pairing: clark kent x reader
cw: smut, implied afab reader, detailed cock description, size kink (girth, curve, heavy leaking), overstimulation (both reader + clark), possessiveness, breeding implications (clark cumming inside reader), messy cum play / excessive cum, mild cock worship, oral fixation (mentions), soft dom clark tendencies (whining, needy, desperate), praise kink (clark praising reader, reader overwhelmed by him), slight somnophilic undertones if interpreted (from exhaustion overstimulation context), implied emotional dependency (clark clinging, not wanting to stop)
you're thinking about clark’s dick again.
because how could you not? it’s almost a problem — the kind of thing that stays in the back of your mind during the day, lurking like a half-forgotten dream, like the heat off sun-baked asphalt or the feel of his calloused palm on your throat.
its slightly paler than the rest of him, with the faintest gradient of color that darkens where it matters most. the kind of cock you can tell stays heavy even soft, obscenely thick — thick enough that when you first dropped to your knees and wrapped your fingers around it, you couldn’t get your hand to fully meet around the base. one of those things you both half-laughed at the first time, though clark’s laugh was tight and frayed at the edges, like it physically hurt him to joke about something that made his stomach twist up so tight.
and it’s heavy, too — warm and weighty against your palm, a pretty flush already gathering at the tip before you even do anything, fat droplets of pre-beading and threatening to spill over at the barest touch. he leaks like it’s a biological malfunction, an embarrassing, syrupy need that never seems to stop, stringing from his tip to your wrist while he hisses through his teeth, murmuring soft, ruined apologies against the shell of your ear like he can’t help it.
there’s a curve to it, one you don’t always catch with your eyes — it isn’t obvious, isn’t obscene. but you feel it. god, you feel it. when he’s got you split open underneath him, when you’re writhing against the mattress and clenching around him so hard it makes him stutter his hips, you feel that gentle bend pressing into the most sensitive part of you, scraping maddeningly slow along your walls until yourwhole body’s tensing like a live wire. mind-numbing is a generous word for it. it’s more like being torn in half and reassembled around him.
and the thing about clark is, he overstimulates himself as bad as he does you. you’ll be beneath him, pinned under the impossible press of his weight, those big hands splayed possessively on your hips or tangled tight in your hair, and he’s whining through every thrust. panting ragged against your skin, muttering broken things like 'so good, so tight, can’t—fuck, can’t stop', because even when his cock’s visibly twitching, so sensitive it’s driving him stupid, he won’t pull out. won’t slow down. he wants to fill you, wants to stuff you so full of his thick, heavy release that it’s leaking out around him while he keeps going. and it’s so much. an actual, shameful amount.
by the time he cums, it’s never one neat pulse — it’s messy, viscous, endless. you swear you can feel it flooding you deeper, warmer than it should be, spilling out before he’s even finished. and clark’s never quiet about it, either. no, he’s desperate. one hand cradling the back of your head while he whimpers against your throat, hips jerking in tiny, needy thrusts as if he can’t bear the emptiness the second you’re not milking every drop from him.
and omfg, his happy trail. keeps it trimmed, neat, because even though he could let it go wild, he’s always a little shy about looking too unkempt, the boy from smallville still somewhere under the god-tier frame. but it’s there, that soft dusting of dark hair starting just under his navel, trailing down to where it thickens at the base of his cock, and you swear every time you catch sight of it, you get a little lightheaded. and yet here he is, flushed and wrecked, reduced to a whining mess in your hands, drenching your insides and clinging to you like you’re the only tether he’s got left on this earth.
and every time, you promise yourself it’ll just be a memory. that you won’t think about it next time you’re out together, next time he wraps an arm around your waist too casually or calls you ‘darlin’ in that low, honeyed voice. and yet here you are, thinking about clark’s dick. again.
gosh i cannot stop thinking about what kissing clark kent is like
clark, with his soft voice and softer smile. clark, who looks at you like the world begins and ends with you.
and every kiss with him starts slow, sweet, bordering on shy little pecks before he gets a little braver and starts to hold you like you carry the light of the yellow sun in your heart.
his hands are always warm. you swear he runs hotter than the rest of the world. he is warm, the same way the summer air is warm, just as the sun starts to set, that comfort lives somewhere just beneath his skin, seeping through the fabric of your clothes.
he holds you like it’s second nature, like his body was made to know yours. one hand cradles the side of your neck, broad fingers spread gently across the back of it, grounding and protective, sending a jolt of thrill down your spine.
his thumb moves in slow, absent-minded strokes along your jaw, tracing the shape of you like you’re something he never wants to forget. the pad of it brushes the curve beneath your ear, then glides along your cheek, as if he’s coaxing your face toward him with nothing but tenderness.
his other hand settles low at your waist, fingers resting just above the dip of your back. he draws you in without force, just a steady pull, soft and sure. he likes to keep you close enough to feel your heart beat against his.
he likes to hold you with one hand, cupping the side of your neck, fingers splayed across the back of it, gentle touch at the nape, his thumb caressing your jaw lovingly. his other hand rests at your waist, nearing the small of your lower back so he can pull you close and closer if he wants.
and then his lips, gosh, those soft, full, plush lips, moulding with yours. he tilts his head just a little to kiss you, those curls shifting with his movements.
clark only pulls away to look at you, it’s like he can’t help himself. his gaze lingers on your lips before it climbs back to your eyes, all soft and starry. he leans in again just enough for his nose to brush against yours. it’s a small, playful nudge. he does it again, just to see your smile start to pull at the corners of your mouth. you try to stay still, to meet his gaze with mock sternness, but it’s useless. he always gets it out of you—that shy, quiet laugh, the one that bubbles up before you even realize it.
you shake your head, barely, and murmur something like “you’re ridiculous,” but your hands are already reaching for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like they’ve done this a thousand times.
you tug, gently but with purpose, pulling him in, and he follows your touch like gravity. his body leans into yours again, his hand at your waist tightening, fingers pressing into the dip of your back until there’s no space left between you.
he exhales through his nose just before your mouths meet again, a sigh caught halfway between a laugh and a moan, like he’s been holding his breath waiting for this.
when his lips find yours again, it’s slower this time. deeper. needier. his mouth parts beneath yours enough to invite you closer; an open door you’re already halfway through.
he sighs into your lips, letting his breath mix with yours, letting his hand at your waist tug you even closer if that's possible. his lips part open just enough to invite you in and deepen the kiss, which you do without hesitation, of course.
your tongue presses past the soft seam of his lips, slipping through the smallest space between his teeth. he squirms.
just the slightest shift of his shoulders, a barely-there gasp caught in his throat, like he wasn’t ready for it, even though you do this every time. you always find his tongue with yours in that same way. and he always acts like it’s brand new, like it takes him by surprise.
you huff out a laugh against his mouth, and his fingers twitch at your waist in response. he pretends he’s not just as flustered as you are.
you press your tongue between the gap of his teeth, huffing out a laugh when he squrims, every single time, the moment your tongue finds his between the press of your lips.
clark doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, by the way. he kisses with his entire body. he loves to press into you with every inch of himself: with the curve of his shoulders as they dip into yours, the line of his chest as it meets the rise of your own, his hands, his breath, the subtle tremble that runs down the length of his spine
he presses into you like he’s trying to become something smaller, something moldable, something soft enough to be held, and not feared. every inch of him seems to lean forward, like he’s being drawn to you without choice, like your touch rewrites gravity, like he wants to crawl into your chest and make a home in between your ribs, beside your beating heart.
he makes these quiet, barely-there sounds as he kisses you—little hums low in the back of his throat, hushed and breathy and almost shy, like they’re slipping out against his will. they’re the kinds of sounds that feel secret, just for you, tender things that fall apart in the space between your mouths.
and he likes to talk sometimes, actually, he really likes to talk, especially when he’s kissing you. not before. not after. no, right in the middle of it. lips still lazily slotted against yours, breath catching in that soft space between moan and mumble, words tumbling out all muffled into your mouth like his brain can’t help but share whatever’s swirling in it, even if it’s completely useless.
and half the time, it is.
you’ll be midway to melting into him, half a second from sighing his name into his mouth, hands moving to run through his hair, and there he goes—muttering about laundry or whispering a quick “can y’remind me to call ma back later?” in the same breath he’s using to kiss your bottom lip.
sometimes, it’s sweet. so sweet you want to cry a little—the way he’ll suddenly whisper a soft, breathless “you’re so beautiful,” right into your mouth. other times, you’re trying to decipher something about how he finally remembered to pick up that weird milk you like with your coffee after work, the one he’s forgotten to grab three days in a row. you try not to laugh into the kiss, but you do, every single time.
but god forbid you ever try to say something mid-kiss.
maybe it’s something stupid, like a joke you forgot to tell him earlier or something silly jimmy and lois got into at work today. maybe you just want to say “i missed you,” or remind him that the oven’s still on—but he doesn’t care. not in that moment.
he’ll nod, pretend to listen, let out these soft hums of encouragement like he’s totally invested. “mhm,” he’ll say, eyes fixed on your lips, watching the way they move. catching every flick of your tongue. every flash of your teeth.
he tries. he really does. but his patience is paper-thin, and the moment you pause to breathe, he’s already leaning in again.
“baby,” he’ll whisper, voice low and warm and soaked in affection, “can we talk later?”
his hand comes up to your cheek again, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, gaze drifting from your eyes back to your lips and then back again.
and listen, he does that thing where he looks right into you. eyes soft and pleading, blue as a spring sky just before rain, his lashes heavy, his smile barely there. it’s not fair.
he says your name like it’s the most precious word he knows, like he’s afraid it might fall apart in his mouth if he says it too fast. and just like that, whatever you were going to say is gone, the thought evaporating into the heat between your bodies, replaced by the ache of wanting to feel his mouth back on yours.
Your landlord starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pointing a finger half-heartedly between the two of you. “Try to keep the noise down. Every time you two go at it, it’s like the whole building shakes.”
Clark makes a strangled noise that might’ve been a cough. His face turns crimson. You blink, mouth falling open for a second before your brain catches up.
Your landlord shrugs. “Just saying. I’ve had complaints from apartment 4D and 5B. They thought there was an earthquake.”
Or
Clark has a tough day so you decide to make him feel better. You both just hope your neighbours don't kill you with how loud the two of you tend to get.
Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, oral sex (male receiving), p in v sex, cuddlefuck, creampie, established relationship, Clark being cute and bringing you pie
WC: 4.5k
A/N: When I tell you I dove at my laptop as soon as I got home from the cinema to start writing about him. Hope you enjoy!
***
Clark was exhausted. He's finally on his way to your place after a busy day. He had saved a derailed train, stopped a bus from plunging off a bridge, and spent half his afternoon fighting a mechanical octopus that some genius decided to let loose in downtown Metropolis. All his deadlines for Perry were miraculously met. He needed to relax. And as always, his favourite pick-me-up was you, and your beautiful smile.
Even though he was tired, he'd gone out of his way, stopping by that little bakery in France you said you liked, just to bring back a pie for the two of you to share. It was only a quick flight, after all. And you? You were more than worth it.
Climbing the stairs to your apartment, box in hand, he was just about to knock when he felt eyes on him.
He turns and finds a man standing on the landing nearby, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze sweeps up and down Clark like he’s scanning for faults.
“Can I help you, sir?” Clark asks.
“So this is the Clark, huh?”
Clark blinked. “You… know me?”
The man smirked. “You’re famous around here.”
The thought that you might’ve gushed about him, even just a little, made his stomach flip with happiness.
“She’s talked about me?” he asked cautiously.
The man let out a sharp laugh. “If you call her screaming your name for five hours last Tuesday talking about you, then yeah. She talked plenty.”
Clark has faced alien warlords, collapsing buildings, and a multitude of near-death scenarios. But he had never turned such a vivid shade of red in his life.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting the bakery box in his hands, trying desperately not to combust on the spot.
“…Good to know,” he muttered.
Hearing voices outside, you furrow your brow and make your way to the door. You open it slowly, only to find your landlord standing there… and Clark, awkwardly frozen beside him, holding a very fancy pie box and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
“I was just coming to let you know there’s going to be some work done,” your landlord says. “The electricity guys are coming tomorrow around noon. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
You nod politely, though there’s… something in the air. A weird tension you can’t quite place. Your landlord starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder with a look somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pointing a finger half-heartedly between the two of you. “Try to keep the noise down. Every time you two go at it, it’s like the whole building shakes.”
Clark makes a strangled noise that might’ve been a cough. His face turns crimson. You blink, mouth falling open for a second before your brain catches up.
Your landlord shrugs. “Just saying. I’ve had complaints from apartment 4D and 5B. They thought there was an earthquake.”
He walks off whistling, and you just want to hide in a hole. Maybe that’s why your neighbours were giving you the evil eye.
Clark clears his throat, eyes fixed firmly on the pie box in his hands. “I, uh… I brought pie.”
You stare at him, then burst out laughing. “You better come in, Earthquake.”
Clark steps inside, cheeks still flushed, pulling off his shoes and setting them neatly by the door. He watches your back as you walk into the kitchen, the soft hem of the oversized shirt brushing your thighs.
“Is that my shirt?” he asks with a lopsided smile, eyes narrowing playfully. It looks familiar, something he must’ve left behind weeks ago after a late-night visit, and clearly, you’d commandeered it.
“You don’t mind, do you?” you ask over your shoulder, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingers.
That’s the last thing he minds. It’s simple, it’s soft, and yet somehow it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. You, in his shirt, in his space, like you belonged there all along.
“You look…” he trails off, stepping closer, his voice rough from everything he’s held back today. “...like something I want to come home to every night.”
You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. Your smirk falters into something softer. “Well,” you say, turning to face him, “I guess you’ll just have to keep leaving shirts here then.”
He closes the distance between you in two strides, one hand settling gently on your hip, fingertips brushing the hem of the shirt. “I’ll leave a drawer if it means I get to see this again.”
You giggle before your eyes land on the dessert box, the familiar design making you gasp. "Did you get that from France?" you ask, your eyes widening.
“Having Superman as a boyfriend has some perks.”
Your fingers trace the edge of the pastry box, still in awe. “You crossed an ocean for a pie.”
“I’d cross a galaxy if it meant seeing that look on your face,” he says, almost shyly.
Your heart clenches because you know he’s serious, you can tell.
“You didn't have to fly all the way out there for me. Thank you, Clark.”
You wrap your arms around him, warm and unhurried, and pull him in for a kiss. It’s sweet, just like the man in front of you. His free arm, the one not cradling the bakery box, slides instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer with a low, contented sigh.
For a guy who can lift entire buildings, he’s impossibly gentle with you. The kiss deepens just slightly before he murmurs against your lips, “Next time I’m taking the fire escape. Fewer witnesses.”
You laugh, and he grins, finally starting to relax.
But still feeling a little tension in his shoulders, you say, “Long day?”
“You can tell.”
“Always,” you smile back.
Clark always carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who could hold the world together and often did, even when everything around him was chaos. But you could tell he’d been through the ringer today, and you had an idea of how you could cheer him up.
“Come here,” you murmur, pulling him in by the tie, your eyes locked on his with a teasing smile.
“Is that an order?” he asks, already following as you step backwards down the hallway toward the bedroom.
“More like a light suggestion.”
The truth was, you could order him around all you wanted. Superman or not, when it came to you, Clark was more than happy to obey.
You both get to the bedroom, and it doesn’t even take a second before your lips are connected. It’s like you’d both been waiting all day for this moment. The tie slips from your hand, forgotten, as your arms wrap around his neck.
He lifts you with effortless strength, lips never leaving yours, and you gasp softly against his mouth as your back hits the mattress in a rush of motion. Clark follows you down, bracing his weight so carefully.
He shifts, smooth and sure, flipping your positions so you’re straddling him now, hands resting on his chest. You had to admit, you loved the view.
Those pretty lips, slightly parted from the kiss… his dark hair tousled just enough to be unfair, with that one perfect curl resting stubbornly on his forehead. You could stare at him for hours and never get bored.
You reach for his glasses, sliding them off playfully before slipping them onto your own face. You strike a mock-serious pose.
“How do I look?”
Clark’s breath catches in his throat, eyes softening as he takes you in.
You, in his glasses. He’s never seen anything so perfect.
“…Cute,” he says in complete awe, like you’d just stolen the air from the room.
“I’ll keep them for now, then.”
And Clark didn’t fight to get them back one bit.
His hands slide up to rest on your thighs, warm and steady, fingers pressing gently into your skin like he’s grounding himself, like you’re the only thing anchoring him right now.
And you, with a grin tugging at your lips, lean down to kiss him. It’s slow at first, before deepening and becoming more intense, feeling the way his breath hitches as your fingers expertly begin to unbutton his shirt.
“Your landlord—” he murmurs against your mouth, voice already fraying at the edges.
“We can be quiet,” you whisper, brushing your lips along his jaw.
“And your neighbours—” he tries again, even as his hands tighten on your hips.
“It’s okay, I swear,” you mumble, moving to kiss his neck, and take off all your clothes. With each touch and kiss, more articles of clothing are tossed aside until you’re both in just your underwear.
You start kissing your way down his body, taking your time, savouring the warmth of his skin, the way every inch of him is sculpted like he was carved out of something divine. He’s all strength and softness, breath shallow as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.
“You don’t have to…” he says quietly, a flicker of hesitation in his voice.
Clark was big.
Like really big.
Like make your jaw click big.
He never wanted to inconvenience you or hurt you, so for the most part, he shied away from blowjobs. But you loved it; struggling for air as you try to take as much of it down, tears welling in your eyes when it hits the back of your throat, hearing him moan your name as he fucks your mouth desperately.
But most of all, you wanted him to feel as good as he could make you feel. Wanted him to know just how much you appreciate him stretching you out with his cock and fucking you into next week.
You pause, looking up at him, your fingers toying gently with the fabric of his boxers.
“I want to, okay?” you whisper. “I want to take care of you. Will you let me?”
His eyes search yours for a second, then he nods, just once.
“I will,” Clark relents. He knew you just wanted to make him feel good, and who was he to deny you of that?
You pull down his boxers and pull out his hard cock, licking a few stripes from the base to the head. He gasps out your name, and it’s like music to your ears.
You loved the way his brow would furrow, that little crease between his eyebrows he got when you teased him just enough to toe the line. It was equal parts adorable and dangerously hot. His jaw would tense, his eyes would darken, and then he’d say your name in that low, warning tone that made your stomach flip.
“I’ll be good, Clark, don’t worry,” you’d say sweetly.
If you were in a more wicked mood, you might tease him a little more, but your main goal was to help him relax; you had to remember that.
You lick his tip a few more times before taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. Saying it’s a tight fit would be a gross understatement, but still, you venture on. Moving up and down his cock with hollowed cheeks, and jerking whatever you couldn’t manage.
His girth feels heavy on your tongue, stretching your lips as far as they can go, but it’s all worth it to see him like that. He’s fisting the sheets, his head thrown back against the pillow, trying his best not to moan too loud.
But you want him to, you want to hear him say it, to feel his voice raw with need. So you start moaning softly, the vibrations travelling up his length, making him tremble and let out a low, guttural sound. There’s no way he could keep quiet now.
“Oh please… just like that,” he groans, his hands lifting from the sheets to find their place tangled in your hair. He’s hungry for you, just like you like him.
Hearing that you take his cock even deeper in your mouth. You look up from where you are, and what you see is beautiful. Clark is usually calm, all discipline and controlled strength. Seeing him like this, glistening blue eyes and desperate like he’s about to cry, vulnerable, his body softening as he pulls you close, needing you like he needs nothing else but you, was perfection.
It was a side of him that few got to see. You adjust as he rocks hips up into your mouth, but can’t stop yourself from gagging when his cock hits the back of your throat.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, pausing for a moment, his hands moving gently from your shoulders to cup your face.
You look up at him, still wearing his glasses with wide, doe-like eyes and a small hum of reassurance, your mouth still occupied. Without breaking the connection, you take his hand and guide it back to your head, inviting him closer, letting him know that you’re more than okay.
All polite-like, he holds you by the hair gently, not pulling, but cradling the strands as he respectfully fucks your face.
“So good, too—too good,” he gasps.
Wanting to push him all the way to the edge, you deepthroat his cock. Taking him as deep as you can go, fighting off your gag reflex.
“Good…golly…” he groans, voice rough and breathless.
Your eyes flutter open, burning with tears from the searing intensity, the lack of air, but beneath it all, exhilarating.
The sloppy sounds fill the room as you suck him off with a kind of dedication that should be rewarded. His fingers curling in your hair, muscles trembling with the building tension. The sounds of ragged breathing, and your name echo in your head, which sounds especially good coming from him.
You’re flooded with sensation, swallowing hard as quickly as you can, your eyes rolling back, caught in the overwhelming rush.
He helps pull you up gently, both of you gasping for air, still wrapped in that beautiful haze that lingers long after.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly, concern threading his voice as his fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead.
You nod slowly, a shaky smile tugging at your lips.
“Perfect,” you whisper, and you mean it. You could do that all day.
Clark doesn’t miss a beat.
He takes his glasses off your face and pulls you in to kiss you senseless. It’s a slow and deep kiss, your tongues teasing and tangling with one another, tasting him on your lips like something you’ve been craving for days. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he pulls you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“Clark—”
He cuts you off with another kiss, deeper this time, sucking on your tongue and dragging a moan from your throat as your brain turns into absolute mush. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he bites down gently, just enough to make you gasp.
In your time together, you’ve come to realise something very important: Clark Kent is much freakier than he looks.
He finally pulls away, lips swollen and breath shallow, one hand steadying your dazed, breathless self as he grins. “Sorry,” he murmurs, not sounding sorry at all. “You were saying?”
“I don’t remember,” you reply with a goofy smile, and you aren’t lying. Maybe that’s another superpower he has, kissing you so hard it gives you amnesia.
“Lie down,” he orders. It’s gentle, but with that unmistakable edge of command that makes your heart flutter.
You roll onto your side, and he follows, settling in behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist. His bare skin presses against yours, like a living shield around you. You melt into his embrace, feeling his breath against the back of your neck as he snuggles closer, one leg slipping between yours.
It’s been less than a minute since he came, and you feel his hard cock, pressing against your entrance.
“Can I?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you murmur, bracing yourself. Even after all this time you’ve been together, it’s still a sensation that takes your breath away, adjusting to his size, to the way he fills you completely.
Finally, he pushes inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate him, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your arms reach back instinctively, your nails digging into his bicep.
“Clawing at me now?” he chuckles.
“You can take it, Superman.”
He pulls you closer by the waist, matching his thrusts to yours with a slow, steady rhythm that sends shivers down your spine.
“I sure can,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your neck. He guides your hips up and down, matching it to his own movements, moving you like you weighed nothing.
“Clark…” you whimper, voice trembling with need and affection.
