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sunlightmurdock · 2 months

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The Odyssey | 1.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x reader

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the pain of not knowing is weighing heavily on you as you arrive to your next destination. The people around you prove themselves.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, the italics at the very beginning indicate a scene involving brief attempt at sexual assault. The chapter deals heavily with themes of SA, and its aftermath. Pls take your own triggers into account while reading and feel free to message me for further info 🫶

…

“C‘mon, man, not so much as a test drive?”

Malcolm’s not in his right mind. Finals week pushed him to the brink and beyond. He’s been killing himself proving to his father that he’s worth being taken on at the firm. College is coming to an end and it’s almost time to be a man — as it grows closer, there seem to be more and more voices in his ear telling him what that entails.

Sex. Money. Power. Everything in the world is about sex, but sex is about power. Or whatever Oscar Wilde had said — he had only enrolled in that class for the credits and the added study time with you.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He brushes the comment off with a wrinkle of his nose, bringing the bottle of whiskey to his mouth, tipping his head and pouring it back.

You’re not a possession — he’s in good enough mind to know that much. His buddy’s test drive metaphor leaves more than a sour taste in his mouth. It also leaves a sickness in his stomach and a venom twisting through his nerves.

The mention of this is already grinding at him, his blood growing hot and his feet growing restless, tapping against the aged wood below them.

“Because she’s such an angel that she won’t even let you lay a finger on her? — Yeah, she sounds like a real prize, Ashworth.” Another guy snorts. Malcolm’s head whips around to face him, his eyes narrowed.

“Has she even let you get to second base or are her tits off limits too?”

“Damn shame that she’s got that pretty mouth and you don’t have a clue what to do with it.”

“She scared that it’s going to hurt or something? — You packing a big one, Mac?”

He pushes himself swiftly up from that stiff leather armchair despite its creaks of complaint. Damn thing is older than he is. The dark liquid swishes in the bottle as he staggers away from his so-called friends. He’s heard enough.

He knows where to find you, pushing through the sea of already drunk co-eds and wrapping an arm securely around your waist, slotting himself into your gossip session with a friend.

You’re so excited to see him, greeting him with a polite kiss to the cheek and leaning into his touch. You’re always so kind to him. He has to lean in close to whisper in your ear, his voice sullen and serious, “Could I talk to you for a minute? — In private.”

It isn’t until he closes the door to one of the guys’ rooms, that he notices exactly how drunk you are. You gasp and wobble and drop down onto the bed, bursting out laughing.

He doesn’t laugh with you. Instead, he brings the bottle of whiskey to his lips and takes a long drink. Lurking in the doorway, watching you.

As the bottle drops back to his side, Malcolm just remembers watching you. He doesn’t remember walking any closer until he’s sat beside you and holding your face in his hands.

“God, Mac — how much have,” You have to pause to hiccup, covering your mouth with your hand, unaware that you’re slurring your words too. “How much have you had to drink? — You reek!”

“Just a bit.” He mumbles, the bottle heavy in his hand as he leans forwards and kisses you. You comply happily at first. Well, you seem happy enough to him, even if he does smell kind of like a distillery.

Maybe the two of you talk more, maybe you don’t. The only thing Malcolm knows is that he has securely rounded the corner into second base before you start to fuss at him. You’ve let him get this far before, what’s the big deal now?

The dress you’re wearing is a flimsy blue satin thing, not particularly festive for the holiday party, patterned with expensive looking shimmering detailing. One of them has slipped off of your shoulder to make room for his hand to slip under the velvet fabric and cup at your breast.

“Stop it — what if someone comes in?” But you’re still kind of giggling with him, grabbing at his shoulders. If you wanted him off of you, you’d say so. You have before.

You’re not that kind of girl. Malcolm scoffs to himself at the idea. Your neck is soft against his lips and your perfume drives him crazy.

“It’s just sex, it’s not a big deal.” He mutters into the crook of your jaw, and the mood flips. He feels you pushing weakly at him, all it does is bunch his sport coat and make it fall back off of his shoulders.

“Sex? — Here?” You’re not making much sense, losing your composure and your ability to form a real sentence at once. Not so classy now.

As Malcolm sits back to shrug his jacket off and looks down at you, your chest halfway exposed and your eyes struggling to track him, he feels a pang of guilt strike him. Slowing himself, his heartbeat is in his ears as he fixes your dress to cover you once more and leans down to kiss at your lips.

“I’ll marry you,” He whispers against your mouth, pleading. “I have a ring. I was going to ask you anyway. Your father loves me, you know he does. You believe me, right, honey?”

You had said yes once before. You were going to let him. After prom night, your senior year; you were going to the same college and your families liked each other. He’d gotten too drunk and screwed it. Couldn’t even get it hard. It seemed to freak you out, after that you’ve barely let him close. Now, you’re seniors again. He just needs you to say yes once more.

“Not here.” Your face wrinkles and turns away from him, maybe it’s just the smell of whiskey but the rejection damn near makes him see white. He remembers how uncoordinated your efforts to shove at his hands were.

The next thing he remembers is Catherine stumbling in looking for you, and you trying to bolt. He had caught you the first time.

You were screaming at him, shoving him, calling him a pig. He was arguing right back at you. He’s always known exactly what to say to make your argument feel paper-thin.

The second time you had run, he had let you go, picking up his half-finished whiskey and pouring it into his mouth. He knew you wouldn’t say a word to your parents, you would be too ashamed.

The last thing that you remember from that night is being downstairs, laughing with your friends, with his arm around your waist.

The drive down to the farmhouse is a little over an hour from Florence, one of the shorter journeys of your trip. No need for stops or bathroom breaks. You had settled into your seat, covered your ears, and turned the volume on the Walkman as loud as it would go.

When you were packing tapes for the trip, you hadn’t once considered to bring Christmas music. Now, you’re wracking your brain trying to remember the song that had been playing. Remember any part of that night at all.

Once she had realized what she had said, Catherine had grown defensive and apologetic. She wouldn’t tell you much. Like she was covering something.

You’ve been staring unseeingly at the Tuscan countryside as it passes you by, Kate Bush as your soundtrack. I should be crying but I just can't let it show.

He wouldn’t hurt you. This is the same man who took you out to his mother’s rose garden and gave you the most stunning Tiffany necklace you’ve ever seen as a gift. The man who hugs you so close against him, and sits through your chick-flicks with you.

Your parents adore him, and it’s their job to protect you. Your father is a wonderful judge of character, and Malcolm won his seal of approval years ago.

All these miles of land whizzing by, outside of this ugly little minivan, are starting to make you sick. You close your eyes and listen to Kate.

Oh, darling, make it go

Make it go away

Your eyes burn under your eyelids, prickling with tears. Even worse, it makes your face burn with furious heat to think of any one of these people seeing you cry. Your stomach is trembling with unease, a static feeling in your fingers and toes is the only thing reminding you that you can feel them at all.

Breathing in shakily, you squeeze your eyes more tightly closed, gritting your teeth to will the tears away.

You just need to remember. You can’t go accusing him of something awful. He’s always been so good to you. He’s your future. You just need to get your bearings, and figure it out. Maybe you had led him on. Given him the wrong idea.

It’s such a short drive, and for once, there doesn’t seem to be any drama that requires his attention. Bradley has let himself get so behind on his work that he spends the duration of the drive with his papers sprawled out across the bench, making annotations and edits.

“Whoa, look at this place!” Zoe gasps, leaning over the seats to get a look at the sprawling driveway, lined with green trees and shrubs, marking the way toward the farmhouse. It’s an incredible building, sprawling and stone, dotted with climbing plants along the walls and planted flowers in the window boxes.

Bradley closes his notebook and looks up finally, then looks across at Pasquale with a small smile.

“Did I ever tell you guys that this is where Pasquale and I met?” Bradley announces to the group, turning around in his seat to face them.

“All the way out here?”

“Yeah. We worked here together one fall.”

Bradley had heard of Alessandro’s work early into his studies. It was Natasha who got him the job here. He arrived in September and left in December, this place gets cold as the months go on. Now, it’s warm and everything is in bloom. It smells sweet and citrusy. Sandro had always sworn that the apricots grown here were the best in the country.

“Then, when Mr. Bradshaw had been accepted for his summer work here with the university, I was the first person he called to be your tour guide.” Pasquale adds with a grin as he pulls up in front of the old house. Bradley hums. Pasquale has always been a good friend to him.

As soon as the engine stops, the heavy wooden front door is thrown open and a tall man with long, dark curls comes jogging out, grinning.

“Bradley Bradshaw!” His accent is thick, but mixed. Not entirely Italian. His cheeks dimple as his grin stretches across his olive toned skin, watching Bradley tear out of the minivan and head for him.

“Sandro,” Bradley grins, grabbing hold of the slightly shorter man by his shoulders and dragging him in for a hug before leaning in close and shaking the man a bit as he chuckles out something in Italian that makes them both laugh. You miss it, barely pulling your headphones off of your ears as you step out of the van.

“I don’t know what that means but I know it was a swear word.” Abigail announces, making Bradley laugh as he turns to her again. She’s not wrong, he had happily just called Alessandro something not too dissimilar to a son of a bitch. Endearingly.

He hooks an arm around Alessandro’s shoulders and turns him coolly towards the group. “Guys, this is Alessandro Gabris. Not quite the man of the house but a hell of a storyteller.”

Alessandro turns his head and whispers something back that can only be as filthy as whatever Bradley had said to him, because it makes them both double over laughing. Their inside joke makes Pasquale laugh along with them. That autumn had been such good fun, the three of them.

Alessandro glances behind him as an older man walks out of the building, wheeling an elderly woman in a wheelchair. He smiles as he gestures to her.

“And this is my mother, Teodora Gabris.”

“Oh, I remember,” Bradley’s lips stretch into a warm grin as he breaks the haphazard formation of the group, unwraps himself from Sandro and steps towards her, crouching in front of her wheelchair, slipping his sunglasses off. The woman’s face changes, brightening with recognition. “Don’t break my heart, Dorie, you remember me too, huh?”

The crinkles beside her eyes deepen as she lifts her hand and rests it against his cheek, tilting her head to examine his face.

“The artist.” She remembers, making Bradley laugh fondly. He’s familiar with her in a way that makes both of their grins broaden as he leans in. He’s far from an artist, and she knows it. But, he has a way with words and a way with women, and that had amused her all of those years ago.

In her youth, Teodora traveled from the Kefalonian countryside to the centre of Paris, where she had trained with oil paints. She’s the real artist.

“How have you been?” He asks.

She just looks around her, gesturing to her little slice of Tuscany, blooming into the July heat, and back to him finally. Bradley nods his head, unable to shake that smile from his face. She has her little slice of heaven already, how could she not be happy?

“You haven’t aged a day.” He tells her, his large hand resting softly against her now frail wrist.

You stare between the two of them. The affection they have for each other, and the joy on her face as she remembers the boy he was. His hand sitting so gently on her skin.

“You have.” She teases, pinching his sunwarmed red cheeks. He laughs, sharing her gaze for a beat before he stands upright once again.

Of the six places that you have visited so far on this trip, Bradley has been greeted warmly by someone who once knew him in every single one of them. Even Natasha, who hates him for his betrayal, finds it in herself to revel in the safety of still being near him.

You don’t remember your interaction with him that night either. He could have done anything. He could have left you there. You can only imagine the look your mother would have given him when he took you home. You weren’t ever even particularly nice to him, you’d talked through his class all through first semester. He took you home and made sure you were safe anyway.

“Hey, are you okay?” Suddenly there’s a hand on your wrist and it feels like scalding water. You pull swiftly away from it and whip your head around to find Abigail leaning towards you, her features creased with concern.

Your cheeks are hot, and wet. Fuck, they’re wet. Quickly, you bring both hands to your face and start wiping hurriedly at your tears. You can’t bring yourself to do anything but blink dumbly at her, your shoes dragging across the dirt below you as you stumble a step back.

As he hears the question, Bradley turns and shoots a glance over his shoulder. His face falls, turning completely to do a double take as he notices your teary face.

“Hey, hey — what’s the matter?” Bradley’s size thirteen converse tennis blancs trample across the dirt and stones, long strides and heavy footfalls. Your stomach churns at the thought of those heavy hands on your skin, of his frame up close and looming over you, of getting stuck between him and the minivan behind you.

He slows as your foot slips back and fumbles for purchase in the dirt, muddying your white sneakers.

Everyone behind him is looking at you now. You’re painfully aware of the twisted up look on your face but it’s the only thing keeping you from sobbing.

Humiliation stings. All of them looking at you like you’re ridiculous. Not being able to remember. Simultaneously wanting to throw yourself into Bradley’s chest and beg him not to touch you.

Bradley lowers his voice just slightly, also well-aware of all of the eyes on you suddenly. “Look at me. What’s the matter?”

Your lip trembles, trying not to look at anyone around you. Your eyes steady on his, your throat thick and your heartbeat thundering.

“Can I talk to you about something?” You croak out.

There’s a study downstairs, just off of the living room. Bradley clicks the door shut behind him, his brows drawing together as your pace away from him.

