you were fucked.
You were gone on him and you could only hope he felt the same way.
Soon enough, the shifting of your thighs to relieve pleasure that tingles there rouses him.
“Woke up needy, huh darlin’?” His voice is deep velvet, the early morning blessing him with such a soothing baritone that it almost has you rolling your eyes at it caresses over your skin much like his exploring fingers.
“Mhm, can still feel you. Right here-“ And his hand flattens against the soft give of your stomach where you guided it, just below your belly button.
“Fuck, that’s so hot, you have no idea.” He’s crowding you, body shifting to press your chest to the bed, his legs tangling with yours as he kneels behind you. He hinges your hips, bringing them up to rub the length of his cock between your glistening folds. “So full a me still, holding it like such a good girl for me.”
The whine of his name from your lips has him pushing in, slowly and carefully until his hips meet the back of your thighs. Turning it into a low moan that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. Your panting is all he can hear, the clench of your walls all he can feel as your back arches and you press back into him.
“Right here, huh?” His hand is still on your belly, and it presses now, pulling a yelp from you as the pressure in your core intensifies. Your cunt gushes around him, earning you a hiss as he grinds himself against you to make a squelching sound.
“Please please please tell me we’re going to do this again.” You move on him, pulling forward a bit, knees spreading and hands gripping tight to the sheets underneath you. Joel’s answering groan is more than enough but his voice delivers your fate in such an easy way.
“Oh darlin’, we’re gonna be doin’ this every day for the rest of our lives.” And with that he moves to grip your hips so tight you’re sure there will be reddened imprints of his fingers, pulling out in a slow drag before he slams back in and sets a brutal pace.
And maybe the holidays aren’t so bad, after all.
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plutoswritingplanet · 9 months ago
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Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)
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a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)
Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.
Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3
PT. 2
Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up. 
Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 
Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors.  He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.
Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again. 
Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board. 
 There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently. 
A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one. 
Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail. 
You have to be alive and in good condition. 
Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?
- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected. 
***
The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. 
You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in. 
The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.
The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after. 
By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage. 
Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting. 
That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.
Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really. 
It started with Old Lady Sal. 
You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.
Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen. 
And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf. 
The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland. 
You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over. 
So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can. 
Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion. 
That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly. 
- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.
Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck. 
- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero. 
Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame. 
You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.
You were drunk, not stupid. 
***
The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake. 
It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door. 
It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother. 
Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.
- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...
Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise. 
- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.
- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...
- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words. 
- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...
You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.
- Put pressure on it.
There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.
- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.
- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.
Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.
Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain. 
- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 
- Well, kinda. A Ghoul. 
You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together. 
- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.
They led him to you. 
Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers. 
Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth. 
Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later. 
There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead. 
The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface.  The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands. 
Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.
He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.
- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.
Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.
Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions. 
No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?
- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.
- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.
A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.
 He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight. 
- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.
Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table. 
Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.
- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.
- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys. 
Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently. 
- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips. 
- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.
Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones. 
You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.
- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression. 
You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants. 
A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.
Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers. 
- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again. 
Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones. 
Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders. 
He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff. 
Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.
- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too. 
A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package. 
- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck. 
Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days. 
The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen. 
You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin. 
The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner. 
- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.
Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave. 
- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs. 
- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you. 
You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly. 
Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance. 
- You serious? 
- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?
- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up. 
- Wait. 
Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue. 
The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe. 
- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.
He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily. 
Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin. 
- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.
He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes.  If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender. 
Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins. 
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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 8 months ago
Note
hello 🩷recently found and loved your account so i’m here to ask from you!!
criminal minds SSA aaron hotchner x reader
i’d love any explicit smut 😋
ideal trope(s) would be jealousy, established but secret relationship due to workplace like the whole thing stems from AH being jealous af that you’re getting hit on or smth and he can’t do shy about it in public but oh when ur home.. 👀👀👀
hahaha sorry the brain rot is real
thank you if you do this!!
and i hope u never stop writing i’ve been reading ur other posts too i love them sm
༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫
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— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader
— summary: your new relationship brings out a side of aaron that he had never seen before.
— warnings: established relationship, jealousy (obvi), unprotected sex, rough sex, teasing, couch sex, aaron lowkey bends you like a pretzel, heavy praise, he taps you on the cheek (lovingly ofc), implied creampie, consent king aaron!!, slightly insecure aaron, implied age gap but not specified, body massages and an implied size kink!
— wc: 2018
⋆ a/n: WOW a long smut fic, who would have thought? anywho, i'm trying to break free from posting headcanons because i just know they'll overtake this account. thank you for this request!
masterlist | AO3
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Aaron felt his eye twitch. 
His eye never twitches.
The culprit? The maintenance man that won’t stop talking to you. 
He had so much paperwork he needed to complete, the stack of it had begun to tower, but Aaron couldn’t manage to get himself to focus on anything else but you. 
Your relationship was fairly new, so you both had just agreed to keep it low-key for now. It wasn’t like you guys were lying, how could you when you were constantly surrounded by nosy profilers? 
With new relationships came new feelings, and one of them he hadn’t felt since he was a young man somehow managed to resurface right under his nose: jealousy.
Yes, he had his moments of jealousy when he had first gotten with Hailey, but this? This was different. The age gap between the two of you wasn’t that large, but it was considerable enough that when he saw men closer to your age creeping around you, it always put him in a foul mood.
Like right now he just wants to storm down there and kiss you right in front of that stupid kid. The urge was primal and unfamiliar, and quite frankly it drove him insane.
Aaron was sure you hadn’t meant to come off as flirtatious, and who were your colleagues to step in if you looked genuinely interested in the guy? For all they knew you were single.
Oh, yeah, this was going to drive him over the edge, and it was all your fault.
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It was safe to say you were excited when Aaron had decided to call it an early night, you just hadn’t expected him to jump on you as soon as you breached the threshold of your home.
He didn’t give you time to think or even put your things down, his briefcase followed along by your purse collapsed to the floor with a surprisingly loud thud!
Your lungs burned and your face was hot, heated between the two furnaces that were Aaron’s large and work-worn hands. You desperately clung onto the sleeves of his suit jacket, the material twisting between your fingers to keep yourself sturdy as he walked backwards.
“A- Aaron wha - what’s going on?” You pleaded breathlessly. You had to slightly shove the man away even though you were met with his uncharacteristic resistance. He just stood there and stared at you like a wild man, pupils dilated and chest rising and falling with every hastened breath he took.
He shook his head and blinked, like his thoughts were escaping him. Aaron couldn’t think when you looked at him like that; your lips kiss swollen with a light sheen of spit, your blouse covered breasts grazing his firm chest.
“You’re going to be the death of me.” Was all he could say before reconnecting your lips. 
He continues to walk backwards before the back of his calves meet the couch. He allows himself to drop down with a slight oomf, his needy hands tugging on yours encouragingly until you clambered onto his lap.
He didn’t give you time to show him any hesitancy, his palms gripping your hips firmly and all but holding you down against him. You gasped at the feeling, your fingers scratching at the shaved hairs on the back of his neck. 
“Aaron! What has gotten into you?” The question was a flustered giggle. Aaron’s eyes casted to the side in a rare show of nervousness. 
“It’s ridiculous.” He mutters. “I can bet you a million dollars that whatever you’re going to say isn’t as silly as you think it is.”
“It was that guy. The one that wouldn’t stop talking to you.” It took you a moment to think back on it before you finally understood what he meant. “The maintenance man? What about him?”
“He was flirting with you, and - I don’t know, it made me feel things I haven’t in a long time.”
Saying the actual word jealousy seemed so juvenile to Aaron; he was a grown ass man with a grown ass man job, so what right did he have to be acting like this?
“Oh.” It was long and drawn out. You felt a smirk begin to form on your face and you gently coaxed his eyes to meet yours. Aaron’s gaze was unsure. 
“You know I’m yours, right? I don’t want anyone else that isn’t you, no matter how young, rich or tall.” Your hips begin to grind down on his and Aaron chokes back a groan. His grip on your flesh gets stronger and it draws a whimper out of you.
“Yeah?” He asks sensually, his voice a low purr. He aids in your grinding and your head grows fuzzy. “Yeah.”
He’s quick to reposition the both of you, your back now resting on the couch cushions. He kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at the skin there. It sends a shiver down your spine and your lower half canting up, desperately searching for friction. 
Your hot cunt meets his knee. “Ah! Aaron.” You whined, fingers digging into his shoulders. Your boyfriend has one foot on the ground and the other wedged between your legs.
Aaron rises from your chest for a moment, shoving off his suit jacket and working the buttons on his shirt. You take it upon yourself to take your blouse off, arms reaching behind you to unclasp your bra with learned precision. 
His eyes fall on your breasts and you could have sworn his movements gained a bit of franticness.
“Like what you see?” You couldn’t help but tease, your hands now working to shimmy your pencil skirt down your thighs. “Very much.” Aaron agrees with a lazy half smile. “Here, let me help.” You lift your hips up and he takes both your panties and skirt off at the same time.
The casual show of strength made your stomach clench, and you all but snatched Aaron by the back of his neck back down to your level. A noise of surprise escapes him and you take it as a chance to slip your tongue in his mouth.
Your body begins to heat up, his taking grabs and grips driving you insane.
“Fuck me.” You heave. Aaron pulls away from you, “Are you sure? You aren’t prepared well yet, and I don’t want to hurt you.” You smile softly. “As much as I appreciate your concern about me, I’ll let you know if there’s any discomfort, okay?”
Aaron thinks on your words for a moment, mulling them about in his brain before relenting at the feeling of your sweet, tempting hands stroking his bare chest.
“You always have to keep me on my toes, don’t you?” 
“That was in the agreement.” You bite playfully. He snorts and rolls his eyes, but sits up once more to unbutton his pants. 
With what feels like forever, he’s finally bare for your hungry eyes and clambering on top of you.
Resuming his old position, he wraps your legs around his waist, the tip of his cock poking at your slit. The two of you shiver at the feeling.
“Are you sure about this, sweetheart? You know I don’t mind eating you out; I’m in no rush.” Your cheeks turn warm at his crudeness. “I’m sure, baby. I need you. Now.” With one final search of your face, he begins to push forward.
Your breath catches in your throat and you hold on to his muscular biceps. Your eyes flutter shut at the full feeling of him, your legs trembling and stomach tightening. 
The first initial stretch hurts of course, but with a minute of laying there adjusting to Aaron’s size as he delivers very stimulating circles on your clit to distract you from the discomfort, you find yourself loosening up.
“Move.” You grunted quietly. 
Aaron’s jaw is set tight, the vein in his forehead slightly bulging when he proceeds to thrust experimentally. Your lips roll in between your teeth to hold back the whorish moan that threatens to practically barrel out of you. 
He does it again, and again, and again, until all of his self control is thrown out the window and the only thing he can think of is you; of how tight you are around him.
“It feels so good, baby. So, so good…” You babble, your hands reaching up to grip the armrest of the couch for more leverage. “I know honey, I know. ‘M gonna get deeper, okay?” Aaron groans. You nod wildly, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of your face.
He steadies himself on the knee placed on the couch, lifting your legs up so either one sits on his big, broad shoulders. 
The change in position caused your back to arch, your mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ shape as you struggled to keep your head on straight.“Mphm! You’re so - you’re so deep.” You cried out, tears brimming on your eyelashes. “I know I am, baby. But you can take it right?”
“Mhm! I can! I know I can!” 
“You can take it because you’re mine right? Because you’re my good girl?” 
His praise pushes you dangerously close to the edge, and you’re honestly convinced that the crescent shape of your nails will leave an imprint on the material forever. The couch cushions stick to your skin like glue, the so of skin hitting skin resounded throughout the room lewdly.
A hand lightly slapped your face, your cheeks squeezed between his fingers, puckering slightly.
“I asked you a question, didn't I sweetheart?”
“You did, you did! ‘M sorry. ‘M your good girl, please.”
What you were begging for, you didn’t know; was it mercy? Was it a desperate call for your sanity? Whatever it was could wait, because you were going to cum.
“Gah! God, Aaron, ‘m gonna cum! Help me cum, please.” You begged again. “I got you honey.”
Aaron’s hand slithered down your body before landing on your clit, a calloused thumb drawing it around in firm circles. Your body moved and convulsed violently, your moans growing in volume – you’re sure you’re going to receive a noise complaint in the mail later.
That coil in your stomach threatened to snap, and all you could think to say was, “Cum with me?” 
To be frank, Aaron was ready to cum a few thrusts before, but he was always one to prolong his pleasure if that meant satisfying you.
“Of - of course.” He stuttered, his dominance slowly slipping away from him.
Aaron bent forward just a little more to test how far he could push you, and though you were sure your muscles were going to ache when everything died down, but God, this was so, so worth it.
“F- fuck!” You swore as you came.
Everything disappeared for a moment besides the sound of Aaron’s guttural groan that sounded more like a loud, long-drawn-out whimper than anything when he came too.
You were slowly brought back to reality by Aaron massaging your sore muscles, gently twisting them and rubbing out any potential knots that threatened to form. You knew he'd disappear in a minute to grab something to wipe you down with, but you couldn’t seem to find it within your post orgasmic bliss to care.
“Mm, that’s nice.” You rasped, your eyelids fluttering open to face your disheveled boyfriend. His hair was all out of place in the best way possible, his bare body shining in a clear sheen of sweat. If you weren’t so tired, you think you’d jump straight to a round two.
“I’m sure,” Aaron’s voice was just as hoarse as yours. “I think I pushed your body a bit too far.”
“Don’t get started, Aaron.” You chided lightly. “It was perfect, okay? You were perfect. Now get up here.” 
You dragged him from where he was and laid his body on top of yours.
“Down.” You demanded playfully. “I’m heavy, honey.”
“Don’t care.” You exaggerated the ‘don’t’ and pulled the rest of him down.
“I want to lay like this for a minute.”
“Alright,” Aaron nodded to himself. “I can do a minute.”
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ellecdc · 11 months ago
Text
Come Back, Be Here
Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 8k words
p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8
CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, healing/blood and injury (no one is injured during this story), mention of Bellatrix's cursed knife (same injury Hermione received, sorry), angst, hurt/comfort, use of Y/N
Synopsis: After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. How will Sirius react when he finally gets his love back, but you don't seem to recognize any of them? (concept inspired by Recognition by aeaean__bliss on ao3)
James hated this – he hated the paranoia, he hated worrying, he hated the idea that taking one step outside of the threshold may be the last time he ever sees his wife and son. He had taken ‘one last look’ at too many people in his life, and he was exhausted.
         But he was also trained for this.
Pads had been growing more and more paranoid as the war waged on – with all the loss, the targeted attacks of Order members and the growing speculation of a spy amongst them; he begged Lily and James to change Peter to the secret keeper. “I’ll be the Death Eaters first thought, Prongs - he’s the less obvious choice.” It had been months since James had seen Sirius so desperate and passionate, so he agreed. Peter’s schedule with the Ministry had been taking up a lot of his time, but he said that the next Order meeting they would do the trade.
Until then, Sirius made sure Lily and James had a contingency plan.
“If anything fuckey happens, you have to promise me you’ll leave, no questions asked. Okay?” Sirius begged. “Have a go-bag packed for you both and Harry at the ready. If you feel any weakening of the wards – you leave.”
So, something fuckey happened. Lily got herself and Harry dressed for the rain, their bags by the back door ready to make a run for it, and James stood at the front door with his invisibility cloak pulled over him and wand at the ready.
The wards had chimed – signifying someone was here – but they were still standing; this meant Sirius was fine. Wards wobbled all the time – sometimes muggles wandered too closely to them without realizing – but the concerning part was the snap of apparition they heard before the wards had alerted them.
“It could be Moony, or Wormtail.” Lily said, mostly trying to convince herself that everything was fine.
James smiled at his wife like this might be the last time he ever did so. “Very true. I’ll be back in a mo’, okay? If anything happens, you guys go. I’ll find you.” He said.
Lily gave him a watery smile.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
James stepped out into the torrential downpour. Britain wasn’t always known for its reliable weather, but even James was baffled by the sudden late-October thunderstorm. As tempted as he was to cast a weather repelling charm around him, he didn’t want to give away his location by having water bouncing away from his invisible figure, so he allowed himself to get increasingly soaked as he squinted into the night, looking for any signs of who alerted their wards.
He made it to the front gate – where he could see the end of the wards and cast a quick revelio.
Nothing.
“Moony?” He whispered, knowing the lycanthrope would hear him over the heavy rain.
“Pete?” He asked a little louder after receiving no answer.
He waited for a few more moments, cast one more revelio, and moved to the back of the house when he picked up nothing.
Godric’s Hollow is a wizarding community as well, he reminded himself, maybe someone just unknowingly apparated too close to the property.
He cast another revelio in the backyard and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw movement in the woods. “Buggering fuck!” He whisper-shouted, but embarrassingly realized he was watching the figure of a cat running away into the forest.
“Well, that’s not what I heard apparating here, now is it?” He muttered under his breath. He was beginning to suspect they heard some ignorant witch or wizard who miscalculated their apparation as he finished surveying the backyard.
Suddenly, he spotted a figure; it appeared unmoving, and was in a heap on the ground directly outside the ward line. James looked around, casting another revelio – nothing. The only thing he’s found is the slumped figure at the ward line.
James was torn – does he check what it is? What if it’s a person? Should he see if they are okay? Should he go inside and tell Lily that it’s fine before he checks on the figure? Would they still be waiting outside when he came back out? Is this a trap?
His musings were interrupted as the figure started choking.
“Merlin, I’m going to die of a bleeding heart.” James muttered as he made his way to the figure. He cast one more revelio on his way to confirm no one else was around waiting to ambush him.
Against his better judgment - knowing Sirius would have him by the bollocks for this later - he stepped outside of the wards, grabbed the figure and hauled the body back over the ward line. At least now I only have to be worried about dying at the hands of this individual half dead wix.
The body was small – James would assume it was a student from Hogwarts if it weren’t for the fact that they clearly apparated here and all students would be in school. Their cloak appeared far too large for their body and was completely soaked through due to the rain.
The figure began coughing again, and James heard gurgling sounds.
He ripped the hood off the figure and gasped.
Pale – so sickly pale – bruised black and blue and currently coughing up blood was you. Vixen! The witch, friend, fellow animagus and therefore honorary Marauder and his personal mission partner whom James last saw dying in the rubble of your last stake-out location.
“Oh Merlin, OH MERLIN.” James shouted as he whipped off the invisibility cloak and threw it over his shoulder.
He turned his attention back to you as you continued to sputter. He carefully turned you onto your side so you could spit the blood out of your mouth, which caused you to throw up.
“Okay, alright, come on Vix. Let’s get you inside. You’re okay, come on.” James muttered, mostly as a mantra to himself. He felt the adrenaline rushing through his body and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears.
He lifted you up into his arms; one arm supporting your knees whilst the other supported your shoulders. You hung from his grasp like a corpse.
“Stay with me, Vix. Stay with me. You’re going to be okay.” He continued as he got to the door.
He kicked the back door with his foot before cursing and remembering their code. He paused; three quick kicks, one kick, two quick kicks. “Lily! It’s clear, open up!”
Lily set Harry in his playpen and was quick to unlock the door. “Thank Merlin, I - oh!” She quickly moved out of way to avoid being barreled over by her husband with a body in his arms. “What did you find?”
“Not what, Lil’s. Who.”
He ran to the guest bedroom on the first floor, gently laying you onto the bed.
“No...” Lily whispered from the door, her face falling so pale that her freckles stood out in stark contrast.
“Help me. Help her. She’s hurt, she’s-” he started, but he could hardly breathe.
James’ stuttering seemed to snap Lily out of it, and she began barking orders.
“Go get towels, as many as we can. Put a few throw blankets into the dryer for about twenty minutes to warm them up.” She said as she moved to the bed. James didn’t need to be told twice.
Lily set the soaking cloak that James had unceremoniously plopped onto the bed onto the chesterfield. She vanished the black turtleneck and black trousers from your body hoping you wouldn’t miss them terribly. Her breath was taken away, but she couldn’t stare in horror for long as you began coughing up more blood.
She noticed bleeding from your left side – you had what looked like a stab wound in your ribs, which had punctured your lung. Okay Lily, you know this.
Lily sometimes hated magic - it had caused so much pain in her life. She had been called slurs and faced prejudice, she was left without a relationship with her sister, she lost friends and many she considered family to this magical war, and her husband and family were currently facing death by the hands of an evil wizard. Right at this very moment, however, Lily thanked all the deities possible for her use of magic.
She quickly syphoned the fluids and blood flooding your lung before casting a quick sawdering charm to it. Lily heard the telltale snap of your ribs back into place before she closed the wound. It wasn’t as pretty as what could have been done by a real Healer or even Madam Pomfrey, but it would do.
Lily cleared your mouth and throat of blood and conjured a glass of water, forcing some into your mouth before encouraging you to spit it back out.
Once you were no longer at risk of immediately dying, Lily took in the rest of your body.
Your collarbone appeared to protrude from its rightful place, and you had severe bruising around your neck. Lily corrected your collar bone with a flick of her wand which elicited a painful grunt from your lips. You seemed quite a bit thinner than the last time she had seen you, and wondered when your last good meal was. She levitated you gently off the bed and noted that the majority of the bruising appeared around your torso and back. You had a large, healed scar on your right thigh and a small puncture shaped scar on your lower left abdomen. But none of this made Lily feel nearly as sick as when she noticed the word mudblood carved into the skin of your left arm; the wound appeared brand new, as if it had just happened, but it was dry and not bleeding.
The bedroom door slammed open as James threw a pile of at least twenty towels onto the other side of the bed as your form. “I’ve got blankets in the drying machine thingy.” He muttered out of breath as he straightened his glasses.
“Merlin’s tits. What-” he started before Lily cut him off.
“Out, out. Give us some privacy, I’m going to run her a warm bath. Can you bring me some clothes for her?”
James jumped and took off out of the room again.