Slow, deep thrusts follow, each one hitting you right where you’re weakest, unravelling you bit by bit. Your pussy flutters around him like it’s trying to suck him in, and Clark would love nothing more than to sink into you and never come out.
“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your ear, his voice thick with emotion.
“I love you too.”
Your breath hitches as Clark presses his hand gently against your stomach, feeling the steady rhythm of his moving in and out of you.
“K-keep doing that,” you whisper, voice trembling with need.
The little gasps and moans you let out spur him on. Nothing else feels so right, so electric, as being this deep inside you, your walls pulsing around him like they were made for each other.
“Just a little more…” you plead, voice breathless.
“I got you,” he promises, tightening his grip, holding you steady.
You feel so at home in his arms. You swear his arms were made for cuddling and fucking as well as lifting derailed trains and whatnot.
And then, finally, you finish, knocking all the air out of you, every shudder and sigh a perfect, messy symphony of release.
His release comes soon after, but he doesn’t stop. Just keeps fucking you through your orgasm, the copious amount of cum he pumped inside of you, spilling out onto the sheets with each thrust.
“Love it when you cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice thick with desire.
He presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his lips warm and reassuring against your skin.
“I know,”
He slows to a stop, giving you a moment to blink repeatedly as you come back to yourself. Your heart’s still racing, limbs deliciously heavy, pussy pumped full but still wanting more.
You knew this wasn’t the end of the night. Not even close.
Without pulling out of you, he gently positions you on your back, strong hands guiding you with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter.
“I want to see you,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent as he settles between your thighs, arms braced on either side of you, caging you in.
He starts kissing you everywhere he can reach. Your cheeks, your neck, the curve of your collarbone. Each touch of his lips is a promise.
“You’re…” he whispers against your skin, planting a kiss just below your ear.
“So…” another kiss, this time over your racing heartbeat, his voice growing huskier as his body moves with yours.
“Beautiful…” he breathes, looking into your eyes as he presses deeper.
His pace quickens as he moves against you, the tension building with every breath. It’s hard to hold back with you, but even now, even with the fire in his veins, the last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt you. His strength is immense, but his control? Unwavering.
His hand slides up to cradle your face, eyes locking with yours, vulnerable in a way only you ever get to see.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he whispers, voice thick with emotion.
He could stay like this forever. Filling you up, again and again and again. Watching you whimper your way through another orgasm. It was overwhelming in the best way. He was overtaken by you, by your body, by the way you moved with him like you were made just to fit together. He could hear your heartbeat fluctuate with every kiss, every shift, every whispered moan, and he caught it all.
Nothing hit him harder than the sound of you like this: breathless, aching, saying his name like a prayer.
He knew your body so well, all its secrets, all its tells. The way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed that one spot on your hip. The tremble in your voice when he took his time. The way your nails dug into his back when you were close.
When he shifts, angling his hips just right, a sharp cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, his name, raw and desperate, tearing from your throat as your fingers clutch the sheets beneath you.
“Clark… Clark… Clark!”
It’s the only word you can remember, the only one that matters, echoing between you like a mantra.
No wonder your neighbours were pissed.
And the way he looks at you, utterly undone, you know he feels the same.
“Don’t stop—please, I can’t—” you beg. He’s fucking you so good, you don’t know which way is up. The sound of your bed’s headboard hitting the wall repeatedly echoed through the room, a steady, rhythmic thud, and you bet there’s another dent forming. Which is a shame since Clark took the time to fix it the first time you both put a hole in the wall.
“That’s it, Clark…” you breathe out, voice trembling, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body arches into his.
“Wanna be so full…,” you whine, need thick in your voice, every inch of you aching for him, for more, for all of him. If you were being honest, you wanted his cum spilling out of you for weeks.
He groans at your words, the sound deep and rough in his throat, control hanging by a thread. “You will be,” he promises. As if to accentuate your promise, you feel his large hand press gently down on your stomach, like he needs to feel how deeply he’s a part of you. And it’s deep.
“Just for you, Clark… just for you,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath as your toes curl and your body tightens around him, every nerve lit up and alive.
You’re so close, your body trembling, every breath coming in shallow gasps as the pressure builds, sharp and sweet.
“Clark…” you whimper, voice high and wrecked, so needy, so soft, so pathetic on your tongue, but it only makes his hold on you tighten.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, “Let go for me.”
That’s all it takes for you to give in. Your legs tremble as your climax washes over you in fierce waves, every nerve ignited and alive.
Feeling you tighten around him, he buries himself deep inside again, filling you up completely.
But again, this wasn’t the end of the night. You keep fucking into the early hours of the morning because Clark’s stamina is godly.
But you had accomplished your mission. Gone were any thoughts of the day before. All the stress, the exhaustion. All that mattered now was this. You and he, melting into one another with ease, with familiarity, with a kind of quiet devotion that needed no words.
After each orgasm, Clark kissed your skin with a reverence that made your breath catch, like every inch of you deserved worship, like he was reminding himself you were real, here, his.
***
After the dust settles, you and Clark lie together, coming down from your highs. Clark ought to have tough days more often if it meant having sex like that.
“I don’t think we stayed all that quiet,” Clark murmurs, brushing his fingers through his tousled hair, the faintest blush still lingering on his cheeks.
You groan, flopping back onto the bed. “Yeah, my neighbours are going to kill me.”
“There must be an alternative,” he says thoughtfully. “My place?”
You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “And have your neighbours mad at you? No thanks. Let’s keep one of our reputations intact.”
You pause mid-stretch, then slowly sit up, pressing a finger to your chin as if putting on an imaginary thinking cap. A mischievous smile begins to tug at the corners of your lips, the kind that always made Clark just a little nervous.
“I know that look.”
“We could always…,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. You both knew exactly where that sentence was going.
Clark lifts a brow. “We can’t have sex in the sky all the time.”
You smirk. “Some of the time.”
“Okay… some of the time,” he agrees.
You lay back down and rest your chin on his chest, fingers idly tracing patterns on his bare chest. “What about your ice castle?”
“The Fortress?” he chuckles. “The flight there might be a little tough on you unless you want to land with frostbite.” He pauses, thinking. “Maybe we should look for somewhere with thicker walls, you know… together.”
You blink slowly, thinking, ‘Is this really happening?’
“Clark Kent,” you say slowly, voice full of suspicion and amusement, “is this your way of asking me to move in with you?”
“It is,” he answers resolutely. He’s only the slightest bit worried you were about to tell him to kick rocks, only slightly, totally not nervous at all.
The thought of having a place that felt as much yours as it was his. Shared routines, quiet mornings, and loud nights made something warm bloom in your chest. An assortment of both your books scattered across the coffee table, indulging his love of breakfast for dinner when you cook together, waking up tangled beside one another, no longer needing to say goodbye.
You shuffle your way around, draping yourself lazily across his body, your chin resting on his chest. “I’d love to move in with you.”
Clark’s eyes soften instantly. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” you say, grinning. “And I think that calls for a celebration.”
You slide back on top of him, straddling his waist again with a wicked smile.
He laughs, breathless. “You’re insatiable,” he says, right before pulling you back in for another kiss, arms wrapping securely around your waist.
“Wait, what about the pie? We could celebrate with that,” Clark says innocently.
“The pie? In bed?” you smirk, tilting your head. “What exactly are you planning to do to me, Clark?”
His eyes widen a little. “You know that’s not what I meant… I actually don’t even know what you’re insinuating—”
You shut him up with a kiss, slow and hot, fingers sliding into his hair. “We’ll eat it after,” you whisper against his lips.
headcanon: saja boys x girly! girlfriend! fem! reader
summary: (prize for @ikykwkleeknowwww : wasn’t specified if individual or all together, so I did the first) you’re such a sweet and innocent angel, so it’s a real pity having a demon boyfriend. all they can think of is corrupting you, and they’ve reached their limit on holding back ♡
he’s the one silently whispering dirty secrets to your ear, and before you could even register them, he covers them up with praise— afterall, he’s got to let his sweet girlfriend know that she’s absolutely adorable (among other things that you swear he’d never say). you’d feel hands on you whenever a dirty dreams occurs in your head, and it’s like they know what you’re dreaming about. dreaming about jinu fingering you at a restaurant? the ghost hands know. and it’s so odd, because the more you date him, the more prominent they become. but would you complain? maybe you don’t want to be treated gently, so the opposite it is.
“Babe?”
Your shoe is rubbing a dirty spot on the floor of your lover’s office, your hands behind your back. The pink ruffles on your socks move lightly with each twist of your calf, and your red lips begins to burn with how hard you’re sinking your teeth on them.
The wet dreams you’ve been having had reached their tipping point, and the rose toy you had hidden in your room was practically sobbing with how much you’ve used it. And it simply wasn’t enough for your aching pussy. You were too shy to tell Jinu, and maybe a little embarrassed too.
Afterall, who would love a dirty girlfriend who wants to be manhandled and stuffed with cum to the very brim?
Your boyfriend looked up, his glasses hanging on the crook of his nose as his pen lifts slightly from the paper. He had to hold back every single fucking urge in him to pin you down and lick up those sweet tears threatening to slip from your beautiful eyes. You, an absolute angel in this cruel world, and he wants to ruin you so so so horribly.
To see your pretty chubby cheeks stretch to take his cock in as he bunches your hair and forces you down— or even bite your flesh until you’re decorated with bruises and hickies for everyone to see that you’re no longer innocent at all. To have you like his sweet cumdrop, where only a snap of his fingers would bring you immediately through puffs of purple smoke. And most ultimately? To adore you as you’re twitching and gagging from the overflow of his seed in all your holes; and absolutely tattered in your lolita clothing.
Oh but don’t worry though, he’ll always remember to buy you more, because he loves the idea of tearing open pretty presents like you.
“Yes, my love?” he asks, biting the inside of his cheek as he stares adoringly at you, “Is there something you need?”
You flutter your lashes, wet and teary as you tilt your head, “I can’t stop dripping from down…there.” You felt your throat burn as you ask, “Can you help me?”
You watch him set down his pen, along with his glasses as he folds them. He leans back on his chair, legs spread as he interlocks his fingers. Swallowing thickly, you listen to him as he motions you forward with a nudge of his head.
And as you walk, he says;
“I thought you’d never ask love, I’m always here to help you in any and every way possible.”
“So,” you kneel down before him, resting your chin on his knee as your hands hold onto his leg, “Can you fuck me like my dreams?”
“And what are your dreams love? I can’t just read your mind, you know.”
Romance ! - the mind corrupter
he’s the absolute worst one. he’s literally romance, love. his words are always so melodious and sweet, you don’t ever think about the double meaning in his sentences. “you’re so divine, I’d drink you up like wine!” or even “you’re such a cute cupcake, makes me want to eat you up and see what you taste like!” but you would never think he’s the one who has you wondering why you’re so fuzzy whenever he touches you. a slight graze here, or a slight graze there— you’re driven absolutely mad. and he’s so horribly nice as he sits you on his lap, grinding you on his leg obliviously to you as he teaches you about your body. “it’s ok, sometimes good girls like you need help from nice guys like me.”
“But I don’t know how to get rid of it.”
You’re pursing your glossy lips, tasting the chemicals on your tongue as you stare up at your lover. He’s been nothing but an angel to you, helping you feel so good every night just so you could sleep well. But on days where he’s on tour and can’t bring you, you can’t even sleep.
You miss the days you guys would go on dates, in the park or at a cafe— it relieved you. You ached to have him touch you more though, and you wouldn’t even hide that. He knew much more than you, and it made you look and adore him with such newfound awe.
He was like your god, and it reminded you of how much you wanted him to reward you.
But what does your god think of you? He surely loves you, and looks at you in such loving regards since you’re his sweet girlfriend. The carefree and innocent girl who wore ruffles, sparkles, and hearts for herself was no more. The moment you decided to be his, he ruined you every single day.
Now, you dressed for him. All those pretty clothes you had? Gone. He’s gifted you much cuter and shorter ones so that he’d always get to thirst for you. And now with your consent months later, he’s able to give you the release you both needed.
Oh, but not so easily.
He makes you wait for it, heck, even prolongs your orgasms just to hear you whine and throw a fit. Romance also finds it so hypocritical of you after too, when he doesn’t stop finger-fucking your pussy as you squirt your juices all over the floor. You’re sobbing and gagging on your own saliva, your acrylic nails digging lunar marks on the demon’s flesh as you’re jerking in his hold. So best believe that he really wants to see you like this again.
“I taught you a lot of times sweetheart,” he pouts, setting down his perverted book as he stares at you from his chair, “You can’t help yourself?”
You’re so embarrassed as your knees hurt from kneeling on the cold wooden floor, but it hurts more as your aching cunt burns for attention. No matter how hard you finger yourself, or grind on your lover’s pillow— it’s never enough.
“No…” you mutter, “So can you teach me again?”
Your not-so-innocent eyes quiver, pleading as he lets out a sigh of dismay. How could he deny his sweet love?
“Alright sweetheart,” he motions for you to move forward, “But don’t cry when I don’t stop.”
Mystery ! - the gentle corrupter
he’s the one with a bit more held-out restraint when it comes to wanting to corrupt his darling. he’d probably make you hunger for touch, as oblivious as you are to his double-meaning compliments and needy kisses. he’s also the one who got you addicted to his kisses; it started innocently from the lips— a peck actually. from there, it began trailing down slowly; neck, shoulders, collar bone, chest, tummy, and down to your sweet peak. but how were you to know right from wrong? right, that you acknowledged that you loved his lips on you. wrong, that you wanted them all the time. he’d restrain himself just to see you fidgeting and squirming a little more in your seat— but you’re just too shy to tell him you want attention. though, on the subject of oral, he’s got you literally squirming from head to toe in obedience.
“But babe, I-I can’t let you go.”
You tug on his sleeves, stretching the yellow fabric as you stare up at him with pitiful eyes. Today was the start of his tour, so every week he’d be gone and away from you— and you simply couldn’t have that. Not when your skin tinged with the constant need to have soft lips praise you with adoration.
Mystery tilted his head, giving you a pat on your bow-decorated head, “Don’t worry love, I’ll be back soon. So—“
“No!”
Your voice comes out stronger than you intended, making your cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger. And your lover? He was absolutely delighted to see you like this. His beautiful girlfriend, finally taking charge for herself? He wanted to see you begging, screaming, crying for him— just to let him take you here and now. For you to let him spread your legs, and kiss your thighs in the most convincing and princely manner— only to attack you with bites and inhuman hunger.
It even made him drool, but a simple gesture of licking his lips hid it;
“Why so mad this time?” Mystery asked, crouching to your level as he booped your nose, “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”
You huffed, swatting his hand, “No! I-I just can’t let you go to that dumb tour! Not when…”
Your voice trails off, your hands turning to fists as you try to find the words to speak. It was one thing to tell him he can’t go, and it was surely another to tell him to politely eat you out. What if he thought you were nasty? Or worse, what if he was a virgin?
“Not when what?” The silver-haired grinned, “What’s staying on the tip of your tongue?”
Your lips purse together, yet your internal fury still stays visible through your eyes.
“Do you need my help?” His hands hold your hips, walking them slowly to the wall of his room, “I know a thing or two about tongues.”
A yelp escapes you when he drags your back up the wall, stopping until your thighs rested on his broad shoulders. His hot breath practically fanned the flames in your pussy, and he teased you as he slowly got closer to the sweet destination.
“Though, if you don’t want me talking to those lips, then I don’t mind talking to these…do you?”
Your pink lips part, a breathy sigh leaving you before you shakily whisper;
“P-please do.”
“Your wish is my heart’s command.”
And then he ravages you, his tongue wide and wet as he licks a long stripe against your ruffly panties. The little bow on top tickles his nose, so he angles his head, treating your pussy like your lips. He suckled your puffy fold, his wet muscle sneaking under the fabric expertly to taste your dripping juices.
Maybe he won’t go on tour after all.
He had to ruin his darling first.
Abs ! - the sex connoisseur
he’s such a bad influence. how did a girly girl like you ever end up with him? was it maybe when you saw him at the gym? his body is absolutely divine, and way too easy for him to have you like his little pet. he didn’t have to use his words, not when you were corrupted the moment you saw him. it didn’t even take a week before you devoted yourself as his sex slave, and you thought you were the one in control— ‘I’ll use him to satisfy me, he’ll never know!’ but could you really blame yourself? you’re still so new, and you’re dating a demon with a thousand years of experience— so best believe a sweet girl like you could never have a chance of overcoming a cruel bastard like him.
“Why the dress?”
The demon was swallowing his protein shake for the day, the kitchen dimly lit by the curtains that blocked the light. There, you stood with a tight pink dress; lace followed a trail on the curve of your breasts, with a big white bow squeezing them together.
“Why not?”
You had watched a video last night for dominating men— and one of the most frequently covered topics was appearance. Luckily for you, you owned a ton of cute outfits that only needed a trim here and there to look appetizing enough. Sure, maybe you were a little gullible and dumb— but in you, you didn’t feel that way.
Today was surely the day you corrupt this man and make him yours.
His eyes followed your figure from your legs, and all the way up to your face— your cheeks painted a soft red and lips puckered to a sharp crimson. It reminded him of the day he fucked you in the humid bathroom, the mirror showing him the smeared lipstick all over his neck and chin— and it was so hot to him, especially when you were sobbing and moaning on his cock hitting your sweet spot every time.
Abs raised a brow, scoffing;
“Alright then, but you’re not allowed to go out in that.”
Fluttering your lashes, you sassily replied, “Then make me. Because you don’t tell me what to do—“
You don’t get to finish your sentence when strong fingers wrap around your delicate throat, and a voice with barely concealed lust huskily whispers to you;
“It’s taking every fucking fiber in me to not fuck your sweet pussy down this marble floor, so,” his other hand gropes your ass, giving it a painful yelp-inducing squeeze;
“Don’t make me destroy you.”
Baby ! - the innocent competitor
he will take his time corrupting you. he’s the in between of having some and little restraint. but how can he handle himself when such a beautiful and sweet soul like yours comes his way? its so fucking pure, and it took him not even a day to begin ruining your soul. he’s professional at mind-boggling you, making you feel like the bad one to assume sexual things— or even question your sanity as you finger yourself in the bathroom. he can play innocent very well, and he only needs to hear your sweet lips tell him the magic words he wants to hear. it’s the last sign he needs for him to know that you’re utterly broken and ready to be made again— just for him.
“Say what again?”
You’re clutching your heart locket as you speak more sternly, interrupting your boyfriends lyric-writing session;
“I want sex.”
You expected him to look disgusted at you. To throw you the middle finger and get out, or even worse, call you a horrible slur that only women in dramas get told. And to your utter surprise?
He laughed at you.
I mean, why wouldn’t he? You’re still new to this other side of a relationship, and you most bluntly say you want sex? Who wouldn’t laugh? Although inside, his ego is flamed with excitement.
You’ve changed, and for the better.
You wore long pink fishnets, and your toes inside your white flats scrunched in embarrassment. You couldn’t help but stare down at your dirty hands, who were too small to satisfy you the way you dreamt to be satisfied.
“Y-you just—wait— say that out of no where?” Baby covers his mouth, masking his grin, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
At this point, you didn’t even know if your makeup was covering your hot cheeks— but it wouldn’t matter soon anyway. Swallowing thickly, you replied in a meek voice;
“I-I just want sex, like people do in the movies…” you take a shy step forward, lifting your chin, “And I demand it, now.”
Your last word was said more like a question than a command, and it only makes the man before you scoff. His blue hair is ruffled as he takes off his beanie, and tosses it on his desk. Sure, his wish was desired. But this was practically the most adorable he’s ever seen you, and it simply wasn’t the way he wanted it to be.
He needed to see you broken.
Begging and swallowing his cum as you kneel before him.
That’s what he wanted.
“Oh, y/n,” his voice changes tone, eyes instantly relaxed to a glare, “Dont’cha think that’s a bit rude? Especially for someone who’s probably just gonna’ sit there and take it as I do all the work.”
You gape, blinking fast as you immediately reply with something;
“I-I saw a video on how to ride a man! I can be the one doing the work—“
“So my darling is watching other mens’ cock and porn? That’s not the girl I remember dating.”
His words twist your perception, and you feel your hearting bursting out of your throat. You can’t lose him like this. You can’t.
“I—“
Baby waves his hand at you, and you zip your lips obediently. His fingers then motion you forward, and you listen as well. You were willing to do anything to keep what you have. Anything.
He sighs, caressing your cute face with fake pity, “You’re so precious darling, so precious and pure.”
In an instant, he squeezes your cheek, pinching it as he pulls you eye-to-eye. You squeak, your hands finding leverage on his chest as he whispers to you in that same, manipulative voice;
“If you suck my cock right now, I’ll forget that you even saw such dirty things— understood?”
Sylus picked up the phone, his screen flickering to life, initially consumed by the crackling static that echoed eerily through the silence.
"Ah, the mighty leader of Onychinus," The voice started. "What a pretty and docile wife you have, such a delicate thing won't last long." The screen then showed you, bound tightly to a chairs, your body slightly leaning to the side.
"How much do you think she's worth?" The voice was followed by another, dripping with malicious glee.
"Hand us the money or.... your precious wife pays the price."
Their sneerings echoed throughout the call, their confidence blooming in the dark space they believed to be their control as your lover remained silent.
Then, a low chuckle broke the tension, smooth and eerie, coming from Sylus himself.
"You really do underestimate my wife." He said, his tone almost affectionate, as if he found the entire situation amusing.
The screen flickered, a heartbeat of black.
A minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Then, the camera came back to life as the scene shifted, your face filling the frame, soft and radiant as ever, not a single trace of distress. The ropes? Gone. The fear? Vanished. It's as if you found the entire ordeal boring and nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
But nothing escapes Sylus's eyes as in the corner, he could see the way the room was enshrouded with chaotic disarray, bodies sprawled across the floor, blood smearing the walls. The smug captors that once held the upper hand? They were now completely undone by your hands, his wife had shown them exactly who they were dealing with.
With a playful tilt of your head, you winked directly at your husband, sending him a teasing flying kiss, giggling before ending the call.
Sylus stared at the now dark screen when the door to his office swung open, Kieran and Luke rushing in frantically. "Boss, is she alright?!"
Your lover's lips curled into a grin, as he shook his head, letting out a deep, amused laugh.
Comparing hand sizes and tracing lines on their palm with Carmy pls I beg
OLIVE IM SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT gen audiences. all fluff!!
carmen lays on top of you, cheek pressed firmly to the soft curve of your breast. his curls tickle your chin, then your lips, as you press a sweet kiss to the crown of his head. lithe fingers trace you softly before you lift his hand.