“Honey…” He says softly, like he’s trying to soothe a cornered animal. You round on him like one, eyes wide. He’s never seen you so spooked. “Talk to me. What happened? — I can’t fix it if—“

“You can’t fix it.” Your voice cracks and gravity grows stronger, forcing you to the ground. Crumpling like a piece of paper, you curl your knees up to your chest, a sob wracking your body.

“Okay, alright,” Bradley breathes out, clicking the lock on the door and following you to the ground. You flinch as his heavy hand comes to rest against the back of your neck, stroking softly over the top of your styled hair. “Let me hear it, it’s no good keeping it to yourself.”

“Please don’t touch me,” You whisper into your knees, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Your skin crawls, trying to picture Malcolm on top of you, wondering how you couldn’t remember. “Could you… could you just please not.” You decide finally, wiping hurriedly at the damp spots under your eyes.

He doesn’t follow. It was just last night that you were so comfortable in his arms, staring up at him with that electric, trusting look on your face. But he gently takes his hand off of you anyway.

“Is this about that phone call?” Bradley asks gently, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands. His instinct is to hold you.

Light pours in from the tall, wide window to your side. It’s far too warm, and too sunny in here for you to be feeling this awful. It feels like the ground is going to swallow you whole, if the weight in your chest doesn’t take you out first.

“Talk to me, honey. Tell me what happened.” Bradley encourages, bracing his elbows on his knees and lowering his head to try to meet your gaze.

“I think Malcolm — that night that you found me in December, I think— I think that he—“

Bradley’s eyes go round, the concerned frown on his face falling all of a sudden. He stares at you as you sob into your hands. He remembers that night so clearly. From waking up face down in a textbook chapter about Pre-raphaelite attitudes towards monogamy, to squinting to figure out what that figure in the snow was. Seeing you there, barely conscious. Practically deadweight in his arms as he had lifted you.

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

You lift your head to look at him, the colour drained from your skin, eyes pleading.

“Did he tell you this?” Bradley asks you softly.

“No. Catherine said — she said something about finding— fuck, she said something about finding him… on top of me.” Your throat is hoarse and your words are barely coming out as you try to hold back floods of tears. If you let yourself keep crying, it feels like you might not ever stop.

Bradley lifts his hand and pinches at the bridge of his nose. He inhales for six, exhales for seven. Then, he reaches out slowly and rests the tips of his fingers against the outside of your ankle.

“I don’t remember.” You choke out. He looks across at you, thinking of how proudly you had been showing off your engagement ring. No clue what an animal your fiancé was. Your lip trembles. “I don’t remember it.”

His gaze flickers immediately to your hands covering your face as the midday sun catches the rock on your ring finger, glistening in the light. You never would have said yes if you had known.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry,” He whispers, curling his fingers softly around your ankle. It takes everything not to wrap himself around you and shield you from everything outside of these four walls. This dusty old office, sunlight shining across ever single chip and dent in these old floor boards, just you and him.

“If I wasn’t such a mess, then—“

“Hey,” His fingers squeeze softly at your ankle, prompting you to look up at him, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. He gives a soft shake of your head. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass between the two of you. His fingers don’t dare inch from the safety of your ankle, if that’s as much of you as he is allowed to touch, then that’s what he’ll take.

He can’t imagine the fear in not knowing.

You swallow softly and push onto your knees, crawling closer and pushing yourself into his chest. Bradley tucks one arm around your waist, doing his best not to cage you against him as you bury your face into his neck. You can feel him giving you room to retreat.

It’s such a strange thing, not wanting him to touch you but at the same time wanting to be held by him until the rest of the world stops. The thought of his hands on your skin makes you sick, but you want nothing more than to bury your face in the crook of his neck and pretend that none of this is happening. Like he’s not a separate man, not something to fear — just an extension of self, almost.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you again, running his hand along your back, finally letting his eyes fall shut. Your breathing is jagged and gasping with the sobs, coming out quickly against the skin of his neck. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I should remember. I — I thought I’d know, or… feel… and I don’t remember any of it.”

His stomach knots, his palm resting between your shoulder blades as he cradles you against him.

It wasn’t that long ago that he couldn’t stand the thought of you. He had taken what he had seen of you in his classroom and come to the decision that you were selfish, and spoiled, lazy. He had no idea.

Since then, he has grown to know that you’re none of those things. You’re defensive, sure, he can be too. You’re a product of your upbringing, to an extent. But you’re witty, and smart, and you’re far from selfish. Bradley has seen your curiosity up close for weeks now. Your potential weighs on his mind, it keeps him up at night thinking of the future you’d have if you just had someone tell you that you could.

He hugs you against his chest and turns his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He promises. There’s no way around it, or over it. He couldn’t have stopped it from happening. This isn’t about him or the way that he feels for you. He holds you close, rubbing firm circles across the length of your back for as long as you’ll let him.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, your face buried into the warmth and familiarity of his neck. “You — You should be out there with everyone. I just need a minute.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bradley whispers.

And he doesn’t. He sits there and holds you until he feels your breathing start to get slower and longer against him. Then, he strokes a strand of hair gently off of your face. “You feeling tired?”

“Exhausted.” You whisper.

He nods softly and kisses the top of your head. If he could, he would happily have carried you upstairs and put you to bed himself. Instead, under the watchful eye of the rest of your class, he has to point your directions from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll be upstairs to check on you in a bit. Get some rest.”

And he does come up a bit later. You’re not sure exactly how much later, but it’s dark when the first knock wakes you up.

See, the first knock doesn’t warrant pulling yourself out of this unfamiliar bed. The pillowcase is damp but for now, you seem to have run out of tears. The second knock is more tempting, if only to make the sound stop.

Bradley doesn’t knock a third time. Instead, he takes a quick glance at the empty hall around him and leans in close, “It’s me. Can I come in?”

You already knew it was him, there’s no real need for him to announce himself. Still, you grace him with a tired sound of acknowledgment and force yourself out of the fetal position. The old doorknob creaks and clicks, then the door itself creaks as it opens. It would be pretty difficult to sneak around in a big old house like this one.

“Hey.” Bradley greets you softly, cautiously. You offer him a tight-lipped smile. He brings a hand from behind his back and shows you a plate with roasted potatoes and vegetables — something else that you can’t quite see, a starchy baked dish.

Through no fault of his own, he doesn’t get much of a reaction from you at all. You make no effort to reach for the plate. He crosses the room and sets it down on top of the dresser.

“Brought you some dinner, and uh…” Bradley hasn’t felt sheepish since his second day of basic training, and yet, his eyes are on the floor as he pulls his other hand from behind his back. “I brought you this.”

You watch as he sets the blue fabric in front of you, folded neatly.

“Your shirt?”

He scratches at the back of his neck, walking right on by you to sit against the window ledge. Cool air bristles his nape and makes him sit up a little straighter, letting you catch his eye.

“I don’t know, I thought…” He stares at the blue fabric in your hands and gives his head a soft shake. “I don’t know what I thought, but keep it for tonight.”

He knows what his thought process was, he just can’t bring himself to say it out loud. It sounds selfish now. I thought that since I can’t be with you, maybe a piece of me might help. How ridiculous of him to make himself so important in all of this.

“Here,” He remembers, pushing himself away from the window and taking the plate in his hand again, “Come on, you should eat something, while it’s still hot. It’s good.”

You pull your knees to your chest as he perches himself on the bed beside you, setting the plate down. You settle down, crossing your legs and lifting the plate into your lap, picking up the fork.

He watches, chewing at the inside of his lip as you push the vegetables around the plate.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“Stupid for bawling my eyes out like that.” You answer him meekly, spearing the fork through a grilled red pepper, pushing it through some of the juice from the baked dish.

His eyes search across your features.

Neither one of you says anything for a moment as you shake the pepper from your fork and stab it instead through a piece of eggplant.

“You’re not stupid.” He tells you, his brows drawing together as he watches you periodically wound the food on the plate.

“He was clearly unhappy, and I didn’t even notice. My own boyfriend and I didn’t have a clue,” You jam the fork into a particularly stubborn chunk of zucchini and letting the fork clatter to the plate. Bradley stares back at you. “If he was happy then—“

”Don’t defend him to me.” Bradley interrupts you, his voice calm but grave. In a roundabout way, he understands how your thought process has led you here, but he can’t listen.

”No, I’m — I’m not. But it’s my responsibility as his partner—“

”Stop it.” Bradley deadpans. He lowers his head and meets your gaze. His tone suggests that he is growing frustrated but his eyes are another story, soft and warm, honeyed as they search across your face. “You were blacked out drunk. Whatever you think you owe him, it wasn’t his in that moment. You get that, right?”

He’s trying to help. You know that he’s trying to make it better, but it isn’t. Your nape feels hot and your throat feels sore. If he’s right, if that’s really true — if it was never your fault — then where do you go from here?

Your wedding is eighteen days after you fly home. The dress, the centre-pieces, the bridesmaids and the venue — everything is already all set up.

You suck in a soft breath and bury your face in your hands. Bradley lifts his palm and smooths a hand softly over the nape of your neck.

“Look, I just—“

“Can you go?” You breathe out shakily, dropping your hands from your face and meeting his gaze. His mouth hangs open, and you just know that he’s going to keep on talking. “Just go. Please. I want to be alone.”

Finally, he closes his mouth and gives a solemn nod.

“Okay,” He gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before standing up from the bed. “I’ll come see you tomorrow morning.”

With him gone, the quiet is worse this time. Out here in the country, there’s nothing but you wracking your brain for answers that just won’t come. At some point, you make yourself eat some of the now cold food Bradley had brought you just to settle the rumbling in your stomach.

Then, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. It’s a tall thing with a wooden frame, angled to face the bed. Your fingers reach down and curl into the hem of your nightgown, thinking of the blue Dior dress sitting in your closet at home now. It’s around this length, one of your shorter articles of clothing. You had been so excited to find that dress.

Standing in it that day in the floor, you had felt like Cinderella, right out of the pages of a storybook. Ridiculous.

Quickly, you grab at the hem and tear it off of your body. Almost naked, you examine yourself in the reflection. Something makes you walk forwards and your eyes squint, scrutinizing the flesh before you. Wondering how much of it Malcolm has seen, really.

You wonder which parts of it come to mind, when the two men who have seen your body think about it. The softness of your stomach? The way your breasts sit? — Something different entirely, maybe. Your self-examination is short-lived and exhausting all at once.

Turning back around, you spot Bradley’s shirt sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s a soft, heavy cotton, and it smells wholly of him. It slips easily over your shoulders, your fingers working nimbly to fasten the buttons.

You tilt your head, observing the way you look wrapped in his clothes. Then, you look around the room. Without Bradley to occupy your evening, the sudden lack of television or alternate entertainment strikes you.

Stuck with little other option, you grab your walkman from the dresser and head over to your suitcase. Armed with the cassette, wrapped in Bradley’s shirt, you cross the room and settle back into this unfamiliar bed, setting the headphones over your ears. You click open the cartridge and look down at the new tape in your hand.

Written across the front of the plastic in red marker, calligraphy: Our Wedding Tape 1986. It was a parting gift. Something from your future husband to lift your spirits when you were feeling low over here.

You lay back against the pillows, closing your eyes and hitting play. Slowly, the opening chords of The Commodores’ Three Times a Lady start to play in your ears. Your stomach flips, but you inhale, squeeze your eyes tighter and it’s almost better.

It’s soft, and slow — almost like a lullaby. But, your blood is coursing so hot and fast through your veins, it feels more like you’re running a marathon. Hot tears burn behind your eyes once again, reminding you that you haven’t actually run out of them. That they might never really stop.

To touch you, to hold you, to feel you, to need you.

There’s nothing to keep us apart.

You’re once, twice, three times a lady, and I love you. I love you.

As the lyrics pause and piano chords once again fill your ears, you realize that you’re gritting your teeth. You inhale sharply and snatch the headset off of your head, tossing it harshly onto the floor and causing the walkman to bust open. The cassette falls to the floor, but at least the music stops.

You’re breathing like you’re being chased. You wipe hurriedly, wanting the tears off of you, kicking back the covers, wanting everything off of you. As you wipe the salty tears from your jaw, you remember the metal on your finger.

As with the Walkman, you tear it off and throw it. It lands atop the dresser, the light catching the diamond, it sparkles back at you like a wink.

You had been so ridiculously happy on the day that Malcolm had proposed. Surrounded by your friends and family, wearing a beautiful dress, the centre of attention. Ridiculous.

You sink back down and turn onto your side, facing away from the dresser and the winking reminder that sits atop it. Sleep comes for you quickly, taking place of the crying-induced headache and drowning out the faint Commodores chorus lurking in your mind.

You’re awoken by a soft knock on the heavy wooden door. Sunlight is already pouring in through the curtains and something tells you that you missed breakfast. This will be Bradley. You let him knock again. Then, a third time. Eyes still closed, you groan softly and press your face into the pillow as a fourth and fifth knock ring out.

Stubborn asshole. You tear the covers the rest of the way back and push up from the bed, padding across the hardwood floor and pulling the door swiftly open.

Abigail and Zoe stand outside, dressed in tank tops and shorts with bathing suit strings peaking out. Your mouth falls slack as you try to close the door to cover yourself a bit.

“Oh—“ Your eyes widen, lips parting. It’s obvious to the both of them instantly that they aren’t who you were expecting to see. “Sorry, I thought you were Bradley.”

