#a fantasy of who you think i'll be || cora | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vasiktomis · 3 years

Text

Pomegranate, Chapter 17: Quiet Earth, Part I.

John Seed x Female Deputy

Rating: Explicit.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Notes: Thanks all who have been keeping up with this! I'm so consistently floored by the amount of content creators we have in this fandom corner and the sheer level of workmanship that exists here. This is the first chapter of Pom that I'll be posting to tumblr, and I'm hoping to draw up a little sketch with each update. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Big thank you to @shallow-gravy and @consumedkings as always for dealing with my stupidity and being a pair of top-notch angels, and also just like, everybody who takes time out of their day to engage with this? Y'all really sticking with ultra slow burn and I swear after some wicked angst in the next couple of chapters I'll finally be able to throw some well-deserved smut at you. WARNINGS: Forced conversion, descriptions of dissociation and derealisation, explicit language, sexual content, depictions of violence, guns, blood and gore. Canon-typical debauchery.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Don’t touch him!”

Mary May lunged with enough force for John to feel the wake of air sweep through him, even with how quickly she was snatched up and yanked back to her place. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as she was dragged to the far side of the room, unable to be trusted with providing audience to Nick’s Atonement.

A shame, really. It was nicer as a shared experience.

The Baptist rolled his jaw, off-setting some of the tension arising from the shrieks that the blonde flung at the back of his head. He righted himself, taking the tattoo gun from one of his faithful with a gracious nod, and turned his attention down to the pilot currently pinned to the floor. Without a word, he sank to his knees, straddling the man, keeping silent as he could just to listen out for any change in his demeanour. Fear. Grief. Defeat. Acceptance. A sign to prove his readiness.

Nick didn't flinch, breathing hard through his nose and watching with hateful eyes. John hovered an indicating hand over the man’s bare chest, bruised from the fight he’d put up against his capture, mentally mapping out placement. Then, he came in with the needle, beginning with the stem of an ’E’, right in the centre of Nick's sternum.

The pilot snorted, masking discomfort with indifference, turning a wince into a scoff. “Figures you don’t use stencils. I ain’t got a hope in hell of this turning out good, do I.”

That casual old Nick attitude. He missed it.

If only he’d let him do this 5 years ago. He wouldn’t have had to miss it.

John feigned offense. “Oh I’m sorry, Nick. Did you want me to do the rest in cursive? Add a feather? Infinity symbol?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Talk about tonal dissonance. It’s not meant to be pretty.” He grumbled. “Might’ve gotten a little more practice if you’d-”

A yell from the rear entryway pulled John’s hand away from his canvas. More squeaking. More interruption. Jerome Jeffries getting hauled into the church, held under each arm by the pair of Chosen that John had sent looking for him.

The Baptist cast a look over his shoulder at them, content with the sight of Jerome adequately beaten and bloodied. “Ahh. Pastor. Try to run and hide? It’s no wonder your flock ran astray with a shepherd so quick to leave them to the wolves.”

Jerome ignored him. No reply. No eye contact. A crime John noted to make worthy of capital punishment in the New Eden. The Pastor was set down beside Mary May, who immediately began seeing to his injuries. Murmuring bubbled between them.

“Did you reach them?” The bartender asked. Must’ve been a negative, because the next thing she did was curse.

“The Deputy was calling when they caught me.”

And if she had half the spine to come and broker an agreement for her friends, she’d be inbound.

“Could you at least gag them? I’m trying to concentrate.” John ordered no one in particular, earning another scoff from Nick. “The faster we work, the less we’ll have to get through once she arrives. The quicker we can be out of this heinous town.”

“Stay away from her, shitbag.” The pilot ground out, this time unable to save face when John retaliated, pressing the gun just a little too hard, digging down through an extra few layers of skin.

“Nick Rye, you’re a married man.” John tutted playfully, resuming his work. “That sin of yours again. Take, take, take. Didn’t think the Deputy to be your type. Wouldn’t say you’re hers, either.”

Nick looked downright disgusted at the prospect. Less concerned for the state of his wife - which meant she'd been a likely getaway. “Always been so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Come again?”

“Think folks are stupid? Think I don’t know you?”

“You don't know me, period.” John bit back, skin on the back of his neck flushing between boiling and freezing.

“Anyone else givin’ you this much trouble’d be long dead by now. That shit on the radio? Reckon you’d be talkin’ like that if your family could hear you across the river?” Nick continued, averting his gaze when John shot him a particularly poisonous look. He didn’t, however, find it necessary to respond to such a veiled accusation.

At least until -

“Everybody knows you wanna stick it to her, John-”

As if he’d been awaiting the chance, John’s free hand shot to Nick’s jaw, aching in protest when he squeezed, not stopping until he could feel the man’s molars beneath his flesh. “That’s about enough from you.” He crooned.

John had his desires, yes. He’d accepted that much. Had he not been sworn to celibacy, he might have jumped at the opportunity to respond to Cora’s advances last night. That said, she was still an outsider, and while her Atonement made the prospect less dicey, he couldn’t consciously consider laying with the woman in real life.

No matter how torturous it had become to gear his thoughts toward anything else.

He could be content with just her company, without making any further advances on her. Last night had simply been a moment of weakness, and he’d prevailed by stepping away.

“If you’ll excuse me.” John switched off the little machine once he’d completed his piece and promptly stood to beckon for replacement parts. Mary May might have gotten away with an allergic reaction last time he’d attempted this, but considering he’d be slicing it out of her within the hour, he couldn’t see any reason for her to be complaining. The bartender had been a thorn in his side from the start. While Nick and his wife had once lent John their...whatever a sinner’s closest equivalent was to friendship, Mary May had always been trouble. Wore her heart on her sleeve and trusted no one she hadn’t grown up around. Bolshie. Almost fucking killed him, once.

John busied himself with needle transfers and a pleasant expression. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

Did she think what Nick proclaimed? That complete and utter lie?

How fucking crass. No, he did not want to ’stick it’ to Cora. At least, as far as anyone else was concerned. He was fond of her, and - while yes, he had encountered temptation - if one disregarded the cum-stained, stolen panties in his pocket, and the conjured fantasies, and the purely incidental erection he’d maintained after the Deputy stuck her tongue down his throat last night - there was simply no evidence to suggest to anyone else that he was even remotely tempted to break the rules.

Sex was the furthest thing from his mind. It was mere coincidence that today had just so happened to fall on a morning in which he’d needed to trim.

…

If, however, she were to decide that she wanted to continue what she’d attempted last night, then surely he couldn’t be to blame if he only failed to stop her. It wasn’t technically fornication if he didn’t initiate it. Nor was it considered intercourse if -

“Brother John.”

John jumped, heart stopping, whipping his head around to the Chosen standing at the door of the church.

“What?" He asked thickly.

“The Deputy’s arrived.”

Right on cue, the crackling of gunshots drifted in alongside the Chosen’s announcement.

“Tell everyone to hold their fire.” John ordered. “We have them outnumbered tenfold. The Deputy can’t be stupid enough to create a hostage situation. Direct her here, and peacefully.”

The Chosen’s throat bobbed, swallowing back outrage, and John squinted hard at him, trying to dispel the flicker of green light in the mist outside as it settled against the man’s temple.

“John, I don’t think-”

He never got a chance to act on that incoming insubordination.

Instead, he jerked, cut off by a sickening crack as a section of his skull blew out of his head. Red mist and liquified brain matter followed, splattering against the doorframe, and the Chosen slumped lifeless onto the front step.

John wasn’t so much shaken by the killing as he was irritated by everyone else’s apparent refusal to let today go according to plan. Maybe also the pile of brains and hair now sitting on his once-pristine red carpet. He’d made this easy for the woman: kill everyone he could round up, leave her with no one to claim duty to, and get this all over and done with. Have her home by mid-afternoon. Embark on a new chapter and achieve salvation. It was that simple.

Woe to him for trusting in her common sense.

“Fuck’s sake. Wrath begets more wrath.” He muttered, smoothing a hand over his chin. He didn’t have the patience for this any longer. “Fine. Sister -”

A woman stood from the pews as soon as John made eye contact, equally as unshaken by the scene mere feet away.