You had been coming in and out of consciousness as Lily gently washed your body. Every time your eyes met Lily’s green ones, Lily felt her breath leave her body. It’s like looking at a ghost. She wanted to throw up, she wanted to cry, she wanted to sing and dance, my friend, who we had a funeral for, was back from the dead. But she had a job to do, dammit she had a job to do. She’s not your friend right now Lily, she’s your patient. Help her. She needs a healer. You’re as good as one. Help your patient.
Neither of you spoke – Lily didn’t want to overwhelm you, and she also had no idea what to say. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you since you’ve been gone; now I have no words.
Lily helped you dry off and supported your weight as she walked you back into the bedroom. James had brought down a tracksuit of Lily’s, which was too big for you, but it was dry and warm, and it would have to do.
After you were dressed, Lily had you sit on the edge of the bed as she brushed and braided your hair.
“There you go, Y/N.” Lily said as she gently tapped your shoulder, cautious of any pain you may be feeling from your collarbone injury.
“You know my name.” you asked quietly, but it wasn’t a question.
Lily paled. Know your name? Try: know your entire life story up until about a year ago.
“I do.” Lily answered cautiously, moving to stand in front of her friend. “Do you know mine?”
Lily watched as your eyes scanned her face. “No,” you admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Lily said dumbly. “Well, that’s okay. Nothing to be sorry for. I’m Lily. We were friends, before.”
Tears welled up in your eyes, and Lily instantly regretted saying anything. “Here, why don’t we get you into bed, hm?” She offered as a distraction to the both of you.
You grimaced as you shuffled to the head of the bed where Lily pulled the warm blankets James had left for you to climb under.
“I’ll go make a pot of tea and get you some pain potion, okay?”
You seemed to consider Lily for some time before finally nodding your head at her.
“I’ll be right back.”
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Lily closed the door behind her and rushed to the kitchen. “James” She sobbed.
Her husband immediately stood from the kitchen table and enveloped her in his arms.
“What happened? Is she okay?” He asked into her hair.
“She doesn’t know who I am.” She muttered miserably.
James froze and pulled his wife away from him to look into her eyes. “She what?”
“She doesn’t recognize me, James. She asked how I knew her name.”
“Oh, Godric.” James muttered, falling back into the chair. “Do you think she’ll recognize me? Or anyone else?”
Lily sighed as she made her way into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s shock, or amnesia, or a brain injury, or if it’s just me. There are too many variables. I think we should probably wait before we tell the other’s she’s here – I don’t know how they’ll handle not being recognized.”
“Fuck” James whispered.
“Potter.” Lily deadpanned. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
The only response she got was a guilty look from James before the front door flew open.
“Where is she?” Sirius demanded, staring at his friends as if they had personally victimized him, Remus following closely behind, face white as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Would you quiet down.” Lily seethed as she threw up a hasty mufliato.
“I am not fucking around, Red. Where. Is. She.” He repeated angrily, shaking off James’ hand that had been placed on his shoulder.
“If you think I’m letting you anywhere near her when you’re like this, you are out of your sodding mind.” Lily seethed, walking over, and shoving her face into Sirius’. 
“Mate, please. Sit down, let us fill you in. The second we do; you can go see her.” James said, trying to appease his friend. Sirius’ chest heaved as his burning eyes met Remus’ glassy ones which were already on him; a silent question of “Are we going to comply or are we going to cause a scene?” passed between them. Sirius moved his eyes back to Lily; he knew Lily wasn’t messing around - she was the mother of the group; she always had been. And she had always been the absolute best of friends with you and Remus, which made her all the more protective over you two in particular. He knew he should trust her when it came to you, but after the last mission - the mission you never fucking returned from - he doubted he would ever trust anyone with you ever again.
Lily watched his face as he seemed to come to some sort of decision.
“You have exactly five minutes starting the second my arse hits that seat, and then I will see her. Got it?” He stated bluntly, before shoving past her and James and sitting at the kitchen table.
Lily and James shared a look before they joined him at the table, Remus sitting down last.
James and Lily just stared at each other; each silently begging the other to start. Sirius grew more and more agitated the longer no one said anything, his knee bouncing under the table. 4 minutes and 17 seconds before I break every door down in this fucking house to find her.
“So,” James started, “She’s here.”
Lily grimaced. “We heard the snap of apparition and then there was a wobble in the wards.” Sirius’ eyes widened.
“We were ready to run,” Lily input at Sirius’ face, “but since the wards were still up and unaffected, James went to investigate.”
“She was soaked to the bone and just lying there. Honestly, I...I thought there was just a dead body until she started to choke.” James admitted. “I got her inside and brought her to the room where Lily healed her.”
“And?” Remus asked quietly.
“And it’s not good.” Lily admitted.
“She’s alive.” James amended, giving Lily a pointed look as if saying do you know who you’re talking to right now?
“Right, erm,” Lily started, “She had a stab wound in her ribs which had punctured her lung – that’s what was causing her to choke. I emptied the lung of blood and fluids and closed it up, re-set the broken ribs and closed the wound – her collar bone was also dislocated. She’s badly bruised and beaten. She has a few healed scars...” she trailed off awkwardly.
“Merlin’s tits.” Sirius muttered into his hands which were covering his face. “Is that all?” He asked sarcastically.
“No, there are two more things, but I need you to stay quiet and calm and listen to me. Do not speak until I say so, okay?”
She gave Sirius a pointed look and the man begrudgingly nodded.
“It appears that someone carved the word mudblood into her left arm – the wound looked brand new, but it wasn’t bleeding or red, so I’m not sure why it looks the way it does. I’ll need an actual healer to look it over.” She sighed greatly before continuing. “And she doesn’t know who I am.”
The room fell painfully silent, all eyes on her.
“Someone carved...?” Remus finally began whispering before he was cut off by Sirius.
“What do you mean she doesn’t know who you are?” Sirius asked.
“I mean I’m a stranger to her Sirius.” She muttered miserably. “She asked me how I knew her name, and when I told her we were friends, she looked like she was going to cry.”
Sirius’ already alabaster skin appeared to grow a sickly paler shade as he looked incredulously at Lily.
He watched as James rubbed Lily’s shoulder. Beaten. Stabbed. Bruised. Tortured. Someone hurt her. Someone touched her – violated her. My girl.
But she’s here. He reminded himself.
“Okay.” He whispered.
The table grew quiet again, everyone turning their attention to the dark-haired man.
“Okay?” Lily asked between sniffles.
“Okay.” He repeated before making eye contact with her again. “She’s likely been through hell, I hardly expect much of her right now. Fuck, I hardly ever expected to get her back at all so, let’s just...” He stopped, looking down at the woodgrain on the table. “We’ll make sure she’s okay to start and then, maybe eventually, we can help her get her memories back or something.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
Lily gave him a sad smile as more tears fell.
“Okay Pads.” She said, reaching to take his hand. “Let’s go see our girl.”
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“Y/N? It’s me,” Lily started as she leaned into the bedroom door. “Erm, Lily.” She clarified awkwardly. “I’ve got your tea and something to eat, may I come in?”
She waited for a few beats before she poked her head in. “You okay?” She asked gently. She spotted her friend sitting exactly where she had left you; propped up in the bed on a tower of pillows and wrapped in the numerous blankets that James had warmed up for you. Lily plastered on what she hoped was her most calming smile.
“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” She asked gently, moving into the room.
 “I’m not sure.” You admitted in a whisper, warily eying the grapes, cheese, and crackers Lily had prepared that sat beside the tea and vial of pain potion which Lily placed on the bed before you.
“I can get you something else if you’d like, but I figured it might be good to have a little something in your stomach on account of the pain potion.” She grimaced as she motioned toward the offending vial.
The sound of a throat clearing interrupted the women and brought your attention to the door where James and Sirius both stood, waiting for... well, Lily wasn’t sure.
You just stared blankly at the men. Your eyes seemed to dart between James and Sirius, questions flying behind your eyes.
“Mind if we join you?” James asked quietly, holding his hands open as if a universal way to say, see? Friendly. We mean you no harm.
You turned your gaze back to Lily who was silently encouraging you. Lily wore a soft smile, and her eyes were full of compassion and understanding.
“Sure.” You finally said, your voice thick. The boys let out a breath and moved into the room slowly. Lily stared at them both, hoping they got her silent plea: you are great big giant oafs; please be as un-intimidating as possible.
It wasn’t easy; Sirius with his thick, rock-star style black hair and covered in various tattoos which stood out in stark contrast against his alabaster skin. His combat boots which were never tied properly were not the stealthiest footwear, and his various pieces of silver jewelry littering his body added to the intimidating aura that was Sirius Black.
And big, bumbling James; built like the Quidditch chaser he is. He stood slightly taller than Sirius, and between his ADHD and constant need for movement, he was in perfect shape for a soldier. He could appear intimidating when he needed to be, and when he was actually angry: watch out. But those who knew him would laugh and laugh to know you ever feared him if you hadn’t a reason. He smiled warmly at you and sat on the floor near the fireplace.
Sirius sat behind Lily in a wingback chair that he turned to face the bed you were sat on. He monitored your face looking for any signs of recognition as you surveyed the newcomers. He tried not to feel disappointed when he didn’t see any. He failed anyways.
“Our friend’s showed up while the tea was on, we never could keep them away for long.” Lily offered when you still hadn’t said anything.
“Rem will be back later; he ran out to grab some things.” Sirius explained.
James, never being one for sublties asked “do you recognize either of us?” as if the question had been lodged behind his teeth since he first found you.
Lily and Sirius sucked in a breath as they turned to analyze you. Your gaze moved over the two men before looking down at your hands in your lap and shook your head.
“Well, that’s alright; we always liked making new friends.” James offered. “I’m James – I found you outside. And this here is Sirius.” He said, motioning to his friend.
Sirius heard you let out a shakey breath at the end of James' sentence, and Lily noticed tears springing into her friend’s eyes.
“What’s the matter, love?” Sirius asked her gently.
You shook your head miserably and looked between the two men again. Sirius thought he would throw up while Lily’s eyes widened in horror.
“No, no. Y/N, it’s alright, you’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.” she clarified.
“We’re your friends,” James offered quietly, “we only wanted to know you were okay.”
You didn’t seem able to make eye contact with any of them anymore and stared at the tea tray set out in front of you.
“It’s chamomile,” Lily offered, “it was one of your favourites.”
Sirius and James exchanged a glance before the former slowly stood and made his way over to you; you didn’t look up at Sirius, but he noticed your body tense. Keeping his distance, he picked up the cup of tea and gave it a sniff before taking a sip, making a show of swishing it in his mouth before swallowing. 
“Hm, yep. Chamomile, two sugars and a splash of milk.” He said before he cast a quick revelio over the cup and pot. “And nothing else added.”
He placed the cup back onto the tray. “You can never be too careful these days, hm?” He offered you with a smile before returning to his seat.
You looked at Lily before you carefully picked up the tea with shaking hands. The warmth of the cup brought tears to your eyes as you held it tightly in your hands, enjoying the aroma before taking your own cautious sip.
Seemingly satisfied you weren’t being poisoned, you grimaced at the smell of the pain poition before downing it with nothing more than a cough. Sirius thought you were a much better sport about it than he was.
“Why don’t we light the fire, hm?” Lily asked, beginning to stand.
“I’ve got it.” Sirius mumbled, standing, and placing a few logs into the hearth before casting an incendio.
Sirius could feel your eyes following him; he knew because they burned into his skin like they always had before. He always had a sixth sense when it came to you. He missed this familiar feeling, even though it was currently painful; he never thought he’d feel the burn of your stare again.
“Thank you.” He heard whispered, and looked to see you looking at him from under your lashes as you brought the tea to your lips again.
“You’re very welcome.” He smiled at you.
“Do you know me?” You suddenly whispered. If it wasn’t for the fact that the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, the rest of the room’s occupants would have missed it completely.
“Yes.” James said with a soft smile.
“Were we...” you started, before clearing your throat and returning your gaze to your hands. “Were we friends? Before?” You finished, not returning your gaze.
“The best of.” James replied.
You seemed to think on this for a while before you looked up and met Sirius’ eyes.
“And you?” You queried.
Sirius was sure he just heard his heart break. He wondered how much he should tell you. She doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t remember the nights shared, or the fights had, or the days spent. How much does he tell you?
He recognized that everyone is looking at him now; you inquisitively, James appeared distraught, and Lily was looking at him with the saddest smile he’d ever seen. He had very little time to answer this question.
“You couldn’t shake me off, love. I followed you around everywhere.” He settled for, trying to smile at you but it felt more like a grimace.
You sighed and returned to fiddling with your teacup.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered. The two present marauders and Lily exchanged glances before turning back towards their friend.
“What for?” Lily asked gently, moving to place a hand on your shoulder. Nobody in the room missed the full body flinch that took place when you spotted a hand coming towards you, which caused Lily’s hand to retreat to her lap.
You sighed heavily again before continuing. “For not recognizing you all.”
“None of that now, gorgeous.” Sirius stated. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ll be just fine.”
“Where have you been all this time?” James asked, which was met with a low rumble from Sirius’ throat; a warning that no one in the room missed.
“Prongs, she’s been through hell. Leave her be for now.”
Your eyes flicked between the two men who seemed to be having a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked back to Lily who gave you a crooked smile and a shrug of her shoulders.
“Was your hair shorter when I knew you?” You asked. Sirius tore his eyes away from his best mate and looked into your warm gaze. You looked so inquisitive, and he instantly thought back to the nights that the two of you spent on the astronomy tower where he would point out every constellation and star you could see with your naked eye and tell you their stories; you’d always ask follow-up questions, which he loved because none of your other friends found astronomy to be at all interesting, and he could show off his wealth of knowledge on the topic.
Sirius subconsciously brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his hair. No, he thought, in fact, I’ve cut it quite a bit shorter since the last time I saw you. His hair had always been quite long, especially since he and you became friends back in 4th year. After you passed away - or, disappeared, Sirius supposed – he found it harder and harder to deal with especially when in battle, between needing it to be up elsewise it was in his face, or being easy to grab by enemies. He kept some length, but now the longest pieces came just below his chin.
“I don’t think so, darlin’. Must be thinking of someone else.” He tried to tease, but it came out pained.
Your eyes stayed on Sirius as you analysed him. “My mistake.” You whispered.
It grew incredibly awkward from there. No one knew what to say; you wouldn’t eat or make eye contact with anyone anymore and continued fiddling with your teacup.
“Well, why don’t we leave you to eat up, and you can rest some, hm?” Lily offered, looking around the room at the others. James immediately nodded his head in agreement, whilst you looked indifferent, and Sirius looked anything but pleased at the prospect of leaving the room you were currently situated in.
“Pads, why don’t you help me make something to eat for the rest of us, and we can come check back on Y/N a little later.” She offered.
Sirius kept his gaze on you; you seemed concerned, though he didn’t know what about – were you worried they’d stay? That they’d leave? Were you worried that they wouldn’t come back?
“Alright,” He offered Lily, “I’ll be back shortly, okay?” He added for your benefit. You looked up at that, appearing to analyze him as he moved to the door whilst keeping eye contact.
“Okay.” You whispered, and everyone shuffled out of the room.
“Fuck.” He breathed as the door clicked shut behind him.
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The three friends moved back to the kitchen where Sirius did indeed help Lily make more sandwiches while James began to pace the kitchen behind them.
“Spit it out Prongs, we’ve not got all day.” He muttered, tired of his friend’s nervous ticks.
“Listen, mate,” James started awkwardly, “I just want you to be careful.”
Sirius looked at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, with Y/N.” He clarified, which for Sirius clarified absolutely nothing.
“What are you on about?”
“Okay.” James breathed. “Listen, I’m just worried - about all of us, okay? Vix included. I mean, she was as on deaths door the last I saw her and-”
“Yeah, and you fucking left her there.” Sirius spat quietly. James’s face pained considerably, the guilt and memories clear on his face. It wasn’t fair of Sirius, he knew that. You made that choice for the both of them; he saw James’ memory of that moment with his own eyes - hell, he was there when a distraught James dropped into the safe house via portkey without you.
“I know, I...” James started but was interrupted this time by Lily.
“Sirius, we both know how stubborn our girl is. Nothing would have changed that outcome.” She offered him quietly.
“I shouldn’t have interrupted James.” Sirius bit out, knowing he was out of line but not willing to apologize for his words.
“We believed her to be dead for months, and then all of a sudden, she quite literally drops out of the fucking sky and remembers nothing. I’m not saying she’s chosen a side or anything, but I cannot help but be worried. This feels like a trap.”
James’ words hung in the air, Sirius never breaking eye contact with him. Sirius’ stares could be intense which was extremely intimidating. While James was undoubtedly uncomfortable, he needed Sirius to understand his concerns. You were a potential threat whether you were aware of it or not, and you were currently living in his house alongside his family.
“So, what? You think she’s been turned a spy? That she’s been sent to destroy us from the inside out? After all this time?” Sirius asked incredulously.
“I don’t know what to think, Pads. All I’m saying is that I’m scared and for all our sakes, I need you to be careful.”
“You want her out.” Sirius spat.
“No.” Lily and James chorused.
“Sirius no, I want my best friend here, with me where I can help her.." Lily started. "That’s not what this is about. Maybe I’m being naïve, but I don’t think she’s a danger to us. I want her here, Sirius. I need her here.”
James looked at his wife, disagreement written all over his face, but it was joined with acceptance and understanding. You were his friend too; he spent summers and full moons and missions with you, and he wouldn’t trade any of it. Well, he’d leave the missions happily behind but hoped one day that you could spend the first two together again. But he had a war to win and a family to protect, and right now, that had to come first.
The three friends were interrupted by a silvery whisp of a phoenix travelling into the room. The Phoenix whistled three times, waited four seconds and let out one long whistle before adding five short whistles and then disappeared.
“Dumbledore wants a meeting.” James translated.
“I bet it’s all about how your ex-partner is a big fat spy, Prongs.” Sirius muttered.
“Enough.” Lily remarked. “None of this right now, let’s just get her through tonight.”
Lily sat a few sandwiches onto the table.
“I just wish we could get her to a healer; see what could be causing the amnesia.” She murmured miserably.
“What do you think it could be?” James prodded.
 “I’m not sure. Many things can cause amnesia - malevolence or injury, perhaps. If it’s due to a malevolent curse or she’s been obliviated or imperio’d or something, maybe we can reverse it. If it’s an injury... well I’m not sure. Brains are tricky but maybe it can be healed, or I don’t know...” She trailed off frustrated. In her mind, it was either that her friend had been being cursed, or she sustained a brain injury that may not be able to be fixed.
“Maybe it’s something else, Red. We’ll find a way to fix this.” Sirius offered quietly, reaching for her hand across the table which she met. She smiled at him for a few moments.
“She really is the better part of you, isn’t she?” James interrupted.
“How do you mean?” He asked, moving his eyes and soft smile to James who he regarded a little cooler.
“Being all reasonable and optimistic. You’re giving Haz a run for his money being the most optimistic in the family, and he’s ignorant to anything that doesn’t fit in his mouth.” James clarified.
“Classy Prongs,” Sirius muttered. “Jokes at the expense of your own sprog when he’s not even awake to defend himself.”
The three friends chuckled, allowing some of the tension to dissipate from the room. Sirius would let it go for now, but he was less than pleased with his friend’s accusation. But James just wanted to protect his family, and that included Sirius and you, whether Sirius understood that or not.
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Sirius rapped at the door gently. “It’s just me, erm, Sirius.” The door opened a crack, and he poked his head in. “Mind if I join you?”
You shook your head which he took as an invitation. He closed the door gently behind himself before he returned to the wingback chair he had settled in earlier. He had his own cup of tea and half a sandwich on a plate.
“Lily’s going to bring us some more tea later, maybe with some sleeping draught. Do you think you’ll need help sleeping tonight?” He said.
“You’re asking my permission?” You asked, which caused Sirius to nearly choke on his tea.
He looked at you incredulously for a moment. “Of course, I am. It’s your choice”
You seemed to think about that for a moment.  “Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea, to have an aid.” You admitted finally.
He considered this. “Very well, we’ll get that brewed for you.”
Sirius continued to watch you. You fiddled with the hem of the sweatshirt you were wearing, which he recognized to be one of Lily’s. Lily, the beautiful Amazonian woman she was, meant the outfit was far too big for your smaller frame, especially with how much you had seemed to hollow out since Sirius last saw you. That’s okay, he reminded himself, we’ll get her all fixed up. He made a mental note to try to find what clothes of yours he still had at his and Moony’s flat. He suddenly felt simultaneously embarrassed and grateful he kept most of your old things, only donating what you hadn’t used in the past year and a half before you went missing. Remus had suggested placing some of his and Sirus’ favourites of yours in what muggles called Ziploc baggies which basically cast a stasis charm on it to keep it fresh. It may sound weird, but for Padfoot and Moony, both of them understood how comforting someone’s scent could be, and he was willing to look ‘weird’ for the sake of keeping what little of you that he could. He’d go shopping as well, to replace what he had given away. Maybe even get you a whole new wardrobe - when you were feeling better, you could come with him, pick out your own things.
Thinking about you feeling better, he looked up at you and noticed how not better you were. Your eyebrows were furrowed as if you were in pain, your knee was bouncing underneath you, and you kept looking at the doors.
“What is it, love? What’s wrong?” He asked, pushing his plate and cup aside and rising to kneel in front of you.
You looked at him, startled at first, before tears welled up in your eyes.
He remembered your flinch at Lily’s hand, so once he was on his knees, he slowly raised his hands and motioned for yours all while maintaining eye contact. You looked between his hands and his eyes for a moment before you lifted your hands into his. He wondered if you could hear his heartbeat as it bounced around in his chest. Your skin still felt cold – though he remembered that you always seemed to run colder than he did.
“What’s wrong love?” He asked again.
You began to cry in earnest. “I...” you choked out.
“You can tell me, it’s alright.” He offered.