Zoe glances at Abigail, Abigail glances at Zoe, they both look down at the slightly wrinkled blue button up that falls down to your mid thighs. Bradley wore something really similar in Venice.

“We, uh — well, we’re just heading down to the lake. We were going to swim, and get some work done. Sandro gave us some snacks and some lemonade,” Zoe has a real talent for cramming as much information into as short a breath as she can, showing you the contents of the little cotton bag on her shoulder at the same time. She stops finally, allowing herself to smile in her pause. “If you… maybe wanted to come with us.”

You neither retreat or reply. For a second too long, you just look between the two of them, completely wordless.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Abigail answers quickly, she looks at Zoe and they both quickly offer you nods of agreement. “Don’t feel like you have to—“

“No— I-I— yeah. Thanks. That would be cool.” You shift your weight from foot to foot, balancing one one, toeing at the aged floorboards under you. It feels strange, wanting so badly to go with them.

Up until you reached this threshold, you were so certain that you didn’t give a damn about the way they felt about you. Maybe you don’t, really. You sure wouldn’t if you were back home. But here, the feeling of finally being invited is something weightless.

“Cool.” Zoe smiles awkwardly back at you. You wonder if your smile looks half as apologetic as hers does.

Abigail bristles to attention, shrugging her tote closer to her body and reaching down to take Zoe’s hand. “Well, we’ll wait for you downstairs? We can all head out there together.”

They’re wearing swimsuits. You should dig your swimsuit out of your case. Maybe they’ll be upset if you make them wait too long.

“Thanks, I’ll be quick.”

And then you’re walking around the left side of the house and heading across the fields, they’re explaining how wonderful Teodora is, how she told them about a wild swimming spot just over the hill.

They’re curious about you. You were so angry in the beginning, so restless and unhappy. That seems to have faded away now. They still don’t know a single thing about you really, not as much as they would like to.

“Are you feeling better? — Bradley said you weren’t feeling well.” Abigail is tall and dark-skinned, with round glasses and her curly hair usually in two French braids. Today, she’s wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt that belonged to her father, and a pair of denim cut-offs.

“It’s not contagious, right?” Zoe adds as she trails alongside you. She’s shorter than Abigail, with dark hair and green eyes. She’s the only sophomore on the trip — you wonder what she had done to impress Bradley enough to let her come.

You shrug your shoulder bag closer to your body and make yourself smile. “Much better. I think I just didn’t drink enough water and I was tired. Just… out of sorts, I guess.”

“It’s good that Bradley was so kind to you about it,” Zoe hums absently, adjusting her thick-rimmed sunglasses. Red runner shorts and complimentary red and white striped adidas sneakers, and long tanned legs. She looks right out of a commercial — but one of the well done ones. Not cheesy or anything. “Called his office once to tell him that I couldn’t take an exam because I was super sick, that fucker didn’t believe me until I dragged myself in there and puked on those old Nikes he used to wear.”

You hum out an amused sound. That makes two of you who have puked on his shoes.

“He feels bad for me because my fiancé’s a jackass.” Maybe it’s a lie, maybe it’s the truth. You believe both sides of it, in part. Bradley does feel bad for you. But he would have held you in his arms yesterday even if he didn’t.

To them, it makes sense. There has been plenty of gossip about you over the last five weeks. Some of it, admittedly, they had engaged in. Everyone is pretty curious about why you’re getting married so young, and equally curious about all the time you’ve been spending with their cool, cocky professor.

Watching you stumble away from the group sobbing yesterday, there had been a few whispered rumours about the cause. Maybe Bradley dumped her because she wouldn’t put out. That one was especially cruel.

To Abigail, someone that heartbroken didn’t deserve to be made fun of. It had looked like your heart had been clean ripped out of your chest. She had whispered to Zoe about it last night in the darkness of their room, from the top bunk, and the two of them had decided to approach you today.

”How long have you two been together?” Abigail toes the line between prying and learning enough about you to potentially calling herself your friend. You probably should mind, but this is standard practice back home — girls who don’t care wanting information they don’t deserve. Something tells you she’s not like that.

”Since high school.” You tell her.

She slows slightly and turns her head to look back at you over her shoulder. You’re looking down at the dirt and grass and wildflowers, setting one white shoe in front of the other, denim shorts and a green blouse, that sad look on your face again. It’s different than the kind of sadness she saw in you yesterday — but it’s a look she has seen on you before.

A kind of acceptance to it, like you’re at peace with the sadness you’ve known.

”People grow a lot after high school.” It’s wonderful that you have managed to stay together. It’s probably time to call it quits. Her sentence seems unfinished and leaves you guessing, but it doesn’t condemn you to her own decision on the matter the way that Bradley’s black and white had.

You look up from the ground and meet her gaze. You smile and nod. People sure do.

Bradley gets caught up in the kitchen with Teodora as he is fixing you a plate of breakfast, guessing at your favourite morning foods. He only really dines with you in the evening.

“Is that for the girl?”

Bradley hums and nods, frowning at the cooked mushrooms. He can’t remember if you love them or hate them. After five dates, he should probably know that. He shouldn’t have been on any dates with you. They’re just mushrooms—

“She left already.” Dorie shrugs without looking up from the morning paper. Bradley’s fingers curl tighter around the plate. He turns slowly, to face her.

“She what?”

”Yes, the girl with the tattoo and the girl with the long legs,” Dorie tells him, glancing up and taking note of the panicked expression on his face. Abi and Zoe. He swallows a bit. They’ll be good to you. “They all went out by the lake to work. They’ll be back in the afternoon.”

The last time he had been here, Bradley had been hopelessly in love with another. He kept a picture of her in his wallet. Pretty little thing with her middle finger pointed right at the lense as she sunbathed topless on a beach in the south.

Teodora won’t pry, but she suspects there might be a new picture in Bradley’s wallet now.

“Oh. Right,” He sets the plate down and stares at it, unsure of what to do with the extra food now. “I… I guess I’ll get started with some work. I’ll be in the sitting room.”

She nods politely at him, he sets the plate in the fridge and leaves to gather his work things. God, he hopes they’ll be good to you. He had been so afraid that Dorie was going to tell him you had jumped on a flight back to the States. He has more time.

He was up practically all night, thinking of that loser’s hands on you. It makes him sick to remember how limp you had been in his arms when he had first picked you up from the snow.

The sitting room in the Gabris estate is sprawling — it’s a real space to entertain. There were a lot of parties here back in the day. Now, there’s a dust sheet over the piano and the nude portrait of Teodora’s lover is gone from above the mantle.

Bradley settles down into an armchair and pulls together his notes, sun pouring through the windows, a fog settling across his thoughts. 3pm. Three PM. That’s when he hears the eruption of laughter, bubbling up and spilling through the house. After that, comes the sound of wet shoes squeaking on the hardwood.

His chin propped against his fist, he cranes his neck as Zoe appears first in the hallway. She spots him and stops like a caught kid, her mouth falling open. Then, you. Then, Abi. All three of you are soaked head to toe, dripping water onto the floors.

You stare back at him dwarfing the patterned armchair, surrounded by papers, peering at you over the top of his reading glasses. He doesn’t say a thing, taking his time in looking the three of you over. Finally, his lips twitch.

”We went swimming.” Zoe breathes out, laughing.

Bradley hums against his hand, his eyes visibly flicker from your bare feet to the soaked clothes clinging to your body, and finally at your face. From behind his fist, a smirk toys at his lips.

He’s so grateful to see you look so mischievous. Anything but the way you were looking at him yesterday.

”I can see that,” He agrees, amusement dripping from his voice. Your smile turns sheepish as you cross your arms in front of your hips and shift your weight from left to right, and back again. “Did you get those pages that I asked you for all done.

”Most of ‘em.” Zoe nods. Eighty-percent still counts as most. Besides, you know that Bradley will listen if you plead your case. He hums again, a sound of understanding this time, and inches his knees further apart as he sits upright.

”Well, I take it that you’ll be a bit late to our study session.” He’s looking right at you with that devilishly handsome smile on his face, and a softness to his eyes that makes you want to pour yourself right into his lap.

“Shit,” You snap out of it, whipping your head around to look for a clock. Bradley glances down at his watch, already fully aware that you’re forty minutes late. He looks back to you, smiling. “I’ll get changed.”

”I’ll be here.” He tells you, looking back down to his work.

You glance down at the puddle you’re leaving on the floor, and then back up at the girls. They watch you blink like you’re remembering that they’re there.

“We’ll come up with you.” Abigail nods for you to go ahead and Zoe slips her palms into yours.

Bradley glances at the exchange over the top of his workbook, her hand in yours. The smile on your face as you peer back at them and head for the stairs. He bites the inside of his cheek and finally exhales.

His next breath in feels a little bit easier.

“So, how long do you usually have to spend with Bradley every afternoon?” Zoe asks, padding up the wooden stairs behind you. They creak with every step, but not enough for you to pretend not to have heard her question.

You shrug your shoulders, trying to at cool about it. Bradley would at cool about it. He doesn’t seem ashamed at all.

“It depends. He gives me different tasks to do. Sometimes we get through them quickly, other times he decides to be an ass about it.” That feels about right.

“Like class work?”

“Yeah,” You glance back over your shoulder as you reach the landing. “I’m not much use to him as a research assistant if I still don’t understand the class material. You know?”

“Right.” Abigail nods along with you.

“Well, I’d better go get dry…” You remember, gesturing to your door. They both nod along, but you don’t move. You hug your shoes and your bag to your chest and try to smile. “Thanks for inviting me today. I appreciate it.”

“Any time. You’re a good time.” Zoe grins, lifting her arm and draping it casually around Abigail’s shoulders.

Your goodbye is a brief nod and a pleased smile, before you turn and head back to your room. You strip out of your clothes and leave them to dry against the open window, then throw on something dry.

Bradley hears your shoes racing down the stairs and closes his book. You grab the archway and swing around the corner into the sitting room.

“Okay — ready.”

He braces his elbows against his knees and gives a small shake of his head, lips quirked. “Not here.”

The two of you walk along the dirt path in the opposite direction to the lake. Up ahead of you is a mile long stretch of trees, behind you is the Gabris’ courtyard. Bradley’s two paces in front with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his books tucked under his arm.

His shorts make his legs look even longer, up high on his thighs and stretched around the muscle. His sneakers still aren’t something a college professor would wear, but you’ve grown to like them. They’re very… him.

His oversized shirts and his white sneakers, and the gold pendant that sits between his collarbones are all parts of him that you have grown to adore. The curls at the nape of his neck and the way his broad shoulders slope down into his waist.

There are plenty of things that you could name.

The smell of tobacco that follows him isn’t one of those things.

“That’s a filthy habit.” You call ahead to him.

Bradley turns his head and looks at you over the top of his gold-rimmed sunglasses, grinning amusedly, “Yeah, I’ve got a couple of those. You might be familiar with a few.”

Your mouth twitches. You almost smile at him, briefly considering that downright awful habit he’s got of delving between your thighs. Then, your face twists into a strictly unamused scowl.

“Did you pick it up when you were in the Navy?” You ask, jogging to keep up with him.

“Kinda.” He answers you, looking down at you briefly before he checks ahead again. It’s not important to mention the cigarettes behind the science building in high school; that was more an act of defiance than an addiction.

“Have you ever tried to quit?”

“Is this you asking me to?” He replies, crossing over into the tree line, shade pouring over the two of you. You watch as he takes the cigarette between his fingers and flicks ash onto the floor, branches crunching under his feet.

You follow alongside him. “Would you, if I asked you to?”

“Would you put up with me being a lot grumpier?” He asks in return.

“Probably not.”

He huffs out a dry chuckle. Finally, he stubs the cigarette out. You follow him through the woods like his shadow until you reach a clearing. It’s a pleasant mix of sun and shade, a nice place to wait out the glaring afternoon heat. This is routine by now, you sit down beside each other and he tells you what you’re doing, then you each get to it.

He’s working on his book. His face gets real serious when he’s working on his book. Makes him look older, more mature. Almost makes you forget how deviously handsome he looks when he’s grinning at you, when he looks so handsome like this.

You’re translating prose. Poetry about lust and temptation. He would have switched out the curriculum but resources are limited out here, and you don’t say a word about disliking the work he has given you. He’s afraid to ask.

To burst this bubble of blissful ignorance you’ve got going, like yesterday never happened.

”So, Zoe and Abi — did you guys have fun today?” He asks without looking up from his work. That feels like a safe enough question. You’re laying on your stomach and don’t bother to stop working to look at him either.

”Mhm. Zoe’s clothes fell off the branch and got soaked, so we figured we’d all just jump in dressed. Cooled us off on the way home.”

He glances up, smiling softly. “Look at you — walking on the wild side.”

”I know, right?” You scoff.

He looks back down to his work, examining the artwork on the left page.

“So… how are you feeling today?” He asks cautiously. About Malcolm, of course. Bradley has noticed that you aren’t wearing your ring. You’d barely remembered taking it off. It doesn’t feel any different without it. It’s not exactly life-altering. It’s just jewellery.

”Mixed up,” You owe him honesty at least, considering your complicated relationship. You shrug your shoulders weakly and frown at the page. “Confused. Angry.”

He just nods.

She turns her head to look at him. Laying on his side, pretending to organise his notes, his sunglasses masking his expression.

