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bubblegump-1-nk · 6 months

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Shall I Write It in a Letter

pairing: Gryffindor!Reader x Theodore Nott

summary: In which Theo wakes up one morning and realizes he can no longer not have you, so he writes you a letter. But when that letter gets lost, things become complicated. - inspired by Anne with an E; song: Bloom by The Paper Kites.

Warnings: angst that could be fixed by simple communication 😒, hints of cheating

P.S: I super duper highly recommend to listen to the songs either before, during, or after you read my fics . Not only do they encapsulate what the fic is about, but they’re also just super good songs!! <33d

~~~

Christmas break had been in session for about a week and a half, and Theo was spending his time off at home. Although he was sad to be away from his friends, he was happy for the much needed alone time.

The sun was shining brightly through the dark velvet curtains in his room, and he slowly woke up from his dreams. As his eyes fluttered open, he felt a pang of pain in his heart. His dream had been of you, specifically of kissing your soft lips on a warm summers day by the Black Lake. He’s found that more recently than ever, his head is full of you, as is his heart. As he’s laying in his bed, he closes his eyes once more, trying to hold onto the bits of you he won’t ever experience. In this moment, thoughts of you more prevalent than ever before, he realizes he doesn’t have to not have you. Quickly, becoming fully awake, he springs out of his bed and walks quickly to his desk.

He pushes all the papers and miscellaneous items off the surface, and pulls out a paper and quill. He’s become fully aware of just how much he longs for you, and why should he not be able to tell his best friend that he’s in love with her? He’s been yearning for your love for as long as he can remember, and it has finally transformed him into a fool, giving him the confidence to express his love for you.

My dearest y/n,

I’ve found that you’ve been circling my thoughts more than usual lately, so much so that I can hardly call them my own anymore. I think about you all the time, yet I’ve been too much of a coward to say anything. But I’ve realized that I don’t want to wake up one day, either in the near future or in the years to come, and regret not trying, because of pride, or embarrassment, or just simple fear. I need to escape this torture chamber I’ve made for myself, where I must hold you at arms length though I know I wish for nothing more than to be wrapped in your embrace at all hours of the day. So I need you to tell me if it’s all in my head. That the lingering touches and longing stares are just simple delusions I’ve created in my mind. But if they’re not, and Merlin how I hope they’re not, I’m telling you here and now that I am in love with you y/n l/n, and I don’t think I can bear to be apart from you any longer. I also want to go ahead and apologize for telling others I loved you, that they knew before you did, but to be fair I think everyone knew before I did, too. You are my breath of fresh air, the light in all my darkness, my proof that life is pure and good and that happiness is achievable. I may not be a religious person, but if worshipping you was a religion I’d be its most devoted follower. And if my feelings are not reciprocated, please find a way to put this past you because I could not endure losing you as my best friend as well.

Yours Forever, Theo.

After pouring his heart out onto the page, he carefully placed it into an envelope, wrote your name on it, and walked to give it to owl. After sending it away, he walked back to his room, his anxiety suddenly crashing through. Thoughts swarmed his head: She doesn’t love me, I’ve ruined everything, I should stop it from reaching her. But his heart quickly stopped his brain from doing too much damage. You needed to know or else Theo would live in agony for the rest of his life. Upon reaching his room, he sat back at his desk and sent letters to each of the Slytherin boys, confessing what he’s done. He even slipped a copy of the letter to Mattheo, the only one he felt he could truly trust with that piece of his heart.

~~~

It had been two days since the letter had been sent. Had his owl reached you by now? Had you seen it? What were you thinking?

He was an utter mess, his mind swarming with questions and his body teeming with anxieties.

Soon it was 4 days, then 6, then a week, and then the last day of break rolled around the corner. Still he had received no response from you, perhaps you wished to talk in person? His heart hoped that that was the answer, and that the lack of a letter was not your rejection

~~~

You got onto the train just as it was about to take off, thanks to your missing jumper. The train was packed with kids saying their hellos and catching up, and with much effort you finally found Harry, Hermione, and Ron and got inside the compartment.

“Is it just me or is it crazier than usual?” You ask as you sit down.

“Definitely crazier, apparently Lavendar and Parvati got into a huge fight over break so everyone’s running around to hear about it.” Hermione explains as she hands you some candy she bought for you.

You say your thanks and continue talking with your friends when there’s a knock on your compartment.

“Hi Dean!” You say as you get up to slide open the door. You step out quickly to talk with the tall Gryffindor boy.

You have a friendly conversation, lasting about 10 minutes before entering the compartment again.

“What was that about.” Ron asks, before anyone else has the chance to.

“I saw him at Diagon Alley over the break and he asked me out. We hung out a couple times over the break.” You explain.

“Never would have expected that one.” Says Harry.

You raise you eyebrow at him, “and why would that be?”

“Just always assumed it would be Nott.” Harry says.

“I can’t just sit around like a fool waiting for him. He’s shown he just sees me as his best friend and the quicker I get over him the better.” You explain.

“But, he hasn’t shown you that he feels that way.” Explains Hermione, who is team Theo and y/n.

“He hasn’t shown me any differently. Wake me up when we get there I’m taking a nap.” You say, tired of constantly being reminded of your inability to be with Theo.

~~~

You arrive at the castle, and you make your way through the crowds to find your Slytherin friends. Just as you spot their group, Dean Thomas stops you.

“Hey, I’ve saved you a seat next to me, ok?” He asks, while his hands snaked around your waist.

“Thanks, I’ll be right there.” You say to him, giving him a small smile before turning your attention back to the group

“Merlin.” Theo says, causing the group to turn their heads. He had seen you walking around the crowd, and had turned away quickly when you had finally spotted them. He hadn’t seen you on the train and obviously hadn’t received your letter, so a part of him still hoped that you just wanted to talk to him in person. His anxiety began to take over him when he saw you walking towards him - would you tell him to fuck off? That he’s some sort of creep best friend? Or would you tell him that your heart beat for him? - that’s when he saw it. Dean Thomas gripping your waist and you sending him that sweet, tooth rotting smile his way.

“Oh shit.” Said Mattheo, who had been the first to spot the pair.

“Fuck that’s messed up.” Said Draco.

“I’m sorry mate.” Enzo said, patting Theo’s shoulder.

“How’d that even happen?” Asked Blaise, confused because he had never really seen you interact with Dean.

Mattheo sent him a look, warning him to drop it.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Mattheo said, gently grabbing Theo’s arm, pulling him away towards the dining room.

Theo could still feel his heart breaking, each shard falling to the pits of his stomach and stabbing him. He got his answer at least, not only did you not love him, you clearly didn’t care enough about him to even write back to him. And now, his God-sent Angel, was flaunting around with another man. How could the sweet girl he grew up with, the one that showed him that even salt could be beautiful, break his heart and crumble its pieces in your fist?

You were confused when you suddenly saw the group leave, making their way into the dining hall. You tried to get to them, but the crowds of people pushed you back until finally, you realized it was fruitless when the crowd began pushing you back towards the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall. You decided to just sit down, and that you would try to find the group, Theo specifically because you missed him deeply, after dinner.

Dinner passed quickly after the tedious sorting ceremony. You talked with your friends and caught up with those around you, sneaking glances towards the Slytherin table as often as possible. Finally, Dumbledore dismissed the students and you all made your way towards your common rooms. Since it was the first day back, teachers were making sure students went directly to their rooms, leaving you no time to find the Slytherins. You decided it would be best for you to just wait until tomorrow, though you thought you might implode if you spent one more second away from Theo. A thought that made you feel instantly guilty when Dean appeared at your side.

The next day rolled around, and still you hadn’t been able to get ahold of the Slytherins. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have assumed they had been avoiding you. Finally, right before lunch you entered the library to grab some books when you saw the boys congregated in the back. You made your way over to them, carefully stepping around the stacks of books Madame Pince was reorganizing.

Once you finally reached the group, you went to announce your presence before Theo looked away from Draco (who was telling some boring anecdote) and looked down at you. Before you had any time to give him a smile or say your hello’s, he detached himself from the group and stormed right past you, through the stacks of books, and out the door. You stood shocked, facing the doors before finally turning back around to face the group. Your face was painted with an expression of confusion, which only deepened you received a nasty look from Enzo.

“We’ll be on our way now.” Said Enzo, walking past you with Blaise following close behind.

What..?” You finally managed to get out in your state of shock.

“Listen, y/n, just do us all a favor and leave us alone, especially Theo.” Mattheo said, in quite a rude tone before walking passed you. You stood confused and shocked at the interaction that had just unfolded. What had you done? Why were the boys mad at you? What had you done to Theo?

~~~

“I just have no idea what it could possibly be.” You said to Hermione, as you paced around your dorm room, recounting the story from earlier.

“Maybe it’s Dean. Maybe he’s just jealous.” Hermione offered.

“No, but I’ve had flings with guys before, and it’s not like he hasn’t been with girls before. It’s some thing deeper than that I know it.” You state, picking at your fingernails.

“And your sure you haven’t done anything? I mean you can’t think of one thing that could possibly have led to this?” Hermione asks, just as confused about the situation as you.

“Yes, I mean I literally cannot think of one thing that could have led to this. I would never hurt Theo, ever.” You say, plopping down on you bed, exasperated by the days events.

“I’m sorry y/n but I have absolutely no idea why they’re acting like this.” Hermione said, sad she couldn’t be of more help.

“It’s fine Hermione, it’s not your fault. I’m just going to go to bed.” You say, wanting this nightmare to end.

Could you really be losing your best friend to a reason unknown to you? Not only can you not be with the man that you love because he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, but now you may have just lost him completely. You fall asleep after hours of rolling back and forth contemplating your complicated relationship with Theo, and even in your unconscious state you cannot escape him because he peeps into your dreams.