“I have to pee!” You whispered through a sob. “I’m sorry.” You added. Sirius scrunched his eyebrows at you. Had this been anyone else, he would have started to laugh. But you seemed thoroughly distraught right now; your knee was still bouncing, and you looked so pained.
“Okay, that’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He offered. You made a disgruntled sound.
“Have you been waiting this whole time?” He asked. You cried some more and nodded.
“Oh love, okay. Come on.” He began to stand and used your hands that were still in his to pull you up. You stumbled a bit, but he steadied you.
You made your way to the bathroom, and he sat you on the toilet. “Do you, erm, are you okay to do...what you need to do, by yourself?” He asked awkwardly. You nodded quickly.
“Okay.” He smiled at you. “I’ll be just outside this door, okay?” He said as he backed out of the washroom. He closed the door, and he could hear you shuffling as you pulled down your trousers.
Merlin. She was nearly in a fit over asking to use the loo. Why would she wait to ask to go?
Sirius aggressively wiped his face, feeling tears burn his eyes. He heard the click of a door and moved his hands, expecting to see you but was surprised as Lily entered the bedroom.
“Hey. How’s she doing?” She asks as she peered around the room trying to spot her friend.
Sirius sighed. “She almost let her bladder burst waiting to be told she could use the loo.” He stated plainly.
“Oh Vix...” Lily tutted as she leaned against the back of the couch which faced the bathroom door. Sirius moved to join her.
“She’s open to a sleeping draught for tonight.” He offered. Lily just hummed.
“What are we doing to do, Pads?” She asked after some time.
“Be patient as hell, I guess.” He answered.
Lily chuckled and nudged Sirius with her shoulder. “Patience. A Sirius Black special.”
Lily watched as Sirius smirked and looked back at the bathroom door. Lily was right, of course; he was never very patient. He wasn’t the kind one of the group, he wasn’t always very understanding, and he surely wasn’t the patient one. He was loud, he was angry, he was crass, and he never slowed down, not for anyone. Except for her she remembered.
(Five summers ago)
The group of them had been getting ready to head to the Potter’s for a few weeks in the summer between 6th and 7th year; you had asked to be picked up last so that you didn’t hold everyone up. Sirius and James picked Lily up first, ever the timely one. They stopped at Remus’ next, who was mostly ready, but ran back inside four times as the others listed off things he may have forgotten. “Toothbrush?” Lily asked. “Fuck.” Remus muttered as he ran back inside the Lupin cottage. He emerged victorious with his toothbrush in hand.
“First thing we’re doing when we get to the manor is jumping in the lake. It’s too bloody hot today.” James muttered, which caused Remus to groan as he went back inside.
“Moooooonnyyyyyyy.” Sirius whined as his friend disappeared.
This happened two more times for his sandals a a pair of sunglasses which was met with a lot of whining from Sirius before they were ready to go.
Next stop was Peter’s house; they were met by Peter’s mother who showed them to his room which was nothing short of a disaster.
“Peter Pettigrew!” She shrilled at him from the door. “You are not to leave this room like this, do you hear me young man?!” She demanded as she started down the hallway.
“Great, now we have to wait for him to finish packing and clean his bloody room.” Sirius muttered as he kicked Peter’s school bag aside to sit on his desk chair.
“Wormy, you knew we were coming and what time. In fact, we’re late. How are you not ready?” Remus asked incredulously, trying to help Peter fold his clothes and put it in his bag as the kid continued running around his room throwing things on his bed which was deemed to be the ‘pack’ pile.
“’Cause he’s a wanker, that’s why.” Sirius muttered none-too-quietly from his moping spot in the desk chair which earned him a flick in the head from James.
“Now, now, Pads. We’ll make it home eventually.” He chuckled.
“Listen, I’m sweaty, I’ve been travelling around all of the UK picking up you knob heads and we still have one stop. I wanna gooooooooo.” He whined petulantly.
“Okay well you can whine all you want to Vixen since she’s our last stop then. Maybe she’ll feel bad for you.” Lily offered, zipping up Peter’s first of three bags he ended up leaving with.
Entirely too long later, they travelled to a spot close to your house and began the trek, the sun still high in the sky and accosting Sirius.
“Too bloody hot for this.” He muttered to himself as he knocked a little impolitely on your door. A few moments later, a frazzled looking you swung the door open and looked at your five friends.
“Oh God, here we go.” Lily muttered as she was sure Sirius’ whining was going to continue at the lack of a packed bag in your hand. She was completely astounded however when he rushed inside and shut the door behind him, leaving his four other friends outside. The said friends shared a bemused look before leaning their ears against the door.
“What’s the matter?” Sirius asked you gently. They heard a small sniffle.
“I’m sorry Siri. I’m not ready. I slept through my alarms and then I had to do laundry and the washing machine is giving me problems and my dad is away for work so I had to make sure everything was set up because the cats will be alone for the rest of the week and I’m not ready and I’m sorry.” You finished taking a long breath which sounded like it was close to becoming a sob.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Not a problem at all love, come on. Let’s get you packed up. We’ve got time.” Sirius could be heard saying before your sets of footsteps moved further into the house.
“‘We’ve got time’ he says.” Peter muttered, mimicking his friend as he kicked a pebble.
“There’s always time for Vix, Wormy. You know this.” James said as he winked at Peter and slung his arm over Lily.
(Present)
Lily and Sirius heard water running and knew you were finished. They waited for a few moments but when you never exited the bathroom, they shared a quick glance.
Sirius moved up to the door and gently knocked. “You okay?” As he waited for a response, he made eye contact with Lily.
“Yeah.” You answered through the door.
“Are you done?”
You were silent for a moment before you answered, “yes.”
Lily and Sirius looked at each other again for a moment. “I’m gonna open the door then, alright?” He didn’t receive an answer, so opened the door slowly.
You were leaning your weight against the bathroom sink and had your arms wrapped around yourself protectively.
“Feel better?” Sirius asked gently, offering you his hand.
You looked from his hand to his eyes. “Yes. Thank you.” You said as gently took his hand. He placed your arm in his and helped you towards the bed on the other side of the room.
“No need to thank me, love.” He offered as he helped you up onto the bed. It seemed to be a little too high for you, and Sirius made a note to put a step stool here for you tomorrow.
“Y/N, the bathroom is there for you whenever. No one else will use it. If you ever need help, you can let me know, okay?” Lily offered.
“Anything,” Sirius added solemnly, lifting the duvet for you to climb in under. “You can ask for anything, okay?”
You fiddled with the duvet and quilt after it was set on top of your lap.
“Is there anything you can think of now that you want or need?” He asked, ducking his head to try to look into your eyes.
You searched his eyes, the silver gaze so familiar against his black hair.
Sirius was about to give up and look to Lily when you finally answered. “I don’t think so.”
He smiled gently at you. “That’s alright. I’ll think of lots of things for you.”
“I’m sure Pads already has a list compiled.” Lily snorted from the end of the bed.
“As a matter of fact, my dear Red, I do.” He smirked at her as he began tidying up the room.
“She’ll need some clothes...” Lily started.
“Already on it. And we’re gonna get a stool so she doesn’t have to haul herself up into that tall ass bed. We’ll get her the shampoo she likes; we can’t let those locks suffer.” He added with a wink in your direction.
Lily took the dishes Sirius had collected and brought them to the kitchen where she began the tea just as Remus came back in through the front door with a box in his hands.
“This is about two weeks of dreamless sleep if she needs one every night. I can get more if she needs it.” He said as he placed the box on the kitchen table.
“Thank you, Rem, I’m sure this will be a great help.” She smiled at her friend before kissing his cheek.
“How’s he holding up?” He asked. She knew he was worried about his roommate.
Sirius’ feelings for you have never been quiet nor simple. In fairness to her friend, he had always lived with his heart on his sleeve; his feelings written all over his face. His love for you had always been palpable. They thought they were going to lose him when they lost you, and in some ways, they did. They lost the slightly gentler side of Sirius, the side that would give pause when his friends needed it, who tried to see the good in everybody first. 
His better half was back, but not really. Sirius wasn’t usually able to live by halves and they wondered how this would play out while they waited for you to remember something, anything.
“He’s hanging in there. He’s been really strong for her.” She answered gently as the tea pot started to whistle. Remus hummed in acknowledgment.
“She always was the strong one for us, when it mattered most. Seems fitting he returns the favour.” He admitted.
The sleeping draught tea made, Lily re-entered the bedroom with Remus where they found Sirius setting up the couch with a pillow and some blankets.
“Having yourself a slumber party here, Pads?” Remus asked lightly.
“Yeah, I think I’ll stay here for tonight, keep our guest company. Try not to miss me too much, alright Moony?” He offered cajolingly, but Remus and Lily knew; he wouldn’t be leaving your side any time soon, not unless you asked him to.
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Continue to part 2 here.
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cressidagrey · 3 months ago
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Stars all aligned - Chapter 4
Summary:
If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.
They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.
Warning:
THIS IS BAD! I have updated the tags on AO3, but I'll add it on here too:
Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault
If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.
(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)
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Master. Master, you need to wake up! The shadows were the ones that woke him. Azriel blinked open his eyes… and a moment later the thick cloying scent of blood hit him.
It woke him up immediately. He shot upright on the couch, shadows rushing around him. The scent of blood came from Zahra’s room. 
Nobody else was in the cottage. He knew that. The shadows would have alerted him if there was. 
Which meant that…
He was up before he could think twice about it, hurrying to the door of her room, heart beating furiously, already dreading what might have happened. What she might have done to herself.  “Zahra?” Azriel asked loudly. “Zahra, are you alright?”
A choked gasp, a pitiful moan…all he needed to hear. “I am coming in.“ he warned her. Azriel pushed open the door…and he froze at the threshold of the doorway, staring at the sight awaiting him. 
This couldn’t all be her blood. 
Right? 
Zahra lay in the middle of the bed, curled on her side. Her body shook through painful shivers and her skin had already taken on a worrying grey colour, near lifeless. 
And the bed…the sheets…they were a mess of crimson. 
Blood had soaked through the sheets, staining the mattress…It was…it was horrific.
“Go away.” She whispered, her voice weak. “Please.”
Yeah. That was so not happening. 
His heart was pounding, his chest nearly painfully tight as his eyes focused on her. On Zahra’s shaking body, on her pale face. 
“I’m not going anywhere,” Azriel said softly, his voice strained. Gods. What had she done to herself?  “Where are you hurt? What did you do?” He demanded, coming closer, reaching out to touch her arms. Her throat and wrists were unblemished, if one ignored the cold sweat…just as she whimpered again, nearly violently flinching, doubling over.
Between one breath and the next…suddenly it snapped.
The golden bond unfurled to the smell of his mate’s blood, to the sound of her pain.
“I…” she tried to speak, but her words became caught in her throat, choked off by another gasp of pain. By the Mother…
Azriel could feel the bond between them. It seemed to hum in his very bones, demanding that he fix this, that he find the cause of her pain and make it stop.
He knelt on the bed, his knees sinking into the pool of blood, hands hovering above her.
“Where does it hurt?” He asked her desperately.
She just whimpered, her whole body shivering. “Can’t you just….leave me alone?” She asked brokenly, her voice cracking. “Please. It’s just…”
Azriel ignored her, carefully shifting her body until she was lying on her back. But in doing so, he accidentally brushed against her stomach, and all he could think was that he had literally never heard a scream so painful.
Her nightgown was drenched with sweat and blood…dark red right by…
„Have you had your cycle yet as a fae?“ Azriel asked sharply. But that shouldn’t…this was too much blood for that…wasn’t it?
Her eyes were scrunched shut, her face a twisted rictus of agony. She shook her head at his question, teeth clenching. “No…” she said through clenched teeth, her voice high with pain. “No, I haven’t gotten one..”
Which made no sense either because she had…because she had been a fae for nearly three years at this point. Zahra should have gone through multiple cycles by now. 
And while fae cycles were vicious, they weren’t…
They didn’t involve this much blood. Usually. 
Another whimper of pain, another tremble of that bond in his chest…and Azriel was done. 
Madja. He needed Madja.
“I’ll get Madja,” he told Zahra tightly, hands gently cupping her face. “I just need to go get her, and then I’ll be right back,” he promised her desperately, just as another choked-off moan came from her. 
The shadows came flowing out of the corners of the room, pressing against Zahra's face. Go, Master! they demanded.
Azriel’s throat closed up. He hated the thought of leaving her, even for a moment. But he gave a sharp, resolute nod. “Okay..okay, I will be right back.”
He gave her one last look, her pale face and dark hair soaked with sweat and blood, and then he was gone. 
“Madja!! Madja!” He bellowed. He wasn’t normally one to be panicked, he was an Illyrian trained from birth to be calm under stress, to keep his head. But this…Gods, this had his heart in his throat and his mind racing.
This was his mate. 
He had waited half a millennia for her and she had been right in front of his nose for three years and he hadn’t fucking seen it. 
If he had seen it earlier, maybe then it would have never gotten this bad, maybe then it wouldn’t have…
He was quite sure that he gave Madja half a heart attack, but quite frankly, Madja was used to worse from him and his family. 
And so, Madja only took one look at his panicked, wild expression and her own went serious. “What happened?” She asked as she rose from her chair.
“It’s Zahra,” Azriel said, his voice thick. He swallowed, trying to get a grip. “She’s…bleeding. So much…blood. It’s everywhere, it’s all over her bed and clothes and…gods, I don’t know what happened, but I need you to come, now.”
Madja’s eyes widened, her hands going to the satchel at the table. “Take me to her.” She said simply, shoving a few jars into her bag. 
Zahra was where he had left her, shadows worriedly swirling around her. And the sigh that greeted them made even Madja’s breath hitch. 
“Zahra, can you hear me?” Madja asked immediately. “I am going to help you, alright?”
Zahra’s eyes flickered but didn’t open. Her breaths were uneven and pained, her face twisted. “Y-yeah…” she panted, voice quavering.
Azriel knelt by the bed, one hand coming down to hers and lacing their fingers together. He could feel the damp and icy cold skin against his…her heartbeat skittering underneath her skin…Azriel was practically shaking himself with how worried he was, his whole body trembling with fear.
“You’re going to be just fine,” he murmured softly. “Madja is here, she will figure out what’s wrong.”
Zahra groaned, her fingers giving a weak twitch in his before gripping onto his hand like a lifeline.
“Hurts..” she whimpered, her voice cracking.
“I know,“ Madja said soothingly. “I’ll need to lift your nightgown, alright? Just to see where we are at.“
Zahra gave a low whine, her eyes scrunching up tighter, but she made no protest or move to stop the healer. Azriel didn’t know if she did that because she trusted Madja or because she was far too far gone to even care. Madja carefully peeled back the blood-soaked fabric, carefully lifting it up over her stomach.
Azriel kept his eyes on Zahra's face, pressing a kiss against the back of her hand.  “Squeeze as tight as you need to,” he told her softly. 
“What if I hurt you?” she forced out, but he just shook his head. 
“You won’t,” Azriel promised her simply. And even if she did…he wouldn’t care. He would have given everything in that moment to make sure that she was comforted even a tiny little bit. 
Her face was drenched in sweat, her body quivering, and she looked far too young, too fragile at that moment. 
He forgot sometimes, how young she really was. Not even a century yet. Not even…
But she still squeezed his hand tighter. Her eyes clenched closed, her breaths laboured and quick. “Hurts…it hurts so badly…” she whimpered brokenly.
Whatever Madja was doing to her…Zahra’s breathing was becoming panicked and even more pained, her whole body shaking. 
Azriel was having to restrain the urge to pull her into his arms, to tug her up against his chest and try to soothe her. To drag her away from Madja, who he knew was only trying to help and instead comfort his mate. 
So instead, he pressed another kiss to her sweat-slick skin even as she cried out sharply. The sound made him flinch. 
“Gods,” Madja cursed sharply and Azriel’s head snapped towards her. She was looking far more upset than Azriel had ever seen her. 
“What is it? “ he asked shakily, Zahra whimpering and he turned back towards her, unable to tear his gaze away from the anguished, pain-filled face of his mate. “What’s happening?
“You should have been brought to me immediately, Zahra” Madja said softly. “I could have lessened the pain, dear.”
Zahra didn’t say a word, biting her lips, her face still pulled up into a pain-filled grimace. 
“How often?” Madja asked, her voice softening.  
Zahra’s breaths were hitching, coming in shallow pants as her trembling increased. She shook her head softly, her words coming out between gasps. “Often,” she’d whimpered.
Zahra gave another moan, and her hand clenched even harder around Azriel’s. Every one of her shudders and flinches was like a knife straight into his heart.
He had no idea what they were talking about, but it couldn’t be good, he knew that much. 
“How old were you the first time?” Madja asked gently.
“15,” Zahra whispered, wetting her lips. Every single word seemed to be forced out of her chest.  “I was 15.“
15…so young. Gods, so damn young.
Madja’s face was grim, “And the last?” The healer questioned.
“It went on for 6 years,” Zahra whispered. “Until 4 years ago.”
Madja nodded tightly. “You were still human,” Madja said softly. “The scarring is…extensive. Humans heal slower don’t they?”
“Yes,” Zahra whispered.
Azriel’s heart was hammering in his chest, his mind racing to try to catch up to the conversation that was happening. He felt so goddamn useless. There was something wrong, so wrong, and he couldn’t do a thing to try and help. The feeling of helplessness was killing him.
And this…this sounded like they were implying something so awful that he daren’t voice it. 
“What’s wrong with her?” He demanded. “What do you mean by scarring?”
Madja’s hands were moving across the skin of Zahra’s abdomen, pressing down gently, something that resulted in Zahra’s whole body flinching “There is extensive scarring in her reproductive system.” The healer told him bluntly. “Like she has been injured for an extended period. Over and Over.”
Zahra let out a shuddering gasp, her head tilting to press into the pillows and away from the healer’s hands.
“Cauldron, sunshine, what happened to you?” Azriel whispered.
He hadn’t actually expected an answer. He got one nonetheless.
“I did what I had to. I always did what I had to,” Zahra whispered, green eyes begging him to understand. “We had no money and Feyre was sick and… Was I supposed to let my little sister die?” Azriel went utterly still at her words
She had…she had done something to her own body to save her sister. Something bad enough to give her scars on her internal organs. What the hell had she ever done to cause this much damage?
“What did you do?” He forced out.
Her breath was shaky. “I gave the only thing that was mine to give up. The only thing that…the only thing that that apothecary would want,” she recounted with a shudder. Azriel’s blood went cold, freezing in his veins.
He didn’t…he couldn’t possibly mean…
“He raped you.” He whispered.
He wished she would disagree…would tell him that that hadn’t happened…but what she did say…it was even worse. 
“I went to him willingly. I let him do this to me. I didn’t fight him,” Zahra corrected him, her voice weak. 
Like that made it any better. Like that…
“You were so young,” he said softly. “Gods…Zahra..” his voice broke, and he couldn’t speak anymore.
He didn’t even have the words…didn’t even have the thoughts…didn’t…
“He hurt you,” he choked out.  It wasn’t a question.
A shuddering breath from her. 
“Yes,” Zahra answered weakly. “It…I did it once for medicine. But after that…I did it for money. I came back and I let him do it to me again. And again. And when he got bored, he thought of something new, something worse and…He did things to me…I didn’t even know you could do that to another person.” 
His entire body was shaking with rage. The shadows wreathing around him darkened almost into black. 
He had never wanted to rip another person into pieces with his bare hands as much as he wanted to right now. 
Madja stilled next to them, her hands still on Zahra’s skin…trying to heal the worst of it, Azriel could feel that. 
The healer’s face was carefully blank, but Azriel had known her long enough to see the subtle signs of anger. Madja had an incredibly good mask, but Azriel was able to read people when they didn’t want to be read.
And…there was another thing…
“Do your sisters know?” he asked weakly. Did they know and still treated Zahra like they did? Ignored her outright at some points and wished she didn’t exist at others? 
The dynamic had been fucked up from the start…the first time they had met Zahra she had been in her maid uniform…clearly treated not as a member of their family but as staff. 
But they had believed…they all had believed that maybe the change from human to fae was good for one thing and that would fall away…that this could heal…that all 4 of them could be sisters, properly, now. Maybe something that went well for once. 
Now Azriel wondered how naive he had been in particular. 
He was a bastard just as she was. Azriel would never be accepted by his half-brothers either. His half-brothers had ruined his hands. And her sisters…
“Nesta…Nesta thinks I had an affair with a married man,” Zahra choked out. “Which I did. Kind of.” 
A horrible, bitter laugh tore itself out of the Azriel’s chest. “An affair…” he repeated, disbelieving. “You didn’t have an affair. You were raped.”
“I let him do it. I did it willingly,” Zahra disagreed, her voice weak. 
She had agreed, because otherwise they would have starved. 
“You were fifteen!” Azriel whispered, anger flaring up with his grief. “You were a child! You were nothing but a goddamn child. And you did what you had to to survive. You sacrificed yourself for your family’s survival!” He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get a grip on his own emotions.
Madja’s hands were still moving over the skin of her stomach, her face set in a heavy grimace.
Zahra’s eyes were fixed on his face, her breaths still shallow and pained. “I am sorry.”
He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand her apologies. Not right now. Not for this.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the back of her hand.
“You were just a child,” Azriel repeated, voice choked. “None of this is your damn fault.” For once… she didn’t protest. 
Zahra just closed her eyes, a few tears trickling out from between her lashes.
Madja’s hands stilled, and then the healer carefully pulled away. She didn’t say anything, and Azriel felt a new fear fill his chest. “What is it?” He asked her. “What’s wrong?”
“The scarring is…extensive,” Madja said carefully. “I am…I am sorry, but I think you may be barren.”
Zahra didn’t even flinch.
“I know,” Zahra answered, her voice flat. “I haven’t bled in years until now.” The words were like someone driving an ice-cold knife between his ribs and into his heart.
He didn’t care that she couldn’t carry his children. He didn’t fucking care. 