”I don’t want it to change things.”

”How?” Bradley answers a little too quickly for a man pretending to be otherwise occupied. His brows draw together as he meets your gaze through those darkened lenses.

“Between us,” You tell him, resting your cheek against your hand and tilting your head just slightly. Laying in the grass, about a foot away from him. Close enough for him to reach out and trail his fingers from the centre of your back to the nape of your neck, and back again. You smile softly. “I like you, you know?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27@ahoyyharrington @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover

#could be fixed???#will be running into the void if it isn’t #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #top gun smut #professor bradley #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x you

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rinrinx2 · 1 year

Text

Love demon

Aki x demon! Reader

Summary: Upon doing his usual route check Aki sees the most beautiful girl he has ever laid his eyes upon, to bad that you have to be a demon.

Warnings: Adult themes, Mature language, Smut

----‐------------------------------

"A love demon, a demon who is able to cause those around her to fall in love instantaneously. Her beauty and charm being a major factor in getting whatever and whoever she wants, even those who she doesn't care for will fall for her as it's within her nature to have everyone love her. And the blood of those who love her is the sweetest."

Aki was taking a walk through the streets of Tokyo, enjoying the coolness of the air due to the late hour. Basking in the quietness of the back roads as he took his stroll. Aki found that his late night strolls were the only way he would have to make time for himself, as ever since the arrival of Denji he was never able to catch a moment without the hyper male and his even more hyper female counter part.

Aki took in a deep breath as he closed his eyes taking in the serene evening night until he heard a loud cluttering noise coming from around the corner of the road he stood in.

'I swear if Denji fucking followed me out here' Aki thought as he began walking around the corner with a creased brow expecting to see the hyper Denji.

"Okay Denj-" Aki said, stopping mid sentence when instead of seeing the hungry Denji he was met with the cutest girl he had ever seen.

Sitting flat on the ground with your bag and it's contents all spilled onto the floor as you attempted to pick them up, but your actions had caught the attention of none other than a man, a cute one to.

You watched as starred at you for a moment before quickly kneeling to your level as he spoke.

"You need help" Aki asked as he reached over for a book on the ground.

"Yes" you said hesitantly as you tried to quickly collect your bags contents.

You and the man quickly collected everything that was once scattered on the floor and neatly placed them into your bag.

Aki rose to his feet once everything was placed back into your bag watching as you stood up now too. He was taken aback by your beauty as he just stood there starring but quickly realized that you seemed uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry" he said as he pulled his gaze away from you with an evident blush across his face.

You smiled at his reaction, finding it cute. 'Maybe his not a creep after all' you thought.

"You shouldn't be walking alone at night, it's not safe" Aki said as he brought his gaze back towards you.

"I can look after myself" you said confidently as you walked pass the tall male.

Aki was taken aback by your beauty that he couldn't just let leave so easily, so he did the only logical thing his mind could think of, be stubborn.

"Well I well aware that women are strong and independent but still it would not sit right with me knowing I let you walk home alone" he said with tone that made him sound self assured.

You turned your head looking his figure up and down. You could sense the infatuation coursing through his blood the longer he starred at you the more he was falling for you - the affect you had on men.

"Very well" you said as you nodded your head and turned your self back in the direction you were headed.

You heard the enthusiastic man run after you. The two of you walked in silence for a moment before you began to speak again.

"So does the man whose walking me home have a name" you asked turning your head so that your eyes now starred into his.

"A- Aki" he stuttered out nervously.

And you laughed at his reaction. You had him just where you wanted him. He was practically drooling after you.

You kept silent again until you reached your destination and that's when you decided you would have some fun finally.

"This is me" you said cheerfully.

"Why don't you come up for something to drink before you head home" you said gently brushing your hand along his arm.

And Aki was a smart young man he wouldn't so easily just walk into someone else's house no matter how beautiful or charming they were - but you, you were the exception.

Without any hesitation Aki followed behind you into your home.

The deep red colours and fabrics that decorated your home washed him over with a sense of warmth... with lust.

He hadn't realized how a subtle tent had been growing in his pants. You walked over to where Aki sat on your red velvet couch handing him a warm cup of rose and lavender

"Thank you" he replied as he held the cup of rose and lavender tea.

"Its a pleasure" you said moving closer to Aki, being so close you could smell the faint scent of cigarette that he had been smoking earlier that day.

"You have a lovely home" Aki said as he cleared his throat, his nerves becoming shot as you shifted closer and closer.

"Thank you" you replied as the space between the two of you was practically gone. You starred into his eyes before shifting your gaze to his lips. Slowly you pressed your soft lips against his, feeling the way he stiffened at your actions only to relax a second later.

Your kisses were first soft and experimental but quickly turned to those of passion. The moment you slid your tongue into his mouth Aki was gone.

A loud clattering sound you heard as Aki dropped the cup the tea was once in. You smiled into the kiss.

'His mine' you thought as you quickly got on top of his lap, mouths still connected as your began to grind down on him.

Aki was moaning into your mouth as your grinding became to much for him. His cock was twitching in his pants, craving to be inside your walls. His cock leaking out strings of pre-cum.

You could sense his errection. The way his body could no longer resist you, they way he ached to be in you.

You were a generous woman, so of course you'd help him satiate his needs.

You slightly raised your hips, as your hand moved between your two bodies. Quickly pulling his pants down along with his boxers, pulling out his massive erect cock.

You gazed down at it, watching as his slick pre-cum glistened your finger tips. You starred in amazement at his cock before looking up at him, the way his cheeks were now flushed red colour.

Without a moment to waste you reached underneath your dress and pulled your pantie to the side, as you aligned your self with his cock.

In one swift motion you sank down on his cock noting the deep sigh that left Aki's lips. You smiled at his reaction and began to move yourself up and down on his cock.

Aki was a mess underneath you. It wasn't like him to get like this, he wasn't one to so easily succumb to others but he was now. He was grabbing at your waist as he moaned out in pleasure. Wails of pleasure slipping through his lips like a bitch in heat.

You made him so submissive underneath you and you loved every second. You loved the way you could feel his cock being pulled deep inside you, the way his slit was continuesly leaking out coating yout walls and the way a white rim had already formed at the base of his cock.

You knew it wouldn't be long till he would come undone beneath you.

"You enjoying this" you said with a massive smile on your face, watching as Aki's was scrunched up in pleasure trying to hold back his orgasm.

The way your pussy walls were tightening and clamping down on his shaft was becoming to much for him and he felt the urge to cum grow stronger and stronger. His cum was traveling to his shaft just waiting to paint your walls a nice white.

The way his breathing became erratic and his eyes shut tight you knew the opportunity to strike was now. Within a second you plunged your teeth into the lower base of Aki's neck as you began drinking his blood. The warm hot liquid traveling down your throat made your pussy clench unbearably tight.

And Aki came hard, from the way your pussy was milking him and as well from the feeling of your teeth grazing his neck. His hips stuttered as all his semen now pushed out into your fluttering hole.

But you remained latched onto his neck, until you felt his orgasm settle down with him. You unlatched your mouth from his neck, looking into his eyes once again.

"A demon like myself really enjoys such sweet blood" you said with a seductive smile, watching as Aki's eyes widened.

He couldn't believe it, he had just had sex with a demon, the thing he swore he would hate through all ages of time but here now, with him still inside you and the way you looked down at him all he wanted was more. He wanted more of the love demon.

Just wanted to try a chainsaw fic

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ctrl-alt-tahu · 22 days

Text

The Last Toa

I have a not-quite-100% finished thought rolling around my head about the legacy of the Toa Metru, and in attempt to get it complete, I'm trying to write it down.

So, the Toa Metru are the final stop in a line of Toa going back to the foundation of Metru Nui, right? They were made Toa by Lhikan, the last of the Toa Mangai, and as his heirs and mentees, they are the last Toa of Metru Nui.

Indeed, the GSR generally, they come awfully close to being the last Toa--period. Not the last Toa in existence, obviously, but the Mata/Nuva, Takanuva, and the Inika/Mahri are all Toa in some other special way: Artahka originals, the Mask of Light, and intervention by the Red Star. None of them represent the passage of energy from Toa to Stone to Matoran: that lineage, which I assume goes back all the way to the earliest days of the GSR.

I think Krakua is the only real monkey-wrench in the idea that the Metru were the last Toa made in the conventional way. I'm pretty sure he's the only non-Inika example we know of in canon definitely after the Cataclysm.

There's something wistfully sad about the Metru being the Last Toa Ever™ and yielding their own Toa power to revive the Matoran, with no new Toa to follow them. When the Toa Mata arrive on Mata Nui, it becomes something like an Arthurian return, but it's also a supplanting: "the line of Dume and Lhikan and those even before them has failed" and a better thing takes their place.

Some basic Googling/BioSector01ing seems to suggest that there's not a lot of canonical detail in HOW Krakua becomes a Toa--so even if we accept that he's a fairly recent Toa, we can allow ourselves some speculation that he ALSO might not have been an old-school Toa-Stone-made Toa.

Why does any of this matter--other than poignancy, which is a consideration of its own? Well, I was thinking about Matoro (as one does) and the unique way in which he could carry on the legacy of the Toa Metru: he's the one Matoran (and thus the one transformed Toa) who knows their tale before the reveal at the end of MoL. Alone of the amnesiac Matoran, he has knowledge--though not memory--of Metru Nui, and while he kept the Turagas' secrets, he can't have helped being shaped by them in the 1000 years of doing so.

Destiny is the will of Mata Nui (well, destiny is a thorny subject, but let's call it that here). The Toa Mata, Takanuva, Krakua--what if they were all attempts in some way or other to supply the "needed" Toa to save the Great Spirit? But, though he is dying, the Great Spirit doesn't want any of these: he doesn't want to saved by Artahka's demiurgic Toa, or the Avokhii-wearing saviour, or any of the washed-up leftovers (Lesovikk, "the forty living Toa," the Hagah): instead, when the Red Star intervenes--the Red Star that echoes his will in a way the Order of Mata Nui can never hope to--he chooses one of them, and he chooses the one of their number who is the truest heir of the Toa Metru--his Toa.

Destiny is a big theme of the Metru in a way that was never true of the Mata (unity is their theme), and this really comes to the fore with the dancing back and forth between who was destined: them or the Mask Matoran. Destiny also comes up big with Matoro--and perhaps their destinies are the same.

#And now I'm headcanoning that Krakua was “made” a Toa somewhat dubiously: that Helryx found some long-lost Toa stone or Artahka intervened.#That he was a sacrificial lamb “just in case” because they knew one was needed but they thought the lineage had died out.#But Mata Nui wasn't relying on them--the Red Star had him covered.#Bionicle #Matoro #Mata Nui #not-quite-coherent musings

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tonkatsubowl · 8 months

Text

reminiscent.

blade x trailblazer!fem!reader ⿸ xianzhou spoilers. nsfw themes (violence, etc). read at your own risk. angst. kinda possessive? ish? feels. :3c english isn't my first language, so please don't mind the grammatical errors. (っ◞‸◟ c)

⪩ when our beloved trailblazer confronts kafka at xianzhou during the awakening of the ambrosian tree, they are stopped by blade. but something is...different about the situation.

TERM DIRECTORY ◖y/n: your name ◖e/c: eye color ◖h/c: hair color

the blossoming of the ambrosian tree was a beautiful, welcoming scene of chaos. the flutters of golden petals that flew and chased each other about, along with the anxious murmurs of the civilians that witnessed the very growth of mother nature.

despite the beauty of it all, it was a gateway to a distant battle ahead. a distant battle with a followed path that only welcomed a series of mystery, loss and war. and all of it was planned.

planned for you, our starring guest, at the very least.

but... how long had it been since he saw you?

amnesia was a bitch. he was fully aware of your inability to remember anything about yourself or your past but kafka's and silver wolf's appearance, and your awakening. how you were recruited by the express team, how you were practically destined to figure this out on your own...how you are on the path to save multiple worlds but at a cost of many. you were doing this without being able to remember anything, only to depend on those that you could call 'friends'. but...could you remember him? the time you spent together with him before you lost everything? the love you two shared? old promises that could possibly be broken today?

...it doesn't matter. focus on the mission. focus on getting kafka the fuck out, and―

no, he couldn't.

not when he finally saw you.

when you ran after kafka when she made her escape, his signature weapon was unsheathed, pointed directly at you, forcing you to stop in your tracks.

"wait―!" you called out to kafka, but you felt something tug at your heartstrings. both fear, sorrow and happiness stirred inside of you...but you didn't know why.

although you were quite fixated on kafka's escape, it was like you were greeted with something more... more important than the mission itself. more than everything else in this world. that's what you felt, at least. maybe your friends didn't seem to think so, but... you certainly did.

"...huh?" you froze, and so did the world around you. your heartstrings continued to pull, and your heart began to race. you felt tears coming up, burning through your eyes as you fixated on the mere appearance of blade. you were confused...why were you feeling like this? why did you have a sudden urge to embrace this stranger that you never once met before? you felt your body move on its own, but you were stubborn.

you did not budge. not one bit.

but you were struggling. and he could see that.