~~~

The following week is agony. Your best friend won’t talk to you, let alone allow himself to be in the same room as you, the boys you’ve known since childhood give you nasty looks every chance they get, you have to entertain a relationship with Dean your not even sure you want to get into and your teachers are stuffing you with assignments. All you need is a good party with lots and lots of alcohol. Once Friday afternoon finally rolls around, you can feel a slight weight lift from your shoulders.

~~~

You walked into the Slytherin common room with Dean. Pansy, Daphne and some other Slytherin girls hosted the first party since break and seeing as you’ve been close with them since 1st year, you were clearly invited. You decided you were going to look your absolute best for this party: you’re makeup was flawless, your hair done to perfection, and the corset and low-waisted mini skirt you were wearing was doing your figure perfect justice.

“Fuck me.” Said Theo as he saw you walk in with Dean. “I’m going for a smoke outside.” He says.

“Need company?” Mattheo asks, not wanting to leave his vulnerable friend alone.

“Nah mate, thanks though.” He says, before walking outside quickly, before he can see anymore of you.

It had only been a few minutes, and you had already downed about 3 drinks. Once the alcohol started to hit, you detached yourself from Dean’s grip making up some excuse, before finding your way towards the Slytherin boys.

You spotted Mattheo sitting on the arm rest of a couch, sipping out of a plastic cup. You walked up to him, hips still swaying to the music.

“Where’s Theo?” You stated, once you reached him, your confidence booming.

“What do you want?” Mattheo asks, looking up at you with contempt.

“I need to find Theodore Nott. Where is he?” You state.

“You have some serious nerve.”

“What?” You ask, taken aback.

“Listen, y/n, you’re once of my closest friends, but Theo’s my best mate. And what you did, that shit’s just fucked up. Like seriously, I didn’t even know you were capable of that.” He says, disgust leaking out of his words.

“I’m sorry?” You say, confused by his words.

“Merlin y/n, I mean how dull can you be? You just expect everything to be all right after you not only completely ignore his letter where he fucking tells you he fucking loved you, but you turn up with some Levski (famous quidditch chaser) wannabe? I mean that’s some next level shit.” Mattheo says, getting up as he presents his rage induced speech.

“What letter?” You say, unaware of what he’s talking about.

Mattheo just stares at you, stuttering to get some words out.

“I said: what letter, Mattheo?” You say, much more sternly.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you never received it?” Mattheo asks, in shock.

“I don’t even know what I didn’t receive.” You say, exasperated.

“Just, wait right here, I’ll be right back!” Mattheo says, before running up the stairs towards the dorms.

You stand there in shock, your adrenaline pumping. Had you heard him right? Theo had sent you a letter confessing his love to you? How had you missed it?

“Here! Here! I have it!” Mattheo yelled, running towards you, waving a piece of parchment around in his hand.

“This. One.” Mattheo says, between breaths as he reaches you, handing you the parchment.

You rip it from his hands, reading it quickly yet thoroughly. Tears brim at your eyes, did he really feel this way? Merlin you felt so stupid, how could this have gotten lost?

“I-I…” you stuttered, unaware of what to say.

“Outside. He’s outside. Go!” Mattheo said, stilling catching his break.

“I- ok, thank you!” You say, before quickly running out the door, finding your way outside.

You see Theo sitting outside, smoking a cigarette. His face is illuminated by the moonlight and you swear in that moment that you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“Theo! Theodore!” You yell to him, as you run towards his figure. The grass was still wet from the rain that had fallen earlier that day, and the blades of grass began to stick to your calfs.

Theo looks at you, before getting up and attempting to escape you.

“Theo, wait, please! Mattheo just showed me the letter! I never got it!”

He stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around.

“What?”

You finally catch up to him, breathing heavily.

“I never got your letter, I didn’t know about it until just now.” You explain, showing him the letter Mattheo had given you.

“What?” He said again, bewildered by what was going on.

“I wasn’t ignoring you, or your feelings. I just never got to read about them until tonight.”

“So, you’re telling me you never received it, at all?”

“No. I never got a letter.” You explain, your eyes searching his for some hint of how he was feeling.

“Did you read it?” Theo asked slowly.

“Yes, just now I did.”

“And…” Theo asked, hope returning to him and hitting him like a truck. He was filled with anxieties and he felts his stomach doing flips waiting for you to answer.

“Of course I’m in love with you, I thought I made it so obvious!”

“I thought I made it obvious!” Theo said with a laugh, all negative feelings and thoughts leaving his body and head at your confession.

“My heart quite literally beats for you, Teddy. I’ve never been so scared then when I thought I was losing you.”

“Really?” He asks. His eyes are lit up and he can barely contain his smile

“Yes you idiot!” You say, smiling wildly

“What about Dean?” He asks, afraid.

“Fuck Dean! It’s only ever been you, Teddy. It’ll always be you.” You say, staring up at him with nothing but love and devotion.

“Does this mean that you’ll have me?” He asks, grabbing your hands.

You nod vigorously, unable to get any words out as tears of happiness are threatening to spill if you utter a single word.

And with that, Theo dips down and kisses you. The kiss is deep and passionate. You two explore each others mouths, and your hands explore each others body. You taste every bit of each other, and feel each others hair, faces, arms, waists, chests, in ways that you’ve never felt before. You take this chance to make up for all the lost time you’ve spent pining for each other in secret. The kiss is hungry, yet gentle and Theo holds you close, as if if he doesn’t hold you as tightly as possible you’ll slip away from him. After a few minutes he pulls away, touching your forehead to his and holding your face in his hands.

“I’m so so sorry for believing the worst in you. I was just in so much pain. Ignoring you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done” He states, referring to the week prior.

“It’s ok, Teddy. Let’s not worry about that now.” You say, causing his lips to come crashing down on yours again.

#slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #theodore nott #jealousyfic #harry potter #theodore nott x y/n #angst #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #lost letters #the paper kites #anne of green gables #anne with an e #theo nott

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curiositymemes · 6 months

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STICK SEASON: WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER.

taken from the 2023 album by noah kahan. trigger warnings for mental illness, trauma, medication, references to suicide, and the exquisite agony of life in rural new england. feel free to change wording and pronouns and provide context as necessary. do not add to this list.

northern attitude.

how you been?

you settled down?

you feelin’ right?

you feelin’ proud?

you settle in to routine.

what does it mean?

i’m not how you hoped.

you’re gettin’ lost.

scared to live, scared to die.

you’re feelin’ lost.

stick season.

you must’ve had yourself a change of heart.

now i am stuck between my anger and the blame that i can’t face.

it’s half my fault, but i just like to play the victim.

i’ll dream each night of some version of you that i might not have but i did not lose.

i thought that if i piled something good on all my bad i could cancel out the darkness i inherited from dad.

i miss the way you laugh.

you once called me forever now you still can’t call me back.

that’ll have to do.

my other half was you.

i hope this pain’s just passin’ through, but i doubt it.

all my love.

how have things been?

well, love, now that you mention it.

i’m sayin’ too much, but you know how it gets out here.

now i know your name, but not who you are.

it’s all okay, there ain’t a drop of bad blood.

you got all my love.

if you need me, dear, i’m the same as i was.

what i’d give to have you out of me.

i still recall how the leather in your car feels.

and at the end of it all, i just hope that your scars heal.

i swear i was scared to death.

i smiled stupid the whole way home.

you said, ‘i’ll never let you go.’

she calls me back.

there was heaven in your eyes.

everything’s alright.

look at me and don’t you lie.

don’t you hold your head up high.

for bullshit, i do not have time.

do you lie awake restless?

why am i so obsessive?

this town’s the same as you left it.

the radio is taunting me.

i don’t get much sleep most nights.

i’m seeing you in every dream.

if only i could fall asleep.

i’ll love you when the oceans dry.

i was too afraid of living life in your footsteps.

come over.

it was there when we got here, will be there when we leave.

you won’t have to guess who they’re speakin’ about.

i’m in the process of clearin’ out cobwebs.

i was takin’ the wrong meds; feels good to be sad.

my house is just barely big enough for my family.

my mouth was designed for my foot to fit in it.

i promise you, darlin’.

you won’t ever go back.

i know that it ain’t much.

i know that it ain’t cool.

you don’t have to tell the other kids at school.

someday i’m gonna be somebody people want.

new perspective.

makin’ me nostalgic.

we were kids; but that don’t make this less hard.

if i could fly i doubt i’d even do it.

i’d probably get high and crash or somethin’ stupid.

gave me your word.

i can’t pronounce it.

no thing so sure that i can’t learn to doubt it.

everywhere, everything.

would we survive in a horror movie?

we trust everyone we meet.

we’re littered with scars from our preteens.

i wanna love you ‘til we’re food for the worms to eat.

‘til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours.

i know every route in this county.

maybe that ain’t such a bad thing.

i’ll tell you where not to speed.

it’s been a long year.

orange juice.

honey, come over.

it’s yours if you want it.

we’re just glad you could visit.

feels like i’ve been ready for you to come home for so long.

i didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.

why’d you go?

my heart has changed and my soul has changed.

you just asked me to hold you.

it made you a stranger and it filled you with anger.

my life has changed.

the world has changed.

don’t you find it strange that you just went ahead and carried on?

are we all just pullin’ you down?

strawberry wine.

darling, speak to me.

don’t you say a word.

you thought you were cursed?

i’m in love with every song you’ve ever heard.

if i could lose you, i would.

all the time we used to have.

the things i miss but know are never coming back.

no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft.

growing sideways.

finally found some middle ground.

i said, ‘i’m cured.’

i divvied up my anger into thirty separate parts.

i’m still angry at my parents for what their parents did to them.

it’s a start.

but i ignore things and i move sideways ‘til i forget what i felt in the first place.

i know there are worse ways to stay alive.

everyone’s growing and everyone’s healthy.

if my engine works perfect on empty, i guess i’ll drive.

i forgot my medication, fell into a manic high.

now i’m sufferin’ in style.

why is pain so damn impatient? ain’t like it’s got a place to be.

if all my time was wasted, i don’t mind.

i’ll watch it go.

it’s better to die numb than feel it all.

halloween.

the dawn isn’t here, the sun hasn’t rose.

they got money to make and children back home.

i worry for you, you worry for me.

the bridges have long since been burnt.

i’m leavin’ this town and i’m changin’ my address.

i know that you’ll come if you want.

i’m losin’ myself.

i’m seein’ my life on a screen.

i know that you fear that i’m wicked and weary.

i know that you’re fearin’ the end.

i only tell the truth when i’m sure that i’m lyin’.

homesick.

are you bored yet?

the weather ain’t been bad if you’re into masochistic bullshit.

this place is such great motivation for anyone tryna move the fuck away from hibernation.

time moves so damn slow i swear i feel my organs failing.

i stopped caring ‘bout a month ago, since then it’s been smooth sailing.

i would leave if only i could find a reason.

i got dreams, but i cant make myself believe them.

i’ll spend the rest of my life with what could have been.

i will die in the house that i grew up in.

i’m homesick.

still.

i don’t wanna say goodbye.

it only falls into place when you’re fallin’ to pieces.

you miss something that you can’t place but you can’t deny it.

you can’t stay here.

it’s hard to face and it feels too ugly.

it’s like i’m still here with you.

can i fix what is broken?

the view between villages (extended).

for a minute, the world seems so simple.

i am not scared of death.

i’ve got dreams again.

there is meanin’ on earth.

i feel so far from it.

it’s all washin’ over me.

i’m angry again.

the things that i lost here, the people i knew.

they got me surrounded for a mile or two.

i found a town big enough for anything i want.

i’m not a city girl, by any means.

it still has a lot of meaning to me.

i grew up there.

your needs, my needs.

you ain’t gotta tell me what it means.

i promise to be there this time. alright?

you were a work of art.

that’s the hardest part.

i’m naming the stars in the sky after you.

dial drunk.

i promised to forget you.

i ain’t takin’ any fault.

am i half the man i used to be? i doubt it.

forget about it, whatever.

it’s all the same anyways.

i ain’t proud of all the punches that i’ve thrown.

for the shame of being young, drunk, and alone.

i gave your name as my emergency phone call.

i’d die for you.

from charmin’ to alarmin’ in seconds.

i’ll let the pain metastasize.

i beg you, sir, just let me call.

let’s wait, i swear she’ll call me back.

son, are you a danger to yourself?

fuck that, sir.

son, why do you do this to yourself?

paul revere.

this place had a heartbeat in its day.

nothin’ was the same.

it just ain’t that simple, it never was.

one day i’m gonna cut it clear.

i’m not from around here.

i’ll leave before the road crew’s out.

i’ll turn up the music and i’ll forget.

i’m not ready to let go yet.

i’ll just pretend i didn’t hear.

it’s typical, i fear.

folks just disappear.

if i could leave, i would’ve already left.

no complaints.

i thought i had something and that’s the same as having something.

i get mad at nothing.

i pull no punches, then feel bad for months.

thought i was raised better, tried to fake better.

now the weight of the world ain’t so bad.

i saw the end, it looks just like the middle.

i filled the hole in my head with prescription medication.

who am i to complain?

now the pain’s different. It still exists, it just escapes different.

yes, i’m young and living dreams.

i’m in love with being noticed and afraid of being seen.

call your mom.

oh, you’re spiralin’ again.

don’t you cancel any plans.

stayed on the line with you the entire night ‘til you let it out and let it in.

don’t let this darkness fool you.

i’ll drive all night.

i’ll call your mom.

oh, dear, don’t be discouraged.

i’ve been exactly where you are.

if you could see yourself like this.

you’dve never tried it.

stayed on the line with you the entire night ‘til you told me that you had to go.

throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason.

don’t wanna drive another mile wonderin’ if you’re breathin’.

won’t you stay with me?

you’re gonna go far.

this is good land, or at least it was.

it takes a strong hand and a sound mind.

it makes me smile to know when things get hard, you’ll be far from here.

pack up your car.

put a hand to your heart.

say whatever you feel.

be wherever you are.

we ain’t angry at you, love.

you’re the greatest thing we’ve lost.

the birds will still sing.

we’ll be waiting for you, love.

we’ll all be here forever.

we spent so long just getting by.

that’s the thing about survival; who the hell likes livin’ just to die?

you told me you would make a difference.

it won’t be by your own volition if you step foot outside this town.

it’s all we’ve had for always.

you’re gonna go far.

if you wanna go far, then you gotta go far.

forever.

let’s drive for no reason.

you look fine in the evening.

honey, it’s starting to storm.

used to wish i meant anything to anywhere, to anyone.

i’m glad i get forever to see where you end.

i won’t be alone for the rest of my life.

i’ll meet a girl in the heat of july.

i’ll tell her so she knows.

i’m broke, but i’m real rich in my head.

when i hold her close, i might loosen my grip, but i won’t ever let her go.

86 notes · View notes

leezlelatch · 8 months

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I didn’t see if your request are open or not, and if they aren’t I am sorry.

But if they are..

Chubby Fem reader x Secondo?

Blessed Be 🧿 🪬

Secondo x plus size f! reader. Body insecurity, comfort, fluff, many Secondo kissies.

Secondo sits upon a plush couch, his legs crossed. He adjusts his cuff and lays a hand upon his knee, dark sunglasses shield his eyes even while inside the boutique, and his expression remains stoic as always. Salespeople hover around nervously, unsure whether to offer him anything, or remain silent as he waits for the woman he came in with to come out of the changing room.

It's so quiet, one could almost imagine crickets, and Secondo strains to make out even the softest shuffle from within the room you were currently confined. A worker to his right glances from him to the closed changing room door several times, her feet bouncing in place before she takes a step forward. Secondo holds up his hand, silently, and the woman stops, her face pale.