He only needed to know that she was safe and healthy…But to know she had been hurting for so many years…to know that she had sacrificed herself for her family…it broke his heart. 
And they didn’t even know that she had done that. 
Madja’s expression darkened further. Perhaps at the thought of what Zahra had been forced to endure, or perhaps because this new information opened up a whole other level of complication.
“That…does explain why the bleeding has been so severe,” the healer said. “Gods, child.”
There was silence in the room, Azriel still gripping Zahra’s hand in his. 
He didn’t care that she couldn’t give him children, not unless she wanted to. But the fact that she would never have a choice in the matter. That she had sacrificed not just her innocence, but the future she could have had, for her family’s sake…
He clenched his jaw so tightly he was surprised it didn’t crack.
Zahra was staring up at the ceiling, her emotions carefully schooled and hidden away. So cold and indifferent…so numb. Numb. 
He could recognise the signs because he often felt like that as well. 
Azriel wanted to hold her. He wanted to pull her up to his chest and into his arms and hide her from the entire world. From all the horrors and nightmares that she had been forced to endure.
Protecting and keeping her and making sure she never hurt again…
“I have some potions for you to take…I’ll ask Violet to make you some specially tailored for you…” Madja said softly. 
Violet was the apothecary they used for most of their potions. And also the one that Zahra did the accounts for. 
Azriel forced himself to nod. Zahra made some vague murmur of understanding, as Madja put said potions on the bedside table. 
Madja turned her gaze to Azriel, dark eyes searching his face. “You should stay with her tonight,” she said quietly. “Make sure the bleeding doesn’t get worse and call me immediately if it does.”
Azriel nodded again. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, not unless Zahra asked him to leave.
The healer rose, giving another glance at the two of them. She made a sound in the back of her throat, as though she wanted to say something, but she just gave a single nod before turning and leaving the room.
And then it was just the two of them in the room. Azriel sat crouched next to her on the bed, his hand still clamped around hers.
He didn’t know what the damn hell he was supposed to say.
“I’m sorry.” And there she was, apologizing yet again for something that wasn’t her fault in the least. 
His eyes widened at her voice, the unexpectedness of it breaking the silence in the room.
“What?” He asked, his voice cracking. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”
She didn’t open her eyes, but he saw her expression flicker slightly. “For…for this.” She said hoarsely. “For making you deal with this.”
His heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself again. “You didn’t make me do anything,” he said quietly. “And you have nothing to apologise for.”
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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago
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All That Glitters
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18+ 15.7k words. Dragon!Homelander x F!Reader fantasy au, messy world building, referenced cannibalism, handfeeding, super dubious consent, sexual coercion, monster anatomy, size difference, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk, marathon sex, mating bond/bite, knotting, tongue baths, virgins, scent kink, overstimulation, body betrayal, fairy tale schmoop. AO3 Link!
Summary: In a world where the only currencies that matter are gold and blood, the gods are lavished with both. Your regions god is a fearsome beast said to reign hellfire from the skies should his appetite not be satiated. When the demand for human sacrifices increases, you make the choice to volunteer yourself, determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, and ascend into the jaws that await you in the old stone tower deep in the woods.
illustration by the ever incredible @anon-nee, who was instrumental to the writing of this fic. see the full piece here! originally written for Monsterlander Mania, but obviously spiraled wildly out of control.
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For as long as you can remember, there have always been sacrifices.
Such a thing is not unique to your village. Gods–and the creatures worshiped as such–throughout the world demand all manner of recompense for protecting the lands of those who idolize them. If the slaughter of a single lamb ensures green pastures in which the herd may thrive, few ever think twice before they lift the blade.
Not all townships worship for benevolence, however. Yours has always worshiped for mercy.
For generations, stories of hellfire raining from the sky have been passed by your people. A great, terrible beast with wings as wide as ten men were tall once patrolled the skies above you, wielding power so devastating that not even ballistae firing bolts the size of tree trunks could fell it.
It had a hundred names, each more terrible than the last. Scourge of the Skies, the Red Death, Flame’s Maw, and perhaps most unfortunately, the Devourer. Named as such for the countless lives it began to claim when treasures were deemed an insufficient tribute. Sacrifices were initially sparse, required only every dozen or so seasons. As time went on, the Devourer grew greedier and greedier, with the timespan between sacrifices shortening.
By the time you offer yourself to the council, there has been a sacrifice every month for over a year.
The wagon hardly jostles on this well-trodden road. You imagine it used to be a rougher ride, but with the increase in frequency of travel, it has smoothed. The thought worsens the feeling of icy weight in your stomach. One might think the exquisite fabrics you’re dressed in would bring some measure of comfort–softer than anything you’ve worn before–but the extravagance of them only serves to further alienate you from yourself.
You have become a thing. A finely adorned offering, and the fabric makes your skin crawl for it.
The tree cover breaks, revealing a monolithic stone tower that stands so tall, it splits the sky in two.
The Tower of the Seven. It’s been generations since anyone knew exactly what it was named for, but legend speaks of mythic creatures that were once held in such reverence, this tower was built in their honor. It served as both a temple and home to these venerated beings.
The years have not been kind to it. The stone pillars have become wild with overgrowth, and the air about this place reeks of stale, old death.
It stands now as a graveyard.
Even the horses refuse to venture much further than the threshold of the treeline, forcing you and your attendants out of the wagon to tread the remainder of the trek on foot. The men who walk with you carry short swords, but they serve no practical purpose, their edges having long since dulled. They are not here to protect you, they are as much a part of the ceremony as your fine clothes.
You shield your eyes as you look up at the staggering height of the tower, but swiftly drop your gaze. Best not to think of what awaits you.
On paper, sacrifice seems a simple thing. Slitting one’s throat upon an altar, floating a burning pyre across the river, or feeding the tribute a concoction of sleeping death and burying them into eternal slumber. Murder can be a righteous thing in the hands of a believer, or so they say.
For you, and those who have come before you, martyrdom is not as effortless as lying down and dying for the cause. The tower presents a trial to you. You must willingly climb the hundreds upon hundreds of large stone steps in order to prove yourself a worthy tribute.
Why you must prove your flesh worthy of consumption is beyond you. You’ve never heard of a farmer who sends his cattle to run laps before the slaughter. It seems a petty thing to demand. Perhaps the Devourer has grown indolent and slovenly in its feasting.
It’s easy to dream up nightmarish images of such an awful creature. A legless winged wyrm with a ribbed body, fat and slimy like an oversized earthworm. It would have an enormous maw with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged teeth, its breath reeking of charred flesh and sulfur. Such a wicked beast would stink like the layers of hell. 
Somehow, tormenting yourself like this is an oddly calming distraction. The more nightmarish it becomes in your mind, the less real all of this feels. It’s just a bad dream.
No one speaks as you reach the base of the tower. There’s nothing left to say. You’re one of a dozen in the last year alone these men have ferried to their death. It almost seems cruel to expect eye contact, let alone sympathy. For that reason, it catches you off guard when one of the older of the three, a man named Hector with a thick set of troubled brows furrowed above kind but bloodshot, watery eyes puts his hand on your shoulder, offering a light squeeze.
The last sacrifice had been his own daughter.
In his gaze you find grief and gratitude in equal measure. Neither brings comfort. You return a small nod and move your eyes back to the ordeal that awaits you. 
The tower is like an optical illusion: the proportions make it seem a reasonable size at a distance, but the closer you walk to it, the more mythical a thing it becomes. The archways curve high above your head, sized for creatures of legend, and the head of the building disappears completely into the sky.
In the center of it, a spiraling stone staircase beckons you. The masonry is exquisitely smooth despite the age of it, carved in an era when magic was a hundred times more prolific than it is now. It’s wide and open, the steps so large that you’ll be taking them one at a time. Worse than that, however, is the complete absence of any kind of protective railing.
If you sway, you very well may fall to your death.
At the center of the spiral stands a pile of debris. As you approach, a rustling catches your attention and you freeze, eying the pile warily. The head of a creature suddenly pops up, startling your heart into a thunder, but after a beat you recognize it for what it is: a small fox, its muzzle dirty. The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before one of the men behind you calls out, “Shoo, shoo now.”
Everyone keeps hushed, as if terrified of disturbing what is yet unseen.
Moving closer, you anticipate you might see a dead rabbit, or perhaps a chicken. Anything would have been a more welcome sight than the gnarled half-eaten body of a woman dressed just like you piled amongst the debris. You gasp, both hands flying over your mouth as you stumble a few steps backwards.
For a horrifying moment, you swear you see your own face in the rotten remnants staring back at you with black, empty eye sockets. It’s the hair that gives away the delusion, however, and with a chill down your spine you recognize the sacrifice who came before you; Hector’s daughter.
“Nadja,” the man groans morosely, the weight of grief in his voice palpable. You move away, towards the stairs, and watch with a morbid sort of fascination as the man weeps over the corpse of his daughter, touching her hair and her clothes, the only parts of her not twisted and rotted with death, the body left for maggots and scavengers. It’s sick, nothing like the beautiful and noble gesture sacrifice is always said to be. You look up at the dizzying height of the spiral staircase, following the line of it until the stone disappears into darkness. Did she fall, or was she cast away, having somehow proven herself unworthy?
In a strange sense, watching the men wrap her body in cloth to be carried home feels very much like playing the part of voyeur to your own demise. You stand at a distance, hand braced upon the stone, unable to shake the dread that you’re witnessing a vision of the future. Your future.
No. You will not be left for the insects and carrion-feeders. You turn your back to the sound of Hector’s weeping and, without another world, determinedly begin your ascent one large stone step at a time. Although you feel the men’s eyes heavily upon you, they remain silent, as if already grieving you.
Do not, you think brazenly, skin flushed with unexpected fires that bring your blood to a boil. Do not dare mourn what isn’t dead.
Those flames burn hot enough to carry you easily up the first several floors, indignantly stomping your way. You’ve heard stories of this tower all your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the true scale of it. Most of it is in a terrible state of decay, full of overgrowth and rot that, centuries ago, may have been wood and cloth.
You stop for a breath beneath the remains of what looks to have once been a vibrant mural. You can see trace evidence of beautiful paints, but whatever it depicts has been brutally clawed from the stonework. You lift a hand up high to trace one of the deep gouges in the stone; the marks are spread too far apart for your fingers to reach, but you can make out five distinct patterns nonetheless, like drag marks from a hand three or four times the size of your own.
Beyond the ruined mural, there are statues, too. You pass a grand monument of a woman who stands over seven heads tall wielding a sword of equal might, the statue adorned with steel bracers. You think she might have been beautiful in the same way a frightening storm is, but the head of the statue is long since gone.
On the next floor, you see upon the ground the ruins of a statue of a mermaid–at least, you thought it was. Upon further inspection, however, you see that the statue depicts a man. He has the lower body of a fish and strange indentations along his ribs, just beneath his bare carved chest. He, too, is headless, torso split horizontally, stone strewn across the floor.
This temple must have belonged to these lost figures, their monuments as desecrated as the rest of the tower. Whoever the Seven was, the world has since forgotten.
You wonder if the Devourer did this, defiled this temple to erase whatever history of heroes came before its tyranny.
Ultimately, you only find six statues. None of them have managed to keep their heads, and some are in worse shape than others. You imagine the seventh might have been destroyed entirely. It’s easier to imagine how or why these things might be than it is to focus on how badly your body aches, how you started this venture with the morning sun barely upon you, and yet you barely feel any closer to your destination as the darkness of night encroaches.
Every limb screams for rest. You stop occasionally, but you feel you must not sleep. Was poor Nadja pitched to her death for sleeping through her trial? You’d rather not find out. You’re not even sure if you would wake with the same angry conviction that drives you forward now, climbing step after unforgiving step. It’s gotten colder the higher you’ve gone, too. There’s a chance if you slept amidst the stone, you would turn to it yourself.
“Grant me strength,” you whisper to whomever may be listening. Be they fae or devil, benevolent or malevolent, it would be a boon to know there was some manner of being on your side.
You lean on the wall far from the edge as you ascend the spiral, too nervous of a fall to look over the edge and gauge your progress. A brisk wind chill has begun howling through the tower, whipping your clothing about and biting at your skin. You hug one arm tightly across your chest, bracing against the cold. At this rate, you’ll make for a crunchy meal not just for your bones, but for the frost you arrive covered in.
Your foot slides on something on the step that shifts and clatters. You nearly fall, heart hammering in your chest as you manage to catch yourself. Looking down, you’re shocked to see a pile of shining gold coins spilling down the steps amongst the debris. There is enough wealth discarded on these steps to see a dozen families fed for years and years to come.
You must be getting close. Carefully, despite the tremble running through your body, you shuffle your way through the mess, kicking it aside when you need to clear more of a path. The sound of rubble and gold and the like falling off the edge of the steps makes you flinch, the prolonged clattering of it serving as a reminder of just how agonizingly high you’ve managed to climb.
The familiar flicker of fire light draws a gasp of relief from you, tears gathered in your eyes from the sheer pain of moving your body forward. You can see shadows dancing across the walls, beckoning you from the cold with the barest hint of a warm draft. You’re practically crawling up the steps now, every part of you aching horribly. The tremble in your body is so severe, you worry you would fall to your death if you continued trying to walk through the hoard of treasures that have spilled down the steps.
You practically sob with relief when you reach the final step, limbs quaking beneath you as you haul yourself up onto the top floor and away from the awful railless edge of the spiraling stairs. You bury your face in the fold of your arms. The mixture of relief and exhaustion is so intense, the rest of the world falls away briefly, and the only thing that matters is catching your breath while you all but dry heave on the floor.
“I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” purrs a resonant, honied voice, snapping you immediately back to reality. You shoot into an upright position so suddenly your head spins, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.
Before you rests an enormous circular hall lit with dozens upon dozens of torches. The walls are lined with beautiful arched windows, and the interior is piled nearly to the vaulted ceiling with obscene amounts of coin, weapons, artifacts and similar treasure. Your gaze drifts towards the center of it all, where the source of the voice awaits you.
As it turns out, The Devourer is no oversized earthworm.
Reclined upon a magnificently carved marble throne, you behold a creature made of equal parts man and beast. Even sitting, his stature easily brings him heads taller than you. He is adorned exquisitely in gold embellishments–jewelry and piercings alike–and rich navy slacks, serving as a fine centerpiece to the lavish, untidy wealth that surrounds him. He wears a crown fit for a king, the jewel of it a radiant blue that matches his sharp predatory gaze. His lips spread into a wolfish grin. You’re utterly bewitched by the flash of his fangs.
“Rise,” he orders you, gesturing with a clawed hand that’s easily the size of your head. His rings shine beautifully in the firelight. “And speak.”
Shakily, you fight to climb to your feet. Worm or not, this man–this creature has been preying upon your people for generations. You remind yourself of the countless lives lost, of the mourning families, of Nadja’s desecrated corpse and the sound of her father weeping over the rotten remains of her. You steel yourself. 
“You who the people know as Scourge of the Skies, Red Death,” you begin, blinking rapidly. Your head began swimming the second you stood. You’ve never been so worn out in your life, and though there are flames here that offer a slight degree of warmth, the cold has sunk deep into your bones. As you speak, your vision gradually begins to tunnel. “Flame’s… Maw… and the Devourer,” you address, fighting desperately to stay focused even as he fades in and out of clarity. “I’ve come to pay my village tribute, and to… to…”
The darkness at the edges of your vision thickens. Your words feel heavy and slurred on your tongue. You sway, feeling your own head slosh like a bucket of water, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward, and the world goes black.
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That was anticlimactic.
There was a time he would have been met with awe. Reverence. He didn’t expect you to simply black out.
Scourge, Red Death, Flame’s Maw… Maw. He’s always despised that word in particular, and the ugly imagery it evokes. Just a handful out of hundreds of names he’s been called over the years–if you can call them that. Many border on insults, if not are so outright. The most tolerable name he can remember is Homelander.
They called him that in celebration, he recalls. Those were the last of the days he had any care left for them.
He blows a smoky little raspberry as he stands, hands clasping behind his back beneath his wings. His tail sways idly as he approaches, tentatively intrigued by your splayed form. It’s rare that a sacrifice makes it all the way to the top at all, let alone in a single day. The last one only made it halfway before she decided falling to her death was a kinder fate than him.
Truth be told, he should have reigned hell upon their little village for her insolence. Fortunately for them, her display filled him with far more apathy than it did fury. He crouches down near enough to touch, though he hesitates, hand ghosting just over your body. He tilts his head to the side. Your breaths are shallow in your sleep, a slight wheeze to each one. Your body is clearly overexerted.
Delicately, he slips his hand under your cheek to turn your face to him, examining your features. You’re prettier like this, the tension drained from your expression and replaced with peace. Certainly not the worst tribute he’s been offered. You were at least determined to reach him.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
He won’t kill you. Not yet.
Homelander lifts you up into his arms, supporting your comparatively slight form with ease. You feel as frail as any mortal might, but the weight of you in his arms strikes him with a peculiar sense of melancholy. He takes pause, more closely observing the shape of you cradled in his arms, head lolled against his chest. You fit there nicely, small as you are. He can almost pretend you’ve simply fallen asleep in the crook of his arm; somewhere you’ve always belonged.
It’s an intriguing little fantasy. He hasn’t felt the need to indulge in one of those in a long while. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks you to the collection of pelts gathered on the far side of the room, where he lays you down atop them.
What had you been intending to say before you passed out? Your departing words spin round and round in his mind while he looks you over, lowering himself until he’s on his hands and knees above you. Tributes used to come richly adorned in jewelry and glittering things, but such pageantry has long since vanished. He’s surrounded by enough of it that the absence doesn’t bother him anymore.
The glitter of gold hardly catches his eye these days. He doesn’t call for sacrifices to add to his wealth. He only seeks to quell his boredom. Perhaps you will prove useful for this, at least for a time.
Pressing his clawed thumb lightly to your chin, he tilts your head away and leans in, nosing up the line of your throat, lips barely ghosting your soft flesh. He inhales the salt-sweet smell of you, a mixture of sweat, the dusty stone steps you’ve scaled, and the sweet herbal oil bath your kind always receives before you’re sent to him. The blend is strangely intoxicating on you.
It makes him wonder if you taste as good as you smell. Parting his lips, his split tongue spills past them and drags a slow serpentine pattern from your neck to your jaw. Mmm, fuck. You taste better than you smell, the rich oil you were bathed in still clinging to your skin beneath the salty tang of your sweat.
It would be too easy to devour you. He groans quietly at the thought, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s known few things more intimate than sinking his sharp teeth into warm, pliant flesh. The feel of a pulse slowing against his tongue. The metallic rush of blood down the back of his throat. He hasn’t craved human flesh the way he does right now in years, yet something in the scent of you has ignited that primal aspect of him. Salivating already, he swallows it away and draws back.
Not yet. He still wants to hear what you were going to say.
It makes him smile to see the goosebumps that have erupted on every inch of your exposed skin. He cocks his head to the side and trails his index claw down the center of your chest, dragging down the pretty white fabric of your sacrificial dress, stopping just shy of the swell of your breasts. More goosebumps there, too.
None of it compares to the sound that you make. In your sleep, your brows furrow, and you exhale a noise somewhere between pain and sheer exhaustion, your small hand brushing his as you adjust against the pile of plush fur pelts. His gaze drops sharply, hand lifting tentatively. After a beat, he sets it down lightly atop yours. Captivated, he watches your whole body respond to his touch, turning and curling in towards him like a flora bending to the light of the sun.
Fascinated by your innate reactivity to him, Homelander lowers himself onto his side next to you. After a beat of hesitation, he encircles your wrist with his thumb and index finger and brings your palm flat to the warmth of his bare chest. A tantalizing shiver rolls through your unconscious form. Just as he had anticipated–hoped?–you follow the feel of him, moving completely onto your side and into him, breathing out a shuddering little exhale while the fire that runs through his veins warms you.
It isn’t enough to stop you shivering, though. Shifting, he spreads out his wing and curls that over you, blocking the draft that spills in from the surrounding windows. Only then does the tension in your body begin to ease, warmth chasing out the chill from your bones.
Homelander smirks, feeling inexplicably accomplished over this mundane little feat. He’s never particularly cared for the comfort of his tributes before; they’ve never served as anything more than playthings and meals. You should be no different. He knows you would be a delectable thing on his tongue, warm and wet down his throat, yet the thought of you in pieces–cold and unmoving–instantly vanishes his appetite.
He wants you in a new way entirely. Against him, with him. He wants to taste more of you, drag his tongue along the plains of your body and see how else you’ll react to him. He wants to find the places that quicken your breath. Would you sing your pleasure for him? He’s barely heard your voice, but already he can imagine it vividly.
You would. You will.
He’s begun to pant at the thought alone, smoke wafting from his mouth, his eyes softly aglow with crimson light. The smell of you has filled his senses so thoroughly he feels intoxicated by it, and between his thighs, his cock has begun to throb. He leans closer and nestles into your hair, inhaling deeply, a rumble leaving him on a warm exhale.
His entire body has taken on the heavy pulse of his heart, alight with the most visceral feeling he’s had in centuries. This is more than hunger, more than carnality–you mean something. Never before has he felt compelled to find pleasure in the frail body of a human, yet his blood sings it voicelessly in the back of his mind, his every instinct screaming one word again and again and again.
Mate.
Homelander had given up on the concept of a mate a long time ago, given that he’s… abnormal. Sterile. As an unnatural creature, there could not be a natural match for him. Someone who would call to his very blood and set it aflame. Yet here you are, seeking him as desperately as he once sought you. Is that why you were able to accomplish what so few before you had, pushing your body so clearly beyond your limits?
A low, possessive rumble leaves him. Reckless.
He pets your hair, testing the texture with his fingers awhile before letting his hand roam down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, up over your hip, down your leg. You’re no longer cool to the touch or shivering. He flattens his palm to your back and closes his eyes briefly. He’s never heard of a dragon bonding to a human before. He wonders if you’ll feel it too, recognize it for what it is, or if your mortality will make you oblivious to the depths of it.