"your hands are so big," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his palm. you hold your own hand flat against his, fingertips barely touching the bottoms of his own, with your hand stretched out as much as you could. you giggle, leaning up to give him a sweet kiss.
carmen hums against your lips, kissing you until you need to part for air. when you lay back on him, one palm on his warm chest, he flips it upwards. gentle fingers trace the lines of your palm, and you smile.
▹ SYNOPSIS: Chan gets a little upset upon realizing that you weren’t wearing your engagement ring, but you make it up to him by letting him fuck you in his studio after a long day of work…
▹ WARNINGS: KINKTOBER SPECIAL, swearing, kissing, teasing, dry humping and heavy petting, mentions of food, breeding kink + cream pie (chan’s a possessive freak and in love with the idea of getting you preggers lol), dirty talk, light breath play (f. receiving), pet names (good girl, baby), that’s about it
▹ WORD COUNT: 1.8k — DAY 2
BEING THE AMAZING partner you are, you decided to stop by the studio where your fiancé was working and bring him some dinner, and by dinner, I mean a box full of his favorite takeout foods:
Grilled beef, steamed rice, broccoli teriyaki, and a chicken egg roll…
He was working a few hours overtime that day, and aside from the fact that you wanted him to have something good to eat after expending such efforts, you really just missed his presence…
You missed looking at his gorgeous face and hearing his adorable voice while he did absolutely nothing but vibe with you… you missed having his hands on you and your hands on him as you both got lost in the lusts of your own hearts—
“Chris,” your voice came out gently as you stood behind him, caressing over his tense shoulders while he remained seated in his desk chair, “just rest your little head, baby… you worry too much…”
“I do… you’re right…” he sighs deeply while leaning his head back against the headrest to look at you, the smell of takeout distant in the room.
His eyes are clearly tired as you know he’s been overworked lately, but you hold yourself from bringing it up to him, placing a gentle kiss to the center of his forehead instead.
“Thanks for stopping by, though, princess,” he went on, and you already feel like he’s trying to push you away, despite how you literally just got here, “I have to get back to work now, though—”
“You’re always getting back to work, Channie…” you chuckle slightly, and his eyes flutter shut as your thumbs come across a particularly tight muscle in his left shoulder…
Digging in, you massage the knot gently, but the pressure you apply doesn’t feel so soothing at first—
“Ouch, that hurts!” Chan exclaims with a wince, and you simply smooth over his skin with your touch, massaging a different area instead as you decided to give that spot time to heal on its own.
“Look… your body’s aching as if you’ve been working in a field all day… that’s why I’m here to make you feel better,” you return, and his body is clearly starting to relax the more and more your fingers smooth along the base of his neck and back down his shoulders again, soft hums coming from his throat at the sensation.
“But you don’t have to, love…” he says, voice a little weak as the warmth of your touch reeled him into relaxation, “just having you around is making me feel better already…”
“Aww,” you pout facetiously, even though he can’t see it from where he’s sitting, “You missed me, Channie?… Your very own nagging fiancé?…”
“Nooo,” he corrects, turning in his chair now to get a proper look at you, “I missed my beautiful wife to be, and my adoring partner in crime…”
Reaching out a hand, the veins in his arm appear highlighted under the dim studio lighting as he guides your face into his before giving you a kiss that you both smile into… weakly though, considering how it’s literally 4 in the morning...
Breaking from the contact, you tug at his wrist slightly, not letting go until he finally gets up from the chair, letting you lead him to sit on the couch.
The look on his face now very clearly lets you know what’s on his mind, but you simply decide to sit on his lap in a straddle position, wanting him to make the first move from here…
And he did.
“Can I?” He asks while lifting his hands from the couch cushion, hovering them over your hips and being careful not to touch until you allowed him to.
“Of course, silly,” you chuckle, making him blush slightly at your brief fit of laughter.
“It’s not like anyone’s here to tease us for it,” you went on, thinking back to the countless times that your fiancé’s friends (specifically Minho and Han) would outwardly gag whenever you two publicly display affection—
“You’re right, baby… no one’s around to bother us,” Chris breathes in agreement, finally letting his eager hands rest at your hips before adding a bit of pressure as he caressed up your waist and along your thighs, “The two of us could practically get away with doing anything we want for the next few hours in here…”
You didn't even have to ask to know what he was specifically implying, but you decide to play dumb anyway, just because you absolutely loved hearing his strong Aussie accent come out whenever he was sexually worked up with you…
“Takeout’s still waiting to be opened, Chris,” you whisper, letting your nails gently drag against his scalp as he melts into your touch, his silky curls looping around your fingers, “we shouldn’t keep it out for too long or else it might spoil…”
“Well I’m not in the mood to eat anymore,” he whispers back in a raspy voice, and you let your weight sink further into his lap, your bottom resting right above the spot his true hunger was pulling him most.
“Use your words, baby… tell me what you want,” You press, leaving a kiss along his clenched jawline… and another one on his pretty thick lips… and a third one against his Adam’s Apple that makes him groan out loud…
Or maybe his groan had more to do with the way you were also rocking your hips against his clothed hard on, making his hands slightly grip at the fabric of your jeans for any sort of leverage.
“Why… of all the bottoms that you own, did you close to wear tight, denim jeans at a time like this?” He asks with frustration, making you giggle a bit at the way his chest rises and falls every time you circle in his lap, the rough material tantalizing him…
“Don’t you think they make my ass look good, though?” You tease with a pout, watching as he smirks at your question, only to hiss at your movements again.
“They make your ass look great, babe… but they also make it impossible for me to touch you properly…”
He was doing it again, you thought to yourself… That thing where he gets you to do what he wants without specifically asking.
Yes, Chris was a typically a pretty confident guy, but sometimes, you had a way of bringing out his shy, reluctant side when it came to sexual things, but you still found it cute nonetheless.
“Fine, then… since you’re too shy to ask for it properly, I’ll just do it myself,” you say in a bratty tone while getting up from his lap, and he visibly scoffs at the way you stood before him now, fingers meddling with the buckle of your jeans until he stopped you.
“C’mere,” he huffs, pulling you close to him by the belt loop of your jeans until you fall into the couch beside him with a gentle plop.
His smirks again once he finally unzips the rough fabric just enough to see a leak of what’s beneath, and the expression is so wide that his dimples come through…
At first, you’re not sure why he’s a grinning mess, but you understand once his fingers run over the lace of your black panties, the same pair that he brought you a while back on one of his tours cross-country.
“I’ll take a wild guess and say you wore these for me, huh?” He asks with a husk to his tone now that you’re bumping your knee against his clothed hard-on, and his hips subconsciously chase the friction.
“Mhm,” you hum softly, lifting up on your elbows now to look at him better, “I just didn’t expect you to take so long to get ‘em off me…”
“How cute,” he returns, and your eyes follow the veins trailing his forearm, his flexed fingers hooking at either side of your hips before tugging your jeans the rest of the way down and past your ankles with your panties, tucking them under the couch cushion for his private use later…
“Cute?” You repeat with a raised brow, spreading your legs before him as you both watched each others cores intently, practically itching within yourself for him to finally untie his sweatpants.
“Yup. Love it when you get in your little attitudes,” he says plainly, but his smile is half-hearted now as he leans over you, bracing himself with his hands before kissing your forehead.
You try to follow where his eyes are looking, but his bangs are in the way, and you can’t help but ask him what the matter is…
However, he doesn’t answer immediately, simply taking your hands in his and placing a kiss to l the closed knuckles of your left hand, right before pinning your wrist at either side of your head on the couch.
And that’s when it hits you… the reason behind his sudden change in aura:
You forgot to put your engagement ring on…
You had only taken it off for a second before coming to meet him in the studio because some oil from the takeout bag had spilled on your hands… while washing up in the bathroom, you had put the ring in your purse and simply forgot to put it back on…
Though, you knew at this point it’d be worthless trying to get that story through Chan’s thick skull, as he had already made up in his mind that you were playing games with him…
“Where’s your ring, baby?” Your fiancé asks while shimmying down his boxers and trousers with one hand, and you near choke on air at the sight of his glossy and girthy tip springing out before you, red and angry with need.
“I-it’s in my purse,” you stammer, almost feeling guilty now that you had even forgot to put it back on in the first place, “I can go and get it—”
“No need,” he interrupts you, lining himself up with your entrance as the depth of his voice equally catches you off guard, “just make sure you put it back on after this, yea?”
You winced at the sudden stretch of his cock filling you up just right, and your hips are already trembling at the delicious fullness.
“Channie… it slipped my mind, baby… please,” you say, and you’re not quite sure what it is that you’re begging for, but you always had a habit of going dumb around his cock, even if it’s just resting inside you.
“I gave you a simple order, love… now, do you understand me, yes or no?” He asks more sternly this time, thrusting into you with a sharp hit of his hips, and you internally cringe at yourself for hiccuping at the force.
“Y-yes, I understand,” is all you manage to say as he continues slamming his hips into you at a painfully slow pace, looking you dead in the eye as you crumble beneath his intense gaze.
“Say it again,” he orders, and you listen, gripping at his biceps and biting your lip as an attempt to keep your moans in, but the little whimpers and whines end up spilling out anyway.
You can feel Chan's cock twitch inside you every time you say yes for him, especially with the way your walls are throbbing around his length as he groans the words “good girl” in the midst of it all.
“So so good for me,” he continues, grinding his hips in a way that makes his pelvis graze your clit rythmically, and you’re sure you’re seeing stars once his hand finds your neck, just resting it there to get your attention.
“Good enough to let me cum in you, huh?” He questions, but it’s more so of a suggestion than anything, and you oblige to it, nodding your head in desperation as your hips start to follow the movements of his.
“Yes, baby… w-want you to fill me up so bad,” you whimper, and he lets a groan out right after you… one that makes your stomach flutter with emotions given how beautiful it sounded.
“Gonna put a baby in your pretty little stomach,” he huffs in between fucking you open with all his strength, “and at that point, who cares if you don’t have your ring on? Everyone will know who you belong to once your tummy’s all swollen because of me… tell me who this pussy belongs to…”
“Y-you, Channie,” you blabber out pathetically, your own mouth filling with saliva at how amazing he’s making you feel right now.
“Louder…”
“It’s all- fuckkk… yours, b-baby,” you cry out, and it’s a weak cry at that given the way his hand is tightening around your throat, but you don’t mind… not one bit when it feels THIS. Fucking. Good…
He finally lets his lips find yours in a needy kiss, and a string of spit keeps y’all together as he break away to let out a moan of his own, but you’re pulling him back into you, wanting him to be as close as possible to you in this moment.
The couch starts to creak to the rhythm of his movements, and you couldn’t be more thankful for the large cushions it was made with, otherwise you’re certain the both of you would’ve been on the floor at this point.
“Feels so fucking good inside you, baby… sooo fucking good,” he grunts, and you know he’s almost close just from the way his eyebrows are screwing into adorable little crinkles, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier by the second.
“F-fuck~” you mewl against his lips, feeling the knot in your own stomach tighten as his cock hit mesmerizing places inside you.
He keeps his hand snug around your neck while looking into your eyes, and his hips can’t bare to piston into your cunt any longer once your walls clench around him, making him feel dizzy in the head.
“Cum in me,” you plead with a soft voice while, lips puffy from how hard you’d been biting them, and Chan finally lets himself go, barely getting any extra thrusts in before painting your walls with his hot release, groaning shamelessly like a porn star.
“Oh my God,” he grunts with a strained voice, using his last bit of strength to prevent himself from collapsing on top of you given how spent he is now.
“Wait, Channie,” you say, thighs still trembling a bit as he pulled out of you, a bit too early though for you to remind him that his cum would only spill out—
“Shit,” he swears under his breath upon realizing, rushing to catch the fluid spilling from your cunt now with his fingers, trying not to get it on the couch, but to no avail.
He instead lets his fingers push the cum back into you, holding his wrist there until he’s able to reach for a napkin off of his desk to help clean you up.
“Stop that, baby,” he says with a mischievous smile, but only because your walls were sucking his digits in, preventing him from taking them out to clean them off, “give me some time to recharge and then we can go again, okay?…”
All you can bring yourself to do is hum at his words, and he in turn offers you another gentle smile.
Applying light pressure to your lower stomach, he finally gets your walls to release his fingers from the confines of your sloppy hole, wiping the residue off with the napkin.
“Didn’t expect you to cum this much,” you say in a sleepy tone while reaching for your jeans to slide them back on.
“Me neither,” he chuckles, readjusting his pants before getting up to toss the soiled napkin in the bin nearby, “but uh... just know that if in three weeks, we find out that our first future child was conceived on this couch, never tell this story to anyone…”
⋆♱✮ Huge thanks to everyone who made it to the end of this fic, concluding DAY 2 of my Kinktober Event !! This was also my first time publishing any written work for Stray Kids (my ult group XD) so feel free to tell me how I did in the comments !! Finally, if you're interested in reading more works like this, check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist here by clicking one of these links !!
Warnings: angst, bitchy girls, heavy daddy kink, caregiver Ari, sexual harassment (not Ari), implied violence, hurt & comfort (kinda), fluff, comforting, protective Ari
Read the prequel here: Let you down
Pick you up masterlist
“Daddy, please come pick me up. They are all so mean to me,” you sniff on the phone. “I don’t want to stay here. I thought this is going to be fun, but it’s not.”
The girls from your workplace watch you on the phone. They roll their eyes and huff.
“She calls her daddy to pick her up. We were right. She’s not mature enough for our little club. I don’t know what a girl like her wants in New York.”
Certain Things : Leah Clearwater* (13/13 finished)
Series Masterlist
Summary: Conner Swan moves to Forks Washington in hopes to help his sister Bella through her breakup with Edward. In hopes to find happiness again. He finds much more.
Collarbones : Jasper Whitlock Hale (8/?)
Series Masterlist
Summary: Camila Johnson was only 16 when she was diagnosed with leukemia. By the time she had turned 17, the doctors had tried everything to save her. Her family is close to giving up hope when they hear of a doctor who may be able to help her. The only problem is, he lives on the opposite side of the country. The small family soon decides to move to the small town in Washington, in efforts to prolong her life. In doing so, her life changes forever.
Golden Hour : Rosalie Hale (0.5/?)
Series Masterlist
Summary: By the young age of twenty years old, Grayson Cly had been through his fair share of trauma. Trauma that had left him a single father. Trauma that only grew more complicated when he joined his cousin Sam Uley as a shape shifting wolf. But, what happens when he imprints on the one thing he was born to protect the world from? Can he stick to his instincts when it comes to that protection, or will the persistence of that imprint derail his life even more?
Uhm hi 👋🏻 could you please write something about Gojo, Nanami, Geto and Toji's reactions to their significant other's life being threatened? Like heartbreaking stuff that ends up well? 👉🏻👈🏻
LOSING YOU w. jujutsu kaisen men ˚ 𐙚 ⋆.
.angst/fluff.
• — ft. satoru gojo, kento nanami, suguru geto, toji fushiguro. took me ages to get to but i’m a sucker for angst, so i just had to do it. thanks for the request, luv!
• — content. their reaction to your life being threatened.
• — tw. mentions of death, violence, murder.
satoru gojo
₊˚⊹ ᰔ as soon as your name came out of yaga’s mouth, satoru wasted no time and vanished. he searched every place he knew, every corner and alley, in a matter of seconds. there was no coherent thought in his mind while he teleported. the only thing he could clearly see was you. that you were in danger and that you needed to be saved. that he couldn’t let you die and that he previously had so clearly promised that he’d never let anything happen to either you or him.
a liar, he thought he was. how could he have let this happen? what was the point of being the strongest sorcerer if he couldn’t even protect you. he really did believe nothing could happen to you if he was by your side. he’d murder anyone who’d ever try to harm you without even looking back. this time wouldn’t be any different.
he felt his heartbeat reach his ears when he finally felt you near an ally, back pressed against the wall. a hand on your chest, crimson blood dripping down your shirt. jerky breaths escaping your trembling lips. this curse had taken his sweet time with you. it wanted to feed and you were a tasty dinner. there were marks of struggle on your shredded clothes and bruised wrists.
nothing came out of satoru’s mouth when his eyes landed on you. he just couldn’t believe he had let this happen to you. his expression was stoic. when he slowly approached you the curse immediately felt it. the strongest sorcerer doesn’t let most curses escape from his grasp. but this one.. this one would inevitably suffer the most.
it wasn’t long before the curse felt his body being pushed against the wall in front of you. a yelp was heard when his skull hit the wall head-on. you could hear the bones crack and send shivers through your entire being. that’s when you realized your boyfriend had finally arrived. but when you lifted your head trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes he had already turned all his attention towards the threat.
you had never seen him like this. he was lifeless. his eyebrows were lowered and pulled closer together. you could’ve sworn his eyes bulged. he was enraged. he didn’t even bother to raise his arm towards the curse, he just advanced and slowly- very slowly crushed every little bone in the monster’s body.
you were out of breath but couldn’t shift your gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of you. the wall caved under the pressure as gojo used his infinity to create a space between him and the curse which only crushed it more. it was cruel. cruel but deserving considering the circumstances.
the curse’s body was retracting upon itself with no way out. a loud and piercing cry followed the sound of the wall being crushed under the weight of the infinity. the only thing you found the strength to mumble under your breath was your boyfriend’s name.
after a few seconds, black smoke emanated from the crushed bricked wall with no curses in sight. no remains, nothing. your heavy breath filled the air as satoru finally sighted. you could barely see his eyes when he turned to you, crouching down at your height.
his violence had surprised you, but you were so relieved. tears ran down your cheeks when you tried to speak. you tried to reach for satoru when he crouched but he was quicker and wrapped one arm around your back and another supporting the back of your head. he held you close and it made you feel at home. his scent and touch reassured you when you buried your head in his neck.
still silent, he held you tightly close to his chest. his hand threaded your hair, a slight pressure applied so he could make sure you were okay. you could feel all his anger slowly fade when you returned the gesture with one hand against his chest. your tears slowly fading as you felt the warmth of satoru around your body.
“satoru..”
he shushed you. always pulling you closer and closer to him. he wasn’t going to leave this time. he’d never let you endure something like this ever again.
“i’m right here. you’re safe. lend me your pain, baby. i’ll carry you the rest of the way.” he whispered into your ear, caressing your back so that you’d warm up to his touch. you could feel he was slowly coming back to being the satoru you knew.
you were safe in his arms but guilt still ran deep inside of him. he promised to take you to shoko as soon as possible, resting by your side until you were completely healthy. he also promised himself to assign you with an escort when he couldn’t be here to protect you.
satoru’s only concern was you and he’d never let anything get in the way of your well-being ever again. if he had to show every curse on this earth that he’d destroy them if they ever tried to get near you, he’d have no hesitation in doing so. you were safe. you knew it, now.
kento nanami
₊˚⊹ ᰔ you were the most important person for nanami. his one and only. his love, his soul, his heart. he would’ve resigned in an instant if you hadn’t begged him to keep his job as a sorcerer. but knowing his personal feelings about loss, you knew it’d break him if something came to happen to you. that is precisely why you always acted cautiously, never putting yourself in harm's way and living your life as safely as you could. unfortunately, this time, your efforts had been in vain.
when he saw you, helplessly struggling at the mercy of a first-grade curse wrapped around your throat, all he could think about was how much he regretted not having taken a safer job and bought you that house you both talked about so much on a beach in malaysia.
he knew he needed to act quickly or the curse would finish you off as easily as it had taken you hostage.
you wiggled your feet when it lifted you off the ground, hands desperately scratching and holding onto his grasp so he’d let go of his claws around your throat. you could feel kento’s eyes on you but couldn’t even dare to look at him or do anything else than push against the claws so they wouldn’t crush your neck further.
therefore, you couldn’t see him remove his tie, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles. he knew he couldn’t use a weapon, scared that the curse would use you as a shield. his fists were more precise and his sword wasn’t enough to unleash the rage he had built up inside.
he slowly made his way to the curse but, with every step, its hold crushed you more. you were so scared, almost out of breath with tears rolling down your cheeks. these cheeks kento had kissed so many times to take away your pain. you were hoping he’d do it once more.
once he realized that the threatening stance he was in only alarmed the curse, kento stood down, lowering his curse energy’s flow to an almost invisible state. he made himself look harmless in the face of the monster which slowly but surely helped you to breathe better.
you knew your husband. you had heard it several times from yuji and Ino and you also personally knew that he always handled things the right way. this is was kept you from breaking down and letting go of your almost meaningless fight against the curse’s strength. you had never doubted him and you wouldn’t now. he built his strength with yours. that’s what kento had told you the day he had asked for your hand.
his eyes were locked with your struggling gaze. despite him trying to contain himself, his veins stood out from how tightly he clenched his fists. he would’ve massacred the curse right here and now if it hadn’t cowardly taken you hostage. nanami might have seemed harmless in the moment but his anger was apparent.
without thinking much about it, he threw his sword aside, lifting his hands above to show complete surrender to the curse.
“let her go.”
the furious and deep voice of your husband made you whine, finally hearing a sign from him. unfortunately you could feel that the curse was still hesitating. the clinging of the sword on the ground had startled it which only showed kento how weak it really was. it also showed that it did not want to fight but preferred to flee.
this strange demeanor encouraged kento to step closer, hands still in the air, and that’s when he saw his opening. the curse was looking left and right to find an escape which diminished his attention and loosened his grip around your throat. it lasted just a few seconds but it was enough for you to breathe out his name.
“kento..”
that’s when he drew his fist and used all of his force and cursed energy to deliver a devastating blow right into the curse spirit’s face. it was sent flying several meters away after dropping you so kento could easily catch you and keep you from hitting the ground, arms wrapped around your body.
it only took one hit. one punch to obliterate half of the curse’s body in pieces. the shock had been so violent that your savior’s knuckles bled on your shirt through his yellow tie.
“mine.”
you could feel his heavy breath against your neck when he got on one knee, holding you against him, a hand carefully placed on your cheek. his thumb caressing your skin and whipping the single tear you shed.