“Send out word: the Deputy wants to sacrifice her friends for the sake of a fight.” John punctuated the end of his sentence with a click as he returned his focus to jamming the needles into his tattoo gun. “Give her what she wants. Take her by force.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The smokescreen was beginning to clear, but despite the weight it was taking off her lungs, Cora would’ve preferred it remain just a little longer. At least until they’d cleared out the town. Had they been quicker, it might have lasted longer. Covered their approach to Fall’s End. Given them more cover to sneak about unseen.

The streets, while still hazy, were visible now. It wasn’t a difficult task watching Peggie silhouettes run from building to building in search of her team. Resistance members and civilians were either in the process of being rounded up, or littered the road and pavement, dead. The Ryes, Mary May, and Pastor Jerome were yet to be seen amongst either group.

Same went for Boomer.

Aside from the barking of orders from Chosen and faithful, there was little sound. Knowing how much of a fuss her dog had put up the last time he’d been caught by the Project struck Cora’s nerves. He was his own alarm, and he would not go peacefully.

Not hearing him was an indication of the worst.

Some part of her brain argued against the idea. Vouching that John wouldn’t have hurt the creature. That was her dog. He had to be an exception to the massacre, no matter how vicious he behaved.

She had to find him, and creeping through the rear entry of the Spread Eagle was the first point of call.

Luckily enough, the back door had yet to be boarded up. Peggies who rushed past covered windows hardly stopped to peek inside the place for fear of being tainted by the presence of alcohol. Sneaking in was simple enough, too, at least once Jess had picked the lock.

“I’m going to pretend that door was open.” The Deputy murmured her equivalent to praise, passing into the building.

Grace headed straight in after her, taking a left to search for any sign of Mary May while she took a right toward the stairs.

“You pretend the Cook’s head was already gone when we found him?” Jess whispered.

“Freak accident. You all saw it.”

“First floor’s clear.” Grace announced from the serving hatch in the kitchen, clearly unhappy about it.

“Right.” Cora acknowledged, “I’ll check up top.”

The second story was as dead-quiet as the first. Furniture had been knocked over in the hallway and bedrooms had been raided. None of it indicated anything good, but she still had to know.

Cora pushed open the door to her room, and while she held no expectation of what she’d find, her heart sank anyway.

It was empty.

Boomer was gone.

Only his makeshift collar and a tattered bandana remained atop the rug he’d been snoozing on that morning.

Her dog.

John had either taken him or killed him, just like the rest. He’d do the same to the rest of her team. She should’ve taken the Baptist’s offer before the latter had even become a possibility.

“No sign?” Grace affirmed once the Deputy slipped back down to the first floor. “My guess is either they’re in hiding, or John’s giving them special treatment. If they were dead he’d be parading them.”

Sharky and Hurk exchanged a frown when Cora offered only a nod, notably more meek than usual.

“Was he in there, darlin’?” Adelaide asked, a little too gently not to invite a sting to her eyes.

Cora felt her jaw clench. It was a different breed of nausea, trying to keep her composure under the scrutiny of the rest of the team. She managed to shake her head, and Adelaide’s hand found her shoulder.

“Could still be with the others, yet.” The woman offered.

“So how do we find them?” Jess asked.

Find John Seed, of course.

“Finding them’s one thing. Getting to them might be the harder part.” Cora began. “The smokescreen’s only getting thinner and there’s Peggies everywhere. It's grasslands from here to the hills. No way we can herd everyone across a field on-foot, safely. We’ve got to make sure they stay freed, first.”

“And?” Jess huffed. “We’re gonna kill some Peggies, right?”

The blonde considered that.

“We split up. Search the buildings for anyone who hasn’t been caught yet. Round them up and plant explosives as we go. With enough chaos, maybe we can have a shot at turning the tide in the short term.”

Sharky was practically trembling. “Explosives, like, everywhere?”

“Everywhere. The more damage, the better.” Cora replied. “Adelaide, Xander, pair up. Sharky and Hurk, same with you.”

“And us on range?” Jess grinned, trading a look with Grace who maintained absolute stoicism. “I’m so into that.”

“No.”

…

“Say what?”

“No more ranged attacks. I need you and Grace to head back to the van -”

Jess was advancing on her before she’d even finished her sentence.

“You’re pulling me outta the fight? The fuck gives?” The huntress loomed over the Deputy, incredulous. Cora made an effort to stay put, but Jess’s insistence managed to outweigh her stubbornness, forcing the blonde to compromise by leaning as far back as she could without falling.

“We can’t keep running on short-term wins.” Cora insisted. “We have to put our foot down. No more small assaults. No more hoping John gets demoralised enough that he hands himself over.”

Sharky frowned. “What’re you saying?”

She met his gaze, puffing out her chest, retaking her space. “I’m saying the Henbane Bridge is unmanned right now. If we get word to the County Jail, there’s no roadblock to stop them from helping us win this. John Seed’s throwing everything he can at us. I say we try for the same. I say we end it for good. We’re gonna take back Holland Valley. Today.”

“...You really like that dog, huh.”

“That too.”

Jess looked unconvinced. “So the two of us are running errands while the rest of you are holding the fort? Fucking bullshit.”

“I told you. No more range.” Cora bit back, jabbing a thumb toward Hurk and Sharky. “You’d rather send Boshaws and Drubmans to convince Tracey to send us her best people? No offence.”

“None taken, bitch.” Adelaide grumbled.

Grace exhaled, throwing away momentary hesitation. “We’ll be fast.”

Cora traded a nod with the sniper before looking to Jess once more.

Still unconvinced.

“They have cars with guns on them, remember?”

The corner of Jess’s mouth ticked. Temptation.

Mission accomplished.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The tacky fucking carpet was the first thing she noticed, creeping along Main Street. Bliss petals had been sprinkled all over the road leading up to the church.

The carpet ended at the door. An invitation if she ever saw one. Boastful. Arrogant.

A pang of dread ached through Cora's bones, holding her in place while she drew her revolver. It could be an ambush. It probably was an ambush, but there was nothing she could feasibly do to avoid it. If the others were in there, then she couldn't wait around any longer.

She had to do this. At least hold out until Jess and Grace returned, with or without help.

She'd been running for long enough. All other options had been exhausted. At least John offered the least awful defeat.

Drawing close to the entrance, the Deputy pointedly avoided examining a dead crow that had been impaled upon the wall. She inhaled, holding the breath in her lungs, steadying her heart rate.

It was only freedom.

She opened the door, immediately training the gun out before her, following its guide into the room.

About a dozen Peggies dotted the space, leaning against walls, lining the pews - all angled at the pulpit, observing Nick on the floor. He stifled a cry while John sliced through the final remaining layers of skin binding the tattoo to his chest, peeling the word 'GREED' out of his flesh. Blood pooled on the floor around them, and the moment John had stepped away, the pilot was descended on with antiseptic and bandages.

The Deputy waited for nausea at the sight to take its course. It never did. She was all but numbed to the sight.

"Deputy, run!"

Mary May's voice cut through the silence, and the bartender lurched from her own spot on the ground. Guns raised all around the room, swinging around to aim for Cora.

”Hold!” John barked immediately, unconcerned when the Deputy shifted her aim to him. Instead, he busied himself with washing his sullied hands. “Hold your fire.”

His followers obeyed.

Cora, meanwhile, cocked the revolver in her grip. One foot edged into the room, and she glanced around for the Project’s captives before returning her gaze to John. All on the other side of the room. Pinned. Fuck.

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department.” She announced, staring the Baptist down, ignoring the grin that crept onto his face - like he found it fucking funny. “Weapons on the ground. Step away from the hostages.”

“Hostages?” John snorted. He gestured Pastor Jerome, Mary May, and Nick. “These are guests! This is their Atonement. This is your Atonement.”

“Drop the fucking weapons.”

John’s patience thinned. Quickly. “I’m not doing this with you.” He replied simply. “Not today.”

With his own look around the room, John inclined his head. An unspoken order to which everyone carrying a gun turned them on her allies.

“We both know you don’t have enough bullets for everyone. Nor do you have the time. So why don’t you put down my gun and surrender.”

“Don’t-” Mary May was cut off with the tap of steel against her temple. Warning.

John was right. She was outnumbered. There was no chance of getting any of them out with force alone.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Watched the fondness slip back onto John’s face like it had never left, and set the gun on the floor.

“That’s my girl.” John murmured. Then, he motioned. “Get her ready.”