It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shake you awake to find out. 
Instead, he patiently learns the cadence of your heart. He commits your scent to memory, weeding out the natural musk of your skin beneath the herbs and oils you’ve been lathered in. Soon enough he’ll be able to pick you out of a crowd by the thump of your pulse alone, track you down from miles away with nothing but the barest whiff of you. 
Not that he’d ever let you get so far from him now that he has you.
All you’re missing now is his scent. Leaning down, he licks a line adjacent to the one he had prior, and then another, mindful of his horns. The sweet taste of you makes him moan. He spends hours with you tucked in against him, idling away the time by learning your body as well as teaching you his. He nuzzles his cheek lightly against yours just so that he can turn and taste that same spot, something deep and primal in him appeased by tasting himself on your skin. 
“My mate,” he half sighs, half growls. 
He can’t wait to meet you.
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Consciousness comes back to you in a gradual slew of sensation. Your fingers twitch, flexing in what feels like a lush, thick pelt of fur beneath you. Your whole body is pleasantly warm, as if you’ve fallen asleep in front of a crackling hearth, the cold of those awful stone stairs a distant memory.
The stairs…
Your eyes snap wide open, your spine going stiff. You’re laying on your back. Something wet and hot is dragging along the exposed skin of your shoulder–your dress pulled askew–in repetitive swipes. Looking down, all you can see is a mess of flaxen colored hair and one long, angular horn, the tip of it adorned in gold. The press of what you can only imagine to be a tongue is unnaturally smooth, as hot as settled coal against your skin. The beast gives a growl, and sharp teeth graze your skin. Your throat feels tight, the scream that bubbles up locked behind the tension of your jaw.
Oh gods, you think, beginning to shake. He’s eating me! 
“Good morning,” purrs a familiar voice, the words vibrating against your skin. He lifts his head from your shoulder, though he doesn’t go far. You half expect to see his maw bloodied with your entrails from all the horror stories you’ve been told, but his grin is as clean as it was the first moment you beheld him. Up close, he’s even larger than you had initially realized. His face is well defined, with strong cheekbones decorated with smooth red scales that ascend into his hairline, where a golden crown sits neatly behind his horns. “Mmm, someone got their beauty sleep,” he says, the words a low, pleased rumble. You’re speechless, watching in bewilderment as he cups your face, hand so large it covers most of your neck, too. “You were out for hours.”
Your eyes dart to your shoulder, where your dress has been tugged down, but your skin appears unmarred. Around you, one of his enormous wings is curved over, shielding you both from the light and the cold beyond. You can’t move your legs, and with a glance, you understand why: his enormous tail is draped across both of them, pinning you in place. You look back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. You wonder if he’s been with you like this through the entire night. “You’re… You’re not eating me?”
The broad smile he flashes makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes, though sharp and a shade of blue you’ve only ever seen in the sky, are disarmingly human. Beautiful, even. They crinkle at the corners with what almost looks like fondness.
“No.”
“Why not?” You ask instantly, adrenaline making your voice sharp. “Not that I wish for you to eat me,” you say just as quickly. “But do you not–were you not–” He cuts you off with a noise that you belatedly realize is a laugh, the resonance in his chest so unearthly it gives every sound he makes an inhuman quality. “No, I was not eating you,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Tasting you, yes. And you do taste divine,” he says, leaning in again. You push your head back into the furs as much as you can, but he moves to the side, bringing his lips to your ear. “I knew my mate would.” Mate?!
Your hands fly up to his chest–gods, he’s as warm as hearth stones–as if to push him back, but you may as well attempt to push an oak tree aside. “What?”
He draws back, glancing down at your hands pressed to the bare skin of his chest before his gaze returns to yours, eyes narrowed in distinct pleasure. “Mate,” he says again, deliberately drawing the word out. “Dragons bond only once in a lifetime. Usually to another dragon. Clearly exceptions can be made, and you, precious little thing that you are… appear to be mine.”
His eyes fall shut, he leans in, and with a lurch of your stomach you realize he means to kiss you, his lips pursed and rapidly approaching. Your own lips part and a noise wholly outside of your control escapes you; a scream so shrill and sudden that it knocks even him back in surprise. 
Blinking several times, he gives you a quick once over, visibly expecting to see you wounded and bloody somewhere. He looks back to your face when he finds nothing amiss. “What?”
“I can’t–I don’t know you,” you blurt out, equal parts flustered and alarmed. You can feel yourself burning up, and it isn’t just from the heat of him against you.
“So?” He dismisses, smiling with an array of sharp pearly teeth. “I’m your mate.”
“Humans don’t have those,” you counter, squirming under the weight of his tail. It’s like he’s draped several sacks of grain across your legs. “My lord Devourer, I–”
He scoffs, tail lifting as he shifts, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees over you, his wing unfurling and allowing the sun to spill in, washing you both in its light. “Homelander. If you must use one of those silly names, use Homelander. I’d prefer beloved, though,” he says with a sly lilt to his mouth.
A shiver rolls down your spine. Along with light, brisk morning air has slipped in between your bodies. 
“Homelander,” you repeat, a name you’ve never heard before. It’s a great deal less menacing than the others, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has been eating your townsman for as long as anyone can remember. “I–”
He takes hold of your jaw with just his index finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers curling lightly over your throat. “You talk too much,” he tells you, eyes hooded and hungry. “Are you going to scream every time I try to kiss you?”
“Maybe,” you choke out, fists clenched tightly in the furs beneath you. He leans closer, tilting his head, his nose barely brushing the tip of yours. “I’ve never been kissed by a dragon before. Like I said, we don’t have m-mmm!”
It happens so swiftly you don’t have time to gather the air to scream. He presses his lips firmly to yours, making a noise so close to a moan that, despite the relative chasteness of the kiss itself, you flush with the indecency of it. It feels… hot. The heat of him is nearly too much to handle, like touching your lips to a hot mug of tea, but there is something intoxicating about it. He uses that heat to mold you to him, pulling you closer, his body sinking down against yours.
You’re too dumbstruck by the whole of the situation to struggle–not that it would accomplish much–which leaves you to simply experience it. His lips are tentative against yours, not harsh or demanding. He coaxes yours with his as if to dance, luring you into something that almost feels good.
Your heart hammers in your chest, his warmth pooling in your belly and spreading slowly through the rest of your body like boiled water poured into a lukewarm tub. He’s immovable, inescapable, and to your dismay, not entirely awful.
 “I want to claim you,” he all but growls against your lips, his other hand clawing slowly down your side, tugging at your dress. 
Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs. “Homelander,” you say, though he’s hardly paying you any mind, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, carving a wicked trail with his lips while his hand dips lower and lower, seeking the bottom hem of your dress. Heart racing, you breathlessly cry, “Beloved!”
That gives him pause. He rears back to look down at you, head slightly cocked, eyes bright and attentive. Your breaths are shallow, pulse pounding in your throat. You swallow dryly. “I’m thirsty,” you tell him, which is no lie. Your throat is so dry it almost hurts to speak. “Horribly. And hungry, I’ve not eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. You mean for me to survive, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he says, expression twisting like he finds offense in your words. “You’ll want for nothing.”
“Then please. Water?” You push, praying that he is more man than beast.
He regards you quietly, eyes subtly darting back and forth. There’s a petulant kind of impatience to his gaze that catches you off-guard, like a boy who’s been told he has to wait before he gets to play with his new favorite toy. “Water,” he echoes eventually. You nod. He startles you when he exhales a little plume of smoke from his nose, reluctantly lifting himself off of you. The chill of his absence is immediate. “Don’t move,” he says, suddenly looking displaced. You’ve caught him by surprise. Perhaps you’ll survive this yet.
You watch him rise to his full height, standing easily eight feet tall. You sit up, pulling the furs over your legs to combat the cold seeping in. The muscles of his back give a mesmerizing flex as he stretches his wings out, the span of them just as jaw-dropping as his height. He wears furs over his shoulders held in place with thick leather straps that cross over his back and chest, emphasizing his musculature as well as the crimson plating that covers his body. Spines run down the length of his back, transitioning down into a tail that’s even longer than he is tall. It moves along the ground in zigzags, almost like a serpent. You don’t realize how intensely you’re staring until you look back up and realize he’s looking at you over his shoulder, those piercing blue eyes keenly set on yours.
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. Something about his expression makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty. You drop your gaze. “Back in a jiffy,” he says. You look up just in time to see him step off the ledge, those brilliant red wings fanning out behind him. He disappears so suddenly that you can’t help but gasp, sitting up on your knees. You hear the beat of wings against the air, and then a second later see him lift back up into the skyline, twisting in the air before gliding back down out of sight. 
You sit in stunned silence, listening to the fading thrum of his wings. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t know if this is some kind of twisted game he pulls with every sacrifice, or if you’re truly somehow different. You weren’t entirely expecting him to listen to you, but he did. He’s gone, presumably to fetch you food and water. You don’t know how, but you just commanded the Devourer to not only let you go, but bring you a meal.
In hindsight, you’re a little concerned that it was never specified what kind of meal. As far as you’re aware, he primarily eats people.
Adjusting your gown, you haul yourself up to your feet, crossing your arms in a vain attempt to protect the heat of his body lingering on your skin. When that doesn’t work, you pick up one of the several fur pelts strewn on the floor and drape it over your shoulders, sighing in relief. The pelt still holds some residual warmth; a boon over the lovely but ineffective fabric of your ceremonial gown.
In the light of day, you can make out a great deal more detail throughout the lair. The floor to ceiling archways deter you from venturing too far beyond the center, but still there is plenty to investigate. For example, the throne catches your eye immediately. The size of it makes you feel like a child again, navigating a world not built for you. The masonry of it is exceptionally smooth beneath your fingers, save for a handful of deep, jagged gouges that marr the arm rest. Tilting your head, you realize that you recognize these marks: they match those that you’d seen on the ruined murals.
You trace them with your fingers, connecting them now to the draconic claws that, just moments ago, had so delicately followed the curve of your body. He could so easily tear you apart, and yet in that moment you had never known a gentler touch. You pull your hand back beneath the pelt, feeling a shiver roll through you that has little to do with the morning chill.
Mate. That word sticks in your brain like a wad of gummy tree sap.
Circling the throne, you carefully step around the glimmering mess of gold, silver and jewels that litter the stone floor. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t even look real, stacked over itself like forgotten hay bales left to rot. There is more wealth here than you’ve seen in your life. A single satchel of it would keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, and yet here it serves as little more than clutter. As far as you can tell, it means nothing here.
The Devourer stopped seeking material treasure generations ago.
As you explore, part of you expects to find the corpses of all those who have come before you. Dozens upon dozens of bodies stacked up in varying states of consumption or decay, or maybe a monument built of their bones. You find no such construct, though. In fact, nothing about this place seems put together. You can’t imagine the madness that living like this for a week would induce in you, let alone decades.
To the east, movement catches your attention, startling your heart into your throat. It looks like a silhouetted figure at first, but your brain catches up quickly, and you approach the gently billowing fabric. It’s draped over a statue, giving it the illusion of a person, and your curiosity gets the best of you as you tug the drape down off of it.
You suck in a sharp breath. Once again, you find yourself faced with a legend given form– a painstakingly and intricately carved statue in the Devourer’s perfect likeness. It comes as no surprise that this is the only in-tact statue you’ve seen, but what you don’t understand is why it’s even here. If the Devourer was a usurper, some vicious interloper, why would there be a monument to him in the same vein as all the others?
The plaque beneath it reads: Homelander. Son of the Skies, Protector of the Earth.
Devourer, Scourge, Flame’s Maw–these names are all you have ever known, and yet this is the name carved in stone. He was once worshiped not out of fear, but reverence that you can see in every gentle curve of stone.
What happened?
Shuffling closer to the statue, the discarded fabric gathers at your feet. It’s not quite to scale, but it’s a handsome likeness nonetheless. It’s certainly been cared for more than anything else in this place. You wonder if it’s just vanity or if it’s something less obvious. You trace the smooth stonework, letting yourself get a better look at this version of him that’s less likely to eat you.
Objectively speaking, it’s a handsome visage. The resemblance is uncanny, clearly the work of an intensely skilled mason. His jaw is strong, eyes set forward in unerring determination. Tentatively, you touch the lips of the statue. He’d been so certain that he wanted to kiss you. Just the thought of his closeness and heat makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies.
Mate.
“I thought I told you not to move.”
You barely hear the full sentence, your own scream ringing loudly in your ears. You move to spin around, but your foot catches on the pile of fabric you had dropped to the ground and suddenly your whole body is pitching backwards, the back of your skull destined for the smooth, unyielding stone behind you. Fortunately for your brain matter, your descent is halted just shy of contact, one familiar clawed hand cupping the back of your neck while the other lands at your back, steadying you.
Homelander stands over you, a curious quirk to his brow. With his hand at the small of your back, his claws press lightly through the fabric, effortlessly upholding your weight. He holds you as if you’ve been caught mid dip in a dance.
“Gods, you scared me,” you say, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you.” You had been so certain you would hear his return based on the sound of his wings when he’d left, but his approach had been terrifyingly silent.
“Yes, I know. It makes me a very effective hunter,” he says, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, taking advantage of how the pelt has slipped off of your shoulder. He inhales the smell of you, prickling goosebumps all over your body. “I missed you.”
“You’ve barely been gone,” you reply impulsively, awkwardly trying to adjust yourself out of this arch he has you in. No use. His size makes him impossible to maneuver around, and your foot is still tangled up in the fabric that he’s currently standing on.
He gives another one of those rumbling sighs, drawing back to look at you. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too,” he chastises you, and though his tone seems light, you’re sure you see a flicker of impatience or irritation in his gaze. Maybe both. Despite how fearsome the sum total of his features make him, you’re once again caught off guard by his eyes. Though the color of them is icy, there’s a distinctly human warmth to them that grounds you in his gaze.
Still, the last thing you want to do is make him angry.
“Oh,” you croak quietly, realizing he’s actually waiting for you to say it, staring down expectantly while he holds you. “I… missed you, too,” you return stiltedly, unsure your hesitant delivery will be satisfactory. Shockingly, his expression lightens, lips curving into a smile. He lifts you off of your feet, untangling you from the mess beneath you and turning around to set you back down on relatively clear flooring. 
“Good,” he purrs, stroking his hand down the back of your head like he’s petting an animal. He seems determined to touch you, but entirely unaware of how to. He cups the base of your skull and tightens the gap between your bodies, enticing you with his warmth as much as he terrifies you with the hunger in his eyes.
You put your hands to his chest, soaking up the heat of him as you vainly try to maintain an ounce of personal space. “Ah, the–the statue, it’s beautiful. Why do you cover it up?” You ask, the words leaving you in a flustered tumble.
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, looking at the statue like he’s only just remembered it exists. “Oh, that. Mmm. Don’t always like what he has to say,” he replies, fitting his hand over top of yours, pressing it to his chest. You blink. What in the world does that mean? “You humans chill so quickly. I’ll have to light the hearth next time I leave you,” he says, earning a yelp from you as he abruptly lifts you up into his arms, tail slithering audibly along the floor as he carries you back to what you suppose for all intents and purposes is his nest. His touch instantly warms you to your core, making the fur you wrapped yourself in seem like a thin sheet in comparison. Despite your apprehension, you can’t help the way the tension in your body naturally eases with his warmth. Upon returning to the collection of pelts, you see the fruits of his labor.
Literal fruits, in fact.
Homelander has returned with a small bounty consisting of apples, two melons, and even a handful of peaches, all of it held in a beautiful–albeit aged–woven basket. You don’t get the chance to eat those often; the trees they fall from grow high on the surrounding mountains, and the farmers in your village are content enough with the established agriculture that no one bothers to grow them.
In addition, a tall golden pitcher stands filled to the brim with water. You’re once again hyper aware of just how incredibly thirsty you are, lips dry, throat parched. It’s the only thing you care about, clambering towards it the second Homelander sets you back on your feet.
The pitcher is heavy. It appears made of solid gold and it’s three times the size of any you’ve ever seen before. You don’t lift it so much as you just tip it back slightly, sighing loudly as you drink back the crisp, clear water.  You sputter as the flow abruptly increases, water spilling from the corners of your mouth. Homelander has lifted the pitcher to help you drink, holding it one handed as if it’s no more than a drinking cup, his other hand settled upon your waist. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded, lips gently curved upwards. Once you’ve drunk your fill, you push against his hold and he relents quickly, unnerving you with just how attentive he really is. He sets the pitcher back down and watches you wipe your chin dry.
“Thank the gods,” you sigh habitually, finally not feeling as though there’s grit in your throat with every word.
“I’d prefer you thanked me,” he says coyly, his gaze drifting down to where the water has wet your gown. The fabric clings to your skin, sheer where liquid has touched it.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Homelander,” you correct. It’s taking every ounce of your fortitude to speak in full sentences with the way he’s staring at you, let alone the idle way his thumb is stroking your hip. No one has ever touched you with this mixture of ease and clear intent, the weight of his hand practically thrumming against you. The magnitude of him is a difficult thing to parse both in terms of his sheer size and the legend he represents. You don’t know how to reconcile him with the monster you grew up dreading.
No one warned you that monsters could be warm and handle you gently.
“Time to eat,” he says, setting the pitcher back down. He takes hold of both of your hips and pulls you down with him as he sits cross-legged on the pelts, the circle of his legs large enough that you fit perfectly inside it, your own legs hanging out over his crossed calves. His tail loops around as well, encircling him and draping over your legs. The underside of his tail is not unlike the belly of a snake, with large overlapping scales that layer down the length of it. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, and feels like an unnaturally soft stone that’s been baking in the sun.
Reaching over, Homelander plucks one of the peaches from the assortment. It looked perfectly average in the basket, but between his fingers it looks almost comically small. With a deftness that you wouldn’t expect from a creature of his size, he begins to slice through the peach with his blackened claws, delicately cutting out a wedge that he does not hand you, but he instead brings it directly to your lips. 
You stare for a moment, struck by the rich red center of the fruit, how the juice of it drips onto his hand in sweet smelling rivulets. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he quirks a brow, nodding towards the slice of fruit. You decide that of all the potential battles you have in front of you, this one in particular isn’t worth fighting, and you part your lips, watching him as you do.
His own lips mimic yours, falling apart in quiet entrancement. He slides the wedge between your teeth and watches with rapt fascination as you bite down on it, holding his gaze in an exchange that feels so unexpectedly raw and intimate, your pulse ticks up a notch. You swear he notices it by the way his head tilts ever so slightly, almost as if he’s listening.
“Good?” He asks, voice little more than a rumble.
Gods above and below, it is good. Despite the preternatural heat of his hand, the succulent flesh of the peach retains the morning chill, sweet and cool on your tongue. It’s perfectly ripe, yielding easily to the cut of your teeth and flooding richly across your tongue as you chew. He feeds it to you until it disappears, pressing the last of it in with his thumb, which then follows the line of your bottom lip, smearing the sweet juice on it. You nod and lick your lips, tongue narrowly missing his thumb, and what that does to his expression makes your stomach flip. 
He’s quick to cut another slice to offer you. You repeat this process in silence, the air thick with tension that feels so palpable you’re sure you could swim through it. The sounds of the world have narrowed entirely to the sound of his claw cutting through the delicate flesh of the fruit and the tip lightly scraping the pit inside it. His hands have a sticky shine to them by the time he’s tossing the pit back into the basket, stripped as clean as a bone. 
You chew your final bite, jaw slowing as you watch him take his fingers into his own mouth. He’s unabashed in the way he slurps the nectar off his digits, tongue slipping between them. That’s when you realize that his tongue splits down the middle, dexterously sliding over his fingers to lap up every drop of juice. Not only that, but you spot a flash of gold; the same kind of piercing he has on his ears. Watching him stirs something hot in you, a radiating heat that lights a flickering pulse between your thighs. You audibly gulp the last of your bite, tensing subtly when Homelander looks at you.
Slowly, his lips curl into a devious smile. “See something you like?”
You flush, fighting the urge to look away. Don’t play into it. Change the subject. “What happened to your last mate?”
His expression shifts to something slightly more incredulous. “There wasn’t one. You’re my first, my last, my only. Dragons only bond once,” he says, that split tongue rolling along his sharp teeth, that gold tongue piercing clicking against them. You wonder where else he’s decorated himself with gold.
Wait, what did he say? Your gaze snaps back up from his mouth to his eyes, which are once more set into that self-satisfied slant. He’s closer to you now, and nearing by the second.
My first, my last, my only.
“But I am no dragon,” you say, leaning away subtly, though there isn’t far to go. He’s got you trapped nicely in place, like a butterfly beneath pins. “How could such a bond form?”
“I’m as mystified as you are,” he says, his hand sliding up the small of your back. “I didn’t think a bond was even possible for me. Apparently there’s something different about you,” he says, and you notice a brief twitch of his lip, a flicker that looks just a touch like disdain. It disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “Something special,” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. 
Your heart races, your capacity for thought slowly disappearing the closer to you he gets. New subject, new subject! You think, frazzled by the warm spiced smell of him. His hand flexes on your hip, claws prickling your skin through your dress. “Aren’t you hungry?” You ask, eyes darting to the basket full of fruit just to his side.
“Yeah,” he rasps, voice so low you feel it reverberate. His nose brushes your cheek, trailing down from your jaw to your neck. You shiver, and the pulse between your thighs grows into a steady throb. He inhales deeply. “I’m famished.”
The world around you spins and the next thing you know, you’re on your back staring up at the aged banners draped along the stone ceiling, the fur pelts warm and plush beneath you. Homelander pins your arms down at your sides, once more poised on his hands and knees over you. His tongue draws a wet molten line from the collar of your dress to your throat, and you let out a soft, nervous cry as his teeth graze your skin.
Perhaps he’s going to devour you after all. 
Oh gods! Gods, gods, gods, please no!