“my love..”
kento’s expression had returned to the one you knew. the calm but stoic gaze he wore returned your breath to a normal pace. his arms pulled you always closer to him and he felt his sense come back when your fingers brushed the hand he had placed on your shoulder. you couldn’t talk or you’d burst into tears so you smiled in admiration.
he placed his warm lips upon your forehead and you could feel how scared he had been, maybe even more scared than you. his eyes were stuck on your finger, the one that wore his ring.
losing haibara had crushed his soul to tiny little pieces and you had been the one to delicately put them all back together with your innocent kindness and understanding. he’d be damned if he was to let something happen to the one who saved his heart.
this was the first and last time your life had been threatened, thanks to the careful supervision of kento but also his promise to quit his job and buy that house. he hadn’t realized how much he already had with you and would curse anybody who tried to take his happiness away from him ever again.
suguru geto
₊˚⊹ ᰔ you trusted him. you trusted that, if you were in pain, suguru would find ways to eradicate that pain. you trusted that if you showed any sign of distress, he’d be by your side helping you in any way he could. most importantly, you trusted that he’d protect you no matter the cost and no matter the consequences, because he was devoted to you. if there was something he’d burn the whole world for, it’d be you.
these men, these humans, these pathetic monkeys that had attacked you on your way home never knew what would come for them. you were beaten and almost lifeless when the men started searching for any kind of money or jewelry you had on your person. of course, you had resisted. that’s the only thing you could do, because you were so scared that if you had willingly complied to their demand they would’ve asked for more.
being helpless was scary. you thought it wouldn’t be so scary with suguru by your side, but right now you had never been more terrified. you also knew that your boyfriend would never forgive the men that harmed you, so the only thing you could do was wait. because you did not doubt him. you never doubted him. you knew he’d come for you.
when the men had finished checking your bags and any belongings you had on your person, one approached you, lifting your chin with a vulgar smile. you couldn’t even look at him in the eyes but hit bullseye when you spat directly in his face making him drop you in anger. he cursed under his breath before tightly grabbing you by the collar. a hand in the air so it’d land on your face.
with a weak and desperate groan you turned your face away but was surprised when the slap never landed.
when you reopened your eyes to look at your aggressor, he had his own hands wrapped his throat. it’s like he was struggling to breath, a firm pressure was crushing his neck as he tried to break free from this invisible hold.
when you realized what might be happening you tried to take a peak at the other men who were all struggling with the same problem. scratching and screaming at the invisible menace that were preventing them from breathing.
under the distressed shoutings, a cocky laugh attracted your gaze. when you turned to look at the source, your face lit up at the sight of suguru. but he didn’t look as relieved as you were. his laugh was dark, almost cynical. it was psychotic and displeased.
you had seen him despise simple-minded humans before but killing them was a different story. he wasn’t only taking their lives, he was torturing them. their necks were getting slowly squashed by the curses he had sent on them.
seeing you struggle to breath, helpless at the hand of those who had harmed an innocent girl like you. his girl. it had awaken another kind of hatred in him. a hatred that had been buried deep for so long.
suguru took one good look at you, searching for your eyes but you were incapable of keeping them open. you were just glad your boyfriend had arrived. you knew you were safe when you rested your eyes, a small smile of satisfaction drawn on your lips.
when he concentrated his gaze back on the man that had touched you, he crouched in front of him, getting to his level before taking over the curse and wrapping his hand around the stranger’s neck. tormenting him and taking the air away from him. suguru tightened his grip, his smile fading when he brought the man closer and closer towards death.
“so you think you can just harm her and get away with it?”
the man was hissing swears as small cries of help escaped his bloody lips. his face was swollen and breaking down under suguru’s hold and his watering eyes looked like they would pop out of their socket sooner or later. that’s how tight he held the man.
“pathetic.”
he fed on their cries. helplessly calling out for help, the men only fueled his rage with their insufferable sounds. the sorcerer remembered every time he had felt an ounce of empathy for these beings in the past and regretted every actions he had done to protect them when he saw your wounded state. what they had done was inexcusable and no amount of pain would be enough to atone for it.
after a while, resigned, your offender chocked out a weak apology. but as he did, all the bones in his body instantly broke under another a new kind of pressure coming from yet another curse suguru had unleashed upon him. so now he laid there, between your boyfriend’s compressed clutch. dead.
after a few seconds he dropped the body on the ground like garbage waste and walked to you, passing by the other men that were struggling to breath. he pushed the first one aside with his foot, throwing one on the ground, creating a path for him to walk to you.
“move. i’ve come to take what’s mine.”
on suguru’s command, two snaps followed when the curses broke the other men’s necks before they fell on the floor. three lifeless corpses were now scattered in front of both of you, and as soon as he made sure those stupide monkeys had payed for what they had done, he joined you.
when he leaned towards you, his hand grazed yours, wrapping it with his own in a warm grip. his eyes searched for yours, lifting your chin with his thumb before running it along your jaw, making comforting circles on your cheek.
“are you alright, my love? can you walk?”
suguru’s tone was calmer than before. his eyes never left yours when he wiped one of your tears. his comforting smile reassured you and you nodded at his question, holding onto his wrist when he helped you up, closing the distance between the two of you.
you could hear his calm heartbeat when you leaned against his chest, hiding between his arms and you wondered how he could be so tranquil after killing these men so easily. little did you know the only thing he felt was rage. he knew he was right to despise these inferior beings that had harmed the only important thing that mattered.
he could’ve burned the world for you.
toji fushiguro
₊˚⊹ ᰔ toji fushiguro was an asshole. a first-class asshole. you guys had slept together left and right and he always left first. you had no expectations regarding the man. no doubt that you were replaceable. he didn’t open up much and never talked about his work which didn’t alarm you much considering toji’s character.
basically, emotionally and personally speaking, you two weren’t close. that’s why, when two strangers raided your apartment, screaming fushiguro’s name in anger, you wondered why you had accepted to sleep with a man with a secret and violent past.
your furniture was on the floor and the men had destroyed most of your electronics so you had no way to call for help. one was guarding the door while the other took care of questioning you. it had something to do with a bet and broken promises. of course, money had to be involved, otherwise, why would they be threatening the girl he had slept with once or twice to know of his whereabouts?
tied to a chair, almost unconscious, he had been covering you with bruises and scratches using anything that he could find but you still gave him the same answer. you had no idea where toji was as he never kept contact with you. he was always the one that came to you. and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to come save you anytime soon.
after a while, when the man realized he might not easily get an answer out of you, he reached in his back, pulling out a pistol from the edge of his pants. at the sight of the gun, your heart shattered. that was it for you, you thought. you couldn’t get out of this mess and you would die convinced toji was out there somewhere, probably getting rich and fucking naive girls like you.
you couldn’t even talk anymore, your head was hanging in front of you, blood dripping from your mouth to your thighs. you didn’t know if you’d last long, your vision was blurry and you felt yourself chasing the dark tunnel that clouded your eyesight.
you could hear faint words of command when your chin was lifted with the cold metallic canon of the pistol. the man had your life between his hands. you knew he’d pull the trigger if he eventually realized you couldn’t give him any information he needed. you knew he would kill you. it was so easy and you were pissing him off.
your eyes never left his nervous figure which only frustrated him more and, out of instinct, he slapped you with the handle of the pistol, almost knocking the air out of you. your jaw was broken and tears were flooding your eyes when the blow forced you to look away.
but as he pulled his arm up, preparing for another strike, he seemed to stop in his movement, startled by something behind him. sounds of struggles and a broken door were heard when he shifted his gaze entirely towards the front of your apartment. his accomplice had disappeared which alerted the man and made him call out to him.
several seconds and unanswered calls later, on his guard, the armed stranger decided to go take a look. as soon as he took a step towards the broken piece of wood that was left, a corpse dropped to his feet.
it was the other man, and he seemed to have been brutally murdered from the back, a hole at his heart’s level revealed the level of violence he had endured which left the man panicked and distressed. sweat was covering his forehead when he tried to peak out the door, fingers trembling against the handle and trigger.
unfortunately for him, a tall and broad shadow quickly covered him, before a shot came off. one single gunshot followed by a loud thud.
you could barely make up the identity of the person who had saved you with your weak sight, but his odour was enough for you to distinguish the man clearly. he always smelled the same.
toji was here. he was standing in the doorway, a tight grip around his gun and a grin covering his scarred lips. “can’t believe they send these weaklings to come after me.”
he carefully stepped between the cadavers, examining the poor state of your apartment and their lifeless bodies before his gaze shifted to you. a quick exchange was enough for you to sigh in relief and let yourself relax to an unconscious state.
despite himself, he did feel an ounce of guilt when he took a good look at you. his mistakes had almost gotten you killed. he couldn’t have imagined how he would’ve felt if he had arrived too late. the blood on your face, the broken jaw and the many scars were revealed by the moonlight passing through the door. the cold air misplaced your hair for toji to see tears strolling down your face.
his grin faded as he stood still in front of you and the mess he had made. his grip had loosened around the gun but he slowly moved the canon towards the second man he had killed. without hesitation, he emptied his clip through the culprit’s head, a look of contempt and disgust plastered on his face.
“tsk.. you just had to go and get yourself noticed, hm?” he said, now focused only on you.
thanks to toji, you were safe now. and you had silently thanked him for coming back for you.
carrying you bridal style as you laid there now unconscious but safe in his arms, he placed his thumb against your jaw, tilting your head to get a proper look at you. even now, you were so beautifully calm and your cheeks wore a pink tint, probably because of the cold, which only accentuated your beauty and innocence.
with a sigh, like it weighed on his conscience, toji murmured. “guess someone’s gonna have to take care of you, from now on.”
but the truth was far from what it appeared to be. saving you that night had just brought the man closer to the conclusion that he cherished you more than he thought he did. you weighed on his conscience like a guilty obsession which he could only nourish by spending more time by your side.
Each scenario played its own perfect round of how your husband would do whatever it takes to protect you ..to heal you ..and make you feel whole again …no matter which line you start off with ..it will always end with them wanting to take care of you …wanting you …their happiness ..their love ..their adoration ..to be alright 🩷✨️
Like choosing one out of the many that were provided for us and call it better than the rest is not fair ..each bitty scenario was their own one shot within a novel and if I have ever been forced to choose between one it would be the devotion they have or their wife …from satoru admitting that he will commit absolute murder towards anyone that laid a hand on us ..to toji creating a whole massacre of people just to make sure we are still up and breathing ..
Ain't a single moment gotta make me believe that either reality will be worth choosing one than the other 😭🩷
Because allow me to tell you my beloved author that you not only have me imagining a pile a messes of how these men would create an entire bloodbath of a scene …but your writing has me deliberately working up on a mental plot of how they would try to take care of us after all of this …how much they want to say sorry for allowing any of this to happen ..or how they want us to stay in their sights for longer as they can't bare to think about how they will see us in that state ever again …
It's a reality that I would want to devour on with your writing as my golden edible flakes ✨️
Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks.
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut
Word count: 4.7k
A/N: another Rhys pov! (to make up for the long hiatus lolol) Enjoy <3
Song: And so It Begins – Klergy
“The disappearance of Tom Lockwood, sir.”
Bloody hell.
Even in death, the bastard managed to find a way to disrupt Rhys’ life and well-crafted plans one way or another.
He felt a surge of adrenaline, but whereas most other people would succumb to the nerves, start sweating and rambling, make mistakes. Rhys didn’t. Instead, it only sharpened his focus, making him that much more dangerous.
The reporter had used the word disappearance, meaning Lockwood’s body hadn’t been found, meaning there was no physical evidence that could potentially link him to the crime, which ultimately meant that he was in the clear. At least for now. If he played it right, perhaps Rhys could even turn this little hiccup into a story that would reflect him positively in the press.
The mob of journalists and cameramen were waiting with baited breath for him to comment, silence befalling the crowd once more. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the bustling city around them—the honking of a double-decker bus, London’s never-ending construction noises, and the screeching of a police siren a mere two blocks away.
Rhys allowed a mixture of emotions to pass over his features. Initial shock—which hadn’t involved much acting—followed by a hint of grieving sadness, before he settled on a more calm, compassionate look. Because, like any good psychopath who studied the intricacies of human emotion, Rhys knew that that’s what the public needed to see in a leading figure. Someone who showed the appropriate level of feelings and compassion, but ultimately was able to offer reassurance and take action if need be.
“Mr. Lockwood…” Rhys shook his head, unfolding his clasped hands to convey a subliminal message of openness and sympathy. “I must say that I am deeply shocked by this news. Is there any more information regarding his disappearance?”
“News surfaced after an anonymous tip was made to The London Dispatch, a spokesperson for the T.R. Lockwood Corporation has just released a statement that they are and have been aware of the circumstances and are working on an internal investigation, the Met Police have also just reported they are launching their own investigation,” the same reporter summarised, reading off of his phone. “Any thoughts on what could have happened, Mr. Montrose?”
Any thoughts… Oh, he had plenty, alright.
An anonymous tip. To The London Dispatch. That could only be from one man: Jonathan.
Did he seriously have the balls to go to the press, knowing full well that Lockwood’s disappearance could be traced back to him? Rhys hadn’t thought he would raise the alarm after revealing that detail to him, but it seemed Jonathan was keen to call his bluff.
On the upside, Lockwood’s employees had tried to keep the whole thing under wraps, just like you and Rhys had predicted. But now that it had come out, the peace and quiet would come to an end, especially with the police’s involvement as well.
“I could not say at this time, I’m afraid,” Rhys stated, schooling his actual thoughts. “I think, as of now, the best course of action is to allow all parties involved to conduct their investigations without adding unnecessary speculation that could potentially hinder their job.”
That prompted an immediate response from the crowd.
“You don’t think Lockwood’s partners should’ve been upfront about their CEO going missing?”
“Lockwood was last spotted in Prague–”
“Hasn't his staff already been hindering the police?”
“–over two weeks ago, what are the chances that–”
“Considering these suspicious circumstances–”
“–could this be another murder?”
“I understand,” Rhys interrupted, raising his hands in an attempt to quiet the masses. “I understand the demand for answers. I do. But we have to let them do their jobs. The Met Police will get to the bottom of this and find Mr. Lockwood, I have every faith.”
Lukas stepped up to the press then, drawing their attention with a wave of his hand. “That will be all for today, everyone. Please, step aside to let Mr. Montrose pass.”
They did so begrudgingly, some ignoring his campaign manager as they kept shouting questions left and right. Rhys walked past them, thanking them for their time. His head of security met him halfway, guiding him the last couple of metres to the car.
“Where’s Y/N?” Rhys asked.
“She’s waiting in the car, sir,” Reggie answered.
“Mr. Montrose!”
“One final question, please!”
Rhys easily picked up on the thinly veiled exasperation in Lukas’ voice as he tried to reason with The Telegraph. “No can do, sir. Mr. Montrose is already late for his next commitment. If you have any follow-up questions, please feel free to send them to our office.”
But the seasoned reporter wouldn’t just let it go, following Rhys all the way to the kerb.
“Mr. Montrose! What about his family?”
Reggie had already opened the passenger door, but Rhys paused, turning back around. He had to give it to the guy, no politician in their right mind could ignore that type of question.
He wetted his lips, a mournful smile flickering across his face. “Ofcourse, I give my deepest sympathies to Mr. Lockwood’s family during these uncertain times. I hope he will soon return in good health, and be reunited with his loved ones.”
Rhys dipped his head, pouring all the sympathy he did not actually feel into a final smile before he slid into the back of the car, where he was greeted by you, sending him an amused but troubled look.
Reggie shut the door as Rhys leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Take us back to Primrose.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver nodded. “We might hit some traffic, though. There’s been an accident on Holborn and City Road.”
“That’s alright. Nothing we can do about it. Get us there as quickly as you’re able.”
“Straight away, sir.”
Rhys raised the soundproof, glass divider between the front and back of the car, giving you the privacy to talk about all that had just transpired without the driver being able to eavesdrop.
You turned to face each other as the car pulled into the stream of ongoing traffic.
“So. Deepest sympathies, huh?”
“Why yes, ofcourse, darling,” he grinned.
You snorted. “Liar.”
He was about to retort when his phone started ringing. Rhys checked the caller ID, and sighed. “Excuse me, this won’t take long,” he said, accepting the call.
“I don’t want to hear a word about Cynthia, Luke,” Rhys announced, wanting to move past his indisputable error in judgement quickly. “Go back to the office, coordinate from there. We need to get an official written statement out ASAP, one that is based on all the facts known at present.”
“Agreed, sir. I’ll fetch Brian to–”
“No. No, have Sam write it, she’ll need the experience. Just make sure to double check it before you post it online.”
“You don’t want to read it yourself? Are you not coming to the office?”
“No, I’ll meet you there later. There’s another pressing matter that requires my attention first. I trust you to handle the situation while I’m out.”
“Yes, Mr. Montrose.”
Rhys ended the call and pocketed his phone before resting his head against the headrest. What a day this was turning out to be. And it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
He must have involuntarily let out another sigh, for he felt the softness of your touch, your slender fingers wrapping around his hand.
“How is that patience of yours doing?”
“I won’t lie, it’s hanging by a thread.”
“Figures,” you smiled, squeezing his hand.
Your smile was quickly overshadowed by that same troubling look from before, one which you didn’t have to hide anymore.
“That anonymous tip… it must be–”
“Jonathan? Yes, I think so, too,” Rhys finished. “Unless you called The London Dispatch and failed to inform me of a new tactical move.”
You shook your head no as the car slowed to a stop, now officially stuck in the busy rerouted traffic. “Nope, it definitely wasn’t me,” you said, looking out the window to catch a glimpse of St. Paul’s looming presence.
It was a cloudy day, ten a penny for London, even during the summer time. The storm front may have passed, but the uncertainty of what was coming still lingered in the air.
“Whilst you were giving your statement to the press, I kept thinking, why?” You looked back to Rhys. “Why would Jonathan do this now? He knows that we put the account that was used to bribe the pilots in his name. That was supposed to keep him quiet, at least for a little while longer. So, what’s his angle?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, the same question dominating his thoughts. “Jonathan’s calculated. But also rash, and unpredictable, as today has clearly demonstrated… We need to act quickly before he goes from being a liability to a full-blown threat.”
You chewed your lip. “You know who else can become a threat?”
His eyes flickered between yours, trying to find an answer there as he mentally went down the long list of possible enemies he made along the way. The ones that were still able to draw breath, that is.
Only one name came to mind.
“Marcus Atkinson.”
The man who conspired with Lockwood to have Rhys removed from the upcoming elections, by categorically trying to erase him from the face of the earth.
“Atkinson,” you agreed. “So far, he’s been quiet, but there’s no telling what he’ll do now that the news of Lockwood’s disappearance has been made public.”
Rhys hummed, affirmative. “You’re right. We need to prepare for every possibility.”
“Is that why we’re going home?”
“No,” he said, a little reluctant.
You frowned, not following. “Then why did you tell the driver to take us back to Primrose Hill?”
He sighed. “Because you’re going home, whilst I go and pay dear old Jonathan a visit.”
You paused, slowly letting go of his hand as the meaning of his words landed.
“You’re what?”
“You heard me.”
Rhys set his jaw, his decision already made and final, but that didn’t stop you from glaring at him.
“And you’re sidelining me because…?”
He looked away, something flicking over his expression. “It’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”
“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “What about me and what I do for a living gives you the impression that you need to keep me safe?”
Rhys winced. He’d anticipated this reaction from you. But there was no way in hell he would allow you and Jonathan in the same room ever again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could fend for yourself, because, as more than one occasion had attested, you certainly knew how to throw a punch or two. And make it hurt. He himself was privy to the knowledge.
However, he didn’t trust Jonathan and what he would do… Especially now. Besides, as far as Rhys could tell, Jonathan still didn’t know anything about your true identity. And he’d very much liked to keep it that way.
“He’s a psychopath, Y/N,” Rhys stressed.
“Right,” you drawled. “Do you want me to look up the exact definition? Because I’m pretty sure it would also include present company.”
He smiled, bitter. “I’m not planning on hurting you. Jonathan might. You know the things he was mixed up in across the pond. If he figures out how important you are to me…”
His forehead creased with genuine concern, and even in your anger, your eyes softened a little at the admission.
“I know you can take care of yourself,” he amended. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I want to keep you as far away from him as I possibly can.”
You nodded thoughtfully, still far from happy with his decision. But Rhys wasn’t going to change his mind, and you knew it as well.
Once again, the sound of a phone pinging interrupted your conversation. Privately, Rhys hoped it would put an end to it as well, although you quickly relieved him of that illusion. “We’re not done talking about this.”
“A man can hope,” he muttered.
You shot him a warning look as you retrieved your phone, effectively making him shut up.
He looked around, noticing they were still motionless. No. That wasn’t right. They had moved about three car lengths in the last five minutes. Progress, he thought, clocking his inner voice’s sarcasm with a wry smile. At least the extended travel time would give him a little more time to prepare for his surprise attack on Jonathan. Although, that twat was likely already waiting for Rhys to show up after the shit he pulled earlier today…
Rhys gritted his teeth as he thought of Jonathan. How he must have watched the press interview live on tele, probably thinking he’d won this game… Well, Rhys would make damn sure that his victory would be short lived.
A startled noise came from your side of the car, and his eyes shot back to you, jerking him from those thoughts.
Your wide eyes were scanning whatever message had appeared on your phone’s screen, four times over, as if making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. A wave of worry careened through him as he watched the colour drain from your face.
“Y/N?” he said, alarmed.
“Oh my god…”
Frantically tapping the screen, you brought the phone closer to your face. “Oh my god.”
Before Rhys even got a chance to ask what the hell was going on, you’d already pressed the device to your ear, fingers now tapping restlessly against the car’s interior door.
“Y/N,” he said, firmer this time, clasping your hand in his. You looked at him, panicked, uncertain… terrified. Rhys felt his own stomach drop. “What happened?”
You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.
The call went straight to voicemail, and you groaned in frustration. “Damnit, she’s not answering her phone.”
“Is it Zoe? Sadie?” Rhys tried, concern slipping into his voice.
He softly squeezed your hand to garner your attention. It worked. You refocused on him, visibly swallowing a tang of adrenaline before shoving your phone into his hands. Rhys read the ID: Zoe. He was right—there were only so many people that could pull this type of reaction from you. He could probably count them on one hand.
His eyes slid down to read the most recent incoming texts, and he sucked in a breath, immediately understanding your nervousness.
>>> mum’s back
>>> please come
Your mother…
Alarm bells went off inside of him, his concern slowly getting replaced by something sharper, harder.
You’d both known the day would come, yet the words on the screen still shocked him to silence, the only thing he could muster a feeble, “Fuck…”
“Yeah…”
Rhys closed his eyes. Another person who had completely disappeared—albeit not by your doing—resurfacing. It had been quite the mystery as to what had happened to her, and you had spent many a night trying to figure out where she could have possibly gone. Without much success. But now she had seemingly returned.
The timing could also not have been better. Apparently Murphy’s Law always lurked around the corner somewhere.
“Where did she come from all of a sudden?”
“From hell, likely.”
He huffed a strained laugh. That was certainly one possibility. Rhys met your gaze, then. The initial shock had lifted, and now the fire he’d grown to love glowed bright in your eyes.
“I’ll kill her,” you whispered, unyielding. “I swear to god, if she’s hurt them… I will kill her.”
You snatched your phone from his hands, your thumbs flying over the keyboard as you typed out a series of messages in quick succession.
“Hey,” Rhys said, pitching his voice into a soothing range. “They’re gonna be okay. Just like their big sister, they can fend for themselves.”
“I know they can,” you said, still holding your phone in an iron grip. “But after what happened last time, I can’t help but worry.”
He couldn’t stop himself. “I know the feeling...”