He gets up, gloved fingers adjusting his waistcoat, and he steps toward the door, knuckles rapping against the wood. "Amore," his voice is quiet, a gentle rasp. "My eyes are bereft of you. Will you not come out?"

There's a beat of silence, and then the door opens with a creak, your face peering out, brow furrowed. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment. "Nothing is working...," you murmur.

"What is not working, my dove?"

"Everything," your voice is exasperated, pained as you hide your form behind the half open door. "This isn't the store for me."

Secondo arches a brow, his sunglasses subtly lifting. "Ah, then we shall go elsewhere, sì? Do not feel as if you must pretend to like the selection for my benefit."

"The selection is fine. These just aren't clothes for someone like me..."

"I am not understanding." Secondo attempts to push the door wider and you stop it. The quickness with which you attempt to shield yourself from him, the widening of your eyes, the shame in them, they stop Secondo cold.

"No," he says. It is not in protest to you, and it is inflected with devastation, worry, love. He pushes through the door, and you make a noise as you're crowded into the small space, the door firmly closing behind him.

Secondo takes off his sunglasses, his eyes moving over your form. You're wearing a dress, a lovely shade of green, and it is form fitting. The skin under your arms spill over the cut of the sleeve, breasts filling all available space, and every roll and bump is accentuated, your belly stretching the material. He can see the outline of your belly button. And then his eyes return to your face, and you look so sad. But the way your shoulders are curved inward, and you try so hard to not look at him, he can see you're steeling yourself. Waiting for an unkind word. Waiting to be told that you are too fat, too ugly. And his heart is in agony.

"Amore. Amore mio," he coos, stepping closer. "Look at your Papa." His hand cradles your jaw, turning you so carefully to face him, and it takes a moment, but your rapidly wettening eyes meet his. "Ah, sì. There she is. My most beautiful one." His fingers brush along your skin.

You open your mouth to protest, to pull away, but he only holds firmer, his other hand falling to your waist. "No, my dove. This is when we talk. We promised to be honest with each other, you remember, hmm? When I was so stubborn, too much of a cold man. But you have kept me warm by the fires of your heart, no?" His thumb wipes away a stray tear from your cheek. "Let me be your hearth."

"I should be doing more," you say, voice hushed and thick with tears. "I should look my best for you. You take me to these nice places, and I don't want to disappoint you."

"Amore. I have never wanted you to be more than yourself. I take you to nice places because I want to spoil you, but you must tell me when you feel uncomfortable." His hand drops from your face to join his other at your waist, slowly exploring your curves, curling underneath your belly, squeezing at the plushness of your bottom, gliding over the thickness of your thighs. "There is more than one definition of healthy. What I am concerned about, is that you feel confident, not only in what you are wearing, but what you are eating. I want you to have that extra treat than deny yourself because you think it fits some outdated notion that I have no interest in. And if you want to explore different habits, I am with you. Your journey is mine, no matter what form it takes."

You let out a breath, eyes straying to the ceiling as you try and reign in your emotion. But it's so hard not to cry, so hard to just...let it all go even though you want to fall into the sweetness of his words. The gentle reverence of his touch. "I just...want you to be proud of who is on your arm."

Secondo steps forward, leg between your thighs in order to press you against the wall. You squeak in surprise, and he smiles, tilting his head to ghost his lips over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I am proud. So proud, amore mio. This Papa does not deserve the blessing of your presence. The deliciously sinful sensation of your body pressed against his own." His fingers unzip the dress, closing the distance with a quick kiss when you sigh in relief as he pulls the tight material from your body. "I wish to drown in the beauty of you. Lose myself within the softness of your skin. You see, amore? Can you not see? I am undeserving."

His lips press featherlight to your neck, and then he bites, revelling in the way you arch against him. "You are so beautiful. Oh, my dove. Sì, sì, così perfetto per me..." The dress falls from you, pooling onto the floor, and he wraps his arms fully around you, hands flat against your back as he presses you against him with a desperate fervor, bodies melting against each other when he finally takes your lips in a passionate, deep kiss. Secondo licks into your mouth, swallowing any sound you make. His hand presses against your stomach, and he grabs at your flesh, kneading and caressing, worshipping you with hands that have overseen powerful rituals in Lucifer's name.

To Secondo, this is the most potent magic of all.

Secondo pulls away very slowly to brush his nose against yours, peppering tiny kisses to your cheeks. You take a shaky breath, fingers clinging to his jacket. "I love you," you tell him, lips pink and puffy and so perfect, he has to take another taste.

"And I love you. All of you. You are mine, hmm? You understand your Papa?" He looks deeply into your eyes, pinning you with a stare, that one that reminds you that Papa Emeritus II is just under the surface. It thrills you.

"I understand," you confirm, a smile finally crossing your features, one that he mirrors as his thumb once more strokes over your cheek.

"Good girl," he whispers.

Secondo picks up the dress and tosses it to the side, giving you space to change back into your clothes. He takes the edge of your shirt and helps you bring it down, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind as he continues to rain kisses upon every inch of your face he can reach from this position. It makes you giggle, so he does it more.

When the two of you leave the changing room, the workers are at the front, and thankfully say nothing as Secondo makes no effort to return his sunglasses to his face, that white eye rooting them to the spot as he guides you from the store. Will it be much of a surprise Monday morning when the manager receives an email from corporate about including plus sizes?

Secondo spends the entire ride home touching you in some manner, kissing you, lavishing you in the attention you rightfully deserve. Because your body is his temple, and he plans to worship it for the rest of his life.

You are more than worthy. You are perfect. You are his home.

#the band ghost #papa emeritus ii #secondo emeritus #papa emeritus ii fanfiction #secondo fanfiction #soft secondo #plus size bodies #body postivity #body insecurity #secondo kissies!!!!!#the band ghost fanfiction

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doumadono · 2 months

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emergency request !! hi, could i request a douma x (female) reader who is grieving for the loss of their best friend/loved one? maybe with a reader who acts like they're fine but douma catches them crying in secret and they break down and he comforts them? i've been kind of down recently cuz of someone who passed away. you don't have to do this if you don't want to, take your time !! thank you so so much, i love ur writing and ur amazing <33

Lotus in mourning - Douma x Reader

A/N: I'm truly sorry for your loss. It's important to give yourself the time and space to grieve, and remember that it's okay to feel sadness and seek comfort in the memories of your loved one

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow across the temple where Douma resided.

The demon lounged in his throne, eyes half-lidded, appearing serene but ever observant. The air was cool, the night still, and the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind.

During the evening rituals, Douma's gaze fell upon you, one of his favorite lotuses, as he used to call his most devoted people. Instantly, he sensed something was off. Your usually bright demeanor seemed dimmed, shadowed by an unseen burden. He watched you closely, his interest piqued by the subtle change in your aura.

After the rituals concluded, Douma decided to check upon you. He found you in a quiet corner of the temple, away from the watchful eyes of the other members of his cult.

You clutched a small, worn locket in your hand, the last memento of your lost friend. The memories of your lost friend flooded your mind, and before you could stop them, tears began to spill. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle the sobs, but the grief was too powerful, too overwhelming.

Douma's voice, smooth and chilling, broke through your solitude. "Oh my, my, what have we here?"

You jumped, hastily wiping your tears and forcing a smile. "Lord Douma, I didn't see you there."

His rainbow eyes glinted with an unsettling mix of curiosity and amusement. "You didn't think you could hide from me, did you, little lotus?" He stepped closer, his presence both comforting and intimidating. "Tell me, why are you crying, my child?"

You shook your head, trying to muster strength. "It's nothing, really. I'm fine."

Douma tilted his head, his gaze piercing through your facade. "Oh... You are such fragile creature, aren’t you? You lose someone and it shatters you."

His words were blunt.

You couldn't hold back any longer. "I… I indeed lost someone, my lord. Someone very important to me. We grew up together. They were my anchor, my confidant." Your voice broke, and you clutched the locket tighter, as if it could bring them back.

He nodded, as if understanding. "Grief is such a fascinating emotion. It makes you feel alive, even in its agony." He extended a hand, his touch surprisingly gentle as he rubbed lazy circles over your shoulder. "Come, let me see those tears of yours."

You hesitated, but his eyes held a compelling force. You let him guide you up, and as you broke down, he held you through the shattering waves of sobs.

His embrace was cold, yet there was a twisted warmth to it. "Cry as much as you need to, little lotus," he whispered. "Your pain is pure, and all you need to do is embrace it." Douma's long fingers traced the path of your tears, and you shivered.

"Why do you care?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why do you care about someone as mere as I am?"

"Because, my dear," he replied, his tone almost tender, "I enjoy watching helping others. Your suffering, your sorrow – it’s all so exquisitely real. And in comforting you, I get to savor every bit of it while making you feel a little calmer."

There was something inherently wrong about his comfort, but in your vulnerable state, it was the solace you needed.

Douma continued to hold you, his words a twisted balm. "Your friend is gone, yes, but their memory lives on in your pain. Embrace it. Let it fuel you."

You nodded, finding an odd sense of peace in his words. "Thank you, Lord Douma," you whispered. "But how did you know who I lost?"

He smiled, a cold, predatory smile that sent a chill down your spine. "Remember, little lotus, grief is a part of life. And as long as you serve me, I will be here to witness every tear, every sorrow, to console you. You will never again be alone in your pain."

In that moment, wrapped in Douma's unsettling yet oddly comforting embrace, you let yourself grieve, unaware of the true nature behind his soothing presence. And for a twisted, fleeting moment, you felt understood.

#emergency request #douma fluff #douma x reader #douma x y/n #douma x you #douma x reader fluff #kny fluff #kny x reader #douma demon slayer #kny x female reader #x reader #demon slayer #kny douma #douma #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #anime fluff #kimetsu no yaiba douma

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laceswan · 1 year

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The Spirit of Fate

The Smiling Princess, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!reader

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

Fluff and angst, strangers to lovers, T/W: canon-typical violence

Epilogue is out!

Finnick woke up with a startled gasp. With eyes wide open he was now incredibly aware of all that was touching his body. He could feel the suit from the arena clinging to his body, the cold air and the mask on his face, and a bandage on his arm. Looking around, he saw the inside of a jet much like the one had taken to get to the arena. Beetee and Katniss were in a similar position, lying on mats on the floor with bandages and wires monitoring them. Behind a frosted glass door he heard voices. Slowly, he stood up and walked over to the door. Inside, he found Haymitch and Plutarch sitting by a table and talking.

“You’re up.”

“I am. Where are the others?”

Plutarch stepped closer. There was sadness in his expression, but Finnick had half a mind not to trust it.

“Snow got to them before we could, there wasn’t any time.”

Finnick leaned against the table, his head hung low and defeated.

“Alright… what about Sylke, where’s she? Are we headed to the house or-“

This time it was Haymitch that spoke. He placed a hesitant hand on Finnick's shoulder.

“Finnick, I’m really sorry.”

Terror painted across Finnick’s face.

“We sent some people, but by the time they got there…”

Haymitch trailed off as Finnick sunk into his body. He let his body fall onto a chair, but had it not been there he would have just ended up on the floor. He assumed the worst. His hands flew to cover his mouth and muffle the little cries that came out. He’d already suffered her death once before, why again?

“Do we at least have her body? I want… I wanna give her a proper burial.”

His voice was shaky, but this was what needed to be done. He needed at least to say goodbye.

Haymitch looked to him with utmost pity.

“Son, she’s alive. They got her.”

And suddenly her death felt like a blessing. Burning emotion seized his body. It wasn’t even rage, nor terror, just pure anguish.

“No, no! You told me-you promised! You promised we would get her out!”

Haymitch sighed.

“I made a lot of promises. We’ll send a rescue team when the dust settles.”

Finnick nodded. His whole body was still stricken and trembling with agony, but he wasn’t one to throw a tantrum; especially not when he knew firsthand the nuances of covert operation in the capitol. Katniss, however, was a different sorry. When she heard about Peeta she did everything Finnick’s impulse had urged him to do. She screamed and shouted, even attacked Haymitch. She clawed and batted at him like a desperate animal, repeating that he made a promise, that he was a liar. Finnick could only watch, for once feeling pity, as well as understanding. Ten years ago, he would have done exactly the same.

When they landed in District Thirteen, Finnick, Katniss, and Beetee were sent to the infirmary. The lightning strike had presented some complications to Finnick’s health, so they dressed him in a white gown and admitted him to a small room with a thick glass door until he recovered. The room was probably white too, clinical and pristine, probably cleaned by the hour. But right now, it looked like it was coated in mustard gas. The lights buzzed with a sort of iodine yellow hue, washing the room in an ominously warm colour.

During his recovery, they allowed him few personal items-not that he had many to begin with. He was however, able to get some rope. When he was awake his mind would race. There was nothing to do, nothing to keep him distracted, his only task was apparently to recover. He could at least keep his hands busy, tying and untying the same couple ropes until there were blisters on his hands. It helped to move his hands, but not enough. Every second, his head was flooded with thoughts of her. Perhaps he had brought this on himself, refusing to think about her for so long in the arena, simply because there wasn’t time. Now, he had all the time in the world, and it felt wrong not to think of her at every moment. They were keeping her alive, he was sure of that much. They wouldn’t give up their leverage so easily. Was she in a similar room, white and cold with a similarly racing mind? We’re they hurting her? Or was she still just some pretty thing in a cage? Was she able to dance? A bittersweet smile came to Finnick’s face when he pictured her dancing. He saw her in a room just like his, in a gown just like his, dancing barefoot around the room with her eyes closed. It brought him comfort, the idea that she could perhaps maintain at least a little joy. But of course, thoughts of her dancing were followed by a much more somber and unfortunately likely possibility. In his mind, Finnick couldn’t help but wonder if they were restraining her. He saw her strapped fo a bed much like the one he had in the infirmary, struggling and begging to be given even a moment of freedom to move. He at least had that privilege. He could pace, sit on the floor, even dance if her wanted to. What if she couldn’t? Such questions plagued him mind. The span of morbid possibilities refused to be ignored, and so he listened to that dangerous voice. He fell into a spiraling rabbit-hole of ways she might have been hurting, only further enabled by his present utter inability to help her.

It affected his health too. The doctors called it a parasympathetic stress response, but all he understood was that it felt like shit. He was always tired but only sometimes able to sleep, he experienced phantom pain in random places, and everything took longer to heal. The time he spent in the infirmary was miserable. It was miserable for Katniss too. She had a nightmare once and came into his room. That night was perhaps his lowest point. It was when death looked so welcoming, so lovely a fate to experience, if only it would come sooner. The only thing that kept him alive was knowing the capitol wouldn’t let her die. He refused to die if she was still alive and hurting.