...but he was struggling too. the man did not want to move, but he was in desperate need to grab you, to take you into his arms, to love on you like the old days,.

he lowered his sword, his eyes softening from the mere sight of you. you haven't changed one bit. you were always so beautiful, always so clever and always yourself. but now, things were different. you were still you, in a way, but you weren't there. you were no longer by his side. you were now living and fighting alongside with the express team.

something about this man, something about him... you tried to remember. but you can't. why can't you remember? you were able to remember some vivid images of his face in your mind but...it wasn't enough. just what is he? why can't you remember him? just―

"...who are you?" a soft whisper protrudes from your lips as you quietly took a step closer, knowing you were stepping into enemy territory. at this rate, he could stab you. he could lop that head of yours and call it a day. that's how dangerously close you both were from each other.

the man did not say anything in response, but the dull emotion visible through is golden oculars told a thousand stories.

...but he couldn't just let this go. he can't let you go. nobody else can have you. if your memories are erased? so be it. he can make new ones with you.

not when this was probably the only time he could see you like this. in person.

at least you were safe and sound. at least the express crew did something right he could agree with. they were keeping you safe, fed, clothed and they were taking care of you. something that he couldn't do.

taking a step closer, blade took you by your arm gently, tossing away the sword as a metallic clang echoed as it collided against the floor.

"ah―" his hands traveled to your waist and your shoulders, reeling you into a fiery, passionate kiss. he was hungry. to your confusion, you reciprocated this affection, as though you were accustomed to it. familiar to it. even so, you fought back due to your amnesia. your unfamiliarity to it all. "w-wait―"

you were unable to stop him or yourself, allowing your body to speak for you. that was when a hitched breath escaped you, your countenance flaring with warm, a flash of redness washing over your features as his lips came crashing onto the side of your neck. there were important matters to attend to, but you are his world. everything else didn't matter.

just you, and him.

"ah... w-wait...! wh―" you mewled, shuddering at this lips and teeth nibbling into the soft skin of your neck. he didn't listen, and neither did your body. you wanted this. you wanted him. you felt incited from all of this. heated, even. but even all good things come to an end.

he gently pushed you away, golden opticals eyeing at the mark he left you on your bare skin. a sweet little bruise accompanied by the markings of his teeth. a few drops of blood here and there, but it didn't quite matter. that mark on your neck was to show who you belonged to. he knew that a certain vidyadhara had a crush on you, so giving you a mark on your neck would ruin everything for him. you belonged to blade, after all. and nobody could touch another man's treasure.

you breathed, your chest rising and falling from heated breaths. your cheeks were red, your eyes were a bit wide. what had happened? you were trying to process your thoughts.

licking his lips with a faint smirk, blade bent down to retrieve his sword, taking a step back.

"y/n." he finally decided to speak, taking another step back. "you don't remember anything. your amnesia your backbone. yet, your body remembers it all."

a grin. a malicious grin.

"even if you cannot remember me, my name, or the promises we made back then, i will say this," another step back, "no matter where you go, y/n, you rightfully belong to me, my love. you do not have a place by anyone's side but mine. we will see each other again," he turned his back towards you, "and once we do...it will be different."

"wait―!"

you reached your hand out to stop blade, but it was too late, he had already made his escape as well. leaping off the platform, he gracefully exited the premises with his comrade, leaving you starstruck and confused by the situation.

...despite your confusion, you were excited for the next encounter. you lifted a hand, placing it atop of the bruise that he left behind on that sweet neck of yours.

...right.

you were his.

#honkai star rail #blade x reader #hsr x reader #hsr blade #honkai star rail blade #blade honkai star rail

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gothgril69 · 5 months

Text

Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: light smut MDNI

Chapter Length: 6.4k

ao3 link

You keep your eyes closed as you smack your lips together, your mouth as dry as a desert. Grainy sand sticks to your skin, under your clothes, and all you can smell is the salty, pungent air of the sea. You crack one eye open, instantly blinded by the white of the sun, and try your best to squint as you adjust to the light with your hand in front of your face.

The sand is almost yellowish underneath you – much different than the white sands of Mirlenas. You don’t know what Kaslogon looks like, but you can only hope that you made it to your destination along with everyone else. You feel disgusting – your mouth feels like there’s cotton in it, and your senses are barely coming to you. You can feel how disheveled your hair is, and all you can think about is how uncomfortable you are until–

“Miss?” a small voice makes your body jerk upright, frantically looking for the sound.

A little boy stands a few meters away, a stick in his hand and his red hair is getting tousled in the wind. He’s wearing plain brown trousers, and a loose white blouse that flutters in the breeze. His feet are bare, and it looks like he was just kneeling down in the sand moments ago.

“Where am I?” you ask. Your senses are finally coming to you; the overbearing storm, the waves crashing against the boat, that blissful feeling of limbo before you’re carried– “Were there any other survivors?” you ask urgently, working on standing up as you push your hands into the sand.

He looks at you like you’ve gone mad and runs the opposite direction.

“Hey!” you shout. “Wait!” But you don’t have the energy to chase him. You all but collapse back to the ground.

All you can hope for is that the rest of the crew made it out alive, that the Captain managed to dock the ship somewhere on the coast. You hope Levi is okay, and as you think about it tears spring to your eyes. You hope he’s alive, that he was safe on the ship or he made it to some beach just like you have. You sniff, and attempt to wipe off the sand from your damp skirts – it’s useless.

“Miss?” A woman’s voice sounds from behind you and you whip your head around to see. The little boy seems to have brought his parents, and he’s holding both of their hands as they walk towards you. “Are ye alright?”

“Where am I?” you ask again. You’re fine.

The woman looks over at her husband. “Navarre,” she tells you as she makes it to your side – that explains her accent. She kneels down to help you. “You must be with the rest of ‘em.”

“The rest?” you ask her, eyes wide. Did they make it? Is everyone alright? Is Levi alright? Erwin–

“The ship crashed just ova’ theer,” she tells you, pointing down the beach to an area you can’t see. “Come. We’ll make ye some supper’”

You accept her help, and offer her husband a brief nod. The boy won’t stop staring at you, but he seems curious as he peeks around his father’s leg.

“Theer’s a man that’s out right losin’ his mind ova’ theer,” her husband speaks up. “Maybe you know what’s wrong wit’ him. We got to him first, but he wanted to look on the beach– I’m assumin’ for ye.”

You try not to break out into a sprint, knowing your body can’t handle it. It has to be Levi, and you feel your heart seize with the possibility of seeing him again.

They lead you off the beach and you soon see a decent sized house along the coastline. There’s figures lingering nearby and your heart beat increases as you see the crashed ship on the shore.

“We’ve fed ‘em a bit,” the woman speaks up again. “The lot of ye are just too worked up for some of ye to eat properly.”

You don’t answer her, not when you can see familiar faces coming closer. Your soldiers are eating, and you can just make out Hange’s glasses glinting in the sun. One lens seems to be missing, but at least they managed to hold onto them. You can’t find Erwin, and the closer you get you realize you can’t find Levi either.

Connie turns his head, eyes going wide when he sees you. “Shit!”

All eyes turn to you, and you’re practically bombarded by familiar faces as the three Navarre natives step out of the way so they’re not trampled. There’s a jumbled mess of voices, everyone speaking at once, and you’re overwhelmed. You’ve barely regained consciousness and you can feel how weak your body is – you need food, and probably a good sleep.

“Oi!” Levi’s voice cuts through the air and you feel as though your heart drops to your stomach. The crowd parts, mutters of “sorry” and “we’re glad you’re okay” mumbled to you as Levi practically pushes Sasha and Connie away from you.

His face is relieved, but still guarded in front of everyone, and his hair is so uncharacteristically disheveled that you would laugh if you weren’t so exhausted. You briefly catch a glimpse of Erwin behind him, ensuring that you’re okay without intruding. Levi’s shirt is half unbuttoned, his trousers are covered in sand still and his clothing is slightly damp like yours. He couldn’t have been brought here much sooner than yourself.

You all but collapse into him when he’s close enough, wrapping your arms around his neck to barely support yourself while his arms around your torso do most of the work. You want to kiss him, to hold him so closely to you and never let go, but you refrain while you’re in front of the dispersing soldiers. For now you relish in the feeling of him supporting your weak body.

“Levi,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m here,” he whispers to you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You separate, and before you can think about it he’s lifting you up in his arms to carry you into the seaside home your hosts have graciously offered you. You let your head rest against his chest, his strong heartbeat calming you down as he holds you. He takes you straight to the small washroom in the house, clear traces of other soldiers cleaning up and sand left behind. Levi gently sets you down, keeping his hands on your waist to keep you stable.

“You’re okay?” you ask him, looking up into his eyes as you support yourself against the wall and he closes the door.

“I’m okay,” he reassures you. He brushes his thumb along your cheek, his eyes darting around your features as if he’s checking to see if you’re really there. “Petra is getting you warm water. She can help you bathe.” He kisses your forehead.

Your eyes close as you nod, grateful to be in his presence again.

Levi helps Petra carry in the water to the metal tub in the washroom, filling it with warm water so you can take a much needed bath. He gives a small nod to her on his way out.

“Can I get ye a cup of tea?” the woman asks Levi, and he let’s out a sigh of relief.

“Please,” he sighs. “Thank you, Mrs..?”

“MacLerie, Isla MacLerie.” She smiles at him. “My husband is Graham.”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” Erwin chimes in behind Levi, nodding to Mrs. MacLerie.

You’ve been asleep for two hours when Levi feels like he can finally breathe again. Mrs. MacLerie had made him a cup of tea, and while it wasn’t the same quality he was used to in Mirlenas, he enjoyed it all the same as he sat across from Erwin at the rectangular dining table.

“She’s alright?” Erwin asks him, concern evident in his tone and on his features.

“Yeah.” Levi takes a sip of his tea. “Physically she’s fine, but she’ll be an utter mess when she finds out about Marco.”

“He was a good kid,” Erwin says. He leans back in his chair, abandoning his own tea on the table.

Levi scoffs. “She loves those kids. She’s going to blame herself.” Levi knows you’ll feel like you could have done more.

“She’ll learn with time that will wear her down,” Erwin hums. He looks lost in thought as he stares down at the table.

“What?” Levi asks sharply. He knows that look.

Erwin looks up abruptly and sits up straighter when he realizes Levi has been scrutinizing him. “I’m just glad she’s alive.”

“And?”

“Auguste would kill me in the afterlife if she wasn’t,” Erwin laughs humorlessly. “I should have been there, should’ve kept both of you safe.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” Levi grumbles. “She’s strong. She would’ve made it no matter what.”

He tries not to think about how close he was to losing you, how helpless you looked tied up in ropes in the middle of the sea. He tries not to think about how his lungs burned and how helpless he felt until he broke the surface of the water. And he tries not to think about how helpless he would be without you – he doesn’t think he could go on.

“You are too,” Erwin says quietly.

Levi takes a sip of his tea and looks out the kitchen window.

—

You don’t know what time it is when you wake up, but you think it’s morning from the way the sun pierces through the window in the room you’re sleeping in. You’re not sure how long you’ve slept, but now that you have you’re eager to move on from here – whether that’s to Kaslogon or the capital of Navarre – Nala – you’re not sure.

There’s soft murmurs in the next room, but you can’t tell who they belong to. You’re grateful for the new clothing Mrs. MacLerie had given you to wear – being able to salvage your corset and only replace your skirts was helpful – and you push the blankets off your body. You still feel a bit wobbly on your feet, but you blame being out at sea for a month.

The floorboards creak under your feet as you stand and make your way to the door, eagerly pushing it open and following the path of the hallway to the main room. All conversation stops as all heads turn to you.

Mister and Missus MacLerie bow. “We had no idea you were royalty, Your Majesty.”

You frown. “Please, at ease,” you tell them. “I am grateful for your hospitality. You owe us nothing.” They nod and stand up straight – you’re grateful. You turn to Erwin and Levi who are watching the interaction from the kitchen table. “Erwin, do we have a plan of action?” You take a seat next to Levi, across from Erwin, and he places a hand on your thigh out of sight from the rest of the soldiers in the room that seem to be preoccupied anyway.

“We do,” Erwin starts, “but we do have casualties.”

Your stomach drops, and you don’t miss the glare Levi sends his way. “Casualties?” You look around the room and notice that Jean, Connie, and Marco aren’t in the room. You saw Connie earlier– “Don’t… Marco and Jean?”

“Marco,” Levi says quietly next to you.

You can feel the tears brimming your eyes, and it takes all your strength to hold them back. You hate this cruel world for taking so many innocent lives, so many sweet human beings that should be left on this earth.

“Jean was close to him,” Erwin continues. “It’s no ones fault. He was brave.”

“And for what?” you ask snarkily. “It could all be for nothing.” You push your chair back to stand up. “Our journey has been delayed by who knows how long. This could be absolutely pointless. We–”

“Aeron,” Erwin interrupts, the same way Auguste used to.

“Do not interrupt me,” you snap. “At this point we will be too late.”

“We are going to Nala,” Erwin continues, unphased by you. “Plans change.”

Your hosts leave the room, allowing you to converse with Erwin and Levi freely as your own soldiers find things to do outside. You’re angry, scared, and anxious to solve your problems. Zeke Jaeger could have killed his own family at this point and you would have no idea. It would make it difficult to negotiate with a tyrant, and no doubt would it end up in war. You can only hope Queen Historia and Ymir would know more information and you can admit that Erwin is right – it would be more efficient to meet with them in Nala to restock and then go to the capital of Kaslogon – Zaramunz.