“Wait, wait! Don’t–please don’t eat me,” you plead in a panic, pushing up against his hands with all of your might. He doesn’t yield at all. You may as well be pushing against the stone walls of the tower itself.
He does laugh, however. It’s that same rumble of amusement that travels through your skin and into the core of you. “For the last time, I’m not eating you. I can smell your arousal, though. Practically taste it in the fucking air,” he says, trailing lower down your chest with every word, brazenly nuzzling the space between your breasts before continuing down. A wave of humiliation rolls through you at his words, and you look away. He releases your arms in favor of sliding his hands up your bare legs, pushing your dress up with them. “I’m just going to have a little lick.”
Frantically, you try to grab at him as soon as your hands are free. “Hold on, stop–”
“Enough!” He snarls suddenly, startling you quiet. You swear for just a moment that his eyes flash crimson. You clutch your hands to your chest. “You’ll not be harmed. Understand? Just… let me,” he says tersely, gaze hard before gradually softening as you silence yourself, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Satisfied, he lowers back down.
His sharp claws kiss harmless welts all the way up your legs, up to your hips, where he catches the band of your undergarments. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and drags them down, seeming to enjoy the way you pant and writhe under him, your heart racing.
“Have mercy,” you slip in quietly, squirming beneath the hot press of his hands, though you’re no longer struggling against him. “I’ve never–no one’s ever–I’m inexperienced,” you desperately explain, your mind running wild with what his size will mean for you if he decides he wants more than to taste you–to claim you, as he’d said before.
“Good,” he replies simply, pushing your knees up into a bend on either side of his head. “As you should be. As am I,” he says, turning his head to drag his split tongue in swirling patterns on your inner thigh, moaning at the taste of you.
You grip the pelts beneath you, brows furrowing. You stare down at the top of his head in confusion. “You are?”
“I told you. I’ve never had a mate. I’ve never felt the need to put my cock into what I intended to eat,” he says against your skin, erupting goosebumps all over your thighs. That should horrify you, but you’re instantly distracted by the sheer burning heat of his breath wafting over your wet cunt, a gasp slipping from your lips when he eagerly presses his tongue to it.
His tongue feels as smooth as glass, like liquid in the way it contours to your every curve. The split of it rubs on either side of your clit, massaging it between the two sides in a way that makes your knees shake. “Ffffuck,” he groans, immediately pushing his tongue into you, licking up the wetness of you twice as eagerly as he had that ripe peach.
You buck against him, a moan escaping you. The sound only encourages him to plunge his tongue deeper, that golden stud on his tongue brushing hotly against your inner walls. He drags it up and pushes it flush, half inside you and half grinding against your clit before pushing back in deep. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever known, so much better than your own curious, clumsy fingers. He laves attention on you like he’s starved for it, drinking just as thirstily as you had from the pitcher.
There’s no rhythm to the way he moves, no sense of consistency. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs you forward with ease, lifting you to push his thick split tongue even further inside you, plunging it in and out, growing greedier with every dive. He growls low in the back of his throat, tail thudding repeatedly against the floor. Instead of the little lick he claimed he was after, he’s working himself into an obvious frenzy feasting on you.
“H-Homelander, please,” you keen, his relentlessness rapidly building an unfamiliar pressure within you. He’s as sloppy as he is voracious, the wet sound of him obscene and loud in the enormous lair. His claws bite into your ass where he holds it firmly to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. If he does, he’s taking it only as encouragement. 
His tongue touches something inside you that makes your whole body jolt. You grab hold of both of his horns, your back arching as you desperately cling to them. You’re certain you meant to shove him back, to struggle. Instead, your body is ablaze as you yank hard on his horns, hitching your leg over his shoulder and riding his tongue with a shaking gasp.
The pressure bursts, and the wave of euphoria that crashes down on you is unlike anything you’ve ever known. You convulse against his mouth, walls tightening around the intrusion. You don’t recognize your own voice in the sounds you make as he continues to ruthlessly fuck you soaked and open with his tongue, his breaths so hot they nearly burn. The waves of your climax feel like they’ll never end, spurred on by every deep, wet thrust.
“Homelander! It’s too much, Homelander, too much, please, please–beloved, please, I can’t, I can’t,” you beg, desperate to get his attention. You’re on the verge of sobs when he finally withdraws his long molten tongue from you. You suck in a shuddering breath, releasing his horns and collapsing back against the pelts, sweat prickling along your hairline.
However, your shallow breaths are nothing compared to the sound of Homelander’s ragged panting. He looks entirely wild, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, his cheeks flushed a dark red, the lower half of his face shiny with a mixture of your slick and his own drool. He takes his hands from under you and yanks the sash around his waist loose, dropping it to the side. Reaching behind him, he unfastens his pants.
Your mind is still a haze, but even through the delirium, you’re shocked by what you see when that rich navy fabric falls from his waist: his cock is as large as the rest of him, thick and dripping. The underside of it is strangely ribbed, a feature you’re certain is to be attributed to his draconic nature. Not only that, but he’s adorned in gold here, too, with a ring pierced into the head of his cock and studs between each ridge. Your eyes widen.
It’ll never fit.
Nevertheless, he looks entirely undeterred. Homelander adjusts himself between your legs, eyes thoroughly glazed over with lust, and presses his nearly scalding palms to your inner thighs, pushing them into a wide spread and down to the ground. Arousal and fear lance through you like a twin bolt of lightning.
“H-hold on,” you stutter, lifting a trembling hand. “I–” Bending over you, he silences you with a firm kiss. You press your hands to his chest and feel it thrumming beneath your palms, the heat of him more intense than ever. You can’t help but moan softly into it, overtaken by the smell of sex and something akin to burning incense. His tongue slips as deftly into your mouth as it did your cunt. Even after having felt it inside you, it’s thicker in your mouth than you’re prepared for, sliding in deeper, like he means to fuck you with it here, too.
It wholly distracts you until you feel a heavy, blunt press to your wet cunt. You make a half-hearted noise of protest, but his only answer is a low rumbling growl, claws biting into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still, effectively gagging you on his tongue.
His cock is as hot as the rest of him, but a great deal more solid than his malleable tongue. The thickness of it slowly spreads you wide, an aching pressure. You’re not sure if the burn of it is from the stretch or the heat, but either way it’s driving you insane. It’s hot and painful and good, frictionless with how thoroughly he soaked you, and despite your nerves, your cunt is loose with orgasm. It’s as if your body, independent of your mind, is eager to welcome him in.
You make a keening noise, the sound of it muffled in this devouring kiss. You grab hold of the leather straps across his chest and yank on them, twisting at them, but nothing takes your mind from how intense it feels to be split apart on the fat head of his cock.
The sounds Homelander makes in response are downright bestial, low and rumbling from his chest. Your only relief is when the widest swell of his cockhead finally breaches you, just the tip of it settling perfectly inside you. You cry out when he gives an exploratory backwards pull, and then shivers as he begins to rock gently, breathing heavily from his nose as he fucks you with nothing more than the head of his cock.
You’re starting to feel lightheaded, pitchy little noises leaving you with every exhale. Homelander sharpens his pace, breaking the kiss with a loud, carnal moan as he tips his head back. He’s barely even inside you and yet the girth of him is overwhelming, the ridges of his cock stimulating you in ways you didn’t know possible, the fat curved head rubbing against that same spot inside you that his tongue had previously made you see stars with.
Thoroughly overwhelmed by the incomprehensible assault of sensations, tears gather in your eyes. That pressure is building back up in you once more, starting at the base of your spine and slowly crawling up it. Desperate to tether yourself, to feel connected, you move your hand from the strap at his chest and touch his face. To your surprise, that instantly snaps his attention down to you, his beautiful blue eyes lost in a crimson glow.
Homelander meets your gaze, some level of cognizance returning to him, and whimpers, something hidden and vulnerable escaping in that exchange. He bends down, his nose brushing yours, and rests his forehead against yours while his thrusts grow more and more erratic, but never deeper. He fucks you in shallow, jagged snaps until finally that mounting pressure overwhelms you and you come again, simultaneously squeezing him into his own sudden release. 
The flood of him inside you is burning hot, spilling into your core even from here, and he practically roars with it, burying that loud primal cry into the crook of your neck while his body stills, releasing pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed into you.
His breath billows hotly across your neck, the burning scent of him thick in the air. Your mind is so addled by your own euphoria that it takes you time to realize he’s speaking, fervent murmurings against your skin. “M’sorry, still, be still, I’m–don’t move,” he rasps, fractured little noises leaving him in between his words. You choke on your own breath when he sinks in, working you open slowly, shivers pitching up and down your spine. Gods above, he isn’t done.
Surely he doesn’t mean for you to take all of it… Does he?
You moan weakly, pushing your hand up into his hair and grabbing hold, which elicits a rumbling sigh from him in return. It’s silkier than you expected it to be. “Too big, it’s too much, it’s not–it’s not going to fit,” you pant out, screwing your eyes shut tight. While his release had initially softened him some, you can already feel his cock filling back out. Every bit he slips in further, you feel the mess of his release being forced out of you, come dripping down your thighs, slicking the way for the rest of him.
“It will,” he says at your ear, kissing the spot just below your earlobe, then your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sweat there before he kisses that same spot. He’s set upon you like an animal, lost to the drive of instinct, determined to fulfill his promise to claim what is his. “It will because it must. Because it’s yours. Because you’re mine.”
Homelander releases a breathy whine, sounding just as overstimulated as you are, nuzzling at your throat while he slowly works his way deeper, practically vibrating with restraint. He sounds as overwhelmed as you feel, but he refuses to stop, to lose. He holds you in place, growling whenever you squirm or struggle against him. The feel of it is dizzying, unbelievably hot and heavy, like fire given form, filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You’re feeling it again, the slow rise of that carnal pleasure building to an inevitable climax, and your whole body trembles with it.
You make a desperate keening noise, and Homelander hushes you, kissing your shoulder. “Sshhh, good, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t move yet, it’s almost over. You were made for this, for me. You feel it, don’t you? How easily your cunt opens to me. Nnngh, hah… Fuck, you fit me. You fit me. You do, and you always will,” he pants, voice hitching.
He slides his hands from your thighs to your waist, the press of his claws just shy of painful. With one final move, he lets out a quaking moan as he pulls you down onto the last of it, finally burying himself completely in your snug, come-soaked cunt. 
The fullness of it breaks you–snapping the last tether that was holding you in place–and you come again, your velvety walls seizing up around him impossibly tight before spasming your pleasure around every vein, ridge and piercing he has. You can feel the shape of him so viscerally that you’re sure your body will remember it, carved out in the shape of his cock forevermore.
He cries out with your release, a reverberating sound that you feel all the way down to the marrow of your bones. You don’t know if he’s more in pleasure or pain, but he makes no move to retreat. Instead, he brings you that tiny bit closer, pressing every inch of your body to his. He rides out your pleasure, panting a wet spot into the crook of your neck.
Tears roll from your eyes to your temple, disappearing into your hairline as you breathe roughly. You’re overwhelmingly hot, oversensitized and raw, but as the aftershocks of your orgasm fade, your body steadily loses that quiver. You feel as if you’re melting down into the furs, struggling to even keep your eyes open as a gentle ecstasy sweeps over you.
Once he recovers enough, he lifts himself up onto his hands, and then sits  back onto his legs, his hands on your hips to lift you partially into his lap to keep himself buried deep, hitching your legs around his waist. His eyes are completely glazed over, lips parted around heavy, hungry breaths. He doesn’t look at all sated. If anything, the look of his desire has only intensified, despite his obvious sensitivity. Sliding his hands up your body, he pushes your pretty white dress all the way up over your head, tossing it to the side so that he may finally see all of you.
“Look at you,” he breathes, voice utterly frayed. He stares at you as though you’re a vision sent from the gods, a nymph plucked from the heavens and nestled snugly upon his cock. His hand sweeps down your stomach, settling low on it, where he lightly presses down. You both moan with the pressure, with how keenly you both feel it. “Told you it would fit,” he says, but his voice is not smug. There’s a breathless wonder to it, like he’s awestruck by the look of your body against his.
His tongue rolls out to sweep along his lips. He opens his mouth, and you can see threads of saliva snapping between his sharp teeth, his mouth wet with hunger. He continues to reverently stroke your stomach, his large splayed hand easily covering the expanse of it. “You’ll make a beautiful mother,” he says, a concept you don’t even know how to begin to unravel, but the way he says it makes you feel worshiped. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he says, a shudder in his voice. His crimson wings spread and curve in on either side of you, the hooked tips of them bracing on the stone floor.
“Mother?” You slur belatedly. You feel dizzy, your body as warm as burning coals and tingling all over. He lifts your legs one at a time, bringing each one up parallel to his chest. They hook over his shoulders as he leans forward, wasting no before time kissing you. His wings support his weight while he grips your thighs, squeezing possessively.
“Mother,” he confirms between kisses, bending you practically in half as he begins to rut against you. He’s not thrusting so much as he’s grinding into you, wringing a low moan from you. “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe. Feed you. Fuck you. I’ll take care of you, be yours, and you’ll be mine, won’t you? Sweet little thing, fucked happy and heavy with my children. Tell me. Tell me you want that.”
“Yes,” you moan, kneading the furs on either side of you. He paints a beautiful picture in your mind of fresh fruit, crisp water, and this dreamlike pleasure for the rest of your days. Beneath him, any thoughts of the world outside this moment melt away. There’s only the two of you, resplendently warm and living amongst the clouds. “I want it. I want–I want you,” you say, touching either side of his face. He leans heavily into your touch, his eyes falling shut. A soft noise that sounds like relief escapes him as you kiss him, coaxing that long, clever tongue out to meet yours.
The eagerness with which he reciprocates nearly chokes you, his tongue slipping over yours and halfway down your throat before pulling back, practically devouring you in this kiss. In your fever, this consuming passion feels so much like love it makes your head spin, makes you forget where, when and who you are.  He breaks the kiss to moan unabashedly,  shifting to put his lips to your throat, mouthing at your skin like he’s trying desperately not to sink his teeth in. The thought thrills you. You almost want him to.
“Again,” he pants, grip tightening on your thighs. “Say it again, please.”
“I want you,” you say again, more certain now. The desperation in him is disarming, and despite the animalism of him, you can clearly see the man in him now, hear it in the way he pleads for you to indulge him. That and the euphoric spill of pleasure electrifying your every nerve imbues you with some kind of sense of power, and however misplaced it may be, you immediately feel drunk on it. You can feel your body beginning to build back towards that ultimate swell of euphoria again. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”
He groans, dipping lower to suck a mark at the junction between your neck and shoulder. This time, when you feel the brush of his teeth, you don’t shy away. You cup the back of his head and drag your nails down his scalp. Homelander thrusts his hips jaggedly, wringing a throaty gasp out of you. “Keep talking,” he demands, but you hear the plea for what it is.
“You feel good. Y-you fit,” you say, echoing his own words, though it’s getting harder to speak with the way he’s starting to fuck you in earnest, just barely withdrawing before he drives back in, as if he can’t bare to be more than an inch outside of you.  You moan for him, chasing the bliss swelling rapidly between your legs.
Wait… Something really is swelling.
“What is that?” You ask, voice reedy. You whimper. Somehow, it feels as though he’s getting bigger. “What’s h-nnngh, what’s happening?” Your words are starting to slur together again, your mind split down the middle between your mounting orgasm, and the surreal feeling of the base of his cock growing inside you.
“Knot,” he explains between swipes of his tongue. “Keeps every drop of me inside you,” he says, giving a shuddering moan as that swell catches on the rim of your cunt when he tries to draw back. Just when you thought you had adjusted, that swell makes you ache, has you whimpering and squirming under him.
He could have told you it would get bigger!
“Oh gods, it–mmm, I’m–it feels–” You stop and start again and again, writhing, but he keeps you firmly in place, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in your ears as he fucks you harder and faster, spurred on by the quiver of your cunt as your own climax nears.
“Come for me again. Show me that you want it. I want to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze my cock for my come,” he urges, voice reduced to a rough growl in your ear. He sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, every word more strained than the last. “Give it to me. Give yourself to me.”
The tug of his swollen knot bouncing off of your rim and the feel of his thick ridged cock massaging your walls completely overwhelms you. “Y-yes, okay, I’m–oh gods, gods, I’m–I’m coming, Homelander, Homelander!” You call, lips falling open on a silent scream as your throat locks up, a third orgasm crashing down on you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.
Homelander muffles his own cry into the crook of your neck, stilling halfway through your orgasm with one final slam. This time, the rush of his release is pressed tightly against your cervix, pooling inside you with nowhere to go, his knot doing precisely what he said it would. The heat of it fills you in hot, rushing spurts, his cock jerking against your spasming walls with every load he empties into you.
A sudden stinging pain makes you gasp, confusion seeping into the euphoria that has thoroughly addled your brain. Fuck, you realize he’s biting you. His teeth sink in as smoothly as a knife through fresh butter, the sting giving way to the sheer heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue, and the inexplicable way it intensifies your orgasm.
The room falls deafeningly quiet save for the pound of your own heart in your ears and the heavy way you’re each catching your respective breath. Your arms fall bonelessly to your sides as you pant, your vision slightly blurry. Homelander begins lapping at your shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bitten. Your whole body feels heavy, stuffed fuller than you ever could have conceived possible. All you can do is whine as he adjusts you, gingerly bringing your legs down to settle on either side of him.
You’re not sure how you’ll ever get off of his cock now that you’re on it. His knot feels like a permanent part of you, fitted so snugly that, just as promised, you don’t feel a single drop spill.
Homelander doesn’t stop at your neck. He drags his tongue down to the dip of your clavicle, where it splits apart slightly anywhere it moves over bone. It feels surreal, but somehow different from the first time you woke to him licking you. For starters, you’re not terrified he’s going to eat you. That has an entirely new connotation now.
He moves down further, slinking down into the valley between your breasts, sighing as he pushes them together to lave his tongue between. He’s languid, practically purring with each breath as he savors the feel and the taste of you. You don’t have it in you to feel much more than exhausted, your limbs as heavy as stone, but it does feel good. Your breath catches when he opens his lips around one of your nipples, sucking almost half of your breast into his preternaturally hot mouth. His pierced tongue swirls over your nipple while his teeth flex precariously against the tender flesh. You lurch, letting out a breathy noise.
“Careful, please,,” you exhale, earning a glance up from him. His eyes are completely glazed over, soft and dark in a way that takes your breath away. He hums quietly in some weak acknowledgement before his eyes flutter closed, his throat bobbing with every swallow as he sucks your breast with unexpected gentility.
Watching him stirs a wash of strange feelings in you. With what little strength you have, you bring your hand up to touch his horn, contemplating the texture of it beneath your fingers. You follow the line of it down to his skull, tracing his hairline just beneath the crown that adorns his head, slipping behind his sharply pointed ear. He’s truly incredible to behold up close like this, beautiful without the lens of terror you had been viewing him through.
On some level, you know you should still be afraid, but it’s a difficult feeling to muster when he’s warm and lax on your chest with his cock buried inside you, suckling on your breast as you’re still riding the high of three consecutive climaxes.
You push your fingers into his flaxen hair. You’ve never seen hair this color before except in very young children. In your experience, age always darkens it away to a sandy color, but his is as bright and warm as sunshine. There doesn’t seem to be any part of him that isn’t golden. He exhales a deep sigh as you run your nails along his scalp, nuzzling sweetly against you. You smile despite yourself.
Who would have thought that a dragon might be so very much like an overgrown house cat?
When Homelander lifts his head, his tongue is the last to leave, returning to his mouth with a wet slide across his lips. He’s left your skin shiny with saliva, but he isn’t finished. He immediately lowers himself to your other breast, taking it into his mouth in precisely the same way. You bring your other hand up into his hair and continue to massage his scalp, earning yourself an appreciative little moan from low in his throat, his tail sliding audibly back and forth on the stone floor.
The two of you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. You drift in and out of consciousness, worn thin and soothed by the heat of his body seeping into your muscles, fairly certain you’ll never be able to sit up on your own again. Homelander eventually releases your breast with a soft pop and settles his head on your sternum, narrowly avoiding taking one of your eyes out with his horn. You continue to stroke through his hair as your strength gradually returns.
The swell of his knot, too, lessens, but even soft his cock fits snugly inside you. It isn’t until Homelander gingerly lifts himself off of you that it slides out, coming free with a significant gush that soaks your thighs and puddles beneath you. You flush, making a strained little noise. You feel carved out and left hollow by the sheer size of him. His wings withdraw and tuck in behind him while he sits back on his legs to admire the splay of you beneath him. 
“You’re beautiful,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. You’ve never felt as exposed as you do in this moment, laid bare under his gaze. Even now, visibly drunk on pleasure and thoroughly satiated, there is an undeniable lingering famine in his stare. He sinks down and slowly spreads your legs apart, leaning in to run his tongue up the crease of your inner thigh. He laps languidly at your skin, earning hitched little breaths and sounds from you as his tongue deftly cleans the mess he’s made of you. He’s much more tame now than he had been, focusing not on overstimulating you, but simply washing you. It’s a strange and animalistic thing to do, but it’s intimate, too. Sweet, even.
Gods, he’s really done a number on your psyche.
Once he’s satisfied with the state of you, he climbs back up and settles on his side, looking at you with his hand poised over you, hovering like he isn’t sure what to do with it. His expression starts to shift, concern seeping into it. “You’re quiet. Did I hurt you?”
You huff a little breath. You’re quiet because you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life by a dragon’s cock, but aside from that, of course he had. “You bit me, for starters.”
He turns somewhat sheepish at that. “Instinct. I wanted to mark you.”
“You succeeded,” you say, touching your shoulder tentatively.The skin is still raw, but it isn’t bleeding. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to scab. 
You must wear your confusion plainly, because Homelander is quick to explain: “I sealed the wound. It should be fully healed by sundown.”
“How did you seal it?” You ask, bolder now with how you touch it. It feels like simple indentations, a perfect mold of his teeth.