You dropped your phone, turning to him with a look that made it abundantly clear that now was not the time to test you.
“Rhys,” you warned.
“Sorry…” he muttered, squeezing your hand again. “How do you wanna tackle this?”
“I’m going over there.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Right now. I have to make sure they’re okay. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you shot back, eyes narrowing.
Rhys pursed his lips. Yep. He deserved that.
You looked outside to find that you were, still, stuck near St. Paul’s. And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. Sighing, you clasped the door handle, but before you could sprint out, Rhys tugged you back to him.
“Whoa, wait a second,” he said, worry seeping back into his voice. He didn’t want to part like this. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself? I can help.”
You looked at him evenly. “This can’t wait. And neither can the Jonathan situation.”
Damnit.
No, it couldn’t.
“I’ll take care of my mother while you take care of our professor,” you offered, running your thumb over his hand in an attempt to persuade him. However the grim look on your face wasn’t helping.
He held your gaze for a long moment, equally grim, before nodding once. There was no other way.
“Be careful, and call me when you need me,” Rhys implored, already cursing himself for agreeing to this plan. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” you said, purposeful, determined.
And with that, you were off, shutting the car door with force.
Rhys watched you go, worry now mixing with guilt. By trying to protect you from one situation, he was now the sole reason you were diving head-first into unknown danger all by yourself.
Although, you would have gone either way. No matter the circumstances. You were just like him in that respect. Once you’d made up your mind, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade you. Rhys had to let you go. Leaving you the space to deal with problems the way you saw fit. He didn’t like it, but if he wanted to keep you by his side, there was no other choice.
As far as he was aware, your mother wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. But even so, she’d come pretty close to manslaughter with the Hackney house fire. Rhys also knew for a fact that you hadn’t yet told him about all of the harrowing things you’d endured during your childhood. Some details, yes. But definitely not all. He hadn’t wanted to push you too hard, you would tell him when you were ready. Just like with everything else.
Rhys shook himself. Dwelling on this wasn’t going to do him much good either. He had his own headache to deal with. After that, he would work to make things right with you.
He pressed a button, lowering the glass divider. “Change of plans. I need you to take me to South Kensington.”
—
An hour later, after trudging through London’s busy traffic, the car parked in front of Kynance Mews. The driver hastened to open his door, and Rhys slid out, glancing left and right.
“Give me twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his suit.
“Yes, sir.”
The ride over had given him plenty of time to consider his options, which in the end boiled down to two simple objectives: kill Jonathan, or not.
As tempting as the first option was, Rhys had to accept that it wasn’t the most prudent one. Now that Lockwood’s disappearance had become a public affair, and the police were conducting their own investigation, there would be a lot of heat bearing down on the case. Sooner or later, the police would find out about the bribe money, and once they’d successfully trace the money and start making connections, ‘Professor Jonathan Moore’ would be the subject of a lot of scrutiny.
Like with Atkinson, the risk would be too great. If either of those two were killed right now, people would surely start asking questions. Questions Rhys didn’t want to be asked.
Therefore, with a tinge of annoyance, he opted that the best course of action was to keep the professor alive a little longer.
However, Jonathan couldn’t continue on like this. He had to be reined in—reminded of who was in control here. Good thing Rhys had one more trick up his sleeve, and now was the time to use it.
He made his way inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time, determination edged in his pace. Once he made it to number ten, he lifted his fist, landing a series of powerful knocks on Jonathan’s front door. He didn’t have to wait long before it swung open.
Rhys bursted into the flat, the door nearly hitting Jonathan in the face.
“You’ve been busy, mate.”
Jonathan recovered quickly. “So have you.”
His dark eyes tracked Rhys as he strode around the flat, making sure there were no unwanted third parties present. Once he made sure there wasn’t, he stopped in front of Jonathan, meeting his gaze.
Rhys took a breath and nodded. “Tell me about it. It’s hard work, winning these elections—making sure all possible threats are dealt with accordingly.”
Jonathan looked him up and down, measured. “Is that why you’re here?”
“Among other things... I was starting to miss our fun little chats.”
“I wasn’t,” the professor sneered.
“Oh, pray tell,” Rhys said, light.
Jonathan appeared calm, but the tightness around his eyes told Rhys all he needed to know. A single, disdainful head-tilt cinched it.
So, this would be fun.
“You’re a cold-blooded psycho.”
His mouth twitched. “Ah, one that needs to be taken down? Is that why you tipped the press?”
“I’m done with your bullshit and your fucking mindgames,” he hissed. “And I’m not going down for your sins whilst you become mayor of this godforsaken town.”
“And yet here you are,” Rhys snickered, waving a hand at him. “Digging your own grave. Or did you forget that Joe Goldberg helped cover-up Lockwood’s murder?”
“I’ll tell them the truth about you,” Jonathan promised. “You’re not getting away with this.”
“And who do you think they’ll believe?” Rhys returned, tilting his head, a challenge. “A suspected murderer who faked his own death, or the man that’s working tirelessly to strengthen their police force—making sure their kids will have access to a higher education, someone who’s battling corruption and fighting for what’s right. You tell me.”
Jonathan shook his head. “No… No, you will go down for your crimes.”
Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “And what crimes are those? Do you have any proof? Or will this be another case of your word against mine?” he taunted, stepping up to the fuming American.
Jonathan stood rigid, frowning in contemplation. He took a moment to mull over whatever thoughts held him before he looked at Rhys askance.
“There has to be proof. People always seem to mysteriously disappear or die around you. Like last night.”
Rhys remained entirely unfazed. “That Fernsby bloke, you mean? Well, if you’d listened to the news, you would know he died of natural causes. Very unfortunate but it happens,” he said, inscrutable, picking a piece of lint off of his suit. “Besides, I have an alibi.”
“Of course you do,” Jonathan mumbled, more to himself. “Your girlfriend?”
Anger simmered under Rhys’ cool facade at the mention. But he couldn’t let Jonathan see it.
“She serves many purposes,” he smirked, lewd.
Jonathan’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re using her.”
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s all she’s good for anyway. A pretty face for the cameras, and an excellent shag at night.”
Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable despite his own nature. He took a beat, his eyes locked in an endless stare, seeing seemingly nothing. Then he blinked, once, and looked up to Rhys again.
Something in his eyes had changed. Like he’d made up his mind about something. Rhys couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t sit well with him, at all. That much was clear.
His smile faded, it was time to get down to business.
“Alright,” he exclaimed, delightfully startling Jonathan in the process. “Enough chit-chat. I think it’s about time I remind you of a few things…”
Jonathan stiffened, but didn’t respond. Rhys sauntered over to the window, the one providing a perfect view into the flat of one Miss Kate Galvin. The flat was dark, and it didn’t look like anyone was home.
“Do you know where she is?” Rhys asked, peering through the window.
He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to. Not to a seasoned stalker like him.
“At work,” Jonathan said, clipped.
Rhys glanced back over his shoulder, clocking Jonathan still standing in the exact same spot, shooting daggers at his back. Rhys’ lips curled.
“Remember this feeling, Jonathan,” he said as he zeroed in on the fireplace, bending to pick up the fire iron. “Remember how it feels to know where she is. To know she’s safe…”
He twisted the metal object leisurely, feeling the weight of it in his palms. “But above all, remember how I can take all of that away, in the blink of an eye.”
If possible, Jonathan stiffened even more, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists.
Rhys’ eyes sparked with amusement. Jonathan hadn’t wanted to play any more of his ‘mindgames’, but unfortunately for the professor, he was only just getting started.
“Now, we wouldn’t want her to meet the same fate as her father, would we?” Rhys mused, using the metal tool to prod at some charcoal remains. “Because speaking of unfortunate things, I’d say that would definitely qualify as such.”
Jonathan glared at him, not even attempting to cover the hatred he felt for the man daring to enter his home like he owned the place—and threaten him, his girlfriend, and everything he had tried to rebuild for himself.
“Stay away from her,” he said, voice as cold as ice.
“Come now, Jonathan. There’s no need to get snippy,” Rhys tutted, eyes flicking to him. “You and I both know that whatever happens to her, it’s entirely up to you.”
The sound of metal scraping against the fireplace's stone surface caught Jonathan’s attention, his eyes flying to where Rhys was still playing around with the rod. He relished the look on Jonathan’s face, a sweet mixture of trepidation and rage. It meant he was listening carefully.
“Fun fact about fire,” Rhys went on, off-kilter. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, I believe you may be familiar with,” he added jokingly, stabbing at a larger fragment of unburned wood.
“Nothing ever truly vanishes. There’s always something that remains. And what’s so amusing about this fact is that you never know which pieces are left behind… or when they might resurface.”
This was it. The last card Rhys could play to keep Jonathan silent—short from killing him, ofcourse.
To threaten him to complete the framejob by planting Lockwood’s other hand that you and Rhys had kept as a backup, and call in the cavalry. Physical evidence tying Jonathan to the crime, in combination with the paper trail already set up in his name, would ensure Jonathan’s arrest and indictment. And he knew it.
Jonathan swallowed. “Lockwood?”
Rhys walked up to him, eyeing him steadily. “You better stick to our first agreement, and keep quiet,” he warned, tapping the fire iron against Jonathan’s chest. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you’re going down for all of it.”
Defeat flashed over Jonathan’s face. He was still angry, no, livid would be the better term… But the growing apprehension and doubt was unmistakable.
Satisfied that his message was received loud and clear, Rhys dropped the metal rod to the floor. The loud clang of the object hitting the wooden floor caused Jonathan to flinch back, much to Rhys’ pleasure.
He turned his back on the American, gleefully making his way towards the front door where he paused, resting one hand on the handle, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“It’s all about who holds the power, mate,” Rhys smirked, looking back to Jonathan, whose jaw was clenched tight. “And at present, that isn’t you.”
––––
A/N: FINALLY a Joe and Rhys meet… I know it’s been a long time coming 🙈 I had a lot of fun writing this particular scene, I hope you enjoyed it as well. Now let’s see if Jonathan will heed Rhys’ warning or… not. hehe
"I can see your collarbones and baby I'm scared, Never thought I'd be so unprepared"
Summary: Camila Johnson was only 16 when she was diagnosed with leukemia. By the time she had turned 17, the doctors had tried everything to save her. Her family is close to giving up hope when they hear of a doctor who may be able to help her. The only problem is, he lives on the opposite side of the country. The small family soon decides to move to the small town in Washington, in efforts to prolong her life. In doing so, her life changes forever.
Warnings: Eventual smut (18+ only), mentions of death, depression, violence, descriptions of disease and weight loss, general angst, slow burn, blood
Words: 6.1k
A/N: Please lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Sorry it took me so long to update, life has been completely hectic. Hope you enjoy x
Soundtrack
Previous Chapter
Series Masterlist
——————
February 5th, 2005
Soft music rung through the otherwise silent cab of Jasper’s car, the gentle thrum of the guitar filling the space between the too occupants. He had put on the music in hopes to help at least partially settle the nerves that were clear as day on Camila’s face. She sat in the passenger seat, spinning the metal rings that hung loosely on the thin fingers of her right hand, a nervous tic of hers that jasper couldn’t help but notice. Her left hand remained in his, the constant touch of their skin being something that they both needed.
Jasper weaved through the treelined road, forest blurring past as he tried to keep his focus on the drive and not the way Camila had her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Any normal day, he would use his powers to help ease her anxiety, but that would’ve gone against her explicit request to refrain from doing so. Camila didn’t want her emotions of meeting Esme for the first time to be skewed in any way, no matter how much more comfortable it would make her.
In truth, she was terrified of making a bad impression. Sure, she knew Carlisle, but she didn’t exactly know him personally. If she really did stand a chance at all of living with these people for the rest of her existence, then she wanted nothing to obscure her perception of them or their perception of her. She had worried all morning, not wanting to come off in any bad way, she had even gone as far as to wear something else besides her normal graphic t-shirt and leggings.
It wasn’t anything fantastic or impressive, but the dark denim that fit snuggly around her thin waist, thanks to a belt fastened tightly through the hoops, and the simple ivory cotton long-sleeve that she wore under her jacket were far from her usual attire. Despite Jasper telling her that she needn’t worry about impressing his family, she couldn’t help but feel as if it was a necessity. There was a lot at stake. Not only did she care about what they thought of her because of her feelings for Jasper, but she dreaded the idea of them stuck with her for eternity and secretly despising her. She wasn’t about to make a decision that would effect everyone else so greatly without making sure it would be the best for all people involved first.
Sure, maybe it didn’t help that Edward had already shown his distaste for her, regardless of his reasoning. Yes, Jasper had explained why Edward had been acting the way he had, but she would be lying if she said a small part of her was saying otherwise. Telling her that the immortal teen had a valid reason for his resentful behavior towards her and it was actually all her fault. That same little voice screaming at her that she would make them all be miserable if she did choose to stay with them
Still, despite her nervousness and that pesky little voice, she was actually excited to be officially introduced to his family. With the normal lunches in the school cafeteria being the exception, she hadn’t exactly seen Jasper interact much with his family and the idea intrigued her to say the least. She had really only seen one side of Jasper, the side he was willing to show her, and she couldn’t help but want to see every other side of him that existed. The good and the bad, if the bad even existed in the first place. Though the circumstance was far from a normal teenage experience, this had to have been the most normal thing for the two.
So, when the car finally pulled up to the house, a modern looking mansion that was covered in large glass panels, her heart had sped up on newfound adrenaline. A mixture of bad and good nerves filled her chest, turning the food that Jasper had been insistent on buying her for lunch in her stomach as her eyes took in the beauty of the sculpture-like home. Jasper’s hand let loose of hers as he flitted at an inhuman speed to open her door for her, gone and then back again in a blur. The same hand was offered back to her, his usual gentlemanly self offering to help her out of the vehicle.
She gulped, attempting and failing to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat as she took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. His hand remained in hers as he lead her to the front door of the large home. The soles of their shoes crunched against the gravel of the driveway, a stark contrast to the wide smooth concrete stairs that lead up to the entry of the house.
Jasper dropped his grip on her hand, reaching to pull the large glass door open, gesturing her into the opening as he followed behind her, hand on the small of her back. Camila’s eyes flickered around the bright white walls of the room, eyes wide as she took in the luxurious beauty of the home, small beams of light reflecting off of the various glossy surfaces around them in a soft glow. “Woah.” She muttered, not able to stop herself from gaping at the beautiful artwork that was scattered about the contemporary home. It would be impressive to anyone, but especially to someone that lived in a home like she did. Suddenly, she couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed at the state Jasper had seen her room in so many times.
Jasper cleared his throat softly at her side, grasping her attention briefly as he asked. “May I take your jacket for you, Darlin’?” A soft blush creeped onto her cheeks at the nickname, not able to get used to it no matter how often he called her it, as she nodded slightly. Her eyes flickered back to the stunning home as Jasper stepped behind her, gently sliding the soft fabric from her shoulders. Goosebumps rose on her arms as his cool fingers grazed delicately across the thinly covered skin. She blinked rapidly, attempting to keep herself from becoming too distracted by the simple touch.
“Camila!” A high voice chirped from her left as a blur raced towards her. Chilled arms embraced her frail frame and she told herself that she would eventually get used to Alice and her antics, even if that day was far in the future. Either way, Camila was trilled to except the girl’s friendship with literal open arms.
A huff of a laugh left the teen’s lips as she reciprocated the hug. “Hi, Alice.” She greeted, the smile refusing to falter on her lips. The arms released their grip on her shoulders as Alice pulled away, smile shinning as bright as ever.
“It’s about time you got here.” She said, giving a pointed look to her adoptive brother.
Jasper rolled his eyes. “I had to make sure she was fed, didn’t I? What kind of a boyfriend would I be otherwise?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at his sister expectantly. The word ‘boyfriend’ had of course sent Camila’s heart racing, as much as she trying to keep it at a steady pace.
Alice scoffed at his words. “I’m just messing with you and you know it. Besides, you know you just wanted more alone time with her, we could’ve fed her here.” She teased, smirking as she turned away, looping her arm through Camila’s as she lead her deeper into her home.
“Esme is so excited to meet you.” She gushed to the girl, pulling the frail human along with her as she purposely ignored her brothers distaste of the theft of his girlfriend. Camila struggled slightly to follow, forcing her feet to keep up and not trip over themselves as Alice practically dragged her to the living room of the home.
Her heart thudded along, speeding slightly as she realized that what she had been so nervous about all morning was literally right around the corner. She couldn’t decide if she slightly despised Alice for forcing her into this or if she was thankful, not knowing if she would be able to do so on her own. Either way, the remainder of the immortal family was just a breath away and she was beginning to regret telling Jasper to hold back with his powers.
As the trio rounded the corner in a decent sized sitting room, the pale beautiful faces of Carlisle and what she assumed to be Esme coming into view. Camila forced her eyes onto the woman before her, smiling shyly back as warmth creeped up her neck. The woman came slowly to a stand, trying her best not to frighten the girl as she beamed a bright smile to her.
Jasper had been correct when describing her, she had a visible kindness about her, a motherly aura that was obvious as soon as she had stepped into the room. Alice’s touch dropped from her arm, as it was quickly replaced with the return of Jasper’s hand within her own. The immortal girl sent Camila a small reassuring smile, knowing that Jasper’s touch would be able to comfort her much more than her own. She flitted upstairs, deciding that she would find Camila again later when everything would be less overwhelming for her.
Carlisle perked up, rising from his feet. “Camila, how are you feeling.” He asked, not being able to keep his centuries of being a doctor at bay as he spoke to his patient.
Camila grinned lopsided. “Not bad, all things considered.” She said, figuring that she could be far worse given her circumstance. Carlisle nodded curtly, content with her answer for the time being.
Jasper cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the other three in the room. “Esme, this is Camila. Camila, this is my mother for all intents and purposes, Esme.” He introduced, causing the smile on Esme’s face to broaden as she took the couple in, drinking up the sight of the two.
The woman walked forwards, stepping closer to the girl as she greeted her tight motherly embrace. “It’s lovely to meet you Camila, Jasper has told me so much about you.” Esme said, causing blood to flood her cheeks as she blushed a deep red at the information.
Forcing the lump from her throat, she spoke, careful to keep her voice from shaking with the nerves that had long since settled in her chest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. You have a beautiful home.” She said politely, trying to focus on the feel of Jasper’s skin on her fingertips.
Esme’s smile refused to drop as looked around the stunning house around her. “Thank you, I designed it myself.” She admitted, pride clear in her voice. “Although, I do have to admit, we haven’t gotten a lot of use out of some of the features until now. Perhaps you will give an excuse to finally use the kitchen?” She asked, smiling brightly.
“I already took her to get food before coming here.” Jasper informed her.
Esme’s eyes flickered between the two. “Perhaps another time then. Just let us know if you get hungry and we’ll get you something.” She concluded. Jasper’s eyes seemed to stick to Camila’s face as the stress seemed to melt away from her features. Jasper had been right of course, Esme was warm and welcoming, everything that a good mother should be, everything that her mother was. Perhaps she needed more time to get to know the family, but regardless, it didn’t take much to realize that they were all good people with good hearts, especially the woman standing in front of her.
Esme’s eyes flickered down to the couple’s intertwined fingers, unable to keep the smile from forming on her face. The look in Jasper’s eyes as he gazed at Camila was one that Esme knew all too well. It was the look of love. Something that she had not been sure he would ever find, but was so happy to see that he had.
It had been so long that Jasper had been alone in life and the sight of him with her was something she couldn’t have ever imagined. The joy that rushed through her heart at the sight seemed impossible. Jasper had been through so much throughout his long life and it was almost hard to believe that he was finally getting a glimpse of the happiness that she knew he deserved.
Carlisle cleared his throat, seeing that his wife’s attention was otherwise occupied. “Jasper, why don’t you show her around the rest of the house?” He suggested, giving the blonde a pointed look. Jasper smiled thankfully at the man, grateful that he had saved the two of them from anymore embarrassment Esme could’ve possibly inflicted.
Jasper lead the way up one of many staircases in the home, careful to not go quickly as he knew Camila would never let him cary her up the flight. Each room seemed to be more stunning than the last, the sheer beauty and vulnerability of the many glass panes being a lot to take in as it was.
The house, in all truth, had surprised Camila. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, surely not anything like the dungeons she had seen fictional vampires live in in movies, but defiantly not this. The whole home was void of the tragedies each member of the family had endured and was replaced with equal amounts of beauty. Finally, they came to a stop outside of a door, which Jasper silently opened and lead her inside.
Camila knew before he even said anything that this was his room. The plush forest green couch along the wall, the rows and rows of books that lined the rest of the space, the overwhelming calming atmosphere, the whole place screamed Jasper. “This is my room.” He said, allowing her to lead him further inside to whatever had peaked her interest most.
Her feet carried her to the built in shelves that lined the walls with what had to have been close in not a thousand books. Thicker spines in the collection caught her attention first, so she moved forwards, eyes squinting as she tried to make out the titles of the large books. “History books?” She asked, humor coating her voice as a small smirk grew bigger by the second on her lips.
Jasper stepped closer to the shelves. “Are you going to make fun of me for being a nerd?” He asked in mock offense, unable to keep his growing smile hidden.
A light laugh left her open lips as she turned to face him briefly. “No it’s not that, it just seems… incredibly fitting.” She teased, the smirk growing even larger.
“Now, I don’t know if that means I should be more or less offended.” He said, cocking his head to the side in question.
“Less, promise.” Camila said, eyes wandering the rest of the room. For the most part, the room was bare, his time obviously being filled mostly with reading. “What do you do for fun around here besides reading history books?” She asked, turning her eyes to meet his.
“I like baseball.” He said immediately, obviously not needing to put much thought into it before answering.
Camila quirked an eyebrow at the blonde. “Watching or playing?” She asked curiously.
“Both.” Jasper answered.
The curious expression didn’t drop from her face as the admission just added more questions to be answered. She knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to play normal baseball given his supernatural speed and strength, and was dying to know all of the details. “How is that possible?” She asked.
“It’s a bit complicated, but I promise I’ll show you one day.” He assured her, happy to see the she had accepted his answer for the time being. “But I do watch games with Emmet and Edward a lot as well.” He continued.
Her smirk returned in a flash, something about his last sentence clearly being very humorous to her. “What?” He asked.
“Oh it’s just very boyish of you, watching baseball with your brothers.” She said.
“Would it humor you to know that I promised to watch the Super Bowl with them tomorrow?” He asked, immediately receiving his answer as she let out a snicker in response. Jasper rolled his eyes playfully. “The goal is to appear as close to a normal human as possible is it not?” He asked, lifting his free hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
Camila smiled, trying and failing as usual to ignore the racing of her heart at his touch. “Oh trust me, you defiantly are far from convincing anyone that you’re normal.” She muttered.