Levi is quiet most of the time, but you know he agrees with Erwin’s plan. He would support you if you insisted on not following it, but you would be stupid not to – Erwin was Commander for a reason.

The conversation ends with a plan to go to Nala to restock on supplies and gain information, then you would head to Zaramunz as quickly as possible to try and prevent the war from furthuring.

You’ve sat back in your chair by now, and you tip your head back with a sigh, facing the ceiling.

“I apologize,” you say after a moment of silence, lifting your head back up and looking across the table at Erwin. You can tell he’s trying his best to be there for you, trying to fill the shoes that Auguste once did – he’s starting to resemble the father figure your brother had tried so hard to be. “You’ve been nothing but helpful, and I snapped.”

“I’ve never expected you to not have emotions,” Erwin comments, brows dipped slightly with compassion. “It’s overwhelming, but you should also know we’ll be paying our respects to Marco this evening before we move out at dawn.”

You nod, and get up to leave the room. Levi’s soft footsteps follow behind you as you trail outside.

“It’s not your fault,” Levi says. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I’m the reason we’re on this journey,” you scoff, walking towards the beach and past all the soldiers. They cast small looks they think you don’t notice. “All so I can negotiate with a man who most likely won’t listen.”

You trail through the long grass, down a small hill so you’re out of view from the rest of them, and stop on the edge so your boots don’t touch the sand – you’ve had enough sand. Levi stands next to you.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Levi mutters.

“I’m the reason you barely made it out of that ocean alive,” you choke out – you’re starting to cry. “You saved me because I was the idiot that wouldn’t listen! I should’ve stayed under the deck.”

“And we might have had a fate similar to Marco,” Levi responds instantly, turning his body to face you. “He followed the rules and it got him killed. Who’s to say it wouldn’t have happened to us?” He brings a hand up, turning your face so you’ll look him in the eyes with a thumb and finger grabbing your chin. “You’re alive. I promised I would protect you.”

You close your eyes and try to calm your breathing so your tears will go away. “I don’t know if I can do it, Levi,” you admit with your eyes still closed. “I felt so at peace when I was under the water. I could finally escape it all.” You open your eyes to look back at him and see tears forming on his waterline, his face blank. “I saw Auguste and Theo, but they looked so sad to see me– like it wasn’t my time.”

“I’m sorry– I had to,” Levi whispers.

“I’m glad you saved me.” You say instantly. “I was so relieved when I found you. I– I don’t want to be without you.”

His hand drops, and he doesn’t say anything as he looks to the side out at the ocean. “We’re going to get through it because we have to,” he says quietly. “We’re stronger than that.”

“I know,” you whisper, letting your eyes drop to the ground. You clench your fists by your side. “We are.”

You close your eyes. It’s all so overwhelming, but you’re doing this for Auguste and Theo. You’re doing this for your country. You’re doing this for Erwin and Levi.

You’re doing this for you.

You look up and tilt Levi’s face towards you to press your lips to his, meeting him with a fervent kiss that lights your insides on fire. His reaction is instantaneous and he grabs the nape of your neck and the side of your face to pull you close, the urgency clear in the way he holds you. The stress from earlier pours out from both of you, turning into a melting pot of desire and lust just to relieve some of the pain that’s been brought. It’s hot, and it’s messy, but it’s everything you need.

“Can’t wait,” you breathe out in between. His bare skin against yours, his lips pressed to every inch of you, you need him inside you, to hold you close as he bites the nape of your neck.

“You can,” he responds. His lips move to your jaw and then trail down to your throat where he nips at your skin. You let out a breathy moan, relishing in the feeling of Levi’s hands and lips all over your skin. His hands move down to your hips and he pulls you flush with his to rut against you. You desperately need him.

“Levi,” you plead. “I need you.”

He groans. “Don’t do this, mon cœur.” He moves his lips back up to your own and you whimper against his mouth.

Your hand travels to his front, between your bodies, and you palm his growing erection through his trousers, eliciting a throaty moan from him. “Touch me,” you beg. He feels larger than you thought he would be, than what your novels had described, and your clit throbs at the thought. God, you hope no one walks over here.

“You’re ruining me,” he moans and a hand travels to the front of your skirt where he eagerly hikes the fabric up your leg. He finally gets the bunch of cloth up and you feel his cool fingertips graze the hot skin of your thigh, a gentle touch that sends sparks up your spine.

“Yes,” you gasp. His fingers lightly brush against your clit and you whimper. He’s looking at you through hooded eyes, holding you close enough to him with one hand on your waist as the other begins touching you. You’ve lost all concentration as you stare into his grey eyes, his fingers putting more pressure on you.

“Have you done this before?” he asks, but he knows the answer – he’s heard you before when you foolishly left your balcony doors open. You blush furiously, and he takes the opportunity of your distraction to push his fingers through your folds and over your quivering hole. “You have,” he hums. “Fingering yourself with your balcony doors wide open. You’re lucky no one else heard.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but you gasp instead as his middle finger slips inside you. He heard you. You grab his wrist as he begins pumping in and out. “Mmph,” you choke out. “Levi.”

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he groans. “So wet. Are you this wet when you touch yourself?”

“No– no only when you do,” you gasp as he inserts a second finger and curls upward. His thumb rubs against your clit in circles and your legs feel weak.

“What have you done to me,” he groans out as you touch him through his trousers again. “You better hope no one comes over here.”

“Then make me cum,” you moan.

He uses his other hand to grab your throat instead of your waist, just enough to where you feel the pressure, and pumps his fingers deep inside you as he pulls you into him with your pussy. He’s stroking you so perfectly, reaching a spot you never could with your own hand, and you feel yourself getting pushed over the edge when he presses his lips to yours.

You gush all over his hand, your clit throbbing as he guides you through it and you keep your lips pressed to his to hide your cries. He pulls his fingers out of you when he feels that you’ve stopped squeezing his fingers, but he kisses you languidly, appreciating you. You look absolutely dazed when he pulls back and brushes your hair behind your ear – you’ve left it down since you’ve bathed.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs mindlessly, thinking out loud.

You let out a breathy laugh as you lean your forehead against his. “I feel awful for doing that,” you tell him truthfully. “I should be mourning, and instead I’m getting pleasured by you.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You can do both, you know.”

You lean back and notice his flushed cheeks, and when you look down you see the bulge under his trousers – he adjusts it. “I can repay you tonight,” you offer. You desperately want to feel him, to maybe even taste him.

“You don’t need to do that.” He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. “We need the rest tonight.” He drops his hand in favor of wiping his other one off with a handkerchief – you blush.

He guides you in the direction of the house to begin your walk back. Your soldiers have begun to build a fire and as you look around you see Erwin speaking with Hange – you realize you haven’t seen the Captain and his men. You join them by the side of the house.

“Did the Captain and his men make it?” you ask once you and Levi are standing in front of the duo.

“There were a couple casualties, but the Captain decided to move on to the nearest port town as soon as possible,” Erwin answers. You nod thoughtfully – it makes sense.

“I believe we’ll be in a position to ask Navarre for a favor,” Hange speaks up. “We could repay them easily, and it’s not as if Kaslogon has been their allies. Kaslogon is on their own whether it’s Grisha or Zeke sitting on the throne.”

“You really think they’d bother?” you inquire. “Navarre hasn’t had as much influence in the war as Mirlenas.”

“Navarre is their neighbor. They’d be happy to have Kaslogon under control– especially if we can prevent Zeke from becoming a conquering tyrant,” Hange says. “Navarre is in danger of Kaslogon overtaking them.”

“And you think they’ll work with us? We aren’t necessarily their allies.” You’re skeptical to say the least. They were never friendly with your father, but Auguste always had plans to create a stronger relationship with them. Maybe you can do the same.

“You being on the throne changes things,” Hange answers with a grin. “They’ll love you much more than your father.” They laugh.

“We can make it work,” Erwin says confidently.

—

You can’t help the tears that form at your waterline as you watch the burning fire, the flames dancing wildly and mocking you with their radiance. You feel empty, and you barely feel the comforting hand Levi has placed on the small of your back as Erwin makes the best speech he can under the circumstances. You try not to look at Jean, you try not to notice the tears that pool on his own waterline, or the way he clenches his jaw as he stares deep into the fire. Connie and Sasha offer comforting hands to hold for him and you’re grateful for your tight knit group of soldiers.

You’re looking forward to getting on the move again, and you’re determined to make the journey to Nala tomorrow a quick one. You’re nervous for how they might receive you, but the circumstances justify your hasty unplanned visit.

When the small ceremony is over you make your way inside, forever grateful that the MacLeries have offered their home to you. Levi guides you to your room, solemn silence filling the air, and when he’s about to leave you reach out to him.

“Stay, please,” you tell him, because you can’t fathom being alone again.

You’re standing in the middle of the room, a hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him from reaching for the closed door. There’s one bed, but does it really matter at this point? Your traditional parents would riot if they knew any of the things you’ve done.

“You’re sure?” he asks softly, hesitant, and ready to leave if you tell him to despite how much you can see it in his eyes that he would love nothing more than to be by your side.

You tug on his wrist as a response, requesting that he gets ready for bed with you. His hands find your waist, and he places a soft, gentle kiss on your lips before slowly turning you around to untie the lace of your corset. His nimble fingers are swift, but careful, as he takes the laces out so you can grab it to set it aside. You lift your skirts off without looking back at him, and you hear his shaky breath as he unties the skirt support around your hips.

You’re practically bare in front of him, only wearing the thin cotton chemise Mrs. MacLerie had washed up for you, and you’re scared to turn around to face him. His hands trail across your abdomen, up to your ribs and just below your breasts to hold you close to him. You place a hand on his just as the other lifts up, ghosting across your nipple and up to your neck where he sweeps your hair to the side, enabling access to your skin.

His lips press softly to the side of your neck, the light sweep of his tongue making you shiver just slightly – he pulls you closer to his chest. “My sweet girl,” he mumbles into your skin and you feel your heart thump harder.

His lips trail along, always soft and gentle as he leaves small kisses on your skin, and when his lips ghost against the nape of your neck you let out a breathy moan. “Levi,” you breathe. You want him to take you here and now, to claim you as his and mate you with a bite to the nape of your neck as his cock penetrates you as deep as possible. You want to cum around him, for him to feel your walls clench around him and for his cum to spurt inside you, filling you until your tummy bloats.

He kisses that spot. “Going to claim you one day,” he whispers through his small kisses. “God, I can’t wait for you to be mine.” He has no idea – you whimper and expose your neck to him more.

He leaves one last kiss and slowly spins you around to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown out, and he’s looking at you with so much love in his eyes that it pierces through the lust that’s clouding the room. His hands leave their spot on your ribs and trail upwards, gently rubbing his thumbs against your pert nipples. “I’m always yours,” you whisper to him, practically confessing that you love him – you’ve always cared for him, and you know he knows that.

He gives you a rare small smile, and his hands grasp your face as he kisses your forehead. “We should sleep,” he tells you, and you know he’s right.

Sleeping comfortably is easy when Levi keeps you warm, his body radiating heat that you find yourself curling into, despite the lingering thoughts in your head about Zeke.

—

It takes two days to reach Nala despite you hoping for it to be a shorter journey – Erwin’s predictions were typically correct. You’re nervous as you trot through the outskirts of the capitol, unsure of how you’ll be received. Your cloak shadows your face to hide your identity from the townsfolk, although you’re almost positive no one would recognize the Queen of Mirlenas here. Levi and Erwin had insisted, with Erwin ensuring your face was covered enough just like Auguste would have while Levi watched him fret over you – even if Erwin didn’t realize what he was doing.

It was odd seeing this side of him; the side that’s not just the Commander and maybe the side of him that Auguste had fallen for. He cares deeply for those around him, cares about you and perhaps it’s just due to the feeling of owing your brothers his guardianship over you, but you appreciate his compassion. He remains strict and stoic in front of your soldiers, but you know Levi has seen the way he gravitates towards taking care of you, how he might feel like you’re the only thing he has left to protect to fill his heart again. You wonder if this is what it’s like to have a father, but you suppose you’ve always had unconventional figures for that, Auguste practically filling that role already in a different sense.

The landscape has been so different from Mirlenas, making the journey interesting enough as your borrowed horses trek along. Rolling hills with swaying green grass allow feed for the horses after tiring days of travel, and the large forest you traveled through to get to the outskirts of Nala were easy enough to navigate. The trees had towered over you, so high you had to crane your neck just to see the tops swaying above you, but the forest ground was mostly clear with naturally cleared dirt and ferns.

Your soldiers made a barricade around you as you found the main dirt road that would lead you to the castle walls Queen Historia and Ymir resided in. Erwin and Hange led the group, with Levi, Eld, Gunther, Oluo, and Petra behind you. The youngest of your soldiers flanked both sides, Armin and Mikasa to your left with Jean, Connie, and Sasha to your right – you try not to think about how there should be one more on your left. Erwin reassured you that this was only a precaution, stating that he wasn’t entirely sure where Navarre’s alliances resided now or if they would welcome you with hostility.