Cora’s stomach dropped as two sets of arms coiled around hers, each pulling and pushing, prickling at her skin with unfamiliar, sickening touch. Biology told her to resist. Escape the sensation. The downward pulling.

“No, stop it.” Escaped her while she squirmed. “Get off. Stop touching me-”

“Her friends can’t be far. Find them.” The Baptist ordered, turning away toward the pulpit.

Cora’s knees hit the floor. There was no holding the repetition of protests, but even as she consciously elevated the volume of her voice, it grew quieter in her ears. Calculated attempts to jerk away and make an escape became automatic twitches.

One of John’s followers - a female - crept into view, fingers tugging at the top button on her uniform collar. John readied a tattoo gun over the woman’s shoulder, and the Deputy’s mind screamed alarm bells. Get out. Escape. Fight back. Regain control.

“I won’t hurt you, sister.”

This time, she sank, curling forward, angling herself away from the woman. Another attempt, and she wrenched away again, snarling. Then, the Peggies around her must have gotten tired of all the fuss, because the tear of cotton clawed at her ears. Ringing through her brain.

Her back felt cold all of a sudden.

Green material slipped down her arms, and at the sight of her own uniform pooling in shreds in her own lap, Cora ceased her thrashing. The shredded shirt was yanked from her belt and tossed aside, and she watched with growing resignation while John turned back around.

His gaze found hers. Then flickered downward, first to the compression bra, then a margin to the right. “Here I thought you’d be unmarked.” He commented, inspecting what was visible of the old ink on her lower ribs while he approached.

Hands pressed against Cora’s shoulders, and she drifted back until her shoulder blades hit the floor.

John continued to loom until he stood directly over her. He sank to his knees, expression softening with his descent until he was on all fours on top of her. He looked almost adoring, and she hated how it comforted her, just slightly. She hated how the hands had disappeared from her limbs, and yet she still made no further attempt to escape. He had every ounce of power now.

She didn’t know she’d started trembling until his free hand swept over her collarbones, mapping out her chest, calming the gooseflesh beading on her from the chill, or the fright, or perhaps just that this whole thing felt so humiliatingly exposing.

A blush swelled over John’s throat, maybe indicating some straying line of thought. He snapped out of it and settled to sit on her hips. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” He teased, hovering the tattoo gun right over the centre of her sternum.

“Dont.” Was all she could manage. Weak. Pleading. “I don’t want you to.”

“You have no idea how good you’re going to feel after this.” John cooed.

One of his fingers drifted along her jaw. An attempt at comforting her, but to no avail. He looked equal parts gentle and feral with excitement.

The machine buzzed, lowering pitch when the needles finally pressed into her flesh.

This was it.

She’d lost. There was no going back, anymore. No more normal, no more ridding herself of this family. They’d taken everything, and now they were claiming ownership over her, too.

The others were being hunted. It was only a matter of time. John was working too quickly. They’d be gone before the Cougars even crossed the river.

Cora’s nerves muted. Sound closed to just the rumble of blood in her ears. She receded into herself. Found a backseat in her mind, away from the sensory overload and the humiliation and her own failure while her body quietly continued: ”Dont, don’t, stop.”

She’d lost, and John wouldn’t stop. Not while he was branding the evidence of his victory into her flesh.

Defeat tasted worse than anticipated.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bullets whizzed overhead while Sharky and Hurk took cover beneath the window, watching helplessly as the aisle of potato chips and bar nuts was torn to shreds by the onslaught. Dorito dust filled the shop like mustard gas.

“Cuz, I think they found us!” Hurk barked, snapping an arm over his head in defence when a stray round ricocheted off the front counter.

“What gives you that impression?” Sharky hit back, hurriedly setting down his shotgun and shrugging his backpack to the floor.

“How many are there?”

“How about you check?”

A moment of quiet occurred while the cousins glared at each other, leaving their standoff to a battle of no blinking. Then the Peggies outside must’ve finished re-loading, because the back wall of the shop was suddenly being shot into swiss cheese.

They were okay. Everything was cool. Addie and Xander had taken their share of explosives and gone the quiet route. Grace and Jess were gone. Shorty had disappeared into the church, and while he couldn't count the best, Sharky was pretty confident that John had caught her.

Could they have kept on looking for survivors and breaking out captives? Sure - but why do that when they could kill, like 40 birds with one stone and beeline for the gas station? It was conveniently across the road from the church, empty of any and all life barring the dormant tanks underground. An explosion that big was sure to fuck up like a good portion of Main Street. Not even the Chosen would be able to resist checking it out.

Disconnecting the safety switches had been easy. He’d been arrested for doing it like 5 times already. Cops, Peggies; it didn’t matter - Sharky knew what he was doing, and without the giant swinging dick of the law hanging over him, the man was on a mission. Cultists shooting at him was fine. He was used to that.

Threat of death or no, he wasn’t giving up the chance to see this place blow sky high.

“We’ll be outta here any second, Hurky.” Sharky assured. “Just gotta sprinkle a little C-4 around the place and we’ll be gone before it even goes off.”

Hurk was sweating. A lot. He was accustomed to being shot at, but normally, he had more than just Sharky to get him out of a tight spot. “Alright, bro. Gimme some. Many hands and what have you.”

“Fuck yeah. First step, toss some at the tanker outside. We wanna get the place as fiery as possible up here to wake up the big boys underground, and-”

Sharky stopped in his tracks, eyeing the backpack he’d just been in the process of unzipping.

“-uhh.”

“Uhh?”

“Hurky, can I be real with you?”

“Is now the best time for a deep and meaningful?” Hurk hissed, crawling toward him nonetheless.

The arsonist stuck his hand down the pack, rifling through fluff and mesh. “I, uh, I think I brought the wrong bag. And by think I mean know without a shadow of a doubt.”

Hurk watched as his cousin tugged the green, furry headpiece of a dragon out into the open.

“You brought-...”

“I brought my fursuit.”

“Not the C-4?”

“Not the C-4.”

“Okay, bro. That's fine. I'm not mad. Human error. Not even a little bit?”

Sharky checked again, just for good measure. “Nope...so, uhm...you got a match?”

Hurk ran a hank through his hair. “Not to poo poo your ideas, but that probably ain’t the best move.”

So just like that, they were fucked.

Jess and Grace still hadn’t come back. The others were nowhere to be seen. Shorty was holed up in that church, and he and Hurk were about to be rounded up by born-again virgins.

Shit, if that were the case -

“Well, if this is gonna be the last opportunity.” Sharky grunted, tugging the suit out and unzipping the back. “May as well enjoy our last minutes of freedom, huh?”

Hurk took the cue, creeping across the destroyed shop floor and reaching for a popped bag of pretzels. He sat back against the wall, leaning against the rocket launcher he’d propped up against the corner.

“Man.” The brunette sighed, staring at the floor. “If only we had some other kind of ranged, explosive device.”

“No shit.” Sharky agreed. “Some high velocity shit would fix this.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look once the arsonist had zipped himself up and crept over and sit beside his cousin, both leaning on either side of the RPG.

Hurk held out the bag.

“Pretzel?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that so bad?” John asked, placing the tattoo gun aside and framing the Deputy’s marked chest. ’WRATH', in true black, beading with blood. The skin surrounding the text was mottled and inflamed. Excess ink covered the area in patches, gathering in the dip of her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

All that sin, already leaking out through the exit he’d made for her.

Gorgeous.

Cora didn’t respond. That was fine. Shock was normal. She’d thank him once this was all over. For now, she just trembled, lock jawed, dissociated gaze searching what John had thought was him until he sat up. No, instead she was watching the ceiling.

John flashed a smile, blocking out a tiny streak of dread at the sight of the woman so vacant. Sweeping a lock of stained hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers past her neck, attempting to gently angle her focus back to him. “Hey. You can come back now. We’re all done.”

You're finally on the other side. React to it. React to me. Look at me-

The boom came first, hollow and deep, and John felt the floor beneath him rumble. Chandeliers and decorations wobbled from the disturbance. Several of his followers shot from their seats, immediately abandoning the Resistance leaders they’d guarded in favour of pacing back and forth, trying to get a look at whatever was happening outside.

“Is this it?”

“Is it the Collapse?”

“It’s time?”

“John, is it the Collapse?”

The panic escalated quickly, forcing the Baptist to break his attention away from the empty woman below him and rein in the flock.

“Calm down.” He exclaimed, “It’s not the Collapse. It’s probably just-”

Another boom. Almost deafeningly loud.