Katniss somehow recovered much faster. Finnick was a little jealous, that she was able to keep living her life even when Peeta was in the capitol. She was discharged, and not long after, Coin called everyone to hear a speech, which included those admitted in the infirmary. Finnick stood with the doctors and other patients, making a little patch of white in a sea of grey. Coin announced that Katniss was to be the face of the rebellion, and that in exchange for that, there were some “concessions”. Specifically the extraction the the victors held hostage in the capitol. The crowd began to clamor at the mention of Peeta’s name. They shouted and exclaimed, rejecting Peeta’s rescue. Katniss made her way over as Johanna’s name was announced.

“Finnick, I made the deal for Sylke too.”

Coin’s voice boomed through the hall.

“…and Sylke Fairinan”

Their was utter silence at her name. Some people looked a little confused. Finnick was just a little shocked himself as well. He never quite thought of Sylke as a victor. Hearing her name, her full name, announced like that to a crowd made her feel like a public figure, a celebrity, someone with an image and a life they hide from the world. But to him she was just Sylke, that’s what she’d always been. He hadn’t even heard her last name in ten years. She was always just Sylke, the angel that occupied eternal space in his mind and heart.

“Once freed, they will be granted pardon for any and all crimes committed against the rebel cause.”

The crowd once again resulted into vocal dissent and anger. A worries look quickly came to Katniss’ face. Finnick tried to console her, knowing the two of them were the only ones with loved ones hostage in the capitol.

“Good.”

She looked to him, concerned and clearly unsure of herself.

“That’s good, Katniss.”

For the first time in a long time, there was a small smile on his face. There was hope again, however small.

“If Katniss Everdeen fails to fulfill her duties, the deal will be off.”

That look of fear and heartache returned to both of their faces as the people filed out of the hall. It occurred to Finnick as he made his way back to the infirmary that his spirits were rather fragile now. That night, when he was alone, words couldn’t help but escape his lips. Even with Coin’s speech, hope was hard to hold onto. Finnick sat on the floor of his room, leaning against the bed with his head hung low.

“Angel, how do you do it? How do you stay smiling? I’m trying, I promise.”

His voice was quiet, speaking words meant only for him and someone miles away.

“I’m so tired.”

He cried quietly to himself, though did eventually drift to sleep there on the floor.

Finnick recovered slowly. While Katniss was filming propos and being the Mockingjay, he was in the infirmary. He wallowed, but with every day came a little more hope. Katniss and Beetee sometimes came to see him, bringing news of the rebellion’s plans. Smiling got easier, as did picturing Sylke dancing. The idea that she would be alright seemed more and more true. When the phantom pains and memories of Sylke finally became manageable, he traded in his white gown for a grey jumpsuit.

The whole of thirteen gathered one night to watch Katniss’ new propo. He was horrified by the bombing, he was angry with Snow for uncountable reasons, what he was not was triumphant. At the end, the symbol of the mockingjay came onto the screen accompanied by a message. Join the fight. The crowd chanted their celebration like they won a war. That sort of victory song always felt misplaced to Finnick. Blaring horns and happy voices when people lie dead on the battlefield. People showering him with gifts and congratulations just after someone died in his arms. But that was what the propos were meant to do. He looked to Katniss beside him, and she had a similar look of confusion and discomfort.

“You don’t like hearing a fight song at a funeral, huh?”

She turned her head to look at him. He continued, reminding her and himself of what they needed to remember.

“The more people on our side, the closer we are to Sylke and Peeta.”

She nodded. No matter how icky it felt, this was what needed to be done.

The days passed with incredible monotony. Every day was exactly the same, the same schedule, the same people. The only variety came in the form of news, speeches, broadcasts. One night, Finnick visited Katniss in her room and they watched Peeta’s interview. He was crying, and he looked terrified. Finnick in a way envied her, for she able to see Peeta’s face and know that he was at least physically healthy. But he also knew that the pain of seeing him say everything they couldn’t believe in was a whole different world of pain and confusion. In the short time he knew Peeta, the subject of rebellion or even government never really came into conversation. It was the same with Sylke. Perhaps that was the worst part; that what Peeta was asking of Katniss and the rebels seemed entirely possible. From where he was standing, he just wanted the violence to stop. He was most certainly being fed information, being manipulated by the capitol, but the root of his argument was something understandable. It was almost reminiscent of Sylke’s words in her interview so long ago. She was never one for violence or combat. Ever since the beginning, she favoured diplomacy, kindness, and compromise. Finnick couldn’t help but wonder if Peeta’s words were even that treacherous. They were currently entrenched in desperate times, and thus desperate measures were called for. But later, they would need people like Peeta, like Sylke, to remind them of the value of compassion. Finnick made a small promise to himself, that he would try to be one of those people, at least when the fighting was over. If they managed to win, he was going to try to be like her. To be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace.

The next day, he went with Katniss to hunt above ground. It was calming for both of them, getting to move and use the skills they had honed for years. That familiar feeling of a trident sinking into flesh, the thwip of an arrow as it flies through the air, it brought them comfort. They did eventually sit down too.

“I’m glad we were able to come out today. I think you needed this after last night.”

She nodded.

“I don’t like watching those broadcasts, but I can’t look away. He’s so different already. What are they doing to him?”

Finnick was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know. I think that’s the worst part.”

“It is. They could be telling him to say all that stuff and threatening to kill him, or maybe they’re actually convincing him it’s true. I don’t know what’s better.”

“I don’t think there is a better. It’s all bad when it comes to Snow.”

She murmured agreement. They were quiet again, listening to the birds and the rustling trees. Nature has such an ability to soothe, with her ambient noise and dappled light. It made them feel safe enough to talk.

“Is it bad that I just want this to be over? Sometimes I think he’s right, that we should just give up. At least then I could see him again.”

“I don’t think that’s bad, Katniss. I think it’s human.”

She looked unsure of herself.

“You miss him. And you want to be with him, so you can know he’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Do you want it to be over?”

“Of course. I just want to know she’s safe. That safety could come with a ceasefire, or with victory.”

“Yeah. But a ceasefire means she goes back to that mansion.”

Finnick clicked his tongue and tilted his head in agreement.

“And that’s why I’m here. If we win, we wouldn’t just be safe, we’d be happy. I want her to be happy.”

Katniss smiled.

“I think I could be happy with him.”

They spent a few more hours talking in the forest, confiding in each other as the only other people who could relate, who knew this special sort of pain. Their afternoon in the forest was a nice respite, but they did eventually need to return to the concrete rooms under the earth.

After the attack on the dam, another interview was broadcast. Peeta called it inhuman, begged her to stop. He looked so genuinely terrified. But what he was scared of was unclear. There was something just behind the camera, something that instilled and powerful fear in him.

“They’re coming, Katniss. They’re gonna kill everyone. And in District Thirteen you’ll be dead by morning-“

The broadcast was cut off as he was dragged away. Sirens began to blare, people filed out to level forty. If there was panic in the air it was hard to detect. People were calm and orderly as they rushed down the stairs, perfectly trained soldiers. That is, until water rained from above and the lights went out. People screamed, ran, let go of order in favour of getting to the bunker. People would scream each time a blast hit. When the night grew quieter, no one slept. They just kept waiting for the cracks in the ceiling to widen, for the walls to cave in and for death to arrive. Finnick sat in one of the beds, fiddling with the gold bangle instead of rope, which he had given to Katniss during the bombing. She had looked like she needed it more than him. In the quiet of night, Katniss walked over and sat beside him.

“He’s taunting me, using Peeta to punish me. I didn’t understand until just now, watching that stupid cat.”

“Yeah. That’s why he took Sylke too.”

Finnick sighed before continuing.

“After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act. We all expected you’d continue that strategy. But it wasn’t until Peeta’s heart stopped and he almost died that…"

He looked at Katniss directly, hoping to convey just how sincere and vulnerable this conversation was for him. This sort of openness wasn't exactly natural to him, but it needed to be said, and right now, she needed to hear it.

"I misjudged you. You love him. Anyone paying attention can see it.”

“How do you live with it?”

“I’ve been doing it for ten years. For five of them I thought she was gone. I did the whole self-pity thing the first time around. I had nightmares-I still do. But you learn not to give in to it. It gets easier.”

She listened, nodding her head ever so slightly.

“But then it happened again. And it takes ten times longer to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart, you saw how long I was in the infirmary. But if Sylke taught me anything it’s that little joys can keep you alive. They kept her sane in that house, and they’ve kept me going down here.”

Katniss didn’t say anything. They sat in silence for a while, and once Finnick started nodding off, she went back to her sister and mother.

In the morning, she was gone and thirteen was buzzing with action. Finnick was sitting, anxiously waiting for something he could do to help. Beetee was working through the capitol’s electronic system or something, there was a rescue team setting up, and all Finnick could do was watch. He had signed up to be on the team, but as a refugee and not a soldier, they informed him that he couldn’t. By nightfall they finally had a job for him. He was going to be a distraction broadcast so they could jam the whole system, and the team could safely get it. He stood on a pile of rubble and white roses, with stagelights warming his skin.

“This is Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Hunger Games. I’m coming to you from District 13, alive and well. We’ve survived an assault from the capitol. But I’m not here to give you recent news. Instead, I’m here to tell you the truth. The truth about the capitol.”

He continued for what felt like forever, indulging in his whole story, the one he only ever told Sylke. The story of how after he turned sixteen, he was sold like a commodity to socialites in the capitol. That he wasn’t the only one, and if you refused, your loved ones were killed. That there was one girl who was dead to the rest of the world, but Snow brought her back just to sell her.

“Remember Sylke Fairinan? She was your princess. You dressed her up in fancy gowns and gold tiaras before she went into the arena. I felt her die in my arms. And then they started her heart back up and sold to the highest bidder. Lycan Indigo. He kept her like a doll, locked in a mansion for ten years. She’s alive. You kept your princess in a gilded cage. And what's worse, after ten years in that place, after slowly learning to find happiness there, you've taken her from it again. President Snow is holding her hostage, to taunt me. He is not the kind man he shows himself to be.”

Finnick kept going. He revealed Snow’s history of poison and assignation, the reason behind his heavy perfume, the bloody sores in his mouth, every secret he knew was a secret no longer. As he spoke, one or the people behind the camera spoke up.

“Okay, you can stop.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, it looks like they’re broadcasting Katniss now.”

Finnick nodded, unsure of what was going on. They went back down to find everyone looking incredibly distraught. He and Katniss sat in a room, silent, waiting for news. He once again had the rope in his hands, tying and untying knots to keep his hands busy. He had to think she was safe. He had to. Cause if he considered for even a moment that she wasn’t, he’d fall apart again. When Haymitch opened the door, their eyes show up.

“They’re back.”

All that needed to be said for them to get up and sprint to the landing area. Johanna was the first one they saw. She was gaunt, her head shaved, but a smirk was still on her face. And then he heard it.

“Finnick? Finnick!”

That voice he hadn’t stopped hearing for ages, but only ever in his head. Her name fell from his mouth involuntarily, quietly questioning if it was real as he ran towards the source of her voice. Later, people would tell him that they said each other’s names perhaps a thousand times in that single exchange. He would notice later that she looked weak, her hair was longer and had lost some of it’s shine, and that despite all that her spirit had in no way dimmed. Her eyes had lit up when she saw him walk in the room. And suddenly, it was as if there was no one in the world but the two do them, crashing through space to reach each other. They collided and lost balance, slamming against a wall, but they stayed there, clinging into one being. Indivisible. He whispered like he didn’t believe it.

“You’re safe…”

She pulled her head out from his embrace to look at him, nodding with a smile. Whether they were smiling or laughing or crying, even they didn’t know. Words fail to describe the joy, the relief, the wonder of being back together. When heart rates slowed and the dust settled, they finally spoke. Finnick had a smile the magnitude of which hadn’t touched his face in far too long.

“Hi.”

“Hi. It’s been a minute.”

As though they were one being, they burst into simultaneous and gentle laughter.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m okay. They beat me up a little, but I’ll be alright.”

“They what?”

Finnick’s voice was hoarse, breathy. He knew that they would do that, and yet in that moment he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that someone would ever want to hurt her. Not even Mr. Indigo did that. But her smile clearly wasn’t gone. With a voice laced with affection, she put a hand against his cheek and reassured him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You guys got me out before they started my ‘treatment’. I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

“We should get you to the infirmary.”

“Okay.”

Still refusing to stop touching her, Finnick scooped her into his arms and carried her himself to the infirmary. On the way there, her head was nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

“I was right, you know.”

“Hmm? How?”

“I knew you’d come back to me. You didn’t win, but you didn’t have to. I told you, didn’t I?”

“You did. You were right to hope.”

She laughed to herself, closing her eyes. Even with her sunny disposition, her body was clearly exhausted.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As her body melted further into his and her breathing slowed, he continued walking. They didn’t put her in a room, apparently her condition wasn’t that bad, so she would only need a bed for a few days. Mostly bruises, a couple of open wounds, but nothing bad.

When she woke up, she found herself in a cold room devoid of colour. For a moment, she wondered if it was a dream. Sitting up, she looked around. Finnick wasn’t there, and neither was anyone else. The curtains were drawn. Had they moved her to a new place? We’re they starting her treatment? She hastily removed the IV from her arm, leaving the patch with the needle and luer connector, but no tubing. Whatever they were pumping into her needed to stop there.

“Johanna? Peeta?”

Silence. She heard faint chatter from just outside, doctors or scientists getting ready. Hesitant feet touched the ground. Her fingers brushed against the thin fabric of the curtain. Fear kept her from grasping it. What would she see on the other side? There was hope in her still that she was safe, that she wasn’t in the capitol anymore, but what if she was wrong? What if she was still there, destined to be Syren Indigo? What if she was wrong to hope?

“Hello?”

She heard footsteps. Fearing the scolding that might come should they find her out of bed, she laid back down and put the IV back against the luer connector, though not actually placing it inside. Hopefully she’d be able to fool them. The footsteps got louder. It wasn’t necessary, but she wasn’t ready to face them yet, so she relaxed her body and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She heard metal rings scraping against a pole as the curtain was opened.

“Sylke?”

That was his voice. She wanted to open her eyes, see him, but what if it was a lie? What if this was the start of her treatment? She heard how it started with Peeta. They played him altered clips and all sorts of things. What if this was one of those?

“Oh. You’re still asleep.”