You could hardly see around Erwin’s broad shoulders and Hange’s taller frame as you tried to peek around them to the gates of the castle grounds. It was clear they were waiting for you as four more soldiers joined the two that had been standing guard themselves as you approach.

“Halt!” a deep baritone voice shouts out when you’re about 10 meters away, firearms raised by all six soldiers. “State your name and business.”

Erwin speaks first. “We’ve come to speak with Queen Historia and Ymir–”

“Absolutely not!” another voice sounds, two soldiers stepping forward.

The tension in the air is palpable, all hands on holstered weapons as your soldiers stare down at the muskets pointed in your direction. Erwin has been interrupted, and you can see the gears turning in his head as he debates on revealing your identity.

You do it for him.

You pull back the hood of your cloak. “I am Queen of Mirlenas,” you state calmly, loud enough for them to hear – you hear Levi let out a small grunt of disapproval behind you, and his sword being unsheathed. Erwin and Hange part for you as you hop down from your horse. “I’m sure they will be eager to hear what I have to say.”

When you walk towards them, clearly unarmed and identity revealed, their muskets lower as they exchange looks of uncertainty. You hear the man with the deep voice command one of the more tentative guards to alert the queens of your presence, never taking his eyes off you.

“What business does the Queen of Mirlenas have in Navarre?” he asks. There’s a scowl on his face, jaw set as he clenches it while regarding you with animosity. His nose twitches, and the slight breeze in the air pushes his straight blond hair back from his eyes enough so you can see the skepticism in his blue eyes.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” you state evenly, tilting your head as you analyze him. “What’s your name?”

“Once the Queens approve your visit you may know my name,” he states plainly.

You nod. “Very well then.” You spin on your heel and walk back to your soldiers, meeting Levi’s gaze as soon as you do now that he’s moved positions.

He’s standing in front of Erwin, sword unsheathed and another ready to draw his second. He looks angry, eyebrows downturned into a scowl you haven’t seen directed towards you in ages, but you don’t let him break your resolve. You walk until you’re by his side, turning so you’re facing the brute of a guard stilling glaring at you from the front gates.

Levi leans over, turning his head slightly to whisper in your ear, “That was foolish.”

You keep your face steeled while you’re being watched, despite the urge to turn to him with a scowl on your face. “Don’t tell me you doubt me now,” you speak low enough for only him to hear.

He turns his gaze back towards the guard. “Erwin had it under control,” he scolds. “You can’t–”

“We can discuss this later,” you snap, still quiet enough, but now with a scowl on your face as you turn your head fully to the side to look at him. You scoff quietly and turn forwards again. “Erwin was about to do it anyway,” you grumble.

Before Levi can respond there’s commotion behind the gates, and the man finally takes his eyes off you to open them fully to reveal Queen Historia and Ymir themselves. You immediately walk forwards, your soldiers following closely behind – especially Levi, who hasn’t left your side.

“Queen Aeron,” Historia greets cheerfully, curtseying as Ymir stands still by her side. “We were not expecting a visit from you, but I’ve heard about your family– my deepest condolences.”

You curtsey back, lifting your cotton skirts that don’t compare to Historia’s fine silks. “Thank you, Queen Historia. It’s a pleasure to meet you– you as well, Queen Ymir.”

“Please come in!” Historia chirps, gesturing for you to enter the castle grounds.

You don’t make a step when Ymir speaks up. “What business could you possibly have with us?” She’s scowling at you. “I understand you’re new to being Queen, but perhaps you could have had the basic knowledge of sending a letter to inform us of your arrival.”

“I understand your hesitancy, but I would love to explain the circumstances under less watchful eyes,” you glance over at their guards and take a step forward to follow Historia’s invitation.

Ymir steps in front of you, close enough for you to feel her body heat, and the next thing you know Levi’s sword is being pointed at her throat and he wraps an arm around you, a hand landing on your hip, to pull you to his side. It happens so quickly you don’t realize their guards have raised their muskets again, and your own soldiers have drawn their weapons as well.

“Do not attempt to intimidate my Queen,” Levi seethes at Ymir. They glare at each other intensely as he holds his sword to her neck and she fearlessly stares back at him.

“Levi,” you slowly say his name – he doesn’t budge. “Lower your weapon.”

“Ymir,” Historia whispers.

Levi reluctantly does as you say, albeit a bit slowly, but his arm remains around you even when Ymir takes two steps back to be by Historia’s side once again. Her eyes drop to his hand on your hip, and a smirk forms on her face as she looks between you and Levi.

“I see,” she says slyly. “You’re in love with your mutt here.”

You scowl at her as Historia scolds her. “Ymir,” she huffs. Levi’s hand drops from your hip as she turns to look at you. “Let’s discuss this inside. My guards will guide your soldiers to resupply and eat after your journey here.”

“She doesn’t go anywhere without me,” Levi immediately states, and you can’t tell if he’s acting as your Chevalier at the moment, or if his personal feelings are influencing him.

Ymir scoffs as Historia gives him a small smile. “Of course,” she says gently. “Our guard will be joining us as well, do not worry. Miche?” You give the blond man a look of satisfaction after finding out his name – he only returns it with a scowl.

You and Historia walk side by side through the gates, joined by Ymir on her left and Levi on your right as Miche follows behind. You hear the quiet conversation between him and your Marquis and Brigadier as Erwin engages in purely diplomatic speech.

The castle grounds are clearly different than your own in Mirlenas, favoring the natural landscapes of Navarre more than your own country embraced their own. Instead of the pale stones used at home, large misshapen stones create walls, their dark surfaces covered in moss and scars from erosion. The path you walk on is the same red dirt in the forests, packed down to create a solid walkway to the large main doors of the castle. They’ve been left natural, red wood held together by black metal fixtures and you notice that the smaller country is modest when revealing their wealth.

You and Historia make idle chitchat as she guides the group to the large doors, happily engaging in diplomacies you typically hate. Ymir broods next to her the same way Levi does next to you.

Two guards open the doors wide for your arrival, and you speak up before you enter. “My Marquis and Brigadier will be joining as well,” you state to Historia. “We are here to discuss political matters.”

You hesitate.

“We are supposed to be in Zaramund.”

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #aot levi #levi attack on titan #fanfic #levi ackerman x female reader #levi smut #fic update #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader smut #royalty au #historical au

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adore-laur · 5 months

Text

SUNSTRUCK

— a sensual addition to southpaw 🌞

——

TODOS SANTOS, 1992

Palms slick with saltwater spread atop the surfboard floating in Mexico's turquoise ocean, its waxed surface scorching to the touch as it sparkles underneath the smoldering sun. Heaving himself up with taut and tanned arms, Harry switches out the cool engulfment for a beating heat that strikes his skin just right. Droplets cascade down the toned muscles of his back. Freckles that have come out of hiding dot his face in scattered clusters. The ultraviolet rays of June naturally bleach his tuft baby hairs blond.

He's unequivocally thriving, surrounded by a yellow aura gleaming brilliantly in the daylight.

Lying on his stomach, he manually paddles over to where Sawyer is supine on her pink inflatable raft. With a caramel-colored complexion and slim, silky legs that shimmer from the start of a sun-drenched summer, she resembles a solstitial vision for the ages. She has never looked more relaxed in all the years he's known her for. Her limbs that soak up splashes of Vitamin D are loose and not tense from working stationary hours at her office desk. There's no wrinkled crease of frustration between her eyebrows that needs to be smoothed out, nor is there a troubled frown pulling at her lips that needs to be lifted. She's in her own bubble of iridescent ecstasy.

This hush-hush getaway has rejuvenated their souls. The lush ocean breeze and visually flamboyant architecture lured them like they were a message in a bottle destined for the shoreline. Harry finally has uninterrupted time to spend with Sawyer in private in a nestled town where no one knows his name. Domesticity has already begun blooming in the desert bungalow where they're staying. Whispered confessions of love and gratitude spoken around the rims of coffee mugs. Waking up with her in his snuggly embrace is a luxury he's still getting used to. Kisses followed by wandering hands careen lazy mornings and sleepless nights. Their relationship is flourishing every day, and it feels like paradise.

As Sawyer tans like a sun goddess, Harry grows increasingly bored. The sluggish waves weren't nearly powerful enough to triumphantly catch, so he resorted to catching some rays instead. It didn't pan out too well because now his back is burning, and his girlfriend isn't paying attention to him. It's a deadly combination he needs to fix pronto.

"Sawyer," he says, peskily flicking water at her. "There's a shark behind you."

Opening her pretty brown irises shielded with cat-eye sunglasses, she flips him off and grouses, "You're not funny."

Harry smoothly straddles his surfboard and points past her. "I'm serious. Don't move, okay? I can see its fin circling."

It only takes a single second for her precious face to drop. She timidly shifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and stares at him in terror. "Is there really?" she whispers as if the non-existent shark is eavesdropping on the two lovers. "What do we do, Harry? Oh no, what do we do?"

To not crack a mischievous grin severely tests his might. "I'll grab you and take you to land. Don't worry, baby."

"We can't!" she tells him urgently, her voice rising to a whisper-shout. Thankfully, she doesn't dare turn around to see if they're actually in grave danger. "It'll follow us if we move. We have to be smart about this."

Harry dramatically looks off into the distance like he's in a film playing a determined survivor lost at sea. "If this is the last time we see each other," he declares with faux valor, "I want to die knowing I tried saving you."

Sawyer gawks at his morbid statement. He thought it was romantic. "Are you out of your mind? Don't say things like that!"

There's a slight growl to her tone, and she appears borderline petrified, so he abandons his silly prank. He's close enough to her raft to stretch his body forward and lift her, so he does, but not before humming the menacing Jaws theme and wiggling his fingers in her direction. She looks bewildered as he grips her waist and carefully transfers her to his surfboard. Once she's sat in front of him, he clings to her like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, his perspiring chest pressed flat against her back.

"Hi," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. "There's no shark. I just wanted to be near you."

Sawyer stills, then hastily unwinds his arms from around her. "You're so annoying," she whines, harmlessly slapping his thigh and grabbing her raft so it doesn't drift away.

Harry cups her jaw and tilts her head toward him. "You love me. I annoy the hell out of you, yet you can't get enough of me."

Glancing at his lips, she situates herself in his lap and smiles. "It's true. My sunray makes me happy even when he's a complete ditz."

Harry suddenly doesn't know how to speak, too enraptured by her natural beauty paired with a doe-eyed gaze that melts him like an ice cube on a sizzling driveway. Those brown eyes could get him to do anything she desired. Does she know that? Does she see the influence she has over him? Does she know nothing made sense in his life before he met her?

Unable to express his undying commitment to her without stumbling over his words, he utters a simple and sincere, "I love you."

Sawyer places her hand over his heart. "I know it."

Eventually, the rolling tide brings them back to the shore. The Baja California peninsula's tip possesses powdery sand grains that carry on for miles. This particular beach, Punta Lobos, is a hidden gem, and no tourists infest the area during the week. Rocky bluffs border the water, and the occasional hiker will admire the oceanic view from their advantage point before retreating down the trail behind the cliffs. Other than that, there's no one lurking around and disturbing the peace.

Harry and Sawyer lie side by side, sand sticking to their wet skin as the foamy waves barely reach their toes. Their fingers instinctively interlock, palms smoother due to being immersed in saltwater for hours, and something about it sends a firecracker shooting off in Harry's heart. Sawyer's skin after sunbathing is always gorgeous — golden, silken, and stamped with secret birthmarks only he knows the locations of.

He suddenly feels hot all over. Blazing sunbeams mixed with coursing dopamine are making him antsy. Trying to ignore his straying thoughts only worsens the constriction.

Looking over at his girl, Harry swallows and swipes his thumb across her chin to garner her undivided attention. She squints and beams angelically at him, a sheen of sweat gracing her cheekbones.

"Pretty girl," he says, his knuckles tracing the shape of her jaw. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about where our next destination should be."

"Nowhere. Let's stay here forever."

Sawyer ruffles his wavy hair. "And do what?"

A thousand scenarios whip around in his brain, and he ends up settling on asking his favorite question. "Wanna make out?"

Her plump lips instantly melt into a blissful smile. She rolls over on top of Harry's body, her syrupy skin adhering to his as she clasps his cheeks with her hands. She grants him his wish, coaxing warm and salty kisses from his mouth. His greedy hands roam the back of her thighs, trailing them up and down her sun-kissed flesh. Her ankles prop up and cross over each other, and she hums into his mouth as their craving kisses deepen. The pendant with his first initial that rests perfectly between her clavicles reminds him she's not going anywhere, as does the ring he gifted her that's settled on her finger, the cool metal neutralizing his flaming body temperature.

The unfortunate cause of their breakaway isn't because their love-filled lungs are deprived of oxygen. It's because, after all, they're on a public beach, and the sound of distant chatter has them pulling apart as quick as a zap of lightning.

Sawyer stands, briskly adjusting her bikini straps and glancing around like what they were doing was a scornful obscenity. She's adorably flustered. On the other hand, Harry sits up and nonchalantly adjusts himself while pinching his swollen bottom lip. He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed excessive PDA isn't something Sawyer is necessarily comfortable with now that they're dating. She shies away from it, while he's quite the opposite. It's almost impossible to suppress the urge to touch and kiss her like there's no tomorrow, so he doesn't feel awkward about the innocuous disruption.