This time, the whole church shook. Windows shattered in their creaking panes and smashed to the floor while pews squealed heavily in protest.

Contrary to his assertion, John dove down, covering the Deputy with his body. Holy shit, was it the Collapse?

The tremor must have been enough to snap Cora out of her trance, because a muffled “Get your tits out of my face.” buzzed against John’s chest.

Tragically, however, the Baptist never got the opportunity to reply to her. Had it not been for the fucking tennis shoe colliding with the side of his skull, he imagined he’d have something very clever to say. Alas, pain shot through his head and he jerked to the side, fighting against the blow to stay put. A snarl from Mary May, his apparent attacker, sounded in retaliation. She dove into him, knee driving into his ribs, throwing him off of the Deputy.

His thoughts left him for the briefest moment, overtaken by ensuing gunshots and shouts and the shrieks of the bartender as she was clawed away from him. Her hand shot forward right as she was yanked up, intended as a punch. It didn’t land, and John couldn’t help but shoot her a smirk for her failure.

“Deputy, gun!”

Nevermind. It wasn’t a punch after all. Mary May had been pointing over his shoulder at the revolver that had been surrendered on the floor. His revolver. The same one Cora was now scrambling toward.

No.

John lurched, heart leaping into his throat.

Not now. Not after he’d won. Not when they were so close.

His hand found the leg of Cora’s pants, wrenching, pulling her away from the weapon, and she kicked against him. Her finger tips slid against the barrel of the revolver, tugging it into her palm.

God wouldn’t fucking undo his victory.

John snarled, catching the Deputy’s wrist when she tried to aim - at him no less. Without her own recovery time achieved, he was able to wrestle the weapon from her easily enough, flattening her struggling body beneath his just long enough to hook an arm around her waist. He twisted around, holding the woman’s back against his belly. Her squirming ceased with the press of the muzzle against her head, and the moment her allies had taken notice of the change, everything went still.

Finally.

A little civility.

Several of John’s followers lay on the floor, either dead or close to it. Only a half-dozen remained, though the pair of Chosen had survived and placed themselves closest to their leader.

Pastor Jerome had procured a handgun from within his own bible - something that pulled a breathless laugh out of John as he surveyed the others. Nick hadn’t been able to arm himself, but he’d still tackled one of the faithful to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. A familiar sight. Mary May had wrestled a gun of her own away from the woman who’d seized her. She aimed it shakily at John.

Armed but outnumbered, outgunned, and now, they were in check.

They never learned, did they?

“The way you people behave, you’d think salvation was a bad thing.” John tittered. “Right. Now, let’s try this again. Atonement, or damnation.” To punctuate his meaning, he tapped the muzzle against Cora’s head. She grunted in protest, and he ignored her. Of course it was a bluff. No one else knew that but him, though. It was too risky a move for the Resistance to let him do away with the one person that banded their factions.

She was their leader. They couldn’t lose her.

John looked around the room once more, locking eyes with Jerome first - then Mary May. “Are we going to behave?”

The answer was immediate and clear: a gunshot cracking through the Baptist’s ears and the flash of a blast spilling from Mary May’s weapon. Cora’s elbow driving into his stomach and the reaction time of his Chosen snapping to attention, covering him, already hauling John out of the church and onto the street.

Fuck no, he wasn't leaving without his prize.

"GRAB HER!" John howled, struggling against the attempts to get him to safety. "Leave the rest!"

It was a reluctant effort, but the Deputy was yanked along as well, shoved into Johns arms on his repeated orders, with me, with me.

“Mary May, what the fuck!” The Deputy roared over her shoulder.

“Sorry Deputy! I missed!”

Missed?

“You sure about that? Jesus fucking Christ!”

More shots sounded, but only the noise pursued them from the building. It wasn’t until John had shoved Cora into the back of the waiting truck that he realised how warm his hand had gotten. Wet, too.

“Get to the ranch!” One of the Chosen snarled up front, casting a look back at the Baptist while the vehicle took off, watching as he peeled away from the blonde to inspect himself.

Blood.

He was bleeding. But where from? Barring the sting of his scabs and that kick to the head, nothing hurt. There were no wounds hiding under his sleeves or -

A hiss sounded from the Deputy beside him, curling in on herself.

Shit.

She hadn’t elbowed him.

“Cora-” John scrambled for her. "Cora, let me see."

“Told you not to call me that.” The Deputy grit out, kicking at him until she’d well and truly jammed herself into the corner of the seat and the car door. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, just below the elbow and to no avail. Crimson coated the skin on her side, encasing her arm completely and seeping through her fingertips.

She was bleeding. Not heavily, but steadily.

”Deputy.” John bit back, advancing. “You’re hurt. Let me help-”

Just like that, the kicking resumed. “Don’t touch me-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME-”

“For once in your fucking life, just relax!”

Only incomprehensible snarling came in response.

John rolled his jaw, brimming with as much irritation as he was adrenaline. The Resistance had made their choice. Regretful, but final. He’d gotten what he came for, and he wasn’t intending on losing her just because she was too stubborn to accept help.

He glanced at the revolver still in his grip. Then back at Cora, rotating the grip toward her. A threat. “Are you going to let me help, or am I going to have to calm you down?”

“Don’t you dare.” Her words came hoarse. She gave scowling a red hot go, but without the rationale to deny him, the Deputy lacked conviction. She exhaled. “Fuck it. We've done this enough already. You get ten minutes. Then you’re under arrest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her cheek twitched. A weak chuckle. The slightest flash of acknowledgement as she let him press his weight over her forearm. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t pulsing; nor was there a puncture wound. A gouged strip had been carved into her flesh where the bullet had grazed, but nothing vital seemed to have been struck.

“That - you can keep saying.”

"You're a flirt when you're in shock, Deputy." Had John not been too busy regulating about a dozen other emotions, he might have flushed at her words. For a moment, he just sat there, basking in the borderline friendliness on her face. Then, it occurred to him that they were among watchful company, and he cleared his throat, returning to his task.

Minutes passed. No more words were exchanged. Not until they’d passed the Rye and Son’s sign.

The Chosen in the front passenger’s seat looked over his shoulder, dismissing another over the radio before regarding the Baptist. “The Resistance isn’t making ground. The faithful are still rounding up stragglers, and we’ve taken casualties, but numbers are looking strong. Medic will meet you at the ranch, John. We can deliver our newest sister to the Gate while you recover.”

John inclined his head. “Much obliged. We need this one to stay with us until she’s completed her vows. She can’t be trusted unsupervised, but I won’t put the responsibility of containing her back on our people again.” He looked to Cora, then. Her face had run pale and she’d gone clammy, but she remained upright. Just...woozy. Pacified, for now.

He’d got what he came for. Fuck the rest.

“I have something to say.” The blonde announced, swaying against John’s arm. “I know why Mary May shot me.”

“This another one of your jokes?” John deadpanned.

“This one’s funny, I swear.”

“...go on, then.”

“It’s because I never tip.”

For a moment, Cora looked very satisfied with herself. Then, she retched, slumping forward into the Baptist’s lap when he instinctually jolted out of the potential line of fire. He hurried to steady her, keeping tight hold over her wound, and grimaced while the noise escaped her a second time.

Thank God nothing came out; his shoes would’ve been the first to know about it.

The Deputy didn’t sit back up.

That was fine. So long as she wasn’t dead. So long as she wasn’t fighting back.

“It’s all the sin escaping you.” John explained, off-handed, when a complaining grunt sounded below. “Evil being expelled from your body. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Pretty sure it’s my blood pressure, actually. Soon as I’m good again, you’re history.”

When one disregarded the fact that she’d had a gun trained on him earlier - and the blood drying uncomfortably on his clothes - and the persistent pounding of a headache from Mary May’s heel, this was almost pleasant. The quiet roads. The Deputy, all but atoned with her head on his thigh. Not fighting back. Conceding defeat. Peaceful.

He got what he came for.

He’d won.

He was saved.

Passing his thumb over Cora’s ribs, John’s attention was pulled back to the old ink peeking out from beneath the band of her top. Text, blurred and flattened enough to be years old, and too obscured to decipher.

“Thought I’d be your first.” The brunette murmured.

“Jealous?”

Yes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s it say?”

“‘The Mountains Are Calling’.”