A chair was pulled up, and someone sat down. A warm hand smoothed out her hair. She took a long inhale. No perfume. The hand then gently rested on hers. She knew that touch, and it made her flinch. But still terrified, she kept her eyes closed. The technology of the capitol could do anything.

“Sylke? Are you awake?”

That was his voice. He sounded so real. Even if it wasn’t him, couldn’t she take a look? Even if it was fake, couldn’t she see his face again? That voice of temptation was so loud. What would be the worst that could happen? They were going to wake her up anyway. Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her eyes. And there he was. With those lovely green eyes staring right back at her.

“Hey, Angel. How are you feeling?”

She frantically searched his eyes, before looking to everything else around her. His eyes looked right. His face too. He was in a grey jumpsuit. Everything else was grey too. Behind him was what the curtain used to cover. It looked like a hospital. It was quiet, but not deadly silent. It didn’t look the same. The walls weren’t pristine white, they were concrete. The lights would flicker every now and then, nothing seemed quite perfect like it was before.

“Angel? Is everything alright?”

She looked back at him with terror in her eyes.

“Are you real? Are you really here?”

He moved closer to her, with nothing but love and affection in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m real. We’re safe. We’re in thirteen, remember?”

“We are?”

“Mhmm. You’re in the infirmary right now, but they said you can be discharged in a day or two.”

He looked at the IV lying unconnected at her arm, and plugged it back in with a chuckle.

“That is, if you actually listen to the doctors and take the meds they give you.”

She smiled, a sad, bittersweet smile.

“How come you unplugged it?”

“I… I thought I was in the capitol. I thought they had moved me to start my treatment.”

“You said that earlier too. What treatment?”

“I’m not entirely sure, I didn’t hear all of it. But Mr. Indigo… when he visited me-“

“He came to see you?”

“Yeah. Almost every day for maybe an hour, he’d come in and talk to me, make sure they were treating me well, he even snuck in a couple things for me once. More recently he started mentioning the treatment. Said he talked to the doctors and convinced them to let me get the help I needed, so I wouldn’t be starting fires in my room anymore. And he said it would make me a real Indigo if I wasn’t already. I remember the words.

‘Syren Indigo. Got a nice ring to it, don’t it?’

I heard what they were doing to Peeta. I figured they’d do something similar to me. He wanted me to be his daughter.”

“Oh Sylke…”

The words to be said evaded him and he was left with only actions. He stood up and walked over to the bed, gesturing that she move over. She did, and he crawled under the covers, holding her close in his arms. His embrace was warm, comforting, familiar.

“Finnick. I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want to forget.”

He held her even tighter, placing a kiss on her head.

“You won’t, I promise. I’ll make sure of it. You remember how to waltz?”

She looked at him with a grin.

“Of course.”

“Then get up.”

He got out of the bed and offered his hand. The moment she took it, he placed a hand on her waist, pulling her close. With his other hand, he grabbed the pole on wheels from which a bag of saline fluid hung. Sylke rested her hand by his neck and with the other room Finnick’s hand, holding the pole as well.

“Do you remember?”

“I couldn’t possibly let myself forget. Not when I still owed you a dance.”

And with that, they swayed about the section of the room she had been allotted. It was just like she taught him that night, all those years ago. One, two, three, brush, one, two, three, brush. Swept up in the music they heard in their heads, the dance continued. He spun her around, lifted her off the floor, and always right on the downbeat. It ended when they let go of the pole and it rolled too far away. Sylke felt a sharp tug at her arm and the imaginary music stopped.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just maybe we should be more careful."

“Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.”

Sylke laughed, wrapping her arms up by his neck.

“We both did. Once I’m out of here, we’ll get to dance properly.”

Finnick nodded.

“Soon.”

Finnick did eventually have to leave and resume his schedule. Sylke went back to sleep, clutching a pillow in his stead. Slowly but surely, a new world faded in. Her limbs were blocky, solid, and utterly incapable of movement. All that she had control over was her eyes, glancing around. In her periphery, she was able to figure out what exactly she was. She was a marionette, strung up on a stage. In the audience, right there in the front row, we’re the cold, wolf-like eyes of Mr. Indigo. He was watching her, with a hideous, inhuman grin. And then the music started. It was plucky, out of tune, like a harpsichord left untouched for ages. And she began to dance. Her arms and legs flailed about, and her torso was yanked up and down. She couldn’t open her mouth or even breathe, and yet somehow she kept moving. This dancing cage of hers moved without life or spirit. It had no bones, no muscle, only string that extended up into the vague darkness above.

Sylke didn’t wake up screaming or yelling. Her eyes merely flew open, tears already pouring down her face. Sniffling and quietly sobbing, she sat up and clutched the pillow in her arms. Johanna, from the neighboring bed, spoke up. Her tone was harsh, unsympathetic.

“What are you crying about?”

“I-I just had a bad dream.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Mr. Indigo. He was looking at me, and I just…”

Words dissolved into sniffles. Johanna just laughed. There was venom in her voice when she spoke.

“Your scared of him? Seriously? That man visited you almost every day. He was so good to you-“

Heartache emerged from her throat.

“He loved you!”

A whimper escaped from Sylke and she clutched the pillow even tighter.

“But he…”

“He what? I heard him talk about you, he had nothing but love for you.”

"Please don't say that..."

She kept going, words flowing like a river from her mouth, with no hesitation or tact.

“Are you really that ungrateful? Everything he did was for you…”

She paused for a moment, a devilish smile growing on her face.

“… for his little Syren.”

“Please, just stop…”

Sylke took a shaky breath, shifting to look at Johanna straight on.

“I never asked for his love. I know he’s the reason I’m still alive, I know that it could have been worse. But that man took my life and made it his.”

The shaking stopped. Sylke regained her composure. She stood up and walked to Johanna’s bed, sitting down next to her. Their time in the capitol made them quite familiar with one another’s hardships. Sylke knew exactly where these words were coming from. She knew why Johanna was hurting, she knew that when one has no one, even unwanted love seems desirable. And so she spoke gently, hoping her empathy would be understood as such, rather than pity.

“Mr. Indigo didn’t love me as a person. He didn’t care if I was happy, so long as I provided entertainment. That’s not how you’re supposed to love someone.”

Johanna nodded, saying nothing. She knew she overstepped, she knew her words were impulsive. And now suddenly she felt a little guilty. Sylke had appealed to her humanity with just a few sentences.

“I know. It just hurts, you know?”

“I know.”

Sylke murmured more validation, placing her head on Johanna’s shoulder. She wanted to say that Johanna had friends here, people who loved her, but decided to let it be quiet. She’d say it some other time.

Sylke’s wounds took very little time in healing. She only needed to stay in the infirmary until the larger wounds had closed up, which didn’t take long. Really, they only worried about the cut on her side. She remembered when it was made. The blade was jagged and dull, dragging across her skin at a snail’s pace, over and over again. They asked her with every stroke what she knew. Of course Finnick hadn’t told her about the plan, she barely even knew he was a rebel. But they kept going. First there was a raised line of red, where the skin was raw and irritated. The blade tore further into her skin, but drew no blood. They grabbed her arms with and iron grip and threw her back into her cell, earning her a couple bruises. Once there was a film of yellow scabbing, they took her back out. Slowly, and again with the questions, they peeled it. With the layer of platelets gone, blood dribbled out of the wound. The flesh beneath was tender, and they took advantage of that. She answered each question honestly, but they didn’t like what she said. And with each answer they didn’t like, she received another swipe against her side with the jagged blade. Eventually, they gave up on trying to get information out of her. Sometimes they would try again, but never to that degree.

Now, she had a bandage wrapped around that area, gently changed and cleaned every couple of hours. The doctors were kind here, always making sure it was alright to touch her and asking if the bandage was too tight. Under their care, the wound closed up in no time. By then, all of her smaller cuts and bruises left only fading scars. Soon, she was given a drab grey jumpsuit and assigned to new quarters. It was a small room not unlike the infirmary in style. There were two small beds and a table between them, one bed for her and the other for a roommate. After guiding her to the room, the nurse previously assigned to her shut the door, leaving her alone in that room. She did not hear the click of a lock. Her schedule was to start tomorrow, for now she could settle in and find a place in the room for any personal items. Of course she had none, but curiosity led her to peak at her roommate’s. Everything was neat, folded, as though it was never lived in. The only signs of a human’s stay there were a couple of items on the table, seemingly the only personal items this roommate of hers had. Perhaps they were a refugee as well, with only a moment to have gathered items of sentimental value. Or perhaps residents of thirteen simply didn’t value material possessions all that much. Considering the lack of decor and personality in all parts of the place she had seen, that was in fact the case. Sylke allowed herself to fantasise for a moment about who this person might be. A coal miner from twelve? She had always wanted to see a forest, maybe they could tell her about them. A soldier from thirteen? One who had trained their whole life for combat, for revolution, and now finally had the chance to prove themselves? Or perhaps another refugee from the capitol. What if she knew them? What if one of the few people she was able to meet in the capitol had been a rebel, one who took a chance one night and ran away? They could exchange life stories, maybe become friends. But none of those turned out to be true. On the table, she found a golden bangle and a short bit of rope, neither of which told her about this person. She sat on one of the beds, hopefully the unoccupied one, and waited. She wasn’t tired, she’d slept plenty in the infirmary. So she sat, waiting for something to happen. The door slid open to reveal her roommate.

“Finnick?”

He chuckled.

“I asked them to put you in as my roommate, I didn’t know they’d actually do it. How are you feeling?”

“Good. Everything’s healing well, so I they discharged me this afternoon. I do still have to keep it bandaged, but the wound is much smaller now.”

“That’s great!”

He walked over to the bed and stood before here, a smile adorning his face.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here with me.”

She leaned into his touch as he caressed her cheek. The words “I love you” were not needed in that moment. There was a mutual understanding of affection, one that had been there for ten years. Though not entirely true, retrospect and nostalgia had a way of convincing both of them that it had always been this way, that this familiarity and affection was present since that first night they met. In some ways this was correct, there was always a connection. But the comfort in it had developed over time. Insecurity was able to fade away, they became more familiar with the other’s habits. And yet wonder was not lost. There was still a glimmer of shock, of flustered joy in moments of affection. Things between them weren’t perfect, but they were damn well close to it.

Sylke’s task in thirteen was to help in the kitchen. The food was boring, seasoned only with salt, and they often stirred in powders of vitamin supplements or something of that nature, because the people down here rarely saw the sun. She spent her days standing beside people she found to be kind, talkative in comparison to the Indigo household staff, and generally pleasant company. Life was certainly monotonous, but that was something she was used to. At least now, she wasn’t alone. During mealtimes, she would serve the food, watching everyone eat and chat from afar. On occasion, she would sneak away and sit by Finnick, but that often got her scolded by someone who cared far too much for rules. At the end of the day, the whole facility would get dimmer, and she would be back in her room with Finnick. The beds were made for one person, but they made it work for the both of them. In the mornings, she would wake up before him, needing to go and prepare breakfast. His arms held her tightly, unwilling to let go.

“Finnick, I need to go.”

His voice was deep, raspy, and barely awake.

“I don’t want you to go.”

She giggled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. His eyes were still closed, but a satisfied grin appeared on his face.

“Fine. Two minutes, and then I really have to go.”

He groaned, considering her offer, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Okay.”

Running his fingers up her body, he attempted to feel for her face, too tired to open his eyes. His touch was gentle and yet possessive, still unwilling to let go. Once he found her jaw, he pulled it closer and planted endless kisses on her face. At some point, his eyes fluttered open. He was confronted with the image of her smile, a little tired and a little exasperated, but undeniably lovely.

“You’re beautiful.”

A little colour came to her cheeks.

“You know, you can’t keep me here forever. Do you want food today or not?”

He let a sigh as she got up from the bed.

“Alright fine, I concede. Just one more kiss though.”

She laughed, leaning down to peck his forehead before leaving. Once alone, Finnick’s mind couldn’t help but fantasise about waking up with her every day, and not having to rush off somewhere.

The explicit concept of marriage had come up only once or twice in their five years of exchanging letters. Far more common was talk of a hypothetical life they would have one day. A wedding was implied, but never really stated outright. Instead, they talked about days without urgency, when they could lie in bed for hours, dance in the kitchen instead of cooking, fall asleep on the beach, and all of this simply because they wanted to. But as the danger of revolution increased, both of them began thinking about the specifics of that vague life together. It didn’t take Finnick long to understand that he wanted to marry her. He mentioned it one night when the room felt quiet and too awake.

“Hey,”

“Hmm?”

“Would you want to get married? I know we’ve talked about being together, when it’s all over, but what if we did it now?”

She looked to him with wide doe-eyes.

“Now?”

“I mean here, in thirteen. Before anything happens-before anything possibly could happen. Just in case.”

She took a moment to think, sinking into his chest. If she had been falling asleep before, she was wide awake now.

“Okay. Just in case.”

“Yeah. That way if something happens, I’ll have been married to you. Another thing to help prove to the world that you’re here, and that I’m yours.”

She lifted herself to prop her head up on her hand, smiling at him. He soon followed, staring lovingly back at her.

“I like the sound of that.”

She placed a kiss on his lips.

“But nothing’s going to happen to you, okay?”

That was partially a lie. There was a reason they were doing this, a risk, and they both knew it. But after everything they’d been through, fate had to be in their favour. It would simply be wrong, to have done all of this, just to lose their happily ever after.

She reassumed her position lying on his chest after that, speaking softly to him, but also to herself.

“I used to picture my wedding, you know. When I was little, I had this image in my head of a white dress and a castle and a ballroom, like in the fairytales. I didn’t know who would be my prince or princess charming, but I knew that I’d love them. That was always the best part. I know we won’t be in a castle, but in a way it’ll be exactly like how I dreamed of as a child.”

He was falling asleep by that point. She lifted herself to look at his peaceful face. He looked calm and safe, lying next to her like he was sure, like everything in the world assured him, that this is where he was supposed to be.

“I love you, my prince.”

Plutarch explained that the wedding was going to be filmed. “To show the capitol that we’re alive and well” he said. Because of that, they were allowed all sorts of luxuries that thirteen didn’t usually permit. The hall was glowing with amber light and greenery they brought in from above. Finnick was dressed in a lighter grey than usual, with sturdy fabric that hugged his waist but got a little looser at the shoulders. He was also given something of a cape, but it only covered one shoulder. He looked somewhere between a soldier and a duke. For Sylke they made a dress fit for a princess. White of course, a colour held with some disdain in thirteen. The skirt was long and full, trailing behind her every so slightly when she walked. It was simple, no layers of tulle or golden jewelry to match, but it made her feel like herself, entirely herself, which was really all it needed to be. It felt like all of her, nothing held back or exaggerated for anyone.