It was Jasper’s time to smirk as a memory popped into the forefront of his mind. “Oh yeah, what was it again? Ridiculously attractive? Inhumanly so?” He teased, unable to stop himself as he saw the blush rise on her cheeks once again.
Her free hand came up to punch his shoulder playfully, her knuckles feeling as if they hit solid stone. “Shut up.” She muttered, looking down in attempt to hide the growing redness.
“Why don’t you make me, Darlin’?” He asked, dropping their intertwined fingers and settling instead to wrap his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her the rest of the way towards him, needing to feel her closer to himself.
Camila wasn’t too sure what pushed her to do so confidently, her usual shy demeanor dissolving quickly away as the seconds ticked by. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of being in Jasper’s home, being welcomed as one of the family’s own, or maybe just Jasper and his habit for making her feel like the rest of the world was melting away whenever he was touching her. Either way, it didn’t take long for her to comply and fill the gap between them, wrapping her arms securely around his shoulders, and pushing up on her toes until their lips met in a soft embrace.
Like usual, despite the cool temperature of his skin, the touch of his lips set her ablaze. Her heart thudded along in her chest at an almost embarrassing rate considering that he could hear all of it. Her fingers reached up from around his neck, curling them in the soft golden curls at the base. She pulled away, ending the delicate touch of their lips all too soon. They stood like that for a moment, just holding each other, foreheads pressed together, just soaking in their presence.
Jasper was the first to pull away, reluctantly forcing himself to do so as he allowed her to go back to her snooping. Her eyes continued scanning the rows and rows of books, recognizing some as she went, making mental notes of talking points when her eyes scanned over a few of her favorites. One of which had just grasped her attention, her fingers raising to grab the bound pages as a sudden blinding light ripped Camila from her focus, her hand dropping back down to her side.
Curiosity filled her eyes as set them upon Jasper’s face. The light was coming from him. Okay, maybe not from him, but the sun had begun to shine into the windows just to their right, like a cloud had finally drifted past and the light was somehow reflecting off of his skin. She stood there in awe, not sure how exactly to react to the stunning appearance in front of her.
“This is why you can’t go out in the sun.” She said suddenly as the realization finally hit. “I can see how that would be… distracting.” She admitted, eyes still wandering his skin in awe as she stepped closer, allowing her fingertips to brush the cool skin of his cheek.
Jasper nodded slightly. “That’s why you will unfortunately have to go without me on Monday and Tuesday.” He said, causing an exaggerated pout to form on her lips. “It’ll be okay.” He said, laughing lightly, trying convince himself just as much as her.
Camila’s eyes stayed, glued to his skin as she reached down to grasp his hand in her own, bringing it up to get a closer look at the stunning shimmer of his skin. She couldn’t decide if it looked more like it was shimmering or if it had just caught on fire, the blinding light much like hot flames flickering over his body. She supposed that this must be where the ‘burning in the sun’ thing came from, a now fairly obvious origin of the story.
Delicate notes filled the air, rolling throughout the open room as the sound thankfully pulled her thoughts away from the upcoming absence of Jasper in the days to come. It took her just a moment to recognize the sound of a piano somewhere within the home. Whoever was playing was doing so beautifully and she was having a hard time focusing on anything else in the moment.
Jasper, seeing the interest in her eyes, spoke up. “Do you want to go listen?” He asked, not waiting for an answer as his fingers intertwined in her own and he begun to lead her through the hallways. Her eyes widened as they rounded the corner, surprised to see Edward of all people sitting at the large shinny black grand piano occupying the middle of the room.
She pulled he lip between her teeth, debating for a moment if she should bring attention to herself before realizing that he would’ve already known that they were there watching him play. “You play beautifully.” She spoke out, catching the attention of the brooding vampire behind the keys.
“Thanks.” He muttered, eyes returning quickly to the song as his fingers danced quickly across the keys. Camila’s eyes flicked up to Jasper, giving him a small nervous smile before dropping his grasp and making her way towards his adoptive brother. Despite the situation making her uncomfortable, she knew it was necessary. The last thing she wanted was any animosity between her and Edward and if that meant that she was the one that needed to initiate any form of friendship then so be it.
“Do you mind?” She asked gesturing to the space on the bench beside him. He shook his head no, scooting over slightly to make room for her to join him on the seat. She lowered herself onto the plush cushion, rolling her sore shoulders and she positioned her hands over the piano. Her fingertips grazed lightly over the ivory keys, delicately pressing as they went, emitting a soft melody throughout the room. Edward smiled softly, listening as the notes continued one after the other. “Jasper didn’t mention that you played.” He spoke, eyeing her thin fingers as they continued.
Camila hummed in response. “To be fair, I’m pretty sure I never mentioned it. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to practice with.” She admitted, thinking back to the easier times she had. Before she got sick. Before everything changed so drastically. Back to when she was just a normal teenager. She had taken piano classes since middle school, but when she had gotten diagnosed, the practicing had dwindled significantly, along with everything else in her life.
Edward eyed the girl, maybe for the first time understanding the extent of the pain she had been through. The memories that flooded her mind were difficult for her to think of, that much was obvious. He hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to see her side of things throughout this whole mess, but finally being able to read her mind made his entire view point change.
Realistically, she was just like the rest of them, her life being cut short and now she was being given an opportunity. The same opportunity he had been given, even if she was being given the choice when he had not. Either way, it was not his place to judge her and he knew his attitude had to change. She didn’t deserve his hatred. In fact, she didn’t deserve any of this, but this was the life she had been given. “You’re pretty good all things considered.” He admitted, the corners of his lips curling slightly upwards, finally deciding to show her as much kindness as he could will himself to, still, despite everything, finding the gesture difficult.
Jasper watched from the doorway, happy to see that his brother had finally decided to be kind to his now girlfriend, even if calling her that still seemed like an odd thing to do. Almost too human of thing to do. Camila scoffed. “Not nearly as good as you.” She said, dismissively waving her hand as she rolled her eyes at him.
Edward laughed lightly. “I’ve had decades to practice. I’d say that’s a pretty unfair advantage.” He stated mater of factly. Camila laughed as well, happy to see that the immortal teen was finally warming up to her. Maybe living for eternity with this family wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe they wouldn’t end up hating her guts like she feared so greatly.
Camila let loose a slow breath as her fingers stilled on the keys, attempting to keep the release steady as the pain that ached through her bones seemed to thrum along. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly, trying to get her heart rate to slow back to a steady beat as her head begun the throb. Edward’s concerned voice rung through her ears. “Do you need some water? Would that help?” He asked, his voice seeming miles away as the pulsing pain in her temples increased by the second.
Camila couldn’t help but feel frustrated with herself, something so simple being able set her off. The concentration needed for playing sending pulses of pain through her temples. The frustration didn’t stop as Jasper rushed to her side, laying a comforting hand on the small of her back as he leaned down, eyebrows furrowed together in visible concern. The pain seemed to slice right through her skull, growing more and more intense by the second as pressure begun to build in her nose.
Almost in slow motion, the uncomfortable feeling of her nose running started and she watched as a crimson drop fell ever so slowly onto the pristine keys of the piano, splattering over the pale surface. Her hand shot to her nostrils, attempting to stop the mess from getting even worse, but her efforts were useless. The floodgates had opened and blood was steadily pooling down onto the piano and her cream colored shirt.
Out of instinct, the two vampires held their breath, sure that disaster was just around the corner. Slowly, the realization hit that everything was okay and the bloody nose wasn’t going to cause a complete bloodbath. The realization that her blood really didn’t effect them like everyone else’s hit Jasper, and selfishly, for a moment he was thankful for the cancer that had changed the chemistry of her blood.
Still, panic filled Jaspers eyes as he took in the scene of Camila covered in her own blood like an image taken straight out of his own nightmares if he could still have them. “Carlisle!” He yelled out, the stress and unease clear in his voice as his hand came up to her nose to pinch the bridge in attempt to stop the sudden uncontrollable flow.
Edward’s eyes flickered between the two, frustration clear on his face as he stared at the bloody mess. He turned, rushing away in a blur, obviously disturbed by the whole ordeal, but Jasper couldn’t care less. All that mattered was Camila and her safety. Edward’s emotional distress would have to be something for him to deal with alone.
The man flitted into the room in a flash, immediately going into doctor mode as he saw the scene in front of him. “Jasper, keep the pressure there. Camila, we’re going to take you to my office to see what we can do to stop the bleeding quickly, okay?” He said gently, motioning for Jasper to carry her further into the home.
In a blink of a moment, there they were, in one of the rooms she had yet to see, but was just as immaculate as the rest of the home. “I’m so sorry.” Camila apologized as Jasper sat her down on the examination table.
“Nonsense, there’s no need to apologize.” Carlisle assured her, brushing off Jasper’s touch on her nose and replacing it with his own. “Jasper, go help your mother clean up, would you?” He asked, looking pointedly in the direction that they had just come from. Jasper knew better than to argue with the man, no matter how much he wanted to in the moment.
It pained him to leave her side, especially seeing her in the condition that she was in. Emotional torment swirled in his head as the realization hit that this had to be a normal thing for her and was nothing compared to what was yet to come. So, he greeted the opportunity of distraction with open arms, rounding the corner and seeing that Esme was already there, wiping up the splatters of blood with a damp rag.
Her eyes flickered up to his own, not needing to have powers like his own to see the emotional destress. “Oh, Jasper.” She said, sympathy coating her voice.
Jasper shook his head, refusing to be the weak one when Camila needed someone strong to depend on. After all, nosebleeds were normal right? Despite trying to reason with himself, he knew better. He knew that the amount of blood covering the piano and the floor underneath was not a normal amount. He knew that it would mean something serious for anyone that didn’t already know something was wrong. “I’m fine.” He muttered, grabbing another rag and helping clean crimson covered wooden planks.
Hearing the stubbornness in his voice, Esme knew that pushing the subject anymore was useless, so she decided to move onto something else. “I like her already, you know.” She said, a sly smile growing on her face.
Jasper couldn’t help the lift of the corner of his lips as he though of her. “I like her too… obviously.” He joked, trying force the spiraling thoughts of losing her from his mind. The pressure of her illness had never been so prevalent in his mind and he couldn’t stop thinking of the choice that she would have to make, the very real possibility that she would say no and soon leave him forever.
Esme’s heart ached at the sight of her son’s torment. She scrambled, hoping to find the right words to comfort him. “Everything will work out in the end.” She said softly.
His head hung at her words, biting his lip as he forced his eyes to stay on soiled rag in his grip. “Please, Esme. I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but you don’t know what she’ll decide. I refuse to make that decision for her or pressure her in any way.” He said, jaw clenched tight.
The idea had been prevalent on his mind since Alice had told him of her vision of the future, but never had it seemed so close and so damn daunting. He knew it was right around the corner, and the nose bleed hadn’t even been something major, but for some reason, it made everything seem so much more real. So reel that it terrified him more than ever. At every corner he reminded himself that this whole thing could come to an end soon, but that didn’t stop him from growing closer and closer to her by the day. Throwing caution to the wind as he excepted his feelings for her and gave into his own heart’s wants.
Esme sighed, dropping her rag on the floorboards, bringing her palm to lay on his shoulder. “You have to have hope, Jasper.” She said, rubbing her thumb across his shoulder. A deep frown settled on her face as she took in his stone cold expression. “I’ll let you finish up here.” She said lowly, deciding it would be best to leave him to himself.
——————
The throb behind Camila’s brow persisted as she sat on Carlisle’s exam table. His firm but gentle touch finally dropped from her nose as the bleeding subsided. She looked down, horrified to see her ruined outfit. She wasn’t sure how easy it would be to clean the blood from the cream colored shirt, but had a feeling that her mother would notice her change of clothing either way.
The dread only increased when her mind wandered to what the scene she had left behind must have been like. Of course, it was just her luck. Her first time meeting the mother of her boyfriend, and she had left a huge mess in her wake. She couldn’t help but be embarrassed, and just when she was beginning to get along with Edward of course.
“Are you feeling okay? Faint at all?” Carlisle asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
She blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes up from the blood-soaked cotton. “I’m fine.” She muttered lowly, not bothering to speak up, knowing that he would be able to hear her either way. “I haven’t had this happen for a while.” She admitted, thinking back to the stained carpet she had left behind in her last home.
Carlisle sighed, turning as he grabbed a few different things, too quick for her to see before handing the small baggy over to her. “Nosebleeds are very common with your shortage of platelets, frankly I’m surprised they haven’t been happening more often.” He said, giving a soft pat to her knee. “Either way, if you do happen to experience a more severe episode again, there should be everything you need right there.” He said, gesturing to the baggy.
“I’m sure you know all of the steps, but I’ll go ahead and remind you. You’ll want to make sure that you’re seated leaning forward, breath through your mouth and pinch just above your nostrils for ten to fifteen minutes and if it hasn’t stopped by then, come see me. I did pack some gauze in that bag just incase you have a more severe episode again, so Jasper can insert it for you until he can get you to me.” He explained, giving her a reassuring smile.
His smile drooped slightly as he continued. “I’m sure you’re already aware, but these type of things will become more and more frequent as the cancer progresses.” He said. Camila forced a tight smile, nodding curtly. Just another thing to worry about in school, great.
A soft knocking sounded throughout the room, causing both pairs of eyes to flicker towards the noise. Alice stood in the doorway, smiling her usual smile as she flitted to the duo, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Come with me, I have a change of clothes you can barrow.” She said cheerily.
Camila snickered softly at her enthusiasm before slowly sliding off of the exam table to a stand and following her retreating figure.
——————
The events of the day had been cut short after the brief ‘bloodbath’ that had occurred. Esme had refused to except any of Camila’s apologies, stating that there was nothing to apologize for in the first place. Camila couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about the whole ordeal, only having met her for the first time earlier that day and already making a mess of her home. It definitely hadn’t gone as planned, but as expected, Esme was just as wonderful as Jasper had described her.
After she had returned home, she hadn’t even had to ask before Jasper was crawling back into her window, avoiding being seen by her parents, knowing that Camila would need her ‘emotional support vampire’ after the grueling events of the day.
As she laid on his chest, fast asleep, puffs of air leaving her open lips, Jasper’s thoughts continued to race. His heart physically ached in his chest as his eyes scanned her soft features. The panic that lingered of losing her reared its’ ugly head as he clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts from his mind. As much as he didn’t want to give the idea the time of day, he couldn’t help it. As much he dreaded the topic, he knew that the best he could do would be to promise to love her until her last breath and it would ultimately be up to her if she would stay beyond that.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut {minors + ageless blogs dni!! you’ll be blocked}
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!sebastian, teasing, exhibitionism, sex under the table, fingering, reader wears a skirt, petnames “kitty”, implied cum eating/multiple orgasm
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.6k+
𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑. this was especially true when there were guests over. the last thing that was needed was to give visitors a bad impression of the mansion and those who resided there by doing something that could be considered indecent.
however on this evening sebastian was feeling more bold than usual. perhaps it was because you had the nerve to tease him right before company arrived on the phantomhive doorstep. you thought you were so sly trying to work him up when he didn’t have the time to absolutely ruin you. how cute.
you left him no choice. sebastian had to put you in your place and he chose to do so when everyone was sitting at the dinner table together. as everyone else engaged in mindless chatter, sebastian removed his black gloves from his hands. a few seconds later you feel his cold fingers glide up your thigh.
the action surprises you. turning away from your meal you turn to the butler next to you. you’re met with a smirk as sebastian’s tongue wipes across his bottom lip. “i would think carefully about what you do next,” sebastian warns as he pushes up your skirt under the table. your bottom lip trembles as he begins to rub your clothed clit. “wouldn’t want any of our guests to find out about any elicit behaviour”.
regret washes over you for what you did earlier. your lips part to apologize and possibly beg for mercy. before you can you feel your panties get pushed aside. the gasp that escapes your mouth catches the attention of the person sitting across from you.
sebastian explains away the noise for you, assuring the other guest that you’re simply enjoying your meal. knowing you’ll only get in trouble for doing such a thing again, you bite your lip to hold in any further sounds as sebastian slips a finger inside of you. he doesn’t waste any time, immediately starting to pump his digits.
you grip the end of your skirt so tight that your hands feel numb. not pausing his teasing for even a second, sebastian leans in close to your ear. “eat your dinner. it would be rude not to finish after the cook used so much of his time to make it”.
there’s no doubt that his words are more of an order than a suggestion. so you raise one of your shaking hands and pick up your fork. it’s a struggle to finish your plate especially with sebastian knuckles deep inside your pussy but it would be unwise at this point not to listen.
“good kitty” sebastian praises as you do what he says. “was the trouble you caused a few hours ago worth this result? does it feel good?” the butler purrs as you look up at him with pathetic watery eyes.
“s-sebastian i’m close” you warn him instead of answering his question.
in reply sebastian simply hums and curls his fingers. that makes you drop your utensil with a clang. by the time more individuals gaze in your direction to see what’s wrong, you’ve already made a mess in sebastian’s palm.
“i-i’m okay. so sorry” you apologize after some concerns were raised about your well-being. someone even asked if you were sick. of course you quickly reassured them that you were fine. meanwhile, sebastian’s cleaning your cum off his hands with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket.
“such a pity i couldn’t taste you” sebastian sighs once everyone was put at ease and their focus is off of you. “not to worry. later i expect you to come to my room. 𝐖𝐄’𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄”.
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You finish your tea in tenuous silence. With an agreement between you, there isn't much left to say. You really don't know what to say or do. All the implications pile on you as your mind races.
A wife? A good wife. What does a good wife do?
Support her husband. Love him. Show him affection...
That last thought tingles in your cheeks. You peek over at Walter as you hug your empty mug in your hands. What does he expect of you? Not just in your marriage but tonight? You haven't wed just yet.
He meets your eyes, brushing his hand over his curls. He slides forward on the cushion as your shoulders slope down. He still looks angry.
"Done?" He asks, not waiting for your answer before he stands.
"Yeah, I... I am, thank you."
He approaches and takes the mug from you. He goes into the kitchen without another word. You peer over at the windows, rain still battering the panes. You sniff and stand with a shiver as you search around, your clothes still showing damp patches.
"The truck..." you mutter.
"What about he truck?" Walt frightens you and you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around yourself. He stops to shut off the space heater.
"It's down the road. I couldn't get it all the way here..."
"We'll worry about that tomorrow," he grits.
"Right... tomorrow?"
He blinks, "you can stay. It's safer."
He nears and offers his hand. You stare at it, it seems so big. You slowly unfold your arms and put your hand in his. He squeezes, firm but not unkind.
"Are you tired?" His tone softens.
"A little," you feel a yawn trying to break free and put your chin down.
He leads you around the couch and back into the entryway. He ushers you towards the stairs as the cold air creeps up your legs. You climb up beside him, crowded on the staircase.
"Well, we'll get you tucked in then and we'll figure everything else out tomorrow," he affirms.
"Yeah, sounds good," you wilt out.
We. Not I, not you. We. Together.
He hums and says nothing else. He takes you down the hallway to a room at the end. He flips the light switch. There's a four-post bed on a brown rug with a green quilt is draped atop the layers of bedding. A desk stands in the corner, cluttered and full. Several sweaters hang from the back of the chair, much like the soft wool he wears no.
He leads you to the bed and throws back the blankets. He tugs you towards the edge and lets you go. You climb up and wiggle your cold toes. Before you can reach for the covers, he tosses them over you.
Wordless, he backs away. He rolls his broad shoulders as he turns his back to you and nears the long dresser against the wall, a basket on top of it heaped with clothes. He pulls his sweater over his head, further mussing his curls. As he reveals his thickly muscled back, you look away.
You guess you never thought much about how he looked. You always just saw him as strong and big, but you never delved that deep. Your eyes trail over as he undoes his jeans and steps out of those. He dumps them into the basket of laundry and leans on the dresser as he peels off his socks.
He turns to you, in a pair of boxers, and you shyly flick your eyes to the ceiling and lay back against the pillows. The image of the hair across his burly chest has your insides brewing. He's older than you but can't be that old.
He goes to shut off the light and you sense his shadow in the darkness, lurking closer and closer. You nearly gasp as his weigh shifts the bed and cool air seeps under the covers as he slides beneath them. You're nearly shaking with uncertainty.
You're going to sleep in the same bed. That's not unusual... technically, you're engaged so it's expected. He lowers himself down beside you and you squeak as he grabs you. He pulls you towards him, guiding an arm beneath you as he angles you onto your side.
You let him. Maybe you want this or maybe you're terrified. Either way, you can't deny him. You have a deal.
He curls his other arm around your middle as you lay flush to him, your short figure nestled against his large one. His chest rises and falls calmly against your back as your own heart hammers frantically. You close your eyes, folding your arm around his as you rest your small hand on his thick fingers.
He's as hot as a furnace. His body heat quickly chases away the lingering cold in your flesh. It soothes you in a way you don't expect. You feel safe despite your vibrating nerves.
"Good night, lamb," he kisses the crown of your head.
His deep voice rolls through you, a new sort of chill flowing down your body.
"Night, Walt," you murmur.
He lets out a noise, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and you feel the tension slake away from his body. It might not be so bad. He can be nice so long as you go along.
Warnings: arrow s1 spoilers, mentions of death, nightmares, weapons, violence, cursing, let me know if I missed any :)
Pairings: Oliver Queen x sister reader, Thea Queen x sister reader, Moira Queen x daughter reader
*not my gif*
Summary: When that yacht went down, you lost everything. But now, Oliver is back
A/N: Welcome to book place’s one year event!!
Inspired by: Paradise by Coldplay
Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work
When she was just a girl, she expected the world
“Have fun,” You smiled as you hugged your father, turning your head to place a kiss on his cheek.
He matched your smile, hugging you back tightly, “Don’t get too comfortable around here without us,” He teased, “We’ll be back before you know it.”
“We’re counting on it.” Your mother said with a smile, watching as her husband turned to her with a large grin.
As the two of them said goodbye, you turned towards your twin brother, and you scoffed playfully, “Just get out of here.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the smile that broke out on your face.
He matched your sarcasm by crossing his arms over his chest and lightly glaring at you, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll miss you too.”
The grin widened on your face and you took a step forward, wrapping your arms around Oliver’s torso as he hugged you back in return.
Your brother turned his head slightly and planted a kiss on the side of your head in his own farewell.
“Make sure the yacht doesn’t sink.” You joked, not quite understanding the power behind your words.
“Don’t worry,” Oliver reached out and teasingly ruffled your hair, “I know how to swim.”
But it flew away from her reach
“-and then the boat went down,” The officer in front of you had his hat off and he stared at the three of you sympathetically.
Immediately, Thea fell against your mother with a loud cry leaving her lips as tears began to roll down her face like a waterfall. Moira tightly grasped onto her and held her to her chest while they sobbed together for the loss of your father and brother.
But you stood there, feet rooted in place and heart frozen over, you were sure that it had stopped beating.