A sickening wave of dread passed over the Baptist. The rock forming in his throat, icy and bitter and seizing him against any reply.

The mountains are calling.

Jacob. Joseph. The Trials. Atonement wasn’t the final step. Handing her over to his brothers was the final step.

He got what he came for, but the woman in his arms wasn’t the trophy intended for him.

He was saved. He’d redeemed himself. He’d completed his task and Joseph would permit him beyond the gates. That was all he was supposed to do. That was enough.

That had to be enough.

“‘And I Must Go’.” John completed quietly.

Cora tilted her head a little, not quite looking at him - almost like she was trying not to. “You know John Muir.”

“Not enough to warrant a photo on the bedside table.”

“Shut up.”

There was nothing convincing about the chuckle he offered. He was too busy observing her, studying the side of her face. Committing her to memory as if he hadn’t spent years acquainting himself with every spot and micro-expression.

“Maybe working for you will be bearable.” She murmured, and John’s heart only sank further. "If I don't manage to arrest you."

The mountains are calling.

She still had no idea that all the promises he’d made her had been fabricated. That she wouldn’t be staying. That he’d lied to her.

The mountains were calling. In a few days time, she’d know it. She’d despise him. She’d be taken off his hands and he’d assume his regular duties once again.

He’d saved both of them.

Cora’s thumb absently grazed back and forth on his knee. Ignorant. “Can I ask something?”

It took everything in him not to mirror the action against her skin.

“Of course.”

“Can I start next Monday?”

"What happened to you being such a workaholic?"

"To be honest with you, I'm really fucking tired."

She’d be incredible. Jacob would love her. Joseph would be proud. John had accomplished something near-impossible for his family, and even if the Deputy hated him - even if she forgot him entirely, he was content with the knowledge that he’d have brought her to salvation.

Even if they never saw each other again, he’d know that she’d passed through the gates. That she’d climb to the surface once the world had been scorched clean. She’d rebuild, and marry, and have children, and he’d do the same.

Hopeful anticipation and the agony of longing had never felt so similar before.

“Fine.” John smiled, giving in, sliding his fingers up her arm and coaxing a stray lock of hair out of her face. There were no promises he’d be able to do it again after this. “But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Spend those days with me.”

Cora stirred, angling to peer up at him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled crookedly.

“Deal.”

#far cry 5 #john seed #cora stammos #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 oc #john seed x female deputy #all hail cora's big fucking muscles #no beta we die like men

43 notes · View notes

thescholarlystrumpet · 7 years

Text

To Kiss the Fingers of the Rain Rated Explicit

(6.5K words - Complete)

The March smut prompt for @a-monthly-rumbelling Storm, Adultery, Warmth, Loneliness, Rough

On AO3 HERE

Mr. Gold poked sulkily at the dying fire. He needed to put on another log but he barely felt like leaving the chair, his limbs heavy with the bottle of red wine he'd almost polished off entirely.

He eyed the blanket on the back of the nearby sofa, noting with vague disinterest as lightning flashed through the half open blinds behind it. He exhaled loudly and glanced down at the book that lay open in his lap. He'd probably read the same page three times by now but he couldn't seem to recall what it said. Rain began to patter against the window. Earlier, he'd had half a mind to watch the sun set by the lake but the sky had turned so gray, it hadn't been worth the effort of getting up.

It was nearly night but he wasn't sleepy enough to retire to the lonely little bed in the next room. Maybe he'd sleep in front of the fire, if the sofa wouldn't be hell on his bad leg. Maybe the rain would help, a little soothing ambient noise to drown out the roiling storm in his mind.

He drained the glass beside him and refilled it, noting another flash of lightning and counting the seconds until the roll of thunder to gauge the distance. The raindrops were heavier now, pelting hard. They almost sounded like tapping. Or was that knocking?

“Hello? Can anyone hear me?” A familiar voice was calling on the other side of the door. A female voice. With an accent he wouldn't soon forget.

He launched himself to both feet, leaning awkwardly on his cane and nearly knocking over the antique table beside his chair.

“I'll… I'll be right there…” he called, his pulse rocketing and head spinning from standing up so fast. He narrowly skirted the sofa arm by pivoting, sending a shooting pain up his bad leg. Grimacing and biting back a few choice words, he made it to the door and flung it open.

Outside stood exactly the person he had hoped- feared? - might be there. Miss Belle French, librarian by trade, bookworm by choice, and the unwitting object of his most cherished fantasies. She was drenched from head to toe.

“Mr. Gold!” She exclaimed in a tone he liked to think was pleasant surprise. “I'm so glad you're here!”

“Miss French,” he greeted her in return, trying hard (well maybe not that hard) not to notice that the floral print shirt she wore was plastered to her like a second skin. Even in the dying firelight, he could see the line of her polka dotted bra.

She shifted from one foot to the other, placing one hand on the doorframe. “Um, would it be… that is, can I come in?”

He realized he'd be gaping at her like a pished fish and felt his cheeks go hot as he stepped back to let her in. “Oh! Of course.”

“Thank you!”

She scurried past and he blinked at her back wondering if perhaps he'd already fallen asleep and this was an alcohol induced dream. If so, he very much hoped he wasn't waking up anytime soon.

Slinging a small backpack to the ground, Belle knelt immediately before the fire and lifted her hands toward it. “Do you mind if I add another log?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

He reminded himself that she wasn't here to be ogled, she'd simply sought the shelter of his cabin in the rising storm. “Not at all. I was just about to do the same.”

She gave a sigh of relief and pulled a log from the pile, prodding it with the poker until it caught and the flames danced higher. Sitting back on her heels, she lifted her sopping hair up off her neck and bent toward the hearth. “I'm so sorry to just drop in on you like this, Mr. Gold.”

Her back arched and his eyes were drawn to the delicious curve of her backside, accentuated by the way her denim shorts clung. He caught the movement of her half-turning to face him just in time to avert his gaze and shuffle toward the hall cabinet in search of towels.

“No matter, Miss French. Here, I'm afraid I've only got a few towels but there are some extra blankets…” he held the towel toward her and she jumped to her feet to take it.

“You are a lifesaver. I mean it. I feel like such an idiot getting caught out there so unprepared.” Her face had regained some color from the heat of the fire but the rest of her was still soaked through. He forced himself to look only at her face. Her eyes. Such beautiful eyes… blue as the ocean and just as capable of drowning a man… Fuck, he needed to slap himself sober before he started spouting poetry at her.

He cleared his throat. “Does seem like an… ill advised time for a casual stroll.”

“It wasn't supposed to rain today according to the morning forecast. And it's my day off so I thought a hike would be nice.” She made a broad hand gesture. “So here I was just traipsing through the woods, not paying the least bit of attention. Next thing I know, it's pouring and I had forgotten to even pack my emergency poncho! I was never a Girl Scout but you'd think I would know better...” An exaggerated sigh. “I'm really quite embarrassed. I hope you won't hold this against me, Mr. Gold…” She looked up at him from under her lashes.

There were a great many things Gold wanted to hold against Belle French, this was not one of them.

He shrugged and muttered something noncommittal. If he couldn't seem think in anything but innuendo or prose, it was best he spoke as little as possible.

Belle frowned and looked at the floor briefly before glancing around. “Where is the bathroom?”

He pointed and Belle ducked her head in silent thanks as she clutched the towel to her chest and head the direction he indicated.

He made his way back to his chair and scrubbed at his unshaven face with both hands. Oh fuck, he was so fucking fucked. How on earth was he going to get through however long this storm would be without saying something truly regrettable? He needed to sober up, and fast. But the only things he had on hand to eat were cans of soup, beans, and a container of some kind of fancy trail mix that Cora had eaten in the brief period of time she deigned to visit the cabin with him. Before her latest boy toy and the trip to Las Vegas she didn't think he knew about.

Fucking Cora.

He glared down at the wedding ring on his left hand. He twisted it with the opposite hand, giving it a sharp tug, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. He’d have to try again with some soap or olive oil. No need to leave the horrible reminder of his most recent mistake on any longer than was necessary.

Earlier that day, with the aid of his driver, he'd packed all Cora’s things into boxes and left half of them in the hall with a note telling her to vacate the premises and call his lawyer if she ever wanted to see the other half. Staying at the cabin overnight had been an added precaution. He fully expected to come home to at least a few broken antiques. They were worth the price of getting her out of his life for good.