She made her way alone down the aisle, smiling at the man ahead, the destination toward which she walked. He took her hands in his, this time with no iron bars between them. She looked into his green eyes, like she had so many times before, and everything felt right in the world. There was no sunlight or gentle breeze, no magnolias or birdsong, but there didn’t need to be. He was here, looking back at her with all the love in the world. When it came time for her to say her vows, she had very little prepared. She spoke truthfully, freely, saying everything that her heart told her to say in that moment.

“My darling Finnick. I’ve said to you before that I believe in fate. We were just kids when we met, and even then, I knew my story was tied to yours. I promise to love you, to cherish you, and to be by your side for the rest of happily ever after that fate allows.”

The smile on his face grew before he took a breath and said his vows.

“Sylke, my angel, you have my heart, as you always have, for all eternity. Whether together or apart, we will always be united, tied together by the strings of fate. I promise to protect you, to dance with you, and to love you until death do us part.”

They didn’t quite need to be told that they could kiss, but once prompted, they did just that. All of thirteen began to applaud, but neither Sylke nor Finnick could bring themself to care for the audience. Just as it had ten years ago, the watching eyes melted away, leaving only tenderness and love burning between the them.

The festivities began once the aisle and ceremonial decor was packed away. First was a slow waltz meant just for the newlyweds. The two of them had danced in their room many times before, but never with music. With a guiding melody, they were able to truly get lost in the movement. No longer was it necessary to count or concentrate, they could simply dance. They swayed and twirled about the room, never once breaking eye contact. When the music slowed to a halt, Sylke was securely nested in Finnick’s arms and lowered to a dip. There was once again applause as people came to join them on the dance floor. A more upbeat tune filled the hall as everyone started to dance. The sound of lively fiddles filled the room, and spirits were lifted. It seemed like everyone was having a lovely time, smiling and laughing with friends. For that night, war was but an afterthought. It was a respite from tragedy, a true celebration of all that is good and lovely, and its survival even in dark times.

It wasn’t long after the wedding that Finnick was sent away again. He and Sylke had a rather lousy honeymoon, spent mostly in their room underground or in the forest just above. Soldiers were slowly returning from the fight at the capitol, some injured, others returning for a dignified burial. Sylke was transferred to the infirmary when it got too understaffed. And then Plutarch called Finnick into a meeting. That night, Finnick sat waiting in their room until Sylke returned from her shift in the infirmary. She entered the room and gravitated to his hunched figure.

“Finnick, are you alright?”

She placed a hand to his face, suggesting that he look at her. His eyes were sad, conflicted, scared. Sylke saw his expression and quickly kissed him before anything more could be said.

“What happened?”

He shifted to make space for her on the bed; she sat down.

“Plutarch wants me in the capitol. They put together this squad for filming propos, he calls it the face of the invasion.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly, such that it was hardly a question: he would be going. There was no debate about it, both of them knew that. An all too familiar feeling churned in her core. Her chest became heavy and her throat strained. She croaked out a single sentence before leaning into his embrace.

“Come back to me, okay?”

He held her tightly, the way he wanted to that night outside the mansion.

“I will. I believe in fate.”

They fell asleep there, unsure when the trembling cries faded into unconsciousness.

Finnick left in the morning. Goodbyes were cut short by the arrival of a jet full of wounded soldiers. Sylke was pulled away by the other medical staff, parting with a fleeting kiss and a smile.

The infirmary was bursting with people. New patients arrived every day from the capitol, covered in wounds and burns and horror stories from the city. They told of abandoned streets full of bombs and traps set by peacekeepers. Every moment of peace or quiet we’re impossible to trust, they were left waiting for the inevitable bloodshed as they walked through empty streets. Sylke couldn’t help but wonder the state of the mansion. Had Mr. Indigo evacuated? What did he take with him? She pictured the house empty, devoid of the usual upkeep, dusty and alone. What about the household? Had they gone as well? What would they do without their jobs? Did that even matter when the city was under attack? Her imagination took her through each room and corridor. The office she’d only been in a few times, the dining room that could seat a dozen but never saw more than two, and of course, her bedroom. Soot still on the ceiling, dance slippers tucked hastily under the bed. The soldiers mentioned bombs and fire. What if the mansion was destroyed? The image of fallen walls, a pile of rubble and ash, arrived in her mind. A bittersweet sort of pain burned in her chest as she pondered such a possibility. That mansion was her prison, her gilded cage. And yet there were happy memories there. There were times when she smiled, dancing around her room or strolling through the garden. She found joy in that wretched place and thus made it slightly less wretched. The delicate China in the sitting room was beautiful, with hand-painted birds and flowers under the faintly cracked glaze. The furniture was soft, velvet or leather or brocade, but always unreasonably comfortable. And of course the magnolias. Those fragrant blossoms could distract her from everything bad. A lovely part of being human, isn’t it? The ability to be distracted, to find small joys, even trapped in a cage. She pondered all the things she loved in that house. The drapes and the garden and smooth feeling of the banister beneath her fingers as she walked down the stairs, all things she missed now. Was it bad that she missed it? Was that terrible, to think somewhat fondly of her time in the mansion? A part of her was sure that it was simply horrible. Mr. Indigo was a dangerous, horrible man, and thus his home was the same way. But he also gave her dancing slippers. He cared for her in his twisted, infantalising way. Johanna’s words sounded in her head. Perhaps, in a strange interpretation of the word, he loved her. Sylke couldn’t bring herself to fully accept that idea. Love was the tenderness she saw in Finnick’s eyes, it was the warmth in her chest when they were close, she was entirely and unequivocally sure of that. But as time went on, she continued to wonder, her mind volleying standpoints, if Mr. Indigo’s bizarre affection was also love.

Such thoughts bounced around the back of her head as she tended to those in the infirmary. Days slowly bled into one another, all monotonous and practically identical. She would wake up alone, eat with some of the other medics, and then go to the infirmary. After a long day, she would return to her quarters and lie on her side, reaching her arm out to where Finnick would have been lying beside her. And when the foggy darkness of sleep arrived, the day would begin again.

News from the capitol came every night. The whole of thirteen would go quiet the watching broadcasts. Just a day after they deemed Peeta well enough to join the “Star Squad” in the Capitol, that infamous anthem blared from the broadcast. The faces of every member of the squad was shown. Sylke had been working when it came on the screens. All faces looked to the screen in the room, stepping away from their work for a moment. She froze when she saw Finnick’s portrait appear. She hadn’t seen his face is so long, too long, but this was not the way she wanted to see him again. He couldn’t be dead, he promised. Why, after all this time, why now? After all the trials they encountered and survive, how could it end? Something was wrong, it was simply wrong. Fate wasn’t supposed to be like this, fate couldn’t be like this.

You said you would come back to me

Her perception of the world was cloudy. The hands on her shoulder, the steps she was taking, they didn’t register. Voices were muddled, nothing felt real. All she could do was mutter his name, repeat the same phrases, praying that someone would hear her, some great puppet master who could pull the strings of fate and make them right again. Her murmurs became sobs, and when her eyes were dry, when her energy was drained, she could finally sleep.

She woke to a sharp voice and someone shaking her awake.

“Sylke, get up!”

She pulled herself up, groggy and confused. For a moment, it was just like any other morning, and she almost bolted up, afraid of being late for the start of her shift. But then her vision cleared, and reality set in. She saw the medic uniform she was still wearing and the sad look on Johanna’s face.

“What happened?”

Johanna’s tone was careful and sympathetic.

“You kinda lost it after the broadcast. Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt anyone or do anything bad, you just kinda froze. We didn’t know what else to do, so we just took you here to rest.”

Sylke nodded, not quite sure if she could bring herself to stand up and start her day, as though nothing happened.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t even know. But they’re calling all the medics right now, so…”

Sylke didn’t move.

“They’re flying you guys out to the capitol.”

She still didn’t move.

“Sylke, that means you need to go.”

“I know… I just…”

Johanna placed her hands on Sylke’s shoulders and looked her square in the eyes.

“Look. I know you’re hurting. I know you just lost someone. It’s not the same but I lost him too. But Sylke we’re so close. And people are hurting in the capitol that don’t need to be. We need you to go out and help them.”

Sylke took a shaky inhale and nodded. With Johanna’s help, she made her way down to the hanger where medics were streaming into jets and strapping into their seats. Sylke followed suit, getting her jet assignment and sitting down on a cold metal chair.

The flight was a blur. They landed in district two and waited until the final stages of the battle to fly into the capitol to help innocent citizens. Soon, they were flown in and dropped off in the city circle. When the cries of countless people reached her ears, helping them became Sylke’s sole priority. The moment her feet touched the ground, she rushed to anyone and everyone that looked hurt.

“Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“Where does it hurt? Are you bleeding?”

“Let me take a look.”

She was wrapping a splint for a woman with a broken leg when a familiar chime rang through the air. She looked up to see grey canisters on parachutes floating down from the sky. She froze again, remembering everything from years ago. She remembered the way Finnick’s eyes lit up when he saw a trident float down on an identical grey parachute. That had always been a sweet memory, but now it was laced with pain. She looked around, seeing the people stretching their arms out, welcoming the gifts. There was a flash, a boom, and then quiet.

Sylke’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She was lying on her back, on something soft and comfortable. There was quiet. A peaceful, calming sort of silence surrounded her. She noticed pain on her skin when she tried to get up. Her body was bandaged in random places, and the flesh of her arms and hands felt incredibly sensitive. Her body was sore, but she could move, albeit only slightly. She turned her head to look at her surroundings. She was in a tent, seemingly a medical tent, surrounded by equipment and kits she recognised as the portable medic kits that each person on the jet had been equipped with. Turning her head to look directly to the side, she saw someone lying in a bed like her own. They looked like him. Beneath the bandages she saw his face, sleeping peacefully with his eyes closed. She longed to believe that it was him, to enjoy that delusion and ignorance. But she knew it wasn’t. She knew he was gone. He wasn’t there, no matter how much she wanted him to be, no matter how much he should have been. Tears formed and fell quickly from her eyes. Quiet wails and sobs escaped her. She murmured his name, hoping beyond hope that it would will him back to life. The person in the bed began to rouse.

“Hmm?”

They sounded like him too, why did they have to sound like him? She curled into herself, ignoring the pain in such movement. She hid herself beneath the blanket, like a child afraid of the monsters beneath their bed.

“Hey, are you alright?”

That was his voice.

“Why do you sound like him?”

She wailed with a volume she hadn’t used in days.

“Sylke?”

“You sound just like him…”

Her whole body shook with sobs. She heard fabric rustling and quiet groans that sounded so familiar. There was a hand on the edge of the blanket.

“Can I…?”

“Go ahead.”

Her voice was dejected, entirely hopeless. The blanket was pulled away, revealing a face with cuts and bandages, seemingly some stitches as well, and sea green eyes holding a tender gaze.

“You look like him too.”

“Angel… I’m right here.”

“No you’re not! You died! I saw your picture, I heard the song, you died!”

“Oh sweetheart…”

The person sat down on the bed and gently lifted her to sit up as well. They then pulled her into their arms. That warmth was exactly the same.

“I’m right here, I’m alive. I got damn near dying, but I didn’t. I told you I’d come back to you, didn’t I?”

Finally, she let herself believe. Her grasp on him tightened.

“You’re alive? You’re safe?”

“I’m alive. I’m right here, Angel.”

A part of her still couldn’t believe it. Somehow, there was a shard of pessimism in her that refused to be tricked. And he could sense that. He understood all too well the spirit of self preservation that will do anything to keep itself from hurting. So he pulled away slightly to look at her.

“Hey, look at me, look at my eyes.”

She gazed up at him with scared, teary doe-eyes.

“Don’t you believe in fate?”

And with that, the last bit of denial shattered within her. A smile and then a laugh came to her face as hope returned to her spirit.

Taglist: @zulpix-blog

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looooooooomis · 2 years

Text

the darkness, visible

pairing: corey cunningham x fem!reader one shot word count: 7.3k (I am SO sorry) warnings: s m u t (18++++++), oral, tit-play, thigh-riding, teasing, friends to lovers, halloween ends spoilers

a/n: what can i say? he charmed me

masterlist HERE

“When the chaos calls me out And it feel it's like there is nothing I can do I picture you.” picture you // mumford & sons

Friends.

Just friends.

That’s all the two of you were. That’s all you ever had been and while it might have killed you half of the time – most of the time, if you were being honest – that’s all you’d ever be.

Friends.

Chums.

Pals.

But then there were nights like tonight that made all those years of burying your feelings for the man to your right all the more impossible. Nights when you could swear he was sitting closer than normal, so close that his body heat seemed to envelop you from every angle as the two of you sat in your barely lit apartment watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. You could feel the scratchiness of his wool sweater graze yours every few seconds, smell that musky aftershave wafting all around you, and you watched, in mild admiration, as those thick fingers of his tightened into two fists on his lap. The veins in his hands swelled to life with ever clench, steeling your attention instantly as you thought of how nice they might feel circling around your throat, how fucking good they’d feel carved into the flesh of your hips if he were to bend you over the arm of your couch.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought Corey Cunningham was in agony as he sat there, leg bouncing every couple of seconds as he flexed and unflexed his fingers into fists – but you did know Corey. Knew him better than anyone – and this wasn’t out of left field for your curly haired best friend.

Because try as you might to bury your feelings for the man, you knew he was doing the exact same thing when it came to you.

You’d both agreed a very long time ago, a fucking lifetime ago, that you were both better off as friends. It was about a year before the babysitting incident at a New Years Eve party that your friend, Jess, had thrown. You were both drunk, both a little stoned, and both way too tired to play that tired old game of who can bury their feelings down farther that it was all you could both do to kiss each other at midnight. Granted, it was awkward as all hell – there was no magic rom-com movie moment where the pair of you locked eyes and just knew you’d found your person – but instead lasted for all of five seconds before some drunken idiot slammed into you from behind, sending you forward with enough force to completely obliterate poor Corey’s nose.

It was roughly ten minutes after that incident, as you were bunching a handful of toilet paper into Corey’s face in a lame attempt to staunch the bleeding, when you both silently came to the agreement that whatever that was couldn’t happen again. You two were friends, that’s all you’d ever be, this was only the universe’s way of solidifying that sad fact.

But that didn’t mean either of you had to like it.

And night’s like tonight, where you could feel Corey’s frustration exuding off of him in waves, made that sad pill all the harder to swallow.

The tension between the two of you was thick and, some nights, nights spent holed up in your apartment, watching a movie with a bottle (or two) of wine between you, that tension was hard to ignore.