“My saliva has particular properties. There was a method to my debauchery,” he says, pointedly licking his lips.
You suppose that’s far from the most miraculous thing about him. “That’s convenient,” you say, to which he smiles. It’s bizarre how easily this comes now. You’ve heard of breaking the tension before, but this is certainly the most intense way you’ve ever broken through that initial barrier to more casual conversation. 
Seeing that his hand is still hovering over you, you make a choice and take it, pulling it down to settle on your hip. Relief and excitement flash in his eyes in equal measure, and he takes that as permission to tuck you the rest of the way against him, settling on his side. He rests his head in his palm, propped up on his elbow. You curiously explore the plains of his chest with your fingertips, testing where flesh meets scales. They feel almost like bone, crimson colored protrusions that catch the light as prettily as rubies. They’re smattered along his body in the same way a human might have moles or birthmarks, incidental and seemingly without rhyme or reason.
His ribs are guarded by stiff plates that aren’t as solid as the scales, but look to serve as hardy protection. You let your fingers swoop down the ridges of them, comparing the textures along different parts of his body. It’s fascinating.
“I’ve never seen anything like–” you begin to pull your hand away as you speak, but Homelander takes hold of your wrist, bringing it back to his chest.
“Don’t stop.” You look up at him. His expression catches you off guard. He looks wounded, those fiercely blue and ever human eyes of his intensely focused on you. Swallowing, you nod. He lets go, and you begin to traipse your fingers along his chest again, following the line of the leather straps that cross over it. He lets out a heavy breath. “No one’s ever touched me like this,” he tells you after a long few beats of silence. “Not that I can remember.”
You glance up at him, but he’s staring down at your small hand tracing patterns on his chest. “What happened to this place?” You ask, because that seems politer than asking what happened to him.
“Guess it’s been too long for anyone else to remember. They’re all dead,” he says, the mood of his words difficult to discern. He inhales a contemplative breath, clicking his tongue at the end of it. “Time happened. I used to be something else to my people. I was… war. I brought fire down on their enemies, and they loved me for it. I won them their home. Homelander. There were others like me, but I was the best of them,” he says with conviction, though you sense bitterness in his voice, too. “When all the wars were won, they built this tower. They built monuments to their gods, and they placed us here with them as though we ourselves were relics.”
The end of his tail has begun to slap lightly against the ground. You can feel a slight uptick in the heat of him beneath your palm. 
“They placated me with gold. Adorned me in it. At times they would summon me to festivals. Use my strength to build their stone cities, but they didn’t celebrate me. They had forgotten their love. They treated me as you would any other tool. Something to be taken off the shelf for work and put away when the task is done.”
The seething resentment is more clear in his voice than ever. While you didn’t ask it, it seems he understood what you really wanted to know. You’ve never heard this story before; The Devourer had only ever been a tyrant upon the people. No one ever spoke of a Homelander. No one ever spoke of a hero.
“When treasure failed to keep me impotent and obedient, they tried meat instead. They sent me livestock, as if the simple act of killing a cow would satiate me,” he snarls through his teeth, smoke wafting between them. He sucks it back, tipping his head up slightly in a bit to regain his composure.  “They thought they could control me indefinitely. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked for too long, but only because I allowed it. Because I thought things would change. They never did. So I took their gold and their cattle and their crops and demanded more still. I demanded until they couldn’t ignore me any longer. When they failed to provide, I reigned fire down on them as I did their enemies two hundred years ago, and I gave them no choice but to look at the monster they made.”
His tail cracks like a whip against the stone floor. His anger is so visceral it makes your heart race, but there is more in his gaze than just fury. You feel as though you’re watching him rip apart the stitching over a wound that has been festering for far too long. “After that, they sent people. Simpering peasants who had no fucking idea who or what I really am. They bathed them in oils like slaughtered lambs basted for roast,” he growls, the blue of his eyes fading into an eerie crimson glow. “So I did. I devoured them, and I spat their own blood in their faces. If they wouldn’t have me as a man, they would have a beast instead.”
The Devourer.
You sit in stunned silence, watching as the glow of his eyes gradually fades, though his temperature remains the same. He looks at you, his expression braced, as if he anticipates a specific reaction. Rejection, you suppose. It seems to be the only thing he’s known for centuries. Within his gaze, you recognize a profound need to connect, to feel you, to hear that there might be a single soul in this gods damned world that wants him.
What does one say to such a story? The anger in his voice strikes such a wounded chord, you can practically smell the blood. The rawness of it alone makes your eyes prickle with tears, a lump gathering in your throat. How warped he has become not for the absence of love, but the deprivation of it. It’s clear in the way he speaks of them how desperately he wanted them to still love him.
“I’m sorry,” you say so quietly it’s a wonder he hears you. His expression flips completely, morphing into bewildered surprise.
“What?” His voice sounds small.
“I’m sorry that they abandoned you.”
If his own words are a knife in the wound, yours twist it deeper. He flinches like he’s been struck, staring at you with such bruised incomprehension. He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s as though he doesn’t even believe what you’re saying enough to formulate a response. He kisses you instead, holding your jaw in his claws. “I was good once,” he says against your lips, voice hushed as if he’s confessing a far graver sin. “I’ll be good for you. Let me be good for you.”
The desperation in his voice sets loose your tears. You nod, kissing him just as fervently. Centuries of bloodshed on the back of willful neglect is difficult to stomach, but you believe him. You believe the love that went into this tower–this beautiful prison–that they made for him, and you believe the love that you saw in his face carved in stone. You have no doubt that the wonder of him once inspired all those who beheld them, and that they were fickle enough to grow weary of him. Desensitized and disinterested.
When he rejected their apathy, they rejected his humanity.
Homelander lifts you up into his arms, sitting up, kissing you properly with a hand cupping the back of your head, his arm around your middle. His wings curve in around you, and he kisses you until your lips turn sore and you have to protest, your words melting into muffled laughter. He draws back with a brilliant grin. It’s different from the others you’ve seen; it’s the kind of smile that brings deep warmth to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He lingers close to you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“I stopped believing a long time ago that you could be real,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from stealing another quick kiss, his nose purposefully brushing yours. He’s thoroughly starved for every little touch.
“I am. So are you. Not the Devourer, the Scourge, nor the Red Death,” you say, tucking back the stray locks of hair that have fallen over his crown. This, too, had been carved for him. He had been loved once, and as he said, he had been good. There is love in you enough to help him find that goodness again. There’s no reason you cannot live for the being you intended to die for. “Just you. Just Homelander.”
He kisses you, and suddenly you feel as if you’re free falling. From this point on, your life is something new. Something inexplicable and unpredictable. It’s yours, but it’s also his.
All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes the monster in the dark is just your reflection.
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phew. thank you SO much for reading. this fic took me almost a full month to write, and it often felt like it was never going to end. that said, i'm already kind of chomping at the bit to write more in this universe. i feel like these two have a ton of potential, and there's just so much more that i want to do with them now that we have the groundwork done. once again, a huge shoutout to the amazing artist @anon-nee, who not only illustrated our dragon boy himself, but these awesome environment sketches as well. please be sure to go give them some love! The Tower of the Seven
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The Dragon's Lair
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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 18 days ago
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Fever (Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac Choso x f!Reader)
SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY
8k words. A curse with a strange and intimate defense mechanism has done something to Choso, with Shoko busy with more pressing matters, his healing becomes your soul responsibility. And like any good, young doctor, you're willing to do anything to help your patient. ao3
not, not made while listening to Disease by Lady Gaga.
Warnings: (This is a SEX POLLEN fic, which always carries a degree of dubious consent, I feel I have clarified a lot of of the grey-er areas, but if that is not your thing, this is your heads up, see you in the next one <3.) Sex, premature ejaculation, kissing, oral (f receiving), probably a lot of really dumb sounding attempts at medical jargon, smoking, discussions of ovulations/menstruating, Virginity loss (choso), BLOOD, some scent stuff, feelings and some stuff about conception. Choso is pretty pathetic, but i feel like you probably knew that.
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When you woke up this morning, you could feel it. That dull, barely there ache in your lower back, telling you that your cycle was nearing. You weren’t the best at manually tracking your cycle but you had enough lived experience menstruating that you knew the sign posts. Brushing your hair and washing your face, you found your skin was smooth, any dullness you would have usually fussed over seemed to have righted themselves and been replaced with a bouncy, full glow.
When dressing, you found your breasts felt fuller, filling out the cups of your bra, almost to the point of spilling. They felt heavy, the lace pressing against your nipples for a sweet sting. Your hands stayed holding your breasts, tracing your areolas softly, sucking in a sensitive breath. A glance at the clock tells you there's no time for you to rub one out before you have to leave for work. But you feel a tingle of excitement knowing you’ll come home to your vibrator and whatever naughty media you can get your hand on. There’s supposed to be a new sexy, vampire show your friends hushedly told you about. Maybe tonight? You have a bottle of red you've been waiting to open, why the hell not! Some wine, maybe a long bath….your eyes travel to a candle on your nightstand. You can light candles for your own masturbation, right? Wow, you’re quite the romantic. 
The excitement of your evening of solo pleasure carries you through the rest of your morning routine. You pour yourself a coffee, you make sure to grab an umbrella, the forecast predicting rain for the next few days, and double back to plug in your favorite vibrator(s) before heading out. As expected, it's already drizzling, light grey clouds spilling their contents all over the city streets. The cool fall air wets your face, but you don't mind. You had gotten yourself a bit worked up inside, so it was nice to have something to bring you back down to reality. You still had a full work day ahead of you. Your walk to work was quick, a subway ride even quicker, the manager that met you with a car to carry you the rest of the way to Jujutsu Tech was punctual and polite. She was pretty new, a young woman, probably not even 25, but she was a great driver, and made a few jokes here and there that made the usually long drive feel clipped. Arriving at the school, you were quick to thank her and head inside. She was cute, you found yourself thinking as you turned away from the car. 
Young and funny, a sweet face, a good body, how old did she say she was again? 
Oh geez, whats going on with me? 
You shake the inappropriate thoughts from your head, and mark the doorframe as your own compartmentalization threshold. Within these walls you must remain an absolutely iron clad professional.There can be no mistaking it, no distractions, and no anticipation. Students pass quickly to their classes or from the breakfast lines, some wave or bow in greeting at your pass. You're quick to return their gestures. You make your ways down to the hospital floors, making a quick stop by the lounge to refill your coffee. The school grounds took on many purposes, education, training, treatment, triage, conference, protection, archival, morgue…etc. Your business primarily took place on the lowest levels, being the medical wing, the labs, and the morgue. You never had the chops to go into the field after your graduation from Jujutsu High School. Opting instead to apprentice under Shoko Ieri, the reverse cursed technique wunderkind, just two grade levels higher than you. The absolute chance of a lifetime. She was a terrible teacher, truly awful. Too genius to make her lessons practical. But thankfully you weren’t some talentless schmuck, you could hold your own against genius. You learned fast, were excellent with your hands, and eventually Shoko brought you in full time as her second in command. If she was the head of surgery, you were the school nurse. Where she was tasked with reviving fallen sorcerers and performing bizarre autopsies, you mostly reset broken fingers and administered stitches. 
This last year had not been kind to your practice. Far too many familiar faces meeting you in the chilly, sterile basement morgue. Shoko was taking on more and more…experimental (?)  projects. Ones with more weight, more stakes. Especially now. Which meant you held things down more and more. But once you reached the stainless steel double doors leading to the main hall of the medical wing, you knew she was here. You could smell the cigarette smoke, and the lilac perfume she swears covers it. The first exam room light was on, the door cracked, white light seemingly unbroken between the hallway and door frame. The light never changed down here, it was as steady as the tile, and just as cold. 
“Shoko?” You peeked around the cracked door. 
She was prepping the room; someone was coming in. Her words spilled immediately as though they had never had a beginning, she had simply always been talking. 
“Big one coming in. Associate Manager just called, they’re on their way back. Apparently it’s nothing broken or bleeding, but they couldn’t explain any more than that. Go figure.”
The possible orders of procedure began listing themselves in your brain. Shoko exited the room and you followed closely, her heels and yours clacking together in perfect time. 
“Choso, the half curse from Shibuya. Apparently something hit him, or bit him?” Shoko wasn’t often without the right information so her irritation was growing at every reminder, “whatever, we have his blood samples and the remaining curse womb death paintings, if—god forbid— anything serious needs to happen.” 
Viles clinked against one another as her gloved hand searched the refrigerated cabinet of samples taken from each sorcerer. You wondered whose blood was next to yours in there. 
“Can’t you just…fwoo?” You tried to imitate her stupid circle gesture she always made when trying, unsuccessfully, to get you to master reverse cursed technique. 
Shoko turned to face you, “well that’s just it, I won’t be here. I have to get back underground before anything changes. This is your pop quiz, okay?” 
Finally, the intensity dawns on you. You truly had no way to know what would be coming through those doors. A half second later, it dawns on you that none of the supplies she has been gathering are even for you! Every second you spoke was another second you lost to prepare, valuable seconds. 
“Oh shit.” You mumbled, quickly turning back to the labs, scanning your brain for relevant material to gather. Allergy lists, blood, most recent labs, gauze?? 
“I see you get it now, try and be a little faster if the guy’s dying, okay?” A cigarette has manifested between her lips as she heads down the hallway you had only just entered, “call me afterward and update. Bye!” 
And just like that she was gone, the doors swinging shut behind her, but you don’t see them zip up their seam. You are already turned away and heading back into the lab. Pulling anything potentially useful: pain relievers, antibacterial salves and ointments, gauze, anything you could think of. You didn’t know Choso all that well, but knowing sorcerers was a mixed bag anyway. It often felt the ones you did know, were the ones you lost. But he had been in and out plenty of times in the last month, rounds and rounds of testing with Shoko, with assistance by you. He was quiet, kind of emotional, but a great help to your cause. Not to mention he had been quite the looker. Dark, gloomy eyes, excellent bone structure, a body that looked carved in marble. You quickly chastised your body for wasting valuable seconds even thinking about anything except preparing to help save his life. 
 His strange position as both a half curse and a turn coat made him even harder to anticipate. His blood wouldn’t likely be the problem, as it is nearly entirely regenerative. How would that work for infection? Before you can wonder too much, the subject of your mystery arrives with his smaller, too grizzled looking younger brother in toe.
“I don’t know what happened! I’m really sorry, he looks like he’s going to faint. But he walked all the way here. He won’t let me touch him.” 
There was blood, but only streaming from the amorphous block shaped marking across his face. It was hard to tell what shape it had taken on, his face was so flushed. He was panting, the glowing blood spilling into the floor, seeping into this clothes, onto Yuji’s shoes. 
“It’s okay, Itadori. Did he get hit with something or by someone?” You kind of sheep dogged Choso towards the exam table with Yuji’s help, finally getting him to lie down, which caused him to ground and sit back up. 
“This big weird curse squirted some goo or some gas or something on him, but it looks like it sank in, I can’t see where it even hit him. Its was like POOF! And then like nothing! And then…” Yuji’s voice was high and shaking, he sounded every bit the child he was, it was easy to forget both how young he was, and how novice he was to the world of jujutsu. 
Choso groaned again, shifting uncomfortably, rolling onto him back and then his side. You watched the concern wash over his younger brother’s face all over again, big brown eyes unable to look away from his ailing brother. You placed a hand on the top of Yuji’s back. 
“Are you hurt at all?” 
He shakes his head. 
“You did a great job getting him here, Itadori. He’s in good hands, I promise you I’ll do my best to get him right as rain, okay?”
You weren’t completely sure, mystery curse-related ailments were more Shoko’s jurisdiction, but if she trusted you, then you must be more than capable!
“You should head back upstairs, get some rest. I’ll have someone bring you when he’s ready for visitors again, okay?” You have an easy, warm smile, hoping to soothe his anxieties. 
Whether it worked or not, you couldn’t tell. But Itadori nodded, and giving one last look to Choso, turned to head back upstairs. Looking back down at the writhing man on your exam table you weren’t sure how to start, it seemed like every muscle in his body was tensed. He had to relax before you could begin any kind of testing. He was too flushed, his blood pressure, even for him, must be skyrocketing. 
You bit the inside of your cheek, “Choso, do you know where you are, can you hear me?” 
He nods wearily, not uncurling from his core. 
“Choso, do you think you can sit up, for me?” You attempted, bringing your hands close to his back. 
“Don’t touch me!” He barks, heavy pants follow. He rolls completely onto his side away from you, groaning. You can see  the line of sweat drenching the back of his shirt, “I’m sorry, but-- please, please don’t touch me.” 
“Okay, can you try and sit up?  I have to assess you so we can figure out how to make it stop.”you urged.   
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t start to move, he stays still, fully tensed, desperate pants through gritted teeth. You watch the sweat bead up at the back of his neck, those beads begin to fall and merge together, falling under the collar of his shirt. You moved away from him, getting an instant ice pack from the refrigerator, breaking it, and feeling the cold spread across your hands. Returning to his back, you wrap the cold pack in a thin towel, taking in a breath. 
“Don’t.” He gasps out, “please, just hand it to me.” 
You were shocked he was still so aware of his surroundings. Against your wishes you passed him the cold pack, his hand snatches it from you without making any contact with you. You can barely see his face, but you see the muscle in his jaw pop as he pressed the cold pack to his forehead. 
“What are you feeling, Choso? I can't stop it if I don’t know.” You don’t mean to sound so irritated when you say it, you aren’t irritated, you’re worried. 
“Hot. Really hot.” He sighs, moving the cold pack to the side of his neck. 
“Okay, and did it start right after you made contact?”
“What?” 
“Yuji said a curse attacked you, it had some kind of defensive response, and it put you into this state? Do you have any idea what kind of curse it may have been?” You were gaining your confidence back, steeling yourself against the immediate shock that had set in since his arrival. You were a doctor for fuck’s sake. 
Choso nodded his head, “yes. Maybe? I don’t know, I blacked out. It was out of it for a few seconds and then Yuji was shaking me.” His breathing was starting to even out, maybe he was calming back down. 
“Okay, and that’s when the fever started?” You couldn’t yet place what the cause of the fever would be. Some kind of poison? Or venom? 
Choso nodded, another groan, pulling him further, prone on the table. He seemed to hate this position, choking out a gasp as he pushed himself up and sat up facing away from you.
“Choso if you’ll just let me take your vitals and a blood test I can probab—-“ you reached out and touched his shoulder. 
His body shivered, he let out a long, low moan. 
He didn’t have to tell you to not touch him, you pulled your hand back so fast you lamented your reflexes had never been so sharp and would never be again. 
He was frozen, you were frozen. You came back to yourself first. 
“I’m sorry, I know you sa—.” You started to panic ramble 
“You should go. Please go.” Choso’s hands gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went from tan to pink to white.   
This was too much, he needed help now, the cold pack had melted completely, faster than you had ever seen, no longer offering its menial relief.
“Choso, I’m your doctor, I can’t leave you. It’s my duty to help you. Please just be honest with me about what you’re feeling, and I can help. I promise I’ll do everything I can to help.” You began to curve around the table to face him. 
His neck was red and wet, muscles straining underneath like angry snakes. He can’t meet your eyes, his mouth is open, panting to pull as much breath as possible, lips wet and drooly. You're too busy scanning his face to see the way he covers his lap with his hands as you approach. 
“Please, let me help.” You reach your hand out to touch him, even with your gloves on and inches away you can feel the heat radiating off his body. 
Finally, finally, he looks at you, urging his body upward into a sitting position. His pupils are huge, brown irises having been consumed by two large, desperate black holes. There are tears in his eyes, dripping into the blood on the bottom half of his face. 
“It hurts. It’s so hot, and everything is so tight and sensitive. I can feel…everything, so much, fuck, it hurts.” He pleads, finally crumbling under the agony. 
You nod and start to mentally run through treatments for the symptoms as he lays them out. Your main concern is his heart, it’s used to overproducing and pumping at will, but this isn’t at his will, and this isn’t in his routine. This is entirely unpredictable. You’re in your head when Choso stops talking, he watches you closely, the drool along his bottom lip starting to build into a drip. He watches you, as you think a million miles away from him, but so close. He isn't sure if you have ever been this close, you have checked in on him hundreds of times, helped him through his training, you have always been so kind to him, even with his…less than glowing personal history, brief as it was. He can smell your perfume, he had smelled it before, soft and light, but this was something different. It smelled so much stronger, sweet and full, enticing, hypnotic. 
“You smell different.” The words leave him before he can even think better of himself, and once he does the words can't stop, “Good. You smell good. Really good.”
He leans closer to you, pulled in by the smell coming from your neck. You don't stop when he comes closer, he doesn’t stop himself when he presses his nose against your neck and inhales. Your body goes completely taut, you can feel the tip of his nose on your neck, you aren’t sure what to do.
“C-choso?” 
One of his big hands moves your hair off your shoulder, then settles on your waist, he pulls you closer, inhaling at your neck again. His other hand finds your hip and pulls you in. 
“You smell so sweet.” he mumbles into your neck, you can feel his lips move against your skin, “You feel so good.”
The blood from his face was slowing, the mark shaping itself back into a smaller line, you could feel his pulse slowing. The back of your mind flickered alive, a sneaking thought, something you had never imagined to be true, or to be presenting itself now. A defensive countermeasure some high ranking curses employ in order to redirect the attackers focus. Preying upon the most carnal needs, most commonly manifesting itself as prolonged, continuous sensitivity and sexual arousal. You had only ever read about it in the abstract, you never imagined it was something that was still active, let alone could manifest this intensely. Choso’s hands tighten on your hips. Your throat starts to tighten, you are paralyzed as to what to do, the ethics of helping and not helping racing through your mind.  
You press his shoulder, “Choso. Just a second, you don’t know what you’re doing.” 