He was tired of feeling like a damn fool. Tired of looking for warmth in a heart made of ice. Tired and maudlin and drunk as hell. No fit company at all for the lively librarian currently drying off in his bathroom.

He'd had several conversations with Belle in the years since she moved to Storybrooke and they'd never gone quite as smoothly as he would have hoped. Often enough he found himself on the wrong side of tongue tied but she never seemed to mind. She laughed at the ridiculous jokes he made and could be persuaded to chat for quite some time just by being asked what she was currently reading.

To most the citizens of their little town, he was a silver tongued serpent, robbing them blind through the clever use of legal jargon they didn't understand or bother to question when they were desperate to make a deal. The willful ignorance of others had made him a rich man, if not a popular one. Since he'd never suffered fools well, it hadn't seemed to matter. Until little Miss Belle showed up, campaigning to reopen the library and forcing Gold to remember he once valued some things more than money or power.

“I suppose it's probably too much to ask if you have a dryer in here, yeah?” Belle's question preceded her into the room.

“Low tech out here, I'm afraid.”

Gold was shaking his head when he caught sight of her. In a towel. His towel. With - presumably - nothing beneath it.

His mouth went dry and he reached for his wine glass before remembering that getting more intoxicated would probably only make things even more awkward.

He silently watched her lay out her damp clothes in front of the hearth and fancied a life where she had been his invited guest rather than an accidental one. They might have walked to the lake together, hurrying back as fast as his leg would allow once the rain began. They'd have laughed as they peeled away one another's soaked clothes, maybe taken a hot shower together before starting the fire. They'd have fallen asleep curled beneath a pile of blankets.

A lump rose suddenly in his throat. He choked it back and pulled himself to his feet. “I was going to make some soup. Would you like some?”

She looked up, a smile spreading across her face. “Oh! Yes please. What kind?”

He blinked. “The canned kind.”

Belle laughed, one hand coming to her mouth. “I meant what flavor. But honestly it doesn't matter. Anything hot would be delightful. Can I help?”

“No, no. You're the guest. Just… enjoy the fire.” The last thing he needed was a half naked Belle in the kitchenette. He might burn the whole place down.

“You're very generous, Mr. Gold.”

He scoffed. “Careful who you say that to in this town. They'll have you committed.” He poured two cans of chicken noodle soup into a pot, added water, and turned on the stove.

“I'm serious. You were such a help with the library and my reading initiative for the school. And...” Her voice was closer now. “I know about the shelter, you know...”

He turned, this time, sincerely surprised. “What shelter?”

“The one you pretend not to know Leroy and Astrid are running.” She had indeed moved closer, leaning her hip against the one unoccupied counter in the kitchen nook. “In the old Fogarty manor that you somehow never manage to sell despite some very valuable offers.”

Gold swallowed hard, absentmindedly stirring the soup. He'd been tempted to sell that house at the edge of town dozens of times, seeing as how he was stuck for property taxes on it, year after year. But he could never find it in himself to kick out the makeshift shelter/soup kitchen Leroy and his former nun fiancée were running. He'd never mentioned to anyone that he knew, just looked the other way and occasionally arranged for anonymous donations to show up at their door.

He wanted to lie to Belle, deny that he had any knowledge of the place. But her eyes caught him and pierced him through to the heart. He looked away and shrugged. “They do good work.”

“And you help them do it,” Belle supplied matter of factly.

“Not selling a building is hardly helping,” he countered.

She moved closer, laying a hand in his arm. “Then why do you let them keep using it?”

His lips pressed tight together as he stared down at the simmering soup. Why hadn't he sold that house? Because he still remembered nights of trying to sleep with a growling belly because papa drank or gambled away the grocery budget. He remembered having to choose between rent and food and the times when there wasn't enough for either.

“Because no one deserves to go hungry,” he admitted at last, his voice rougher than he'd expected. When he ventured another look at Belle, her eyes were bright and her smile soft. No woman had ever looked at him like that, not even his wives.

When she spoke, her voice was low, as well, barely above a whisper. “I always knew you were a good man.”

The urge to disagree pulled at his tongue but with her eyes were keeping him captive, he couldn't seem to say a word. Entranced, he leaned toward her. She was so close, he could capture her lips easily. Time seemed to slow, his blood pumping hard in his ears. Belle's lips parted just slightly, her pupils widening, as her gaze fell to his mouth. And then to his left hand.

As though she'd been burned, she stepped away, releasing his arm. “I… uh, I think the soup is done.”

He settled reluctantly back into reality and nodded, turning off the stove. His heart still thundering in his chest, louder than the storm, he served up the soup. Belle curled into a blanket on the sofa and Gold returned to his chair. They ate in uneasy silence.

The fog of the wine began to ebb away, at last, as Gold snuck glances toward the sofa. It was only a few feet, but Belle seemed miles away from where she'd been only moments ago. He'd very nearly kissed her. And she'd very nearly let him. He was still chewing on this revelation when he realized she had spoken.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“I was just wondering… thinking aloud really… what had brought you up here tonight? I hike past here all the time, but I think this is the first time I've seen you since…” her voice trailed off and she gazed into the fire listlessly.

Curiosity got the better of him. “Since when?”

“Since that day I ran into Cora and she… um, asked me not to hike onto your property ever again.” She finished, fiddling with her spoon.

Gold winced. “Did she threaten you?”

Belle shrugged. “Only with calling Sheriff Graham. I know he'd have laughed it off but it didn't seem worth it to… risk her wrath.”

A snort of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. Then another. Then his shoulders were shaking and the laughter was coming from deep within his gut, part humor and part pain. His eyes pricked with tears as he half doubled in the chair.

Belle looked on in what might have been horrified amusement if he could read her expression through his blurry sight. “Mr. Gold?”

When he could breathe enough to manage words, he chortled out, “I always knew you were smarter than I… Oh christ!” He ran one hand through his hair, swiping at his eyes with the other. A few more low chuckles and he was finally able to meet her eyes. “I’m... I’m sorry Belle, you must think me quite mad.”

She gave a half grin, “that’s never stopped me from talking to you before.”

He returned her grin, feeling oddly lighter than he had in days. “Touche.”

“Can I get in on the joke?”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I’ve left my wife.” Saying the words aloud felt better than he could have imagined.

Belle’s eyes were wide and round as saucers. “When was this?”

“Today, actually. So, speaking of her wrath. I expect to bear quite a lot of it in the coming weeks.”

Belle blinked rapidly. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold.”

He smirked. “I’m not. This has been a long time coming, I promise you.”

“All the same, it can’t be easy.” She set down the soup bowl, shifting in the blankets until she was partially reclined. “I’ve never broken up with anyone.” She laughed softly, “then again, I’ve never really had the chance. I’ve” she looked down at where her hands were twisting in the blanket, “I’ve only ever had one boyfriend - if you can call him that.”

Gold’s eyebrows raised of their own volition. “I admit, I'm surprised to hear it.”

“Why?” Her brow furrowed.

He shrugged. “I can't imagine a girl as beautiful and kind as you wouldn't have to beat men off with a stick.”

Belle flushed prettily, then covered her cheeks with both hands. “Oh! No. I mean, I do get asked out but I retired my beating stick ages ago. Now I just politely decline.”

“Ah that's a pity,” he brandished his cane. “I was going to offer to help.”

Belle giggled. “Maybe if my ex ever comes to town…”

“That bad?”

Belle's mouth twisted. “I thought he was sweet, at first, but that turned out to be just what he wanted me to see.” She sat back up, voice picking up in volume. “Do you know what he told me? He actually had the gall to say that I should feel special because out of all his girlfriends, I was the only brunette.”

“Fucking hell,” his grip on the arm of his chair tightened, feeling a flash of vicious anger at this unknown moron who could possibly treat Belle like something disposable. She deserved to be cherished. “If he could treat you like that, I'd be happy to deliver the beating he deserves. What's his address?”

Belle eyed him for a moment as though she wasn't sure he was entirely joking but then she relaxed, shaking her head. “It's alright, really. I learned a valuable lesson from that mess.”

“Men are scum?” he suggested.

“Never judge a book by its cover. People aren't always who they seem to be and you can't really know what's in a person's heart until you get to know them.”

He couldn't help but smile at her. There was something so pure in this girl. Not naive, as he'd initially suspected, but a genuine kindness. She saw the best in others. Even him. “Is that why you said what you did, earlier? About me being a good man?”