Your brother- your twin brother- was dead. Your other half was gone. And though the two of you didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, you were still each other's best friend. You knew everything about each other and now that he was gone, you were certain that you would fade away into nothing.
Because without Oliver, where did you stand? How could you be expected to walk through life without your partner in crime by your side?
You were barely able to register the way your mother moved to wrap an arm around you, and how her and Thea clung to you. But you were still yet to move, to show any sign of what you were feeling, to look away from the officer.
“I understand that this is a lot to take in-“ He didn’t even finish his sentence before you slammed the door in his face.
Thea and your mother whipped their heads up and their lips parted in shock to see your arm still outstretched to where you closed the door.
Without a word, you shrugged off their hands and turned on your heel and walked away.
So she ran away in her sleep
“At least take a moment to think about this,” Moiras voice was desperate, begging, “We barely just had a their funeral, I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind-“
You cut her off as you slammed down the top of your suitcase and leveled a glare at her, “I am in the right frame of mind,” You moved around her to begin collecting things off of your desk and placing them in a bag, “And what I’m thinking is that I need to get the hell out of the place that’s reminding me so much of my dead father and twin brother.”
The words made her recoil, as if struck, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You had spoken the truth, it hurt more to stay in a place that reminded you so much of them than not.
“You can’t just leave your family at a time like this,” She whispered, eyes filling up with tears.
It seemed like all of you had cried enough tears to last a lifetime after the reality of the situation had finally crashed over you at the funeral and you had broken down in a pile of sobs. You were surprised to see that she could still cry, you had thought that all three of you would have long since run out of tears.
Finally, you sighed and gently placed your bag down, softening at your mothers voice and making your way over to where she stood before wrapping your arms around her, “It’ll be alright,” It was an empty promise, and you both knew it.
She sniffled, holding you against her tightly and whispering in your ear, “Where are you even going?”
You cleared your throat, slowly pulling away, “I don’t know yet.” You answered honestly, “But I promise I’ll call you soon to let you know I’m alright.”
There was hesitation and fear clear as day present in her face, but you paid it no mind as you picked your bags up and made your way out of the room, bidding her one last farewell.
You froze in your steps though when you sucked in a sharp breath. Thea was standing right outside your door, staring up at you with those wide eyes of hers.
“Where are you going?” She asked softly.
A sigh left your lips and you gently brought the girl in for a hug, “I just have to go away for a little while, Thea,” You whispered, “I need to clear my head.”
She bit down on her lip and averted her gaze from your own, “For how long?”
“I don’t know. But I promise, I will be back.”
Dreamed of para-para-paradise
Your eyes snapped open and you flew up into a sitting position, breathing coming out rapidly and in gasping spurts.
It had been three years since the yacht went down and you were still yet to come home after all that time. You had moved to a nearby city, only communicating with your family every so often to let them know that you were still alright.
But no matter how much time passed, you could never shake that feeling of wrongness.
Somewhere inside you, against every bone of better judgment, you believed that Oliver was still alive. You knew it was wrong and you knew that it was nothing but false hope. But no matter what you tried, no matter how much you begged yourself to move on, you couldn’t.
How could you? After being told what had happened and it was as if half of your soul had been ripped out?
The nightmares began the day you recived the news. Senerios flashing in your mind of what could have happened. Of all the different painful ways your brother could have died. Your mind was a never ending torment of the whole thing.
Once you were finally able to get your breathing under control, you dropped your head into your hands and ran them down your face with a groan.
Your head picked up after a moment and your eyes subconsciously found the small picture frame that sat on your beside table.
In it, Oliver had his arm slung over your shoulder with a wide grin as you doubled over laughing at something that he undoubtedly said. It was your sixteenth birthday and you both looked so happy, so free. So oblivious to what was to come.
It had taken you about two and a half years before you could put that picture up without feeling like you were painfully being stabbed in the heart. But even now, it wasn’t the easiest thing to look at.
Para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise
Five years. That’s how long it’s been. That’s how much time passed and you had finally, after all these years, begun to learn how to burden your pain correctly. How to be able to still live your life without him by your side.
That’s why you decided to return home for the first time since the funeral.
Just a few days ago, you had called home with the news and both your mother and Thea seemed ecstatic, much to your relief. You had been worried that they would scoff and turn their noses up at you that you were finally coming back after all these years of pushing them away.
It wouldn’t be a permanent move, just for a few days, to see how things were. Because despite everything you had been through in the last few years, you still had a life that you built in your new home for yourself, and you weren’t quite ready to abandon it entirely.
Now, as you stood, staring up at your childhood home, the one you had almost never dreamed of returning to, you were hit with a wave of reluctance.
What if too much had changed over the years? What if your family had just felt inclined to allow you back, only doing so because of the guilt that they felt?
You nawed on your bottom lip as you contemplated the possibilities, but ultimately came to the conclusion that you needed to get over yourself and you confidently pushed the door open with slightly more force than was probably necessary.
“Y/n?” Thea’s voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears the second you stepped into the entryway.
Quickly, your head snapped over to where your sister who was not so little anymore and smiling brightly, came bounding down the stairs and flinging herself across the room to come crashing into your arms.
“Thea,” You breathed out, allowing your eyes to flutter shut in contempt as you hugged her tightly to your chest. You had missed her far too much.
A new voice- more like a gasp- reached your ears and you opened your eyes to come face to face with your mother.
Quietly, Thea slipped out of your hold and stepped back to give you and your mother a moment.
Moira brought a shaky hand up to her mouth as tears filled in her eyes. It was almost as if she hadn’t expected you to actually come today.
“Hey, mom,” You greeted quietly, being the one to take the striding steps to meet her where she stood in the doorway and wrap your arms around her.
“Oh,” She breathed out, hugging you to her tightly and placing a tearful kiss on the side of your head, “I missed you so much, sweetheart.”
Every time she closed her eyes
You let out a loud laugh, throwing your head back and letting your eyes crinkle up as giggles left your mothers and sisters lips as well at the story Moira had just told.
The three of you were sitting around the dining room table, chatting about what had happened in the last five years and eating lunch.
At first, you thought it would be an awkward and stiff conversation, but you soon realized that your family missed you just as much as you had missed them, so you were able to flow into a lunch that consisted of laughter and catching up.
“Ma’am,” A voice tentatively called out from the doorway, a worker stood there hesitantly, seemingly embarrassed for interrupting, “There’s a phone call for you.”
Moira was still sobering up her chuckles as she answered, “Take a message and tell them I’ll get back to them as soon as I can.”
“Ma’am,” She said again, a little bit more confident this time, “It’s the hospital.”
All three of you fell into complete silence as the words dawned on you. The only family you still had was sitting in this room, so what could they want?
Wordlessly, your mother stood up and followed the worker out of the room, leaving you and Thea to share a worried glance behind her back.
A few moments later, you heard a sharp gasp come from the direction and you and your sister immediately shot to your feet and rushed into the room.
Your mother stood in the middle of the room with a phone grasped tightly in her hand and tears flowing freely down her face with a hand placed over her mouth for the second time that day.
“Mom? Mom?” Panic began settling in the pit of your stomach as you hurried to her side and gently took a hold of one of her shoulders, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Painfully slow, she turned her body to face you and over her shoulder you could see Thea watching the two of you with worry.
Your mother then breathed out the one thing that made your heart stop.
“Oliver…”
“Ollie?” Thea came to your side, “What about him?”
“He’s… he’s alive.” Moira cried out, dropping the phone onto the carpeted floor and throwing her arms around the two of you.
But you were frozen in shock.
Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was-
“Oh my god,” You sobbed out, legs giving out and falling to the floor. You could no longer support yourself.
He was alive.
When she was just a girl she expected the world
“He’s right through here,” You barely even registered the doctor's words as he led you through the halls, “But just be careful Mrs and Miss Queen, this isn’t the same Oliver that you lost.”
Forcefully, Moira made herself plant her feet as she watched you practically float through the air and towards the door that had just been guestered to. As much as she longed to follow after you, she knew that you needed more than anyone to go in before a single other person could see him. She owed you that much.
For some incomprehensible reason, your mind was completely blank, almost as if you had gone into autopilot. Nothing of what you had done as soon as you heard the news had been by your own free will. It was as if something had possessed you and tossed your conscience to the side.
You opened the door and took a step inside. The snapping sound of it closing seemed to finally break you out of whatever trance you had been placed in and you blinked once. Twice.
A very tall figure that stood with his back facing towards you turned around at the sound, and you felt like you were going to pass out.
He was Oliver Jonas Queen, there was no doubt about it, but he had changed so much. He was taller, more muscular, so much more mature looking.
There was something behind those stunning blue eyes of his that automatically led you to believe that he had become a guarded man, holding secrets that you couldn’t even begin to guess.
Something about being on that island- as you had briefly been informed on the way over- had changed him. The only thing you couldn’t tell from a single glance was if it was for better or worse.
“Ollie,” You breathed out. It was the only thing that you could say.
“N/n,” He smiled softly, striding across the room and gently wrapped his strong arms around you.
“I-I-“ You stuttered incomprehensibly before throwing your arms around his torso in a desperate manner, “Ollie-“ You sobbed into his chest, a fresh set of tears emerging from your eyes and staining his- no doubt- new shirt.
He didn’t seem to care in the slightest though, only strengthening his hold around you, letting out an almost inaudible sigh of contentment as he did so.
“You’re here,” You whispered, almost as if saying the words aloud would send him away again, making him disappear into nothing.
“I’m here.” He repeated, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I’m here.” There was such intensity in his relief that you began to fear all the things he had been forced to go through.
You pulled away with a tearful smile, the first genuine one that you wore since before his disappearance and cupped his cheek with a disbelieving laugh, “You’re really here.”
But it flew away from her reach
“Thea?” You knocked on her open door and stuck your head in with a wide grin, “It’s time for dinner, you coming?”
She snapped her head up from staring at her hands from where she sat on her bed and you immediately realized the way her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with tear marks.
Worry grasped onto your body and wrapped itself around you as you automatically rushed to her side and crouched down before her, older sister instincts kicking in, “Hey, hey,” You said softly, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Your sister shook her head, chuckling tearfully and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, “No, nothing. I’m just so happy.”
A smile of relief grew on your face when you realized that she was alright and you reached up to gently swipe a stray piece of hair away from her eyes, “I know, I am too.”
“It’s just- I finally have both of my siblings back.” She breathed out with a wide grin.
Your smile, however, faltered at her words, “What do you mean?” You asked quietly.
Her eyes flitted up to you and she bit down on her lip guiltily when she realized what she said and she shrugged, “No, it- it’s just- it always felt like I lost both you and Oliver when his ship went down.”
Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach and your breath caught in your throat, “Oh, Thea-“
“I’m not trying to make you upset,” She immediately rushed out, “It’s just- you left right after Oliver disappeared and it just felt like both of you had died even though I knew that you hadn’t.”
Tears of your own began to fill your eyes, one of sadness for the first time that day, “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, “I never- never meant to do that to you, Thea. I-I just couldn’t stay after everything-“
“And I know that,” She gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand, “I know that you had to do what you had to do. I’m just happy that you’re both back.”
A smiled sadly, moving another piece of hair behind her hair, “I am too.”
And the bullets catch in her teeth
“Come on, you have to admit, that was fun.” You spoke with a large smile as you swung your arm around and linked it with your twin brothers.
Oliver smiled, placing his hands in his pockets with his arm still wrapped around yours, “It was.” He agreed.
The two of you had just gone out to lunch with Tommy, figuring that it would be best for all three of you to catch up at the same time, given that you all used to be- and still are- best friends.
You turned down an alleyway to take a shortcut to where you parked your car, happily chatting away with one another.
Ever since he got back, the two of you hardly left each other's sides. It felt more comfortable- safer- to be in the vicinity of each other whenever you could. Almost as if that would lessen the chances of the other being taken away once more.
“Freeze!” A deep voice sounded behind you all of a sudden, and you both halted in your steps, “Now turn around with your hands up.”
Quickly, your panic filled eyes flitted over to Oliver, making brief eye contact with him and he gave a subtle nod of his head to let you know to do as was said.
You both turned on your heels with your arms partially raised, and your breath caught in your throat when you caught sight of a man pointing a gun straight at you two with a ski mask pulled over his face.
“Give me your wallets.” He demanded.
No. No. No. No. No. No-
This couldn’t be happening. You just got Oliver back, you would not let anything take him away from you once again.
Quickly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your wallet, drawing the man’s attention away from your brother long enough for him to shift his body in front of yours slightly.
You stuck your arm out to hand it to the man, and when he moved the gun into one hand and began to reach for it, Oliver quickly stuck his own arm out, slamming his fist into the side of the man’s face.
You stumbled back as the man’s eyes rolled back and he fell unceremoniously to the ground. Knocked out cold before he even hit the pavement.
Oliver let out a sigh through his nose, not even flinching upon the impact of his fist with the man’s jaw before turning back towards you.
“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly, eyes scanning over you for any sign of injury.
All you could manage was a small nod of assurance.
Before the island, the only fights Oliver ever got in were bar fights. Ones filled with sloppy punches and slurred insults. Never had he ever actually learned how to fight for real, let alone know how to punch a man out cold in one go and not look even remotely fazed.
“What happened to you on that island?”
It was the dreaded question. The ‘do not go there’ topic. Something that every single person had been avoiding since his return.
The man stiffened in front of you, “I don’t want to talk about the island.”
There was that look again. The one you saw in the hospital when you first went to retrieve him. That guarded, cold look that held secrets that clearly had restricted access.
“We have to at some point,” Your voice was now coming out as begging, “It can’t be healthy to keep all that bottled up! God knows what you were forced to go through. And I just want to help-“
“You can help by leaving it alone.” He snapped.
At his words, your spine snapped upright and a hard look of your own overcame your features, “Fine.” You said in a cold tone that could rival his.
All at once, he softened and ran a hand down his face with a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry, n/n. It’s just-“ He took a stuttered breath, “It’s just a lot.”
You softened as well, “I know that,” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “And I’m not trying to force it out of you. I just want to be here if you need to talk about it.”
“I know,” He walked over and hugged you, “I know. And I appreciate that, n/n, I really do.”
Life goes on, it gets so heavy
“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore, Oliver!” You shouted.
Ever since that day in the alleyway, something seemed to change in your twin brother. No longer did he stick by you every available moment, he now distanced himself from you- from everybody.
“You’re always running off to god knows where, doing god knows what!” You continued, feelings anger and betrayal and nervousness rising inside of you, “We just got you back, and you seem hell bent on making us lose you again!”
Oliver stood stiffly across from you in the living room, arms crossed over his chest and head bowed to the floor. Not once did he shout back, he just took your words with that guarded exterior of his.
“Just talk to me!” You begged now, “I’m not asking you to tell me about those five years- that’s your own business to tell at your own leisure. But I’m your twin sister for god's sake! Tell me what’s going on with you now- in the present.”
“It’s… complicated.” He finally spoke and raised his head to meet your burning gaze, “I promise, I’m only trying to protect you-“
You let out a loud scoff, throwing your arms up mockingly, “Yeah, sure feels like it!”
Anger finally seeped through his mask and painted his features, “What do you want me to say, Y/n? What- you want me to be the same person that I was before the island? You want us to tell each other everything again as if we aren’t grown fucking adults?” His voice gradually raised throughout his small speech until you physically flinched back at the volume of it.
Both of you stood, chests heaving up and down in short pants as you tried to catch your breaths, and for a few moments, that was the only sound echoing in the vast room.
“Fine.” It was your turn to put on a cold exterior, “Fine, you’re right, Oliver. We don’t know each other and we don’t have to. Why would we? We’re ‘grown fucking adults’. We don’t need each other anymore. We’re not children.”
His arms dropped to his sides, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
You shook your head and backed up, holding your hands up in surrender, “No, no. I think that’s exactly what you meant.”
“Y/n-“ He called, but it was too late. You had already stormed out of the room.
The wheel breaks the butterfly
“How did you know I’d be up here?” You mumbled, not lifting your head from where it rested upon your knees that were pulled to your chest.
Moira sighed, carefully lowering herself to sit beside you on the roof, “You used to come up here all the time whenever you and your brother got into a fight.”
You winced slightly, “You heard that?”
She hummed, “Put on quite a show for me and Thea… while on the other side of the house.”
“Sorry about that,” You whispered, taking your sleeve and rubbing the tear stains off your face.
“Oh,” She breathed out sympathetically, reaching over and rubbing your back comfortingly, “It’s alright, sweetheart. You both just said some things you didn’t mean, nothing you can’t come back from.”
You looked at her uncertainty, “Are you sure? We were both pretty brutal.”
Your mother wrapped her arm around your shoulder and allowed you to rest your head on her own, “That’s true, but you and I both know that you two can’t go very long in an argument without making up.”
“I know that,” You whispered, “But that was before. We’re both different people now.”
You missed the way she lifted her head to look at the window she had just crawled out of to come see you, “That’s true. I don't think either of you could last in your arguments as long as you used to.”
Confusion overtook your features and you turned your head up to her with furrowed eyebrows, but her eyes were trained elsewhere. You followed her line of vision and paused. Oliver stood on the roof, looking as if he had just climbed out.
Moira left a lingering kiss on the top of your head before walking back into the house, offering your brother a reassuring smile on her way.
Wordlessly, Oliver sat down beside you, staring out at the garden that you could overlook from where you were perched.
At the same time, you both turned to each other and synchronously said, “I’m sorry.”
You chuckled slightly when you did so, each relaxing slightly.
“I didn’t mean it- any of it.” Oliver said, turning apologetic.
“I know,” You stated, “Neither did I. It’s- it’s just that after everything we went through-“
He cut you off by wrapping an arm around your shoulders like your mother just had and pulling you into his side. Oliver dipped his head to give you a kiss on the top of your head, “I know. I know.”
The two of you fell into a silence that lasted until you finished watching the sun fully set.
Every tear a waterfall
“This is the first time I’m seeing this since the funeral.” You admitted, swinging your arms back and forth by your side.
Oliver turned to you, “Never felt like coming to visit me?” He teased.
You shook your head, “It wasn’t that.” You admitted, “I moved out as soon as the funeral was over.”
Your brother faltered in his steps before catching up to where you now stood, feet planted in front of his and your fathers empty graves.
“You moved out?” He asked in surprise, this being the first he was hearing of it.
“Yeah,” You laughed slightly, “The day you came back was actually the first day I had come to visit home. Looks like we both thought that would be the perfect day to do so. Maybe it’s a twin thing.” You hummed thoughtfully at the end.
“I-I didn’t know you left.” He stuttered out, turning to look at you.
You were slightly taken aback by the way he was taking the news, “Well, yeah… it hurt too much to stay here.” You explained, head tilting slightly as you tried to figure out why this was such a big deal to him.
“I thought- I thought you were still here after all this time.”
“Oliver,” You laughed slightly, “What’s the big deal? I’m here now.”
He shook his head, “It’s just- I thought you had mom and Thea to look after you all this time- and now I find out that you were alone for everything?”
You fell silent, finally seeing what the big deal was for him, “Oh,”
Tears shone in his eyes, “I went through all of it alone- but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to as well.”
“Ollie…” This was the first time since his return that you saw him get so emotionally upset over something.
“Why didn’t you stay with them? Why didn’t they stop you from leaving?” He asked suddenly, “They could’ve taken care of you-“
“Hey.” You cut him off sternly, taking his hand in your own and shaking it firmly to get his attention, “That was all my own decision. And besides, we’re both back now, so it doesn’t matter. We’re alright now.”
In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes
You laughed loudly as Oliver threw a piece of popcorn at you, “Oh, come on! You know it’s true!”
“It is not.” He scowled playfully.
Thea joined in your amusement, “Oh, it totally is!” She snickered, “You used to be too scared of the dark to sleep alone! I remember- you would always sleep with mom and dad!”
The three of you sat around the couches in the living room, munching on popcorn with a long- forgotten movie playing in the background.
“I did not!” He protested.
“Oh, yes you did, young man.” Moira smiled at the sight of her three children, all playfully bickering with one another as she entered the room.
“Mom!” He complained as yours and Theas cackling grew louder at her admitted statement.
“I’m sorry,” She shrugged, completely unapologetic, “I can only speak to the truth.” She jokingly wagged a finger at Thea, “And don’t you be laughing, young lady, remember what happened during the Christmas party when you were eight?”
Your sister's eyes immediately widened with horror and it was then Oliver’s turn to join in on your laughing.
“Mom!” She shrieked, “That’s not cool! Don’t bring that up!”
“And you,” Moira playfully narrowed her eyes at you, “Need I remind you of your seventeenth birthday fiasco?”
“No! No!” You quickly shook your head back and forth.
Your mother was the only one left laughing after that, but you couldn’t deny that this felt good. Joking around as a family again. All together.
In the night the stormy night away she'd fly
You tiptoed across the hallway towards Oliver’s room as if you were a child again. The two of you used to sneak a candy bar or two up to your rooms during the day and stash them under your pillows for the nighttime and would oftentimes have a mini party with one another while feasting on your treats.
This time though, it was different. There were no more candy parties. No more stifled giggles in the middle of the night. No more childhood.
About a few minutes ago, you had woken up with the feeling that something was off- that something was wrong. It was such a strong feeling that it became practically impossible to ignore. So you found yourself throwing off your covers and creeping to your twin brother's room to try and figure out what was wrong.
As soon as you stepped through the already opened door, you realized what the problem was.
Oliver was sitting on the edge of his bed with his head dropped like a rock into his hands while his elbows rested in his knees. He had a nightmare.
You didn’t know how you knew, it just came to you and there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that it was what happened.
Wordlessly, you shuffled into the room and sank down onto the mattress beside him.
At first, he tensed up and whipped around to face you, only to relax when he realized that it was just you.
The silence carried on between the two of you for a few minutes before you spoke up in a small whisper, “I used to get nightmares almost everyday after you and dad…” You trailed off and swallowed thickly.
“What did you do about them?” His voice was as soft as yours was. Your brother didn’t even question how you knew.
“Not enough,” You admitted, hugging your knees to your chest, “I let them plague my mind because I didn’t know what else to do about them.”
“What were they about?” You could tell from the sound of his voice that he didn’t want to push, but curiosity had taken over.
“How you- I mean how you could’ve…” You harshly blinked tears away, “Every nightmare would be a different scenario of how you could have died.”
Without another word, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you into a strong, side hug, planting a kiss on the side of your head as you leaned into his chest.
“They stopped, though.” You craned your neck to look up at him with a teary smile, “As soon as you came back. I haven’t had another one since.”
He shook his head softly, “I’m sorry you ever had to go through that.”
“Don’t apologize.” You copied his head shake, “There is absolutely nothing that you need to be sorry for. The ship going down wasn’t your fault.”
Oliver gazed at you with sad eyes, “But I wish it hadn’t happened.”