You could feel those pretty brown eyes scraping over your profile as the movie played on, feel him shift, every couple of minutes, the slightest bit closer to you, never once allowing those hands to touch you but not willing his body to do the same. He wanted you every bit as much as you wanted him and you knew that.

But that wasn’t in the cards for the two of you, especially after that night he babysat Jeremy.

You could still remember the grit of his voice when he called you from the police station. He’d only been allowed one call and, rather than call his overbearing mother or his father, he’d called you. You were at a Halloween party, one he was meant to be attending when he was finished with that Jeremy kid, but there was a shift in his voice and a certain hitch in his breathing that alerted you to something being seriously wrong.

You didn’t realize just how horrific that something was, however, until it was too late.

You were there when the town turned its back on him, you were there through the trials and through every painstaking moment that the boy you were so heartily in love with dimmed to a dull glow with every passing year. Haddonfield was killing him, it had already eaten him up and chewed him out and now all that was left was to wait for something to take him away completely because people in Haddonfield didn’t forget and they certainly couldn’t forgive the man they’d dubbed the Killer Babysitter.

Your heart had broken for the man more times than you could count at this stage in your friendship. Before that night, Corey’s life has been on the up and up. He was smart, he was almost finished with college, the two of you had talked about moving to Chicago the next year for a fresh start – but then that kid died and, with him, most of Corey did, too.

“You want to go somewhere tonight?” Corey’s quiet voice sliced into the quietude of your living room, snapping your attention away from his hands only long enough for you to peer across at those pretty brown eyes. When you didn’t answer right away, you watched Corey’s lips twitch in mild amusement. “What’s that look?”

“You want to go out?” You asked, raising your brows. Stretching across the couch, you placed the back of your hand on his forehead, ignoring his pitiful attempts to smack your hand away with a small smirk of your own. “You feeling okay?”

“Hilarious,” he mused, catching your hand with ease. You didn’t quite miss the way he seemed to hold onto your hand for a few extra seconds before letting it fall between you. “Allyson Nelson, you know her?”

Confusion pinched at your brows as you gave him a slow nod. “Laurie Strode’s granddaughter, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “She, uh,” glancing down at the bandage on his hand he seemed to chew on his words for a few seconds before his eyes found yours once more. “She fixed my hand up this afternoon and actually invited me to this Halloween pub night thing.”

Corey was testing the waters when he knew he shouldn’t have been and, as he watched your face fall for just a second, a real blink and you’ll miss it type of thing, his stomach fell out of his ass as he watched you smack on a tight, practiced smile before downing the rest of your wine.

“That’s fun,” you mused with that hollow smile. “You should go.”

Corey was quiet as he watched you pour out another glass of wine, watching your face for any indication that you were jealous because if you were jealous then he wasn’t fucking crazy for being so goddamn in love with his best friend. Because if you were jealous maybe, just maybe, all of the feelings he had for you boiling beneath the surface of his skin weren’t entirely one-sided.

“I was thinking about it,” He admitted, studying your face. “But I want you there with me.”

You gave him a quiet snort as you found his stare from above your glass of wine. “Yeah, I don’t think Allyson would love that.”

“Why not?” Corey asked, watching you relax back into the couch. “She asked, I’m sure she—”

“She asked you, Corey,” you laughed but he knew that laugh. It was a stale laugh, one you’d given many men that he’d witnessed over the years and he suddenly wished he hadn’t said a fucking word. If there was anything in this world Corey knew like the back of his fucking hand, it was you. Your expressions, your personality, your defense mechanisms – and this, this breezy nonchalance was defense mechanism number one.

“So?” He pushed out, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees. “It was probably just her being polite and—”

You shot him a knowing look which silenced him instantly.

“How did she ask?” You smirked, taking another sip of wine. “Because I promise you, you’re wrong.”

“Over text,” he shrugged. “She asked if I had a costume because her co-worker was throwing a party at that bar on Eagle Street.”

“Text,” you mused with a hum. “So, a girl gives you her number and asks you out and you’re going to look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t think she’d mind if you brought a female friend with you?”

Corey mulled over your words for a few seconds before giving you a mild shrug. “I don’t think she’d mind.”

“She would,” you laughed, putting your glass back on the coffee table at your knee. “I’d mind if I invited a guy out and he brought another girl.”

“It’s not like I’d be bringing you as a date. We’re friends.” He argued but as those words left his tongue and he caught a flash of hurt dance across your face, Corey wished like hell that the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him whole. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”

“I know,” you replied, way too perky. That blasé smile was back in full force as you leaned forward to down the rest of your wine. “We’re friends.” You reiterated, almost a little grumpily before focusing those pretty eyes back on his face. “So, as your friend, I demand that you leave my apartment right now and go get your girl.”

His girl, he wanted to laugh but found such a sensation almost impossible to come by when it wasn’t in reference to you.

“I’m not going to ditch you,” he said, suddenly wishing he’d never opened his mouth to begin with. Desperation began to scrape inside of his chest, as did those vexatious feelings he had for you. They were clawing at his chest, desperate to come out of his mouth so that all those buried feelings could finally, maybe, manifest into something more tangible. Something real.

“You’re not ditching,” you simply said with a hum. “I’m kicking you out of my apartment so that you can go on a date with a pretty girl who’s been through the ringer every bit as much as you have.” You told him, avoiding his stare altogether. “It’ll be good for you.”

You’re good for me, he wanted to say. Hell, he wanted to scream it for all your fucking neighbours to hear.

But he wouldn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because Corey Cunningham didn’t have it in him. He lacked conviction, that’s what his mother had said time and time again, and he supposed she was right. Because if Corey had even an ounce of conviction, an ounce of courage inside of his chest, he’d act on those fucking feelings rather than bury them further down with every passing day.

“What are you waiting for, lover boy?” Pushing yourself off of the couch, you grabbed his arm and yanked him up to his feet with some difficulty before grabbing for his jacket. “Go,�� you told him, tossing his jacket at him. “Have fun.”

“What about you?” He asked pitifully, not moving an inch as you brought his empty wine glass to the kitchen. Corey’s eyes were on your ass as you walked away; you were in nothing more an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of short athletic shorts and no matter how often he’d seen you in an outfit similar to this, he was hooked.

He wanted nothing more than to yank those shorts down and lick his way up those thighs until finally tasting you the way he always wanted to.

But, instead, here he was. Being ushered out of your apartment to go see another girl.

“Me?” You asked over your shoulder. “I’m going to finish this movie, finish this wine, smoke a bowl, masturbate, and then go to bed.” You flashed him an amused smile as you watched his cheeks redden with the mention of masturbation before tucking your chin into your chest. It wasn’t out of the blue for you two to talk about sex and all things related to it, but it never got old watching the toll it seemed to take on your friend. “I’ll be just fine.”

The images of you splayed out on the couch or on your bed, legs wide with one of your toys between your thighs was nearly enough to kill him. If he had the balls, he’d make a quip about wanting to watch or, at the very least, wanting to offer a helping hand so that you didn’t have to do all the work. He wanted to be that guy. He wanted to be that guy more than anything when it came to you.

But he wasn’t.

“I,” he opened his mouth, tasting the words out on his tongue before uttering them out loud. I want to stay with you. I want to be the one fucking you on this couch, not your fucking dildo.

But no words surfaced.

Only thoughts.

That’s all they’d ever be.

“Hmm?” You asked, padding your way back into the living room.

“Nothing,” he shook his head and begrudgingly shrugged his jacket on. “I guess I’ll go, then.”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, avoiding his eyes one last time as you focused back on the movie. “Go and have some fun, Cunningham. You deserve it.”

In a perfect world, he’d show some conviction right now. He’d march across your tiny apartment, yank you up to your feet and kiss you with everything he had. He’d tell you everything, every little fucking thing he was feeling about you, he’d kiss you and taste you and make you scream for him.

But all he did was stand there, wishing. Waiting for something inside of him to snap to life. For that beast inside of his chest to wake up and finally make its move.

Only it never came and as he lowered his gaze to the ground and made his way towards your front door, Corey managed one pitiful glance over his shoulder towards you only to find that your eyes were on his.

Say it, he demanded. Do something you fucking idiot!

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked, shoving his hands inside of his coat pockets.

That sad smile of yours was going to be etched into his memory until the end of time, he was sure of it. But, rather than say another word, you buried it just as fast and gave him a single nod. “See you tomorrow, Corey.”

God, he really was a fucking idiot.

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

It was as if he was on fire from within.

Something inside of him, some cloud of chaos, of destruction, a darkness so deep and encompassing seemed to blossom in his chest that morning. At first, he’d been terrified. Horrified, even, of waking up in some sort of sewage drain and when that rude awakening turned into coming face to face with Michael fucking Myers, Corey had never felt such fear in his life.

But it was somewhere after he crawled out of that sewage drain, after barely leaving with his life, and feeling that knife slice into the homeless man who had attacked him, that fear turned into something more. Something much more carnal and familiar than he could fathom. It was as though that beast inside of his chest had been stirred awake that morning which, given that he’d been jumped the night prior, was a feat in and of itself.

But somehow, amidst the bruises and the wounds marring his hands and face. Despite his bones aching from the fall off of the bridge and the pounding in his head, Corey felt alive for the first time since the accident at Jeremy’s house.

His skin felt like it was vibrating as adrenaline rushed through his entire body, waking up the darkest parts of himself that he had buried down so deep for so many years. It was as if the sun was finally shining on Corey Cunningham after spending years and years in the shadows.

He was in the shower when he realized it. Watching the blood seep off of his body and swirl down the drain, Corey knew exactly what he needed to do with this newfound confidence – with this burst of conviction lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Reaching for his phone after he slung a towel haphazardly around his waist, Corey tapped through multiple screens before finding your conversation.

Free tonight?

He typed, hitting send before that resolve left him entirely.

Sure. Swing by around 10?

That beast inside of his chest clawed its way to the surface as he typed his response.

I’ll be there.

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

There was a knock at your door a little after ten that evening.

You knew it was bound to be Corey, it was only ever Corey at this time of night, but that didn’t stop you from peering through the peephole just to be sure. You did live in Haddonfield, after all, and, while you were almost sure Michael Myers didn’t exactly knock before claiming his next victim, you weren’t risking it.

But, sure enough, there was Corey. Holding a bottle of wine in his hands along with a small bouquet of flowers that looked freshly picked from the garden your landlord kept at the front of the building.

“What the fuck?” You laughed, swinging the door open. But any and all amusement left you as you took in the battered man before you. “Oh, my god, Corey,” His clothes were clean and it was obvious he made an attempt to cover up just how fucking injured he was, but as your eyes swept over every inch of visible skin, your heart fell into your stomach. Someone had beaten the shit out of him. “What the fuck happened?” You hissed, grabbing his arm to direct him into your apartment. The flowers in his arms were all but forgotten about as you searched his eyes. “Who did this to you?”

His glasses were gone now and while the scratches and bits of dry blood along his lip and hairline should have had your full attention, it was his eyes that held you there. Those gorgeous brown eyes that you knew like the back of your hand, those kind, gentle, patient eyes were dark tonight.

Penetrative.

Sinister.

You couldn’t look away. That sheepish side of your best friend, the poised version of Corey that you’d familiarized yourself with since the incident was gone tonight and, in its place, this. Confidence exuded off of the man tonight and, as you watched him place the bottle of wine on your table, along with the flowers he’d brought with him, it was those dark eyes that held your attention.

“Nobody,” his voice was low as she shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. I’m okay.”

He sounded the same, he looked the same – but there was something different about Corey Cunningham tonight and to say you were intrigued would have been an understatement.

Your intrigue, however, was short-lived as you focused back on the wounds marring his body.

“You’re okay? Corey, have you seen yourself?” You reached forward and gently brushed his hair away from his face to get a better look at the gash that ran along his brow. You winced. “Fuck, you might need stitches.”

“I don’t need any stitches,” he said, not moving a muscle under your sudden touch. The old Corey would have blushed, hell, he would have probably fumbled over some words – but not tonight. Instead, you watched a teasing grin pull at the corner of his mouth as he shook his head. “I didn’t come here for first-aid, Y/N.”

“No?” You asked distractedly, glancing around your apartment for the small first-aid box you carried in case of emergencies. When your search came up empty, you sighed and focused your attention back to Corey. Frowning, you crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head. Concern niggled in your belly as you shook your head. “Jesus, look at you. Who did it, Corey? I swear to god, if it was—”

The words died on the tip of your tongue as Corey crossed the small threshold of your apartment with ease, but before you could question him on anything, his mouth was on yours as he backed you into the side of your couch.

Every part of your brain was screaming at you to pull back, to come to your senses and think clearly for just one goddamn second – but you couldn’t.

Not now.

On instinct, your hands tangled through his hair as he pushed you against the couch with ease with his tongue sweeping along your bottom lip.

“What?” Your voice was muffled as you pulled back just far enough to peer across at him. That dark look in his eyes was enough to make you clench your thighs together as warmth pooled between your thighs. “Corey, what the fuck?”

Licking his lips, Corey’s forehead fell against your own as he swept some of your hair behind your ear. “You want me to stop?” His hands were on your face at first, cradling it gently as he ground his hips into yours, and then they were on your neck, holding you close as his tongue massaged your own.

You could feel his cock through his jeans, straining against the material painfully so as your own arousal spread like wildfire inside of you.

“I didn’t say that,” you pushed out, melting into him. “But what the fuck’s gotten into you?” Shivering beneath his touch, you instinctively leaned into his broad chest as the pair of you continue to stand there, kissing like your lives depended on it. “Are you high?”

“No,” he laughed, and kissed the corner of your mouth. “Not drunk, either, before you ask.”

“Concussion?” You mumbled against his lips, working on getting him out of his jacket

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a dark smirk. “Maybe. Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it fucking matters, asshole.” You told him breathlessly. “I don’t want you regretting anything when you wake up tomorrow morning.”

His movements stilled and you watched his brows furl as he seemed to weigh the gravity of your words. “Regret what?” He asked, cradling your face. “Kissing you? Tasting you?” He clicked his tongue and breathed out a terse, shaky sigh. “I’ve been in love with you since we were eighteen, Y/N,” no trace of hilarity crossed over his face as he brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear. “No chance I’d regret this. You hear me?””