She nodded.

“I'm not, you know,” he reminded her gently. Disillusioning the one person who saw something worthwhile in him would hurt. But this was Belle and he found he just couldn't lie to her.

“I disagree. You let me in from the rain and fed me. You allow the needy be sheltered and fed every day on property that is costing you to maintain - and don't argue with me about that, I know all about property taxes for abandoned buildings from dealing with my dad's old shop.” She rose from the couch and shuffled toward him, the blanket draped over her towel like an overly long toga. “Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Gold.”

He stood as well, his temper beginning to prick him. “Shall I list off all the horrible things I've done in my life? The houses I've foreclosed? The deals I've worded ever so carefully in my favor? The hands I've greased and pockets I've picked?”

Belle threw the hand not holding up the blanket out to one side, palm up. “Do you think I’m a saint? That I’ve never told a lie or two? Made mistakes I regret? That’s being human. I refuse to see anyone as just the sum of their flaws. There is good in you and I see it. I’ve always seen it.”

Gold was practically trembling, the hand not holding his cane clenching and unclenching at his side. This girl didn’t know him at all. How dare she paint this rosy picture based on some deluded fantasy of his merit? How dare she make him want to believe in a fairy tale where he could be anything but the villain. He advanced on her, allowing himself to be as menacing as he knew how to be. “What you see, Miss French, is what you want to see. What you should see is before you right now - this is me.” He gestured to himself. “This is all there is. Just a crippled man with a past full of secrets and regrets. Just the town monster with a gold tooth and a silver tongue, a man who has forgotten what goodness is.”

Belle closed the distance between them, her eyes flashing. “No. You’re wrong.”

Gold made a sound of disbelief at the back of his throat. “And what exactly makes you the expert?” He couldn’t help but notice she was breathtakingly stunning when her temper was up. He clenched his hand tighter.

“Because I can feel it. I see what you can’t even see in yourself!”

Belle’s voice was steadily escalating in tone and volume and he found himself matching it, stepping even closer until they were toe to toe.

“Oh, really? And how is that?” His lips pressed together thinly.

“Because I wouldn’t feel the way I do if you were just a monster!” she shouted, almost directly into his face and it took him nearly a full minute to register what she’d just confessed.

His mouth fell open, disbelief warring with desire and the remaining dregs of indignation. “The way you…”

“Fuck.” She squeezed both eyes shut, scrubbing her free hand over her face. “I told you I’m no saint, Mr. Gold. I’ve spent months - months - lusting after a married man. Practically stalking you, if you must know. Even knowing I shouldn’t… knowing how wrong it was. I couldn’t seem to stop.” She met his eyes again, her face grim.

He shook his head, “Belle, I never thought you were…”

She blinked at him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know. That you hadn’t even noticed?”

He shook his head more vehemently.

“All those times I kept you at the library desk yammering on about books? The days I’d casually stop in the shop just to browse? God, am I that terrible at flirting?” The last question was asked more of her own feet.

Gold laughed a little giddily, his previous anger fading away, reaching cautiously toward her and tipping her face back up with a finger under her chin. “Belle… did I ever tell you that I have a rather vast personal library?”

She gave him an odd look. “Um, no. I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.”

“There’s a reason for that. It’s chock full of classic literature, plays, even a few modern classics. But I’ve checked out dozens - possibly hundreds - of books I already own. Just for the chance to spend a few minutes with you.”

Belle’s throat worked soundlessly, her breath catching as she looked at him in a state of what almost felt like wonder. “All this time… I thought you only barely liked me. Tolerated me."

“Oh aye,” his voice was low, his natural burr thick as he leaned toward her, tucking a stray auburn curl behind her ear. “I tolerated you. I’d have tolerated a lifetime of just standing there with a desk between us, fishing for anything useful to say. Just for the chance to be near you, enjoy the scent of that strawberry perfume you wear.”

Belle bit her lip, the corners of her mouth curling upward. “It’s shampoo but I don’t think anyone else has ever noticed that it smells like strawberries.” She smoothed a hand up his chest and over his shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck, toying with the ends of his hair in a way that sent sparks down his spine and straight to his groin. “I used to fantasize that you would lean across the desk and kiss me.”

“I had the same fantasy.”

“Did it include more than kissing?” she shot him a coy look, “because mine did.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he crooned, threading his fingers into her hair and cradling the back of her head as she tilted it up, “you have no idea.”

With a push onto her toes, she bridged the gap, pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss.

Against his lips she murmured “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” She pulled back with a sigh. “But you are still married. Technically.”

“Technically,” his lip curled as he forced himself to release the woman of his dreams. “I suppose it would be most appropriate to wait until I’ve at least finished filing the paperwork.”

With a baleful look, Belle ran her fingers through his forelock. “I’m awfully tired of waiting though, aren’t you?”

He nodded, taking her hand in his and kissing the fingertips. “And frankly, I've never been much for propriety.” One of Belle's fingers dipped between his lips and he nipped at it.

She gave a semi startled little giggle. “Are we terrible people if we do this?”

He nodded solemnly. “Horrible.” He ducked his head to plant tiny kisses down the side of her jaw. “The worst,” he muttered while nosing along her neck. She made a low sound of encouragement, tilting her head to allow him better access. He nipped at her earlobe, whispering, “the worst of the worst”, before lowering his head to plant an open mouthed kiss just at her pulse point. When he sunk in his teeth, she whimpered, bunching the silk of his button-down shirt in her hand.

“You know what?” she panted.

“Hmm?”

“I think I can live with that.” She let the blanket fall to grasp his face between both hands, pulling his mouth to hers for a searing kiss.

Thanking all his lucky stars and any deity that might be listening, Gold kissed her back with every ounce of longing he'd been holding back since the first time they met. Her hands fell to his buttons as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She practically yanked his shirt down his arms and he was grateful he'd removed the impediment of his cufflinks earlier that evening. She had already turned her attention to his belt buckle, treating it to the same wild abandon.

Not to be outdone, he gave a sharp tug to one side of her towel and it joined the blanket on the floor. Belle reached toward him but he staid her hands.

“I'd like to look at you, Sweetheart. May I?”

Her face, already pink from excitement, flushed a deeper red but she stepped back, nearly stumbling over the heap of towel and blanket. He steadied her then allowed his eyes to roam. Pert, rosy tipped breasts that looked as though they'd been made to fit in his palms, the slope of her waist led to rounded hips, a trimmed thatch of dark curls at their apex. She was, in a word,

“Exquisite,” he breathed.

Her eyes lit up and she wrapped both arms around his neck. “My turn to see you…”

He frowned, thinking of his narrow chest and wiry limbs, his ruined leg and sprinkling of silver in his sparse chest hair. “It won't be nearly as lovely to look upon.”

She pursed her lips. “Mm, I'll be the judge of that.”

He helped her remove his undershirt so he could keep hold of his cane with one hand at all times. Then she unzipped his trousers, kneeling as she pushed them down. His erection bobbed toward her, contained only by the final scrap of his dignity - his silk boxers. She smiled and planted a kiss directly on the head, through the fabric. He swore under his breath, silently vowing to keep that mental image until the end of time.

Her hot breath ghosted over his shaft once more and he felt his cock pulse in response. With another quick kiss, Belle hooked both thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down. Gold swallowed hard, willing himself to be still as her half-lidded eyes devoured him inch by inch. He was just beginning to feel a bit twitchy under her scrutiny when Belle leaned in and kissed each of his hipbones. Then each of his thighs. She bent lower and lightly trailed kisses over his good calf before turning to the mass of scar tissue that made up his other calf.

She looked up at him. “Is this alright?”

He nodded, a lump in his throat prohibiting speech. His first wife had blamed the accident when she ran off. Cora had never deigned to touch his damaged leg at all. And the few lovers in between had mostly seemed to pretend it wasn't there.

But Belle, bright beautiful Belle, slowly traced the most prominent scarring with a fingertip before planting little kisses on each one. She kissed her way back up his leg, coming nose to nose once more with his jutting cock. Lightly wrapping one hand around the rigid flesh, she smiled up at him with a half-lidded kind of delight.

“You're perfect.”

Something in Gold’s chest felt as though it was swelling up, fit to burst. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry but he knew that he'd never desired a woman more in his entire life. Mind, body, and soul. If she never touched him ever again after, he could live on the memories of a single night until they put him in the ground.