You let out a small laugh, “Of course,” Small giggles continued to pour out of you, “You can’t actually be glad something like that had happened.”
A smile pulled at the ends of his lips as he turned his head away from you to look out the window, “No, I suppose not.”
Dream of para-para-paradise
“What the hell is all of this?” You asked quietly, turning in a slow circle from where you stood.
“You know what this is.” Oliver called softly from behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked- dare you say- nervous.
About an hour ago, he had rushed into your room, rambling nonsense about not wanting or being able to lie to you- his twin sister - anymore, and had practically dragged you out of the house and to an old abandoned warehouse that used to belong to your father.
“You’re the vigilante.” You breathed out.
Deep down, you felt as if you had somehow known all along, because now, it all made sense. The obvious secrets, the interaction with the mugger, the difference in, well, everything about him.
“Oliver.” You turned and looked him directly in the eyes, “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, mentions of caging/locking you up (doesn't do it though), hair pulling, breath play if you squint, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), pinv sex, blowjob, male masterbation, cunnilingus, mating press, mentions of Lucy Gray, no spoilers | lmk if I forgot anything!
⇢☾Pairing: young president Snow x fem! Reader
⇢☾Summary: Snow realizing his feelings for you, being fucked up about it and fucks you!
⇢☾A/N: don't romanticize, it's dark romance so y'all are warned! This is set in the same au as The Study (you don't have to read it beforehand but it's recommended)
< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > <tag list>
It started slowly, so slow that Snow didn't even realize it. It started with that night in the study after he had you. He didn't touch you again, denying himself of you. You, his wife, a little bird stuck in a cage. The First Lady of Panem was nothing but a doll, a showcase piece for the country.
You played the role well enough, but you weren't a doll at all. You brought life in what was otherwise a stone-cold mannor. The workers cook your favorite, making sure you're the most well-accommodated. Like a Queen. How their shoulders relax and the smile that springs up when they do the tasks that you assigned them. You earned their respect and their loyalty.
You were dangerous yet harmless. It baffled Coriolanus to no end. It started slow. He coincidentally met you in the hallways more and more. After that night, you couldn't make eye contact with him, no longer did you greet him with an awkward hello or a shy smile.
You look down at the floor whenever he passes you by, your body flushing from the mere second of proximity. So obvious and adorable. He loved how easy you were to read, how open you were. Whatever your lips hide, your eyes show. Whatever your soul hides, your body shows.
It started slow. The monthly dinners with the First Lady turned weekly. Every Sunday now he had you sit across him for dinner and he would ask you about your day. Just to be polite, mind you, don't look into it. He would be annoyed by those one-word answers but would never show it. His fingers subtly grasped the glass of wine tighter than he should, his heart pricking his brain into paranoia. ‘What else?’ he wanted to ask, ‘Stop saying it was good. Tell me what made it good.’
Instead of uttering those words, cameras were placed on every inch of the manner with the audio functions so everything is recorded for his and only his view. He watched you walking through the library, your fingertips touching the spines of the books you already read (which was most of them), you didn't even realize new books were added to the collection, all similar to the ones you liked. He watched you stroll the gardens, your face in a frown at the neverending white roses. A red rose and several other flowers were added the next day.
It started slow. He began to talk about his day more and more trying to fill a silence. He started asking for your opinion and oh, how that lighted your eyes up that you were finally doing what you were meant to do. Supporting him not as a doll but as a wife. You begin to talk about your days more, trusting him with your day-to-day activities. You tell him about friends and family, something he wasn't interested in (he has files on every single person you mentioned).
The nights that were dedicated to his needed sleep turned into the witching hours in which he would stroke his cock over the memory of you. His mouth biting into the pillow to stop his groans, hearing them would mean admitting his need for you and he rejected that notion. His cock was oversensitive because he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop fucking into his fist, again and again thinking about you. Not just your pussy but you. Your desperate moans, your lips marking his neck, your slick walls, and everything of you. Your tears, your head on his chest when he had fucked you. Everything.
He wanted to pin you against a wall. He wanted to bend over during dinner. He wanted you on his lap in his study. He wanted to push you to the bed and fuck you until the bed breaks. He wanted you!
The realization made him spill onto his bed sheets for the nth time. A gasp escaped his lips as he realized how deeply you are rooted in him now. He needed to kill you. He can't afford this again. Whatever this is. Obsession? Love? Was there ever a difference? He needed this to end.
‘You don't deserve to be loved,’ he thinks, you were no Lucy Gray after all, you were different. You could never compare to his first and only (not anymore) love. But he had caged you, he had you and knew your every move. The rumors that spread of cheating were seized along with the man who flirted with you. True to your words, you hadn't fallen to the temptations of the Capitol, rejecting their offers politely rather than basking in their attention like before.
‘Good,’ he thought, he had killed everyone who had touched you and it was hard to hide the evidence. “I am so much better than her,” he muttered, “I could do so much better.” He asked himself, ‘Why? After all the promises I made to myself of never repeating the mistake.’
He didn't get a reply but he dreamt of you.
Breakfast had passed, lunch too, he hadn't seen you once today. A quick peek at his monitors showed that you were sleeping in your room. He clenched his jaw, a part of him hating you for sleeping in because it deprived him of seeing you. A part of his heart warmed because your hair was a mess, the shirt you were wearing while sleeping was his, and you looked so darn pretty.
Coriolanus convinced himself that he was going to your room to wake you up. Nobody should sleep this late into the day. It wasn't healthy, and he needed the First Lady to remain healthy. That was all.
He stepped into the room, his footsteps quiet so he didn't alert you. He sits down on the bed, your sleeping figure beside him. Your mouth had dried drool on the corners which made him disgusted but amusement all the same. His hand went to your cheek, he couldn't control the action of his thumb stroking your cheek.
“I should lock you up forever,” he whispered as softly as possible, almost inaudible. “In this room, so no one can see you but me.”
He knew by now his thoughts weren't normal and it would never be. That's him and he had accepted himself. He leaned in closer, his lips inches away from yours. He stopped right before he closed the gap. He takes a deep breath, taking in your scent before pulling back.
His hand goes to your shoulder, he shakes you. “Wake up, bird,” he said, his eyes softening when he saw you wake up and peer at him with confused eyes. You yawn, and sit up, your eyes wide when you look at him. You rub them with your hand and blink.
“Is there anything wrong, Coryo?” You asked softly, “Anything I can do to help.” “You should shower and eat first,” he said instead, “and next time don't sleep in. I don't like indiscipline.”
“Sorry,” you mutter, “I was finishing a book.” Your eyes flicker to him, “It's nice by the way! I will tell you about it during dinner.” He wanted to hear about it now, he wanted to pull you closer and kiss your lips, he wanted to push you into the mattress and breed you. He wanted to clean you up after and feed you every kind of feed.
He clenched his jaw, trying to get rid of such thoughts. “We'll see,” he said before walking out of the room, accidentally slamming the door. The first sign of Snow losing control.
The second sign of Coriolanus losing control was how his breath hitched when he saw you during dinner. You are wearing yet another one of his shirts (how do you even get your hands on them) and that's it. A white shirt that reached your knees, you had forgone pants and opted for shorts that couldn't even be seen. Your legs were in complete view, the same legs he wanted wrapped around his waist.
He didn't say a single comment even when it was clear you were waiting for one. ‘Were you trying to seduce him?’ he thinks, ‘Or something else.’ He felt paranoid about you wearing his shirt. Did you want him? Want him to bend you over, press your face onto the table and fuck you like you were an animal?
He felt his pants getting tighter from his thoughts, flashes of what he could do to you, what he had done to you. He couldn't focus as you talked during dinner, he made a mental note to watch the cameras later to know the words you had blessed him with.
It hits him like a wave when dinner ends and you come to him with a book. Tabs were spilling out and it was a hardcover of an old classic that he had to read during the academy.
“You once told me that you liked this book, I spent last night annotating it! I did a few finishing touches before dinner…”
That explains your attire, you were busy formatting this gift for him. He took the book from your hand, he wanted to throw it across the room, he wanted to set it on fire. It was now his most precious treasure, more important than Panem itself.
The truth he denied washes over him. Making him take a sharp breath and your eyebrows etch together in concern. He had once a girl dedicate songs for him, now he had a wife dedicating booms for him. ‘It would be a mistake,’ he told himself, ‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past.’
The desires he shoved at the back of his mind sprang forward and he made a decision. The third sign of Coriolanus surrendering to himself was that he had everyone including the guards leave the dining room. Making your eyes widen from the sudden instruction.
“Is there anything wrong-” you begin to ask before Snow interrupts you. “Here is what's going to happen now. You're gonna be on your knees, you'll take my cock in your mouth and you'll make me cum. Then I will take you to our room and I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name.”
You blink once, twice just staring into his eyes that revealed nothing before you went closer to him and got down on your knees for him. “Like this?” You asked, breathless, your cheeks flushed. He smirked, “Exactly like this, pet.”
“Now part those pretty lips for me,” he said as he unzipped his pants and set his hard cock free. He lets out a chuckle as he sees you eyeing his cock like a long-lost lover. Guess he wasn't the only one thinking about that time.
You part your mouth wide enough for him as he pushes his cock in slowly. No matter how desperate he was a gentleman for his wife. He knew better than to gag you. He stopped when his cock had completely disappeared, his length engulfed into your wet, hot mouth.
He throws back his head as his dick hits the back of your throat. He relishes the sound of your choking around his length. He lets out his groan, trying his hardest not to cum down your throat so soon. His hand is in your hair, keeping you in place like an obedient pet.
You try your best to take in a deep breath as your tongue swirls around his length as much as possible. You weren't the best at blowjobs, but you knew the sloppier the better. Saliva ran down your cheek as you tried your best to focus on his cock underside, your tongue dragging itself across a pulsing vein that reached his cockhead.
You moan around his length as the taste of pre-cum bursts in your mouth. You close your eyes and try your best, bopping your head up and down. You clenched your fist, trying your best not to gag when his cock gets deeper into your throat.
Meanwhile, Snow was a wreck of a man, the heat of your mouth ruining his capability of having coherent thoughts. You were sucking his soul through his dick it seemed to him. His fingers tangled in your locks, gripping your hair tighter as a way to anchor himself to reality.
His blue eyes dilated to almost black as he looks at you taking his cock so well. Like you were made for it. Made for his cock. Made for him. Meant to be his wife, his bird, his pet, and his love. It's destiny, he decided as he pulls you off his cock and uses his suit sleeves to wipe your mouth and chin.
‘Everything leads to this,’ he thought, as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed a kiss to your lips. The saltiness of his taste in your mouth does not deter his tongue from tasting you.
“Go to my- our room,” he whispered to you as he broke the kiss. “I'll be there soon,” he promises as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips kissing your skin. You nod and get off his lap. Your feet drag you into his room.
Meanwhile, Coriolanus takes a deep breath, trying to maintain whatever pathetic excuse of sanity he had held. It didn't work. His cock was hard enough to hurt and his brain made him think. He thinks of removing you, he thinks of keeping you. He thinks of plans to protect you, backup plans to make sure you remain untouched while still maintaining the image of the First Lady. His true possessiveness and obsession flares up in his mind.
‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past,’ he told himself, repeating that line to his head.
He takes a deep breath, a glance at the cameras shows workers and guards kept the halls clear and you were in his room and on his bed waiting for him. Waiting for him to ravish you as you kept playing with the buttons of the shirt, and your underwear on the floor. Your face was crimson but your lower lip was in a darker shade of red with how much you bitten it because of nervousness.
He lets out a huff of air before adjusting himself accordingly. Coriolanus Snow was many things, gentlemen included and gentlemen don't keep their ladies waiting.
You freeze as he enters the room. You swallow nervously, your fingers pausing on the shirt button you were playing with. He glances at the panties that were on the floor and he gives you a little smirk. “Take it all off, my wife,” he said as his hands worked to undress him. His suit was on the floor, his shirt joining it soon enough.
You have to press your thighs together as you see his skin again, a whimper escaping your lips at the sight. He was so beautiful, craved by the angels, breathed to life by the devil. Soon, his pants and boxers were getting ridden off.
You check him out, your gaze hungry. Your fingers shake with desire as you take off your (his) shirt. You let it fall, exposing yourself completely to him, like he did for you. His eyes rack you up, causing a flush to every visible inch of your skin.
“Open your legs,” he said, as he walked closer and got down on his knees for you. “I am hungry,” he said, while his lips pressed to your knee and his lustful eyes bewitched you. You had to bite your tongue to not let a moan from his mere words. You spread your legs wide, letting your cunt come into his view.
Your folds that were glistening with your arousal and your slit which was the cause of your juices fluttered around nothing from his gaze. “Exquisite,” he had whispered, the praise warming you up and making your pussy clench harder. “Eager too,” he chuckles, looking up at you but you refuse to meet his gaze.
“Have your meal,” you mumbled, embarrassed. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making your breath hitch from the contact. A sharp moan escapes when he bites, his teeth digging into the flesh and your hand falls onto his hair. Your fingers grip the blonde locks but you don't try to push him away. Your legs tried to close around him, but his hands made sure to keep them spread as he liked it.
He pulled away, admiring the mark before he pressed another wet kiss to it. His fingers grip your thighs, they hold tight enough to leave marks too.
He takes in a deep breath, nuzzling into your thigh. Your primal scent makes him go wild, his nail digging into your skin as he brings his lips closer to your pussy. One swipe of his tongue onto your folds and he groans louder than you have ever heard him to do so.
“You taste like fucking candy,” he lets out, as his nose bumps into your clit, his tongue messily swirling around your folds, gathering as much of your juices as possible. Your legs were all on his shoulders now as he all but pressed his face, burying himself in your cunt. He takes in a deep breath through his mouth before he begins to ravish you properly.
His mouth taking in your entire pussy and sucking it with such devotion it made you see stars. He laps at your pussy, his tongue never stopping to devour you. You pulled him even closer, your thighs closing around his head. The action only made him. You couldn't see it, but his eyes rolled back from the lack of air and your taste that quickly became his favorite.
His teeth pulled at the outer lips of your pussy, making you cry out and gush more juices. He licks it all up. Before his attention goes to your little bud, his mouth kisses it at first. Then he takes your clit into his mouth to suck without any mercy.
It makes you cry out, the soles of your feet digging into his back as your hips begin to rut against his face. You have no control over your actions. You were gripping his hair so tight you were afraid that you tore away a few strands. Overwhelming pleasure attacked all of your senses as he didn't stop his merciless actions.
You arch your back, your lips moaning his name as heat begins to gather in your body. You cry out, “Close! Coryo! Fuck!” Pleads begin to leave your mouth as your hips grind faster, your clit nudged his nose as his tongue is now inside your walls, fucking you with his tongue.
Your eyes widen, and you let out a silent scream when his teeth nip your swollen clit. You lay on the bed, panting as your pussy cums on his face. Your arousal makes a mess on his face which makes you even more slick when he pulls back and gets on top of you.
You looked into his eyes, his cold blue eyes that were nearly black now. He was panting, both of your breaths mixing into the air. With whatever senses you have left, you use your palm to clean up some of the mess on his face.
As soon as you finish up, he holds your hand. His mouth on your palm with broad strokes of his tongue he licks the remaining of your juices clean. “Can't let it go to waste, my bird,” he whispered to you as he leaned down. His body caging yours or were you caging him down with your legs around his waist? He pressed a kiss to your cheek. Sweet and gentle, and so unlike him but you don't dare question his affections. May it be sweet or savory, you accept it with your arms wide open.
“Want you,” you whispered to him. “You'll have me when I see fit,” he replied, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck before they reached the flesh of your breasts. One of his hands squeezed your breast and his thumb rubbed circles on your nipple. His lips paid attention to the underside of it, licking the skin around the round flesh before his teeth sank in making you gasp. He sucks harshly, his hold on your breast getting rougher as he forms the mark on your skin. When he's assured that a hickey will be formed, his lips pull back and he presses a kiss to the mark.
“You're mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin before he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks just as harshly as before. You moan, “Yours, Snow!” Your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. His fingers play and squeeze your other breast while he continues to suck your bud. Your cunt despite having a previous earthsharing orgasm begins to pulse with need. You whimper, “Corio, please!”
Coryo pulls away, his eyebrows etched in annoyance, as much as he likes to hear you beg, he would rather focus on his task of marking you up. He leans up and presses his lips to you. You moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers tangling themselves into his curls bringing him even closer to you. He breaks the kiss, “I'll teach you to be obedient later, my pet.”
You let out a whimper when he pressed a hard kiss against your lips. His hands travel down to your hips. “Get ready,” he whispered to you, “I meant my words.” I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name. Remembering his earlier words, you whine loudly, “Please!”
His hand grips your hip tightly as his other hand holds his hard cock and guides it to your entrance. Just to be a little tease, he swipes his mushroom tip all over your cunt, his cockhead bumping your swollen clit making you arch your back and your nails dig into his flesh harder, making him moan as well.
He finally pressed his tip into your slit, his cock gliding in smoothly because of how wet you were. He groans as his dick gets sucked into warmth. His head is between the space of your shoulder. He was panting, his hot breath hitting your skin as he pushed in inch by inch. Your hands are on his back, your legs around his waist as you encourage him to go deeper into you with your soft moans.
His teeth sink into your neck to stop a groan, as his cock reaches your deepest spot. While your nails drag themselves across his back to create red lines. Both of you finding ways to anchor yourself to reality, to not go insane with the pleasure you find in each other.
“Move,” you plead, “Please, Coryo, need you to fuck me. Need you!” Snow decided to have mercy on you both, his hips began to move shallowly, and he refused to completely pull back. He refused the concept of depriving his dick of your sweet, wet pussy. “Faster,” you beg, his deep thrust hits at your every spot, some you didn't even know existed. It fried at your senses, your mind going haywire, your body getting desperate for another release.
“No,” he barks near your ear, his mouth biting your earlobe before he begins to kiss your jaw and then to your collarbone. His lips suck purple and blue bruises on your skin while his hips grind into you. Making you go dizzy and insane with how his cockhead kept grazing your g-spot.
“Please, please,” you babble, “You're fucking me so good, Coryo! I can't take it, please! Fuck me harder, love!” His hips had stopped moving as he heard your words. His head leaned up to you, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “What did you say?”
You looked straight into his eyes, not hiding the love you had for him, letting it flow through your words and your body. “Love,” you whispered, your lips pressing a delicate kiss that could shatter everything you had built with Snow. “I love you,” you whispered. One of your hands moves to his cheek, caressing him. “You don't have to do anything in return, just know that I love you.” You smile at him, knowing it's more likely that he won't ever return your feelings.
You prepared yourself for a harsh rejection but instead, his hips begin to move again. Harder, faster than before, his cockhead kissing your cervix with his thrusts, his fingers digging into your hips marking it. You won't be able to walk later but that didn't matter.
What mattered was how perfect Coriolanus had begun to fuck you. No, it wasn't a fuck. This was something more. Something changed with your confession, something changed and will remain changed for the rest of both of your lives.
One of his hands reached upward, his fingers snaking around your throat. He pressed it in, not enough to block your breathing but enough to make you lightheaded. Your pussy which was already tight, clenched around him further making him groan right against your ear.
“Lover indeed,” he whispered, his words that you nearly missed, your heart understood what he meant. You gasp, “Kiss me.” You knew that even without him saying those words, he could love you all the same.
Snow complies, his lips clashing with yours. His hips rutting into you as his hands guide your legs into the mating press position, making you cry out into the kiss as his cock reaches even deeper than before causing a small bump into your stomach that neither of you notices.
The kiss got open-mouthed, desperate with how his tongue tangled with yours. It was filth filled with the pathetic, insanity of love you both felt for each other. His thrusts got faster, and sloppier as he was close to his end. Your cunt pulsating around his length as you too were close to shattering again.
What it took for both of you to reach the end was him breaking the kiss to whisper, “I should kill you. I should kill you for making me a lovesick fool again.”
The words even when you know can mean your doom makes you cum like nothing else. Your lips cry out as your walls begin to milk his cock for what it's worth. He groans into your mouth, letting himself feel your fluttering cunt before he thrusts into you once, twice, and finds his release. His cock spilling into you, his cum painting your insides white, marking you.
He pulls out, his back covered with scratches, his curls clinging to his forehead and his lips swollen from the kisses. You looked just as much of a mess as he did, with marks all over your body.
He thinks to himself as he lies beside you. He wasn't going to kill you now. Not in ten years or fifty but your end would only be when he decides.
Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks.
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, (eventual) smut
Total word count (so far): 80.6k
A/N: Multi part Rhys Montrose x Female Reader fic. FYI, this fic will incorporate the use of Y/N. I have decided to also post this fic on AO3 (same username as on my Tumblr) and to change the x Reader to an Original Female Character over there using a fictitious name. That will be the only difference. So, if the use of Y/N isn’t your thing, go ahead and look the fic up on AO3 :)
Below you'll find the links to all the parts that have thus far been uploaded. I will try my best to upload a new chapter each week. Every part is also accompanied with a 'soundtrack', these are all listed below as well. Finally, a little preview of what's to come... I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoy writing it! There aren't a lot of Rhys x Reader fics out there, so I hope I can bring some extra flavour to the table.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19
Soundtracks: 00. Feeling Good – Nina Simone 01. Royals – Lorde 02. Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene – Hozier 03. (I Just) Died in Your Arms – Hidden Citizens 04. Secrets And Lies – Ruelle 05. No Good – KALEO 06. …Ready For It? – Taylor Swift 07. Meet Me In the Woods – Lord Huron 08. The River – Daisy Jones & The Six 09. The Silence – Manchester Orchestra 10. Power – Isak Danielson 11. wicked game – Jessie Villa 12. Beautiful Crime – Tamer 13. Toxic – 2WEI 14. Cherry – Lana Del Rey 15. In the Air Tonight – Natalie Taylor 16. Whole Lotta Love (Dermot O’Leary) – Hozier 17. Lavender Haze – Taylor Swift 18. Don’t You Know – Jaymes Young 19. One For My Baby – Frank Sinatra
Preview
Song: Feeling Good – Nina Simone
The sound of the heavy door opening as it noisily scraped the floor made you look in his direction.
Rhys entered slightly out of breath, looking positively dishevelled as he ran a hand through his unruly curls.
“What happened to you? Killed another person?” You couldn’t help but teasingly joke, taking in his state as your eyes roamed freely over his physique.
Rhys had put his hands on his hips, taking some deep breaths to slow down his heart rate. When he looked up at you, head tilted to the side, he shot you his charming smile that feigned innocence.
No way.
You stared at him.
No way the man was truly this brazen.
He started to move closer to you, his eyes mischievous as they betrayed his wicked actions. You marvelled a little at how quickly you were getting better at reading him. Perhaps you recognised the murderous tendencies from the mirror.
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