He pulls back, suddenly, eyes wide with surprise, unsure of how he had found himself buried in your shoulder, how he had let himself succumb to whims that plagued his mind. He felt his throat closing, his heart racing, the heat in his body rising again faster than before. He felt pathetic, like some animal, some curse, that can’t control himself. And to you, who had been nothing but kind and accommodating with him since he first joined. He stands suddenly, putting as much distance between your bodies as he can. From your smell, from the feeling of your skin, from your soft hair between his fingers. 
“I-I’m, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, go.” He heaves out, “I don’t know if I can control myself.” 
“What you're experiencing is an apex aphrodisiac. It won’t end until it has been expelled from your body, which will probably happen over time. But I have no way of knowing how long the effects will last. It could be hours, Choso, days, even.” 
Some deep ache in his abdomen causes him to double, gripping against the counter top so hard you hear the laminate begin to split. 
“I can hook you up to an IV, keep you hydrated and locked in here until it passes, but there’s no guarantee you can last it. Your internal body temperature keeps rising, and without someone here to keep an eye on you, there’s no telling what that fever will do to your brain. Not to mention your heart.” 
He fights your eyes, glaring instead at his hands in front of him, hands that had been attached to you so recently. Hands that burned against any sensation that wasn’t you. He’s swelling between his legs again, it aches, it's hurting, it's dripping onto his leg. He could hear his molars creaking against one another as he grinds them in a desperate attempt for restraint. You approach so carefully, he doesn't notice you until you're close enough for him to smell that intoxicating aura again. His eyes flutter closed, relief beginning to spread through his body, strained muscles loosening just barely. 
“Or…” You stride forward so carefully, not wanting to scare the desperate, hurt animal caught in a trap in front of you, you see his shoulders slide down his back through the damp fabric of his shirt, “I can help you now.”
Choso’s head whips around so fast that the room spins. He worries that this fever may actually be cooking his brain. Surely there was no way you were actually proposing this, he had to be hallucinating. The arousal plaguing his body had finally taken over his mind and shifted  his reality to fit its sick fantasy.  
You nod at his shocked face, trying to stay as even and professional under the circumstances; God, as if there were any chance of that happening. 
“Choso, listen to me, from what I’ve read, the quickest way, and the only guaranteed way to find any kind of repose, is to…” You blush at your words, the impending reality starting to illuminate far too realistically to be called fantasy, “oh god, I don’t know how to say this. By briefly…succumbing… to the urges, it could rid your body of whatever lingering material is causing you to feel this way, or at least offer some alleviation while your body fights the infection. Like scratching an itch? You shouldn't, cause you may open the wound, but it helps you deal with the pain and discomfort.” 
A thousand thoughts pass between the two of you, nothing spoken. He studies you carefully, desperate for any sign of a practical joke, some ill timed faux solution at his expense. Part of him looked twice as desperately for any sign of attraction from you, something that would show him you have felt the same way as him. That you have wanted this, before it became…medically necessary. 
“You think having sex with you will make it stop?” He says bluntly. 
You blush furiously, feeling embarrassed for even saying it, “It may. But of course, it’s up to you. If you want the IV, we can wait it out, you don't have to decide now. If it’s…me I can-” 
“No!” He shakes his head furiously, “no, it’s not you. I mean it is! Fuck, I mean…”
He can barely think, let alone try and string together the way he feels and has felt. The feelings that he never dared to explore. 
“I didn’t want it like this.” He finally sighs out, resigning himself to a seated position on the floor. 
“You…?” You didn't get it yet. 
“I wanted this, you, but I never wanted it like this.” He presses his back hard against the wall, eyes pulled tight together, blood trickling onto the floor again. 
You got it then. You hadn’t known, never even thought that he would look at you like that, that he would hold feelings for you so privately. He had been so quiet, so brief, so polite. Your heart ached for him, he was so sweet, you had always thought so. Even as brief as his time here had been, you thought it was sweet how dedicated he seemed to fixing his mistakes, to training Yuji, to helping the cause. It had crossed your mind, recently even, how handsome he was. Seeing him in this state, entertaining the idea of fucking him, you found you were heating up, yourself. Your legs squeezing together as he lay before you, so desperate for you. 
“I know it's not what you imagined, but I’d really like to help you.” You join him on the floor, looking up at him from under your dark lashes. 
You lean closer to him, he can smell you again, he can see your lips part, he clears his throat “I don’t just want to scratch the itch.”   
You shake your head, “Then let me help you, let me get it out of you. Choso, please.” 
You lean closer to him, you want to help him. The ache between his legs is getting too much to bear, he is too hot, his clothes are too tight, your smell is overwhelming him. Or maybe that's the fever, maybe he’s losing his mind. He scans your face, it's so beautiful. You are the only person he would want to help him. Maybe this was preordained, it was fate that brought him in here to you, so you could help him. So he could finally be with you, if only for a moment. If only once. 
“Okay.” He nods, one of his hands gripping the back of your neck and pulling you in to meet his lips. 
He can’t help himself, he kisses you with every ounce of himself. Every moment of his century in stasis, every ounce of remorse for the people he has killed, every sleepless night ruminating on his place in this world that barely half of him even belongs in. Your lips on his feel electric, sending the synapses in his brain into overdrive. His tongue wiggles past your parted lips, tasting his first of a mouth besides his own. He moans unabashedly at the taste of you.
It's only then that you even think of him being inexperienced, potentially even a virgin. But the time to discuss that has passed, you can barely get air, let alone a moment to talk. His hands are quick to find your bare skin under your shirt. You feel him trembling, his hands shaking as he kneads the flesh of your sides. The taste of him floods your mouth, copper twinged from the blood on his face, but making your lips and tongue tingle with excitement. His hand finds your bra, taking your right breast into his hand and squeezing hard. You cry out, remembering your hypersensitivity due to your own hormone filled body. He pulls off to look at you, heavy blush in his face, spit connecting your lips. 
“I’m sorry,” you swallow, “I--”
“You’re ovulating.” He finished for you. 
“How di--” 
“You smell different.” He leans into your neck again, inhaling deeply from your pulse point, “I can smell how bad you need this. Just as bad as me. Your body is begging for me.” 
It was like a switch had flipped, the gentle, polite, shy man who had stumbled in was gone. Choso’s teeth found your neck, just scratching before he licks a long stripe from the crook of your shoulder to behind your ear, he squeezes your breast again, just as hard, making you keen back, pressing further into his hand. He decides he has had enough on the floor. He scoops one hand around your back and pulls you up with him, laying you down on the exam table before him. In a flash his shirt is gone, and you are slower to follow. But you remove your coat and your top, leaving you in your bra. Choso attaches himself to your neck against, biting, kissing, sucking, licking, anything he can. One hand holds himself up above you, towering over you more like, the other tugs at the button of your pants. 
“Have you done this before?” He asks you, just as he gets them open. 
You nod, feeling his hair soft against your face.  
He hums, “You’ll have to show me what you like. I promise to do my best. I’m a fast learner.” 
Your heart nearly bursts at the thoughtfulness, “This is about you, Choso. Let me.”
You finally touch him back, moving your hands over his torso, feeling the muscles straining, the heat from him spreading to you. You sit up, slotting your mouths together again, desperate for his kiss and grab for the tie of his pants. He hisses as the fabric brushes past his throbbing, blisteringly hot erection. Finally you undo the knot and his pants are quick to fall to the floor, leaving him naked over you. His tongue moves across yours, massaging, tasting, combining flavors with you. Your hand blindly finds his cock, you take it into your hand and Choso howls, separating your lips. He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes screwed up tight. You look between your bodies, to where you're holding him between your still clothed legs, just in time to see the last spurts of cum spill from him, and onto the table. You can't help feeling a little disappointed, having gotten worked up yourself, only to have it end before he ever entered you. But you’re quick to push it away, this isn't personal, it was to help him. Choso catches his breath above you, before looking down to meet your eyes. 
“Do you feel better?” You ask, but you aren't able to finish before he kisses you again, his previous passion now turned up to eleven, his mouth is hotter, he pushes his tongue deeper, his teeth clash against yours, his hand returns to your waistline as he moves to keep undressing you. 
His cock in your hand hasnt retreated, if anything it seems completely unchanged, still raging and red tipped. 
“Choso…?” You whimper against his hungry lips. 
“Please, I need more. Please.”He sounds desperate, almost as if he is begging you
You nod and help him out of your pants, uncaring as they slide though the cum and onto the floor below you. Your heels clatter to the floor as Choso scoops you cup and lays you on your back, folding your legs up. 
“Fuck you’re perfect. I've wanted this for so long. You have no idea.” His voice is low enough he could be talking to himself, were it not for him looking directly at your panties, wet and clinging to your swollen lips, “You’re so wet already. You’re so nice for helping me. Thank you.” 
He slides one thick finger along the part of your lips, still shrink wrapped to the soaked cotton, you bite your lip. The mark on his nose has shifted again, back to the black bar you had grown familiar with, just barely beading up at the very edges. The blush on his face and neck has deepened, it seems his blood is redistributing properly again, aside from his cock, which has made no signs of softening. It still throbbed in your hand, which you kept in a steady, tentative rhythm as he explored you further. His finger slips inside the gusset of your panties, feeling the wetness first hand. 
“You’re so warm inside,” He marvels, again, likely to himself. 
He had come across pornography in the time since his awakening. In his journey to understand the urges of his body, and the innate knowledge that resided within the vessel he now inhabited, he had learned about sex, both for reproduction and for pleasure. He dabbled in masturbation, it was hard not to when discovering the body of oneself. He had watched plenty of movies in the brief instances of down time, many of which outlined the inner workings of sexual relationships on an emotional level. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you, writhing and wet beneath him. He explored your pussy further, the nub of your clitoris against the pad of his finger enough to rouse more cum from him, which lubricated your pumps along the shaft of his cock. It was brief, but the second orgasm made him crumple against your leg, pressed against this shoulder. 
This time you smiled, feeling his warm cum slid down your wrist, “Are you always like this?”
You watched him pant his way through the climax as you brought your messy hand to your mouth, licking it clean, and tasting him. He was sweet, how fitting. He watched you feed yourself his cum and nearly gave you more, drool slips from his mouth and down your leg. You feel it slide down your skin, still too far from your begging pussy, you wanted to feel him there, his mouth, his spit, his cock. The taste of him filled your mouth now, you looked over him carefully as he came back to himself. 
He shook his head, answering you, but looked down at you, meeting your eyes, “my blood goes where i want it, as long as i need it there. No waiting, but I don’t usually cum this much.” 
He was so crass suddenly, you felt your pussy clench, aching to be filled by him. Your body had heated so much, the lace of your bra digging in far too tight, your panties now feeling restrictive. Your clit throbbing along with your racing hard, just barely having been brushed by him. You squirm, hoping that he sees how desperately you need him. And you need him, more than air, more than water, more than anything. The room becomes all there is in the universe, only for the two of you, complete privacy, a perfect oasis for him to fill you over and over and over until the end of time. And he was the perfect one for the job, to go endless rounds, no need for sleep or rest, no refractory periods. He could keep you full, used and full. 
It appeared that the curse’s effects were contagious. You would later speculate that when you ingested his cum, some fraction of the aphrodisiac entered and took host in your body as well. 
Surely that must be the case, what else could explain what you said next. 
“Cho, please, I want you to cum inside, please fill me up. I want it inside, Choso please! I need it, I need you. Please.” you begged, you could barely hear your own voice, but you could see the effect your pathetic keening had on him. 
He tore through your panties in a second, your bra was relieved of duty, likely permanently as he seemed to cut through it just by pulling. The exam table’s icy surface seemed to sizzle against your overheated skin, he moved both your thighs over his shoulders, hands under your buttcheeks, using his thumbs to hold you open for him as he licked a flat tongue over your vulva. You cry out, not caring if your screams travel through the basement floors and up to the populated floors. One lick from him has you cumming so hard your vision goes white. He doesn't stop. Kissing and slurping over and over, you're quivering and shaking, but he can’t stop. The taste of you is too much to give up, even for a second. So sweet, so uniquely you, so intimately for him to enjoy. At this point he holds you up by your hips, as though you are attached to his mouth, your legs wrap around his head, you can't do much else but try to breathe through the intense waves of pleasure that he continues to give you with every flick of his tongue. 
“Choso, please!” You finally cry out, “Please, I need you inside. It's too much, please, baby, I need you.” you pull at his hair, hard enough that you’re sure a weaker, more inhibited man would have wailed. 
But he flicks his eyes up at you pleadingly, not wanting to give you up yet. But seeing your desperate, tear stained face, he relents. He lays you back down, allowing you time to cum down as he wipes a hand over his wet face, using your cum to pump his still aching cock. He squeezes the base, trying not to look too closely, knowing he couldn't cum too soon…again. You gather yourself, pussy weeping onto the table below, but already aching for him again. 
“Lay down,” You tell him, moving onto your knees ungracefully. 
He obeys, laying where you just had been, helping you to move over his lap, settling you just above his standing cock. You keep one hand on his chest, the other grips him again and carefully aligns his tip with your gasping hole. You find his eyes again, as if now is the time to reconsider, but he meets them. He gives you a small nod through hazy eyes, his hair is sticking to his head and his neck, the top of his chest is blotchy and flushed, your wetness makes his chin and jaw shine under the light. He looks beautiful, how could you not have seen it sooner, how magnetic and enticing he was. 
“Please, I want to cum in you,” He begs, breaking you out of your admiration, “Please let me give you my cum, please. Please.” He squeezes your thighs, urging you down. 
You sink down slowly, the feeling of finally being connected, sending you both into fits of pleasure. You can’t stop your hips, as soon as they fall fully and meet his, you fuck yourself back down onto him, starting a pace riding him that would normally be laughably advantageous for you. You just cant stop yourself, the tip of his cock kisses your g spot perfectly, fucking even deeper into you than you thought possible, no vibrator or partner you’d had before had ever made you fee like this.The stretch hurt so good, as you moved over him again and again.  
Choso was just as bad, an absolute mess underneath you. He had no idea what he was in for. Your pussy was so much hotter and tighter than he imagined, it felt like his cock would break off, but he never wanted it to end. He could feel every hitch of your breath though the snug walls flush with his dick, he could feel your heart beating, he thought he could hear your blood moving through your body. He couldn't keep his mouth shut, whimpering, whining, gasping, begging you for … more, … or slower, …  or simply just please. 
please. please baby please. more. fuck. yes more. just like that. fuck. please please please please pleasepleaseplease. too fast, it's too much. too much. fuck. please. don’t stop. please please, don't ever stop.  
He watches you ride him, your breasts bouncing with every lift and drop of your hips. He pushes himself up with one hand, using his knees to move you with him. His shift into a seated position pushes him even deeper inside of you. You arch your back feeling him press against your cervix, whining and pulling him closer to you. He brings your breast to his mouth, biting, sucking, swirling his tongue around your nipple. You struggle to ride him like this, but you grind down on him regardless, the friction of his public hair against your clitrois combined with his work on your nipples, more than enough. You aren’t sure how you’ll ever be able to go without this feeling. You paw at his back and shoulder, wanting to keep him close forever. He coos in your ear something unintelligible about just relaxing and letting him take care of you. 
“You’re so good to me, baby. Let me take care of you. You want to be full, right? Let me fill you up. Thank you.” He coos, moving your hair off your neck and letting him return to his new favorite place, your neck. 
He carries on fucking into you, your clit grinding against his pelvis, his lips on your neck, his other hand holding your flush against his chest. You feel your eyes roll back, your kiss along his head, relishing the sound of him going back and forth between whining and praising you. Your skin is blooming, your thighs are shaking, you feel the swirl of building pressure in your abdomen. 
“Cho….” you whine. 
He carries on pumping his hips, grabbing at your ass, digging in his nails. 
“Me too,” He chokes out, bringing your lips to his as he fucks you both to your peaks. 
A vastly different type of orgasm descends upon you both. Profound and all encompassing. His mouth stays on your as long as he can stand it, leaving humid breaths on your lips before he pulls off moaning and tossing his head back. You feel fat tears roll down your cheeks, Choso buries himself as deep as he can into you, spilling shot after shot of cum into you, you feel him pulsing inside of you. He rakes his nails up your sides, sending you trembling. You whine out, Your body swirls and melts into his. He collapses the pair of you back onto the table, keeping himself sheathed inside of you, not allowing any of his cum to escape you.
 You pant on his chest, pressing your ear to where you can hear his heart beating, it's fast, but not nearly the frenzy it was when he first arrived. His big arms encircle you, your bodies feel warm and hot pressed together, but you can feel the chill of the basement air on the sweat of your back, you feel your own heart slowing as you catch your breath. Your own heart rate is steadying as well, at some point the surrounding area had come back into your view, he had stopped bleeding, and both of you felt the effects of the aphrodisiac leave you.  
Choso lies beneath you, feeling your weight against him, feeling your body tremble in his arms, his cock still feeling the quivering, fluttering walls around him, taking his cum, pulling it deeper inside. He was told early on that biological children weren't in the realm of possibility for him, but he already had his family; his brothers, and the ones they loved. But now, with you rested on top of him, he felt sad knowing despite the timing, and despite his efforts, he would never-- could never give you your own. He realized the curse’s effects had lifted, either from time or sweat or exertion they had been exorcised from his body, and with them went his sureness that this had been a good idea. 
“Choso?” You spoke softly, conspiratorially. 
He hummed in acknowledgment. 
“Do you feel better?” You raised your head to meet his eyes. 
He looked down at you, seeing your warm, kind eyes worrying about him. Surely this couldn’t have just been for today?  
Choso nodded, his dark eyes crinkling at the outer edges in a soft smile, “I think it’s over. My heart is still racing, but I don't think that's the curse anymore.” 
You leaned forward, feeling brave, and a bit anxious from how quiet it felt now that the screaming and moaning and panting had stopped. Connecting your lips again, now that the worst had passed you felt no need to hungirly attack his mouth, neither did he. You gave him the sort of kiss you would have given him if he came to you with his feelings and had taken you out. You weren’t the sort of people to be able to go out very often, but whatever date it may have been, wouldn’t have been as successful as this bizarrely unorthodox first encounter. When the kiss was over you tried to move off of him, but he held you down, pumping his softening dick into you once more. You let out a high shaky breath, almost giggling. 
“I meant it when I said I didn't want to just scratch the itch with you.” Choso cups your face in his hand, making you look at him, “I know I’m not your best choice for…someone to be with…I can’t give you a family or guarantee you a future. But I will keep you safe and treat you well.” 
You feel your heart swell at his admission, and more so at the look in his deep, sad eyes, a look that wants nothing more than to be understood, and cared for. 
“Well, I don’t know about forever, but how about after we clean up here. You and I go to dinner and we figure out where to go from here. I like you a lot, Choso. Like, a looooot.”
You punctuate your sentence with a clench of your pussy around him, making him gasp and grip your hips again. You start to laugh and he swats at your butt. 
“I’m serious. After this we have a lot to talk about, but I know that I’m glad we did this.” You suddenly feel shy, despite how bare you have already been. 
Choso smiles again, a contemplative smile, but an honest one, he holds your hips again, “Ready?” 
You nod and move with him as he guides you off his lap, moving to the side so you can lie next to him. He keeps one hand on your waist, not wanting to be parted from you yet. You push some of his hair back on his head, tracing your finger down the slope of his nose, then over his top lip. Choso soaks in everything you give him, sighing blissfully occasionally, so unafraid to make sounds and show you how he feels about you. You're inexperienced with men so open, and so willing to express it abstractly, or at all. You find that Choso makes you nervous, the enigma of his shy, stoic nature, and his desire to be known and understood, compounded with a half curse’s worth of shamelessness. You smile at him again sitting up on the table. 
“I’m willing to bet Shoko has at least one cigarette in here. I know it's a bit cliche, but I can dig around for it if you’re interested.” You stretch a bit, already starting to feel the lactic acid building in your body. 
“I’ve never smoked before.” He shrugs, leaning on his elbow. 
You sit up, not worried about covering yourself and begin rummaging through drawers. You found a pack in the second one you opened, slipped one out and then had to search for a lighter, which proved harder to find. But a long forgotten box of matches sat in the bottom drawer of the desk. Choso watched as you searched, admiring seeing your body in so many shapes, at so many angles. It was so beautiful to see the human form so relaxed and unposed, he had to fight the lump in his throat back down, so as to not disrupt you with his emotion. YOu climbed back up to the table and lit the small, thin cigarette. You inhaled and blew out a plum of soft grey smoke before passing it to him. He followed your lead, feeling the smoke slide down his throat, burning on the way down. He quickly exhaled, not wanting the taste to overpower yours on his tongue. 
“Not for you, huh?” You took another drag. 
He shook his head, “Maybe another time.” 
You hummed to yourself, taking in the room around you. Choso had no interest in the room, only to watch you leisurely inhaling and exhaling. He thought that all the movies he had seen had gotten it wrong, that while he didn’t know exactly what it was he was feeling, he knew that no one could have ever felt like this. You turned back to him, another beautiful smile coloring your face. 
“There is a locker room down the hall, we can get cleaned up.” 
“Together?” He reaches for you. 
“Sure, Cho.” You leaned in and kissed him again, your fingers under his chin tilting his face up to you. 
You got up from the table, haphazardly draping your coat around yourself, avoiding as much of the cum that had pooled as possible. You offered him his, mostly, unstained trousers. Which he shuffled in to. You discarded the cigarette and hung on the door, turning back to face him. He was still watching you, picking up left over clothes, brushing his sweaty hair back. 
“Coming?”You flirt. 
He feels his face heat up and nods, watching you leave down the hall. He grabs the last of your discarded clothes, replaying the events of the last few hours in his mind. 
“Cho…” he whispers to himself, a little celebration, before following you down the hall. 
Your evening with your vibrator was long forgotten as you made your way to the locker room, with something far more enticing catching up closely behind. 
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I hope y'all enjoyed!!! I really hope i can keep this moment going and get out some of the ideas i have had over the last two months! Cause i've been thinkin big thoughts!!! I cant believe there are almost 200 of us on here, I'm so flattered and grateful! Thanks for indulging me with this one. Love you, see you next time! -- Doodle. <3
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