Without warning, Belle took him into her mouth. Gold’s knees nearly gave out and he clutched his cane so hard it felt like the handle might crack. He groaned at the sudden hot, wet sensation. Belle’s cheeks hollowed slightly and Gold swore aloud. She took him a little deeper then slid back out almost to the tip before swallowing him once more, as best she could. His heart nearly stopped altogether at the image of his cock, glistening with her saliva, disappearing between those greedy pink lips. Her head bobbed again a few more times, lips moving up and down his shaft. Gold, unable to do anything but moan and enjoy, watched her in wonder. At last, she pulled back, her tongue swirling over the head as she released him with an audible pop.

She looked up with an impish grin. “I’ve wanted to do that too.”

“Fuck me,” Gold pulled her to her feet and kissed her hard.

She gave a throaty little giggle before kissing him again. “I intend to.”

Gold attacked her throat and breasts with kisses, using his cane to support himself as he moved down her body. His mouth found one taut nipple and then the other, suckling and grazing with his teeth as Belle murmured her hearty approval. He swiped his tongue along the sensitive underside of each breast and Belle clutched at his hair, her fingers tugging at the strands. Her back arched toward him and he grinned against the soft flesh of her stomach, flicking the tip of his tongue playfully against her bellybutton.

Belle squirmed and giggled. “Tickles!”

He paused. “Hm?”

She ran a finger down the side of his jaw. “Your stubble.”

Gold ran a hand over his chin. “Mm, perhaps I should have shaved… before we….”

Belle shrugged. “Not worth stopping now. Besides, I don’t mind it a little rough.”

Gold quirked one eyebrow at her. “I’ll keep that in mind…”

She flushed prettily, biting her lower lip.

Gold nipped at the skin of her belly and Belle gave a little squeak of surprise that turned to a gasp of pleasure as he trailed his mouth lower, over her neatly trimmed pubic curls.

Lowering himself to his knees was not easy but he had managed to kick the blankets into a makeshift cushion. He released his cane and gripped her hips, running his thumbs over the crease of each thigh until she parted her legs. Her nether lips were already soaked and the smell of her arousal was making his mouth water. He lapped as far as his tongue could reach, tracing the length of her slit to gather her taste. She was ripe and musky, heady on his tongue. His eyes slid shut as he savored her but a twinge in his bad leg made him flinch.

“Oh!” Belle stepped away, coming back to her knees so they were eye to eye. “That felt amazing but… this can’t be a comfortable position for you…”

Shame heating his face, Gold nodded. Just this once, he’d wanted to forget his infirmity and do something dashing. He ought to have known such privileges were not to be his.

Belle’s brow furrowed. “Hey! I have an idea. Just, um, get comfortable on the blanket, okay?”

He obeyed silently, trying not to let his disappointment in himself ruin the moment. With some maneuvering, he was sitting on the blanket, bad leg stretched before him. Belle bounded across the room and despite his melancholy, sway of her pert little bottom didn’t fail to capture his attention. She threw open the cabinet from whence he had produced her now-abandoned towel and gathered all the blankets into her arms. He began to rise and help her as he caught on to her intention but she tutted at him to stay seated. He couldn’t help but be cheered by the way she bounced, totally unabashed in her nudity, creating a cozy little nest for the two of them.

Once she had finished, she lowered herself to the ground and beckoned him with the crook of a finger. He crawled over, mindful of the aching calf. They stretched out, side by side, and she ran her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face.

“Better?” she murmured.

“I don’t deserve you,” he replied, earnestly.

Belle rolled her eyes. “People don’t deserve other people. It doesn’t work that way. I like you. I want to be here with you. Frankly, I’ve never been so glad to be caught in a storm in my life.”

“Likewise,” he whispered, capturing her mouth, his hand snaking down between them to continue what he’d started with his tongue.

Belle gasped against his lips as he slid a finger inside her, the pad of his thumb brushing over her hooded clit. She flung her upper leg over his hips to give him better access. He stroked her gently at first, exploring her molten heat, relishing her soft little sighs and whimpers. She shunted her hips, urging him to go faster, harder. He obeyed eagerly, adding a second finger and crooking both digits in a way that made her thighs start to shake. Belle moaned her release, wetness dripping down his hand and sinking into the blankets between them. She panted against his neck, her body quivering as her inner muscles fluttered with the aftershocks.

Gold could only hold her in awe, petting her softly until she made a kittenish noise and batted his hand away.

Drawing her head back to meet his eyes, Belle grinned widely. “You are very, very good at that.”

He flushed with pleasure, almost forgetting his own nearly painful need, throbbing against her thigh.

Belle reached between them to take him in hand, aligning him with her entrance. As the head brushed her slickness, Gold fought not to let his eyes roll back in his head. Then a singular rational thought made a terrible appearance. He frowned.

“Belle… I haven't got any, ah, protection…”

She looked at him, upper teeth sinking into her lower lip. Then her face lifted once more. “Oh! Wait!”

Jumping up on slightly wobbly legs, she ran to the small backpack she'd been carrying and pulled out a rose gold wallet. From that she plucked a condom and held it aloft between two fingers.

Gold blinked incredulously. “You forgot an umbrella but remembered that?”

Belle giggled, crossing back to him. “Look, I may never have been a Girl Scout but I do have a best friend whose motto is ‘be prepared.’”

Nestling back into the blankets, Belle tore open the wrapper and rolled the rubber onto his erection before pausing. He pulsed with anticipation in her loose grip.

“How do you want me?” she asked

All day, every day for the rest of my life, he thought giddily.

“Sorry?” he said aloud.

“What’s the best, um, position? For you?” she added, cheeks turning pink.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had asked him that question. “Could we… would you mind… being on top?” His voice lifted embarrassingly high, as he pictured Belle’s magnificent breasts bouncing above him as she rode his cock to another gorgeous orgasm.

Belle nodded emphatically, her eyes aglow. “Absolutely.” She straddled his hips the moment he had rolled onto his back, lining them up and sinking down. His mouth fell open as he watched his cock disappear inside her, engulfed by her heat. Placing her hands on his chest, Belle rolled her hips and Gold groaned. He wouldn’t last long but he wanted to see her come again. One hand went to her clit as she settled into a rhythm she seemed to like. His other hand went to breast but she brought the fingers to her mouth, suckling them one by one. He swore loudly as both the image and the sensation sent sparks of electricity straight to his groin. He rocked up into her, meeting her shallow thrusts, still rubbing at her sensitive little nub. She was utterly amazing. She was a fucking goddess, getting herself off on his cock, and he was helpless with want, gritting his teeth to stave off his own building climax. He wanted this perfect, agonizing moment to last forever.

It could not, of course, and he could not regret the blinding wave of bliss that washed over him as he felt her inner muscles clamping down. Belle cried out, her head thrown back with abandon. She collapsed onto his chest, breathing heavily, and they lay in silence as both their hearts raced. He felt himself soften and reached beneath her to make sure the condom didn’t spill. Once it was tied off and tossed away, Belle curled into his side. They were both a sweaty mess and he thought that perhaps this moment was even more perfect than the last.

After a time, Belle broke the quiet. “It’s stopped raining.”

He had almost forgotten about the storm altogether. His chest suddenly felt tight, the muzzy warmth beginning to evaporate. “So it has. I... suppose that means you’ll be wanting to head home soon…”

Belle shrugged against him. “It may start up again. Besides… it’s awfully late… Don’t you think?” She ran a hand through his sparse chest hair, sending a pleasant shiver through him. “It’s probably not all that safe to be wandering around the forest at night.” She turned wide eyes to him, batting her lashes playfully.

The corners of his mouth twitched back upward as he caught onto her ploy. “Mmm, dangerous, in fact.”

Belle leaned in, brushing her lips along his jaw and down his neck. She nipped lightly at his collarbone. “Treacherous, even.”

His arm wrapped snugly around her. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing else for it. You’ll have to stay here for the night.”

“If you think you can bear my company a few more hours?” Her lips closed over his puckered nipple and his fingers involuntarily dug into the flesh of her hip.

“Oh, I’ll manage, somehow…” he breathed, pulling her back up to him for another kiss.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle smut #a-monthly-rumbelling #belle x rumplestiltskin #belle x mr. gold #rumbelle au #rumbelle one-shot

39 notes · View notes