“Corey,” you groused, but your body was losing its battle to remain steadfast with Corey looking at you like that. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Amusement flashed across his face. “You don’t think I mean it?” He asked, backing you onto the couch so that your knees buckled. Leaning most of his weight on his elbow beside you, Corey hovered over you and bumped your nose with his. “You want me to show you how much I mean it?”

Your cunt throbbed at the promise of his words. Were you dreaming? How was this the same man who blushed at the mention of masturbation the night prior? “I’m serious, Corey.”

“So am I,” he mumbled into the flesh of your neck. Biting down, he could only smirk at the low moan he managed to get out of you before doing it again. His cock twitched. “You like that?”

Just last night, the two of you had been sat on this very couch. The same couch where you’d spent hours talking and watching movies. The same couch where he’d spent hours on hours thinking through this very scenario. Thinking about just how he’d go about kissing you, tasting you – how the two of you could go from friends to lovers and everything in between.

He kissed you with everything he had as he positioned the pair of you into a better angle; one where he could see you up close and personal. Sitting himself up, he yanked you on top of his thick thighs, not wasting even a second to push that silky nightgown up your waist to allow himself full access to that sweet cunt he’d thought about for years on end.

He needed to feel you as close as humanly possible tonight, hell, he was desperate for it. Desperate for you. And, judging by the greedy way you kissed him and the way your hands seemed to knot through his hair and knead into his sweater, keeping him just as close, it was all too obvious to Corey that he’d denied himself all these years for nothing.

You wanted this, wanted him, every bit as much as he wanted you.

Biting down on your lip, Corey’s fingers bled into the flesh of your hips as he slipped his hands beneath the silk of that pretty little night dress. You’d worn this dress around him only once before and he could still recall the way those perfect tits of yours looked in it. How your nipples pebbled and strained against the thin material, drawing his eyes immediately. He’d had that image of you in his head for weeks, after that. Fucked his hand more times than he was willing to admit as he thought of all the ways he could get that dress off of you.

And now, here you were. Sitting on his lap in that fucking dress he’d dreamt about for months on end. He could feel the warmth of your cunt through his jeans, see the pebbling of your nipples knowing he was only a few inches away from being able to taste them on his tongue.

You groaned into his mouth as he bit your lip, but when his tongue ran along your lip, soothing the pain almost instantly, all was forgiven. How could it not be when he felt this fucking good?

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” You breathed out raking your fingers through those unruly curls. “But I like it.”

A dark rumble of laughter crawled out from between those perfect lips of his as he swirled his tongue up the length of your throat. He could feel your pulse jump beneath his tongue, and it took everything inside of him not to come on the spot.

Your entire body felt red-hot as his thick fingers slipped beneath your dress and curled into the flesh of your hips. He was holding you there, not allowing you so much as an inch as he closed his mouth over your pulse point, relishing in how fucking good it finally felt to taste your skin, to feel your heartbeat on his tongue. Feel you writhing, burning for him, as he finally kissed you the way he’d always wanted to kiss you.

All his life, he’d denied himself when it came to you. Denied his body, his mind, his heart.

But never again.

Not with you.

“Your heart’s fucking racing,” he whispered breathlessly.

“Yeah, well,” you breathed out, and when you felt him gently bite down on your collarbone, just beneath your pulse point, you were dizzy with want. “Do you blame me?”

Corey just managed to tear himself away from you only long enough to blink up at you. “You scared of me?”

“No,” you laughed. “I’ve just thought about this for a long time. Never thought it would actually happen.”

Corey’s eyebrows pulled up. “You’ve thought about this?” Something that looked an awful lot like esteem flashed across his face, followed by sheer confusion before you felt him pull you even closer. “About us?”

You wanted to laugh because how could he be so goddamn blind – but you didn’t. Instead, all you could do was run your fingers through his hair again, pushing it back and away from his face long enough to see the damage those assholes had done the night prior. “Yeah, you dumb idiot,” you chastised quietly, placing a gentle kiss to the bruise above his lip. “I’ve thought about us.”

Your tone was enough to make Corey believe you, but it was the effervescent look of pure worship resonating from your every pore that made Corey close the gap between you. He’d been an idiot to ignore his feelings for you. How much time had he wasted running from this? Running from you?

Slowly, as though time meant nothing, his lips met yours in a kiss that sent shockwaves through your entire body. The way the two of you moved against each other, the way his lips felt against yours, the way your hands seemed to just know where to touch the man to make him feral.

There was a fluency between the two of you, an ease that went beyond sense, beyond logic.

It was natural as breathing to hold you like this, to kiss you and touch you exactly like this and Corey couldn’t get enough. Not when you sounded so fucking pretty moaning every time the seam of his jeans rubbed your cunt just right.

Yeah, he’d been a fucking idiot to wait this long to show you how he felt.

But he’d be damned if he waited another second.

Still getting used to that strange prickling beneath his skin, Corey’s fingers trembled as they pushed the hem of your dress higher up your waist, allowing himself full access to your naked ass. You were in nothing more than a thong beneath that fucking dress and seeing you, feeling how little there was between you was enough to kill him.

“I thought about you last night,” you whispered, biting down on your own lip as you felt him knead your bare ass. “Fucking me on this very couch.”

His cock twitched painfully against his jeans. “While you were touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” you moaned.

“Fuck,” he hissed, reaching around to give your ass another firm squeeze. “I should have stayed.”

You smirked and lowered yourself further down on his lap so that your clit brushed against his jean-clad thigh again. “You’re here now,” you reminded him, slowly sliding back and forth on his thigh. You bit back a moan as you continued to ride his thigh. “And, fuck, baby, you feel even better than I thought you would.”

With a menacing grin, he craned his neck up to capture your lips as you continued to rock back and forth on his thigh. Burying a moan inside of his mouth, you felt one of his hands wander from your ass and along your waist before giving your breast a firm squeeze through the fabric of your thin slip dress.

God, how many times had he dreamt of touching you? How many times had he thought about sucking the very tits he was now groping as you moaned and arched into his touch? He’d rubbed himself raw many a night dreaming about this very scenario and here you were.

Through the fabric of your dress, his thumb rolled over the hardened bud of your nipple briefly before yanking the straps down so that you were fully exposed to him. If he was worried about the fabric ripping, he sure as shit had a funny way of showing it because the second your tits were out of that dress, Corey’s hungry mouth was on your nipple.

Tasting you.

Savouring you.

Between the sensation of his tongue and the feeling of your clit scraping against his strong, muscular thigh, you were in heaven.

But fair was fair.

He was the injured party, here. He looked like he fell off of a fucking bridge, the man needed some TLC.

And you were more than happy to help.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy as he gently bit and sucked at your pert nipple, you reached your arm down between you to unbuckle his belt. Your movements were frenzied, desperate, as you worked on undoing his jeans, and when you finally managed to undo his zipper, you unlatched your tit from his mouth and began to shimmy down his legs.

Corey’s eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them as you settled between his thighs. There was a damp streak on the leg of his jeans on account of you, but you barely paid it any mind as you yanked the material further down his hips.

His cock sprang to life the second it had come loose from its constraints and, as your hungry eyes scraped over his painfully hard erection, he swore to himself that he could have come right there and then.

Your lips were puffy from all the kissing you’d done, your cheeks flushed. And as your chest heaved with each shallow breath, your already perky nipples puckered and teased him to no end. He wanted his mouth back on them, needed to feel the swollen buds on his tongue, between his teeth. He needed to hear you scream for him, beg for him.

He needed you more than air in that moment. Hell, he needed you more than water for most of his life. He knew he should have been taking his time with you tonight, he should try to be gentle – but he couldn’t.

That beast inside of him had gone without for so damn long and tonight, he would feed it.

Scraping your fingernails up his thighs, you smirked and lowered your head to the girth of his cock. You’d thought about how it might feel to pierce you, how it might taste on your tongue but even your wildest dreams paled in comparison to the real thing.

With the flat of your tongue, you licked your way up the length of his cock all the while holding that dark stare. His legs twitched beneath you and his chest, rising and falling rapidly, seemed to hitch with an unearthed breath that caught in his throat the very second you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock.

“This okay?” You purred with a knowing, teasing smile.

With hungry, half-lidded eyes, Corey watched that pretty mouth of yours take him. Slowly at first, but soon you fell into an easy rhythm as you sucked him off. “Yeah,” his voice was gruff, barely above a whisper. Curling his fingers through your hair, he squeezed his fist together, giving your hair a firm tug as he threw his head back against the couch and whispered, “Fuck, baby.”

If he wasn’t careful, he’d blow his load in your mouth before he got the chance to properly fuck you and he’d be damned if he let that happen.

Corey gave your hair a firm tug and hissed out your name. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come.”

Releasing his cock with a resounding pop, you raised a single eyebrow up at him and grinned. “That’s kind of the point.”

Without so much as a word, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a bruising kiss as he pulled you back onto the couch. His movements were quick, you barely registered the fact that he managed to pin you down where he’d just been sitting, and as you watched him position himself in front of you, between your thighs, your pulse seemed to skyrocket in anticipation.

You watched, mesmerised, as he tugged your thong down your thighs. At first, he held your stare as he leaned in to place an almost gentle kiss to your sopping mound, but when his eyes, those dark, dark eyes, flittered down to your cunt, the excitement in the pit of your stomach blossomed wholly.

He was a man on fire in that moment.

“Corey,” you pleaded pathetically, running your fingers through his curls. Your hips thrusted forward out of desperation alone. You needed to feel him inside of you one way or another. “Please, baby.”

That seemed to do it. Something in your whiny tone was enough for Corey to bury his face between your thighs and, fuck, did he feel so fucking good.

A guttural moan tore out of your lips as his deft tongue found your clit and, as he inserted two thick fingers inside of you, you bucked into his mouth and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

Just as you’d expected, the man was a god with his tongue.

He lapped and sucked at your clit as his free hand reached up to play with your exposed tits, taking his time with each nipple as he roughly pinched and squeezed. You’d never felt so hot in your life and your body, arching and bucking into his mouth as he senselessly tongue-fucked you, prickled with a want so intense that it was almost tangible.

It was obvious the man wanted you to come and god did he want you to come hard.

“Corey,” you rasped out, squeezing your eyes shut as that familiar heat began to encroach its way up your body. When he curled his fingers inside of your hot cunt, you nearly screamed. “Corey, fuck.”

“Come for me,” he demanded, the reverb of his voice against your already sensitive clit sent shivers up and down your spine. “God, baby, you know how good you taste?”

You were going to cum. Any second now. You felt that mind-numbing pleasure build up in your toes and up your legs and as he gave your clit another long, desperate suck, you let that fire inside of your belly overtake you.

Your entire body shook as you bucked into his mouth.

Stars danced behind your eyes as strangled moans and breathy whines tore out of your throat.

But Corey didn’t ease up.

He wouldn’t.

He simply continued to lick and suck and nip at your clit as you rode out your orgasm, ignoring the way your entire body seemed to convulse almost violently so. He wanted to hear you scream, hell, he wanted to feel you tremble and shake on account of him all fucking night long.

You deserved to know he wanted this, wanted you more than he could even fathom and he deserved to feel like some sort of fucking god as he watched you tremble on his tongue. No man would ever touch you like this again, only him.

But that timid man he’d become since that night with Jeremy was still at the root of his core and seeing you fumble over your words as you fought for control of your own body won over as he slowly released your clit and kissed his was up your pelvis and stomach before leaning up to capture your lips again.

You could taste yourself on his lips as you kissed him and as he situated himself in front of you, you instinctively opened your thighs a little wider to allow him entrance. Breathlessly, you pulled away from his lips and shot him a tiny smirk as you reached down to give his dick a firm tug. “Fuck me, Corey.”

He seemed to search your eyes for a moment before giving you a small, gentle nod. He might have been a new man tonight, like something inside of him just…woke up – but that tender look he gave you as he watched you climb on top of his lap was all you could focus on. He looked so…fucking beautiful with his unruly curls splayed every which way and that sheen of sweat coating his bruised and battered skin. You could still see your slick all over his chin and nose, but you’d never seen a more beautiful being as you did whilst looking across at the man beneath you.

“You okay?” You found yourself asking as you swept a blanket of hair back and away from his forehead. Reaching down, you guided the length of him through your wet folds and along your clit before lowering yourself down onto his length.

His words died on his tongue as he blew out a puff of air through his lips and allowed his head to fall back against the couch as he tried to regain control of his body. You just felt so fucking good, so fucking warm and tight, on his cock. He’d imagined this very scenario a thousand times over – but never in his life did he expect it to feel so damn good.

“I’m better than okay,” he chuckled, tugging your already rumpled dress over your head. He tossed it across your small apartment, watching with keen interest as your tits heaved and bounced with every fluid bound you took. “God, look at you,” he mused, full of wonder. His eyes seemed to skirt around every inch of your body, followed closely by his calloused hands, but the look he gave you as those brown eyes finally settled in on your face made you breathless. “You’re perfect.”

It came out no louder than a whisper but landed like an atom bomb in your chest as you took in the raw emotion all over his face.

Splaying his fingers across the expanse of your back, Corey pulled you closer into him and enveloped his mouth around one of your nipples, watching you through dark and hooded eyes as his tongue lapped and sucked each tit. If he’d known how hot you got from tit-play, how much your body seemed to just mould against him as those tiny, breathy moans filtered around your small apartment – he would have tested the waters years ago.

God, you were soaked and, fuck, you felt so fucking good.

He’d thought about doing this for years now – hell, he’d argue since he’d laid eyes on you – but even in his wildest, wettest dream, he never imagined that you’d feel this good. His hands held your hips as you swiveled and bounced on his cock. He was going to come soon, he knew he was, but when he watched you reach down and begin to stroke your clit as he was buried inside of you, that was it for Corey.

A breathy moan tore out of his lips as he leaned forward to capture your mouth again, coming undone inside of you, filling you up with everything he had.

Feeling his cock twitch, you rode out the last few pumps before slowly pulling back to peer down at him. “If you think this got you out of telling me who beat you up,” You nuzzled his neck and bit down. “You’re sorely mistaken.”

A slow, lazy grin tore across his lips as you slowly slid off of him, joining him on the couch with your naked chest heaving. Reaching across to cup your pussy, Corey slipped a finger through your wet folds and gave your clit a firm pinch. Your entire body trembled on account of his fingers. “Later,” he promised, leaning in to capture your lips yet again. “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

let me know what you guys think x

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