As he snatches his floral-patterned button-up that he left stranded on the sand and begins putting it back on, he spots his camcorder nearby. He brought it along to capture memories, which so far have mostly been of Sawyer in her feminine element—sunbathing on the poolside lounge chair with a magazine in her lap, curling her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, dancing and singing to "Venus" by Bananarama on the bungalow sofa.

She's the center of his universe. The summit of beauty and love.

His gaze flits between the device and Sawyer, who is now red in the face. It's amusing, so he brings the viewfinder up to his eye and presses the record button. He purses his lips to hide his growing smirk as he zooms in on the small group of people strolling to the coastline and then on her rattled reaction.

It doesn't take long for her to notice. She jogs over to block the lens with her hands, fretting, "Stop it! This is so humiliating."

Harry laughs, lifting the camcorder to a height she can't reach. Sawyer is looking at him unimpressed, her arms crossed, and her head tilted to the side. The people most definitely saw them being handsy and smitten out in the open, but what's there to be sheepish about? Love is meant to be shown to the world.

"Are you embarrassed?" he teases, dragging out the last word.

She raises her eyebrows and nods. A hint of a smile plays at her lips, but it doesn't seem genuine. It appears insistent, one of hidden discomfort.

Harry isn't a total space cadet, so he takes it as a cue to quit messing around and acknowledge her unspoken signals. He stops recording and drops the camera in the striped beach bag slung over her shoulder. He then tucks his surfboard under his armpit and offers Sawyer his free hand. The energy between them has shifted by a smidge, and he doesn't like it one bit. The grains of sand beneath his soles have somehow turned into eggshells within minutes.

"Ready to leave?" he asks. Sawyer nods again, still ominously silent, as she ignores his hand and fetches her deflating raft. "'Kay. Let's hit the road, then."

They arrive at the rental car, a vintage orange convertible that made his pockets hurt. Sawyer wanted it, and he couldn't refuse her. The hood is up in case of unpredictable weather, so Harry straps and fastens his surfboard to the top while Sawyer hops in the passenger seat, throws her raft in the backseat, and shimmies back into her daisy dukes.

Harry sits behind the steering wheel, his lanky limbs struggling to comfortably fit in the restricted space. The engine rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition, and he rolls the windows down before reversing out of the vacant parking lot. He peeks at Sawyer a few times as he merges onto the highway winding along the coast. She's staring at the desert landscape ahead that's saturated with a golden haze from the forthcoming sunset. Cacti and dead brush sizzle under the evening sun. Mountains tower over the feathery clouds. Vultures circle in the sky as roadrunners scurry along the pavement. It's stark scenery but nonetheless transcendent.

None of his surroundings matter, though, when his favorite person to talk to is overtly ignoring him. He tries to convince himself that maybe she's just tired. No, that can't be right. He knows her. She's affectionate when she hits a wall and cuddles up to him sweetly, clinging to his arm like a sloth on its beloved branch.

The truth is that he messed up.

Before he can dwell on every misstep he took in the past ten minutes, an earsplitting BOOM cuts through the atmosphere, followed by a rapid whooshing sound. Harry firmly clutches the wheel as the vehicle suddenly loses equilibrium. Without outwardly panicking, he takes his foot off the gas pedal and lets the car naturally slow down before pulling it off to the side of the road and braking lightly.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, heart thumping erratically. "Goddamnit. I think one of the tires just blew out."

Poor Sawyer has her eyes pinched shut and a death grip on his bicep. Harry snaps back to reality and kills the engine, listening for any odd sounds. Before he steps out, he gives the top of Sawyer's head a gentle, comforting noogie and murmurs, "It's okay. We're okay."

She shakily gets out with him and leans against the passenger side door, anxiously biting her polished fingernails while Harry perplexedly settles a hand on his hip and assesses the external damage. The front right tire looks like one of the clocks in Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory — sad, melted, and a surreal depiction of an unfavorable outcome.

He looks up and down the highway, finding no signs of any buildings, vehicles, or humans. Something he does see, however, is a broken beer bottle a couple of yards behind where they were driving a mere minute ago. Most of the shards of green glass are scattered along the edge of the road, yet a few stray pieces are lying in just the right place for any vehicle that comes racing down the highway. It's the perfect puncture for a not-so-perfect boyfriend already on thin ice. Karma must have a vendetta against him today, but he won't let it clip his wings. When life gives him lemons, he knows how to make a delectable pitcher of lemonade.

So, Harry does what he's best at: distracting his girlfriend. He can quickly turn this misfortune into something fun and make Sawyer forget about how sour the day has turned.

Swiping his sweaty forehead with his wrist, he huffs and gets to work. He's changed a few tires in his life, so it should be done in no time. First, he takes his shirt off so he doesn't get heatstroke. The humidity outside is brutal, causing sweat to bead by his hairline and on his back. He makes a show of slowly unbuttoning it and slinging the fabric over his shoulder. It's obvious Sawyer's gaze is locked on him. He's willing to admit he possesses vanity over his physicality, and it doesn't help that the girl watching him constantly feeds his ego.

Next, Harry takes his sweet time and saunters to the trunk, where the rental agency told him the spare tire is located. Lifting the trunk and flexing his arms, he opens the well to reveal the tire. There's also a jack and lug wrench that'll come in handy.

After gathering everything, he kneels on the blistering road, loosens the tire's lug nuts with the wrench, and then places the jack under the vehicle's frame. He stretches his arms above his head before using the jack to slightly lift the car off the ground. After removing the lug nuts, he removes the ruined tire, momentarily glancing at Sawyer as he breathes heavily from his body's exertion in the unbearable heat. She's in front of the car now, looking at the sunset that paints elegant splashes of pink and orange across the horizon.

Harry grunts as he tosses the tire aside. Sawyer glances back, and he doesn't miss how her eyes flick down to his abdomen, now slick with a sheen of sweat.

"Wanna learn how to do this?" he calls out, grunting again when he picks up the pristine spare.

He's given no response as he lines up the holes and pushes the tire into the wheelbase. His biceps flex with soreness, and when he peers up again, Sawyer still looks at him, her eyes communicating something obscure. They have a little stare-down until he can't take it anymore and begins replacing the lug nuts. His jaw is clenched as he works quickly to try to get to the bungalow as soon as possible so they can untangle this yarn of bizarre tension.

Once the tire is secure, the old one is thrown in the trunk, and the tools are all put away. Harry walks over to Sawyer. She's perched herself on the car's hood, picking at her cuticles. Standing in front of her, he places his hands on either side of her thighs, his shoulders taut as he watches her eyes dance over the sky behind him. He kisses the tender spot below her jawbone, tasting and smelling residual coconut tanning lotion left there. Goosebumps rise across the expanse of her neck like a swelling tidal wave, and Harry can't help but bury his face in it and whimper pitifully. He's like a needy puppy when she ignores him, pawing for the tiniest bit of love and attention.

"It's so hot out," he complains before sighing dramatically. "Let's head back."

Sawyer doesn't push him away, which counts as progress. "I want to watch the sun go down," she says, lost in thought. "Who knows the next time we'll be able to on an abandoned desert highway."

He won't argue with that. He doesn't need to nor necessarily want to. If Sawyer wants to soak in the sunset, he'll endure the feverish weather if it makes her happy. Besides, she's right; little precious moments, such as experiencing the sun dip below the horizon, leaving behind a new, wispy portrait of captivating colors each day, are worth pausing life from time to time.

Sealing a kiss on her forehead, Harry hops on the hood and settles beside her. "I'll never learn how to say no to you."

☼ ☼ ☼

Back at the secluded bungalow, an unorthodox band of tension is still waiting to be snapped.

Sawyer has started cooking dinner with the miscellaneous ingredients she purchased from the downtown market yesterday morning. Canola oil is popping and sizzling in a frying pan, and julienned bell peppers of various colors are ready to be sautéed. Harry took a quick shower to wash the ocean and sweat from his sunburnt skin and has since changed into a white long-sleeved button-up tucked into teal trousers. He also has a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to help relieve spending hours in saltwater and squinting under the blinding sun.

Sawyer is in a tight, cropped blue camisole with low-waisted silk pajama pants. Her hair is down, golden beach waves reaching the middle of her back as she maneuvers around the kitchen area. Harry observes her from the dining room table, not quite knowing how to initiate a conversation without stretching the metaphorical elastic too far. Or worse, past the point of no return.

He watches Sawyer tilt the cutting board over the pan so the peppers fall into it. They immediately crackle when introduced to the heat. She then takes a wooden spoon and stirs the vibrant vegetables, turning on the overhead stove fan so the smoke doesn't set any detectors off. She's still ignoring him, entirely focused on one task and pretending there's not an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed before the night concludes. Harry knows if he brings it up, she'll shut it down, say everything is fine, and insist she's not angry. She's a terrible liar, so he'll save that tactic for another argument.

As he stares at the back of her head, he realizes he doesn't like her version of the silent treatment. It's okay if she won't talk to him, but acting like he doesn't exist is ruthless. So, he walks over to her and wraps his arms around her slim waist. She tenses but continues mixing the peppers in silence.

Okay, that's definitely not the reaction he wanted. Not even an ounce of acknowledgment when he begins kissing her neck, taking his time loving on the beautiful ridges carved there.

"Slow dance with me," he murmurs pleadingly, squeezing her.

"I'm busy right now."

Now, don't get him wrong; he likes her stubbornness. He even finds it incredibly endearing to a degree. But when it's directed toward something he's clueless about, he finds himself having to coax an answer past her adamant walls of defense. Being candid doesn't always end well, so choosing the proper approach is crucial if he wants to crawl out of the hole he's dug himself into.

Harry reaches around her preoccupied figure to flick the stove's heat off. The blue flame vanishes, and the sizzling ceases, causing Sawyer to sigh heavily as she sets the wooden spoon off to the side. She still doesn't turn around, even when Harry moves her thick hair over her left shoulder and starts planting warm kisses further down her skin, slower and more intentionally. She smells like the ocean breeze at the height of summer, sweepingly refreshing and pure. He doesn't know how he went so long without touching her like this.

Light from a dying yet persistent sunset pours through the slanted ceiling window. The nearby radio quietly plays a mariachi song that doesn't fit the fraught mood. Upbeat and punchy, the music is supposed to evoke happiness and camaraderie. It falls short this time, but like before, lemons can always be turned into lemonade.

"Do you know how to Salsa?" Harry pipes up while stepping away, giving her room to breathe.

"How to make salsa?" Sawyer replies distractedly. She's begun garnishing the semi-cooked peppers with fresh oregano.

"No, how to dance the Salsa."

She drizzles more oil into the pan. Her hand hovers over the stove's knob to light the flame again, but she retracts and mutters, "Um, not really."

Harry rolls his sleeves to his elbows and tosses his sunglasses onto the counter. "It's all in the hips, isn't it?"

She glances back at him for a split second before leisurely spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you need something?"

"Sí, muñeca."

The almost invisible twitch of her lips doesn't go unnoticed by his attentive nature. "What is it?" she asks impatiently. "I'm trying to make dinner. You know, I've realized you always decide to be a pest when I'm not paying enough attention to you."

Busted. Well, at least she's talking to him now.

Harry begins clapping his hands to the song's rhythm in the background and swinging his hips in a terrible presentation of what's supposed to be salsa dancing. Sawyer arches her eyebrow and blankly stares at his uncoordinated movements. He's making an absolute fool of himself, but honestly, he just wants to see her smile. He'll go to the greatest lengths.

Shuffling closer to her, he caresses her limp hands and tries to get her to loosen up. "Let's dance."

“I'm not in the mood to dance."

He frowns dramatically, widening his feet to be the same height as her. "What's going on right now, hmm? We were having so much fun earlier."

Sawyer slides away from the stove and leans against the adjacent kitchen wall. A psychedelic painting of a gecko in the desert hangs above her. "It's not that hard to figure out," she says, looking everywhere but at him. It stings just a tad.

One of Harry's hands rests flat on the wall beside her, his thumb faintly yet purposefully touching the shell of her ear. He leans in and murmurs, "Are you still upset with me?"

The stubborn girl he knows and loves dearly steadily nods her head. "I'm furious. My body is on fire."

He bites his bottom lip with his front teeth as his piercingly intimidating gaze hungrily travels downward and lands on her exposed stomach. The silver bellybutton ring shining against her golden skin sets him on fire in an entirely different way. She's a delectable feast for the eyes.

Harry doesn't believe that her blood is boiling to the extent of fury, but he'll entertain her flair for dramatics. He says, "I'm sorry for shoving a camcorder in your face when you got embarrassed."

Sawyer gives him a puzzled look. "Huh? Oh, I don't care about that. I'm over it."

"Okay, then tell me why you're so furious." He's being thrown for a loop, and it's making him dizzy.

It's clear she's internally contemplating her response based on how her posture becomes less stiff. After rubbing her arm awkwardly, she says, "Because you're not nice."

Harry blinks slowly. Once, then twice. "What?"

"You were being a jerk by teasing me while fixing the tire."

It takes a while to realize his plan totally backfired. His innocuous teasing wasn't supposed to make her even more mad at him, and now he's stuck in a maze of figuring out exactly what he did wrong. Girls are so complicated!

Unless…

"Is that what this is about?" he asks, his lips quirking in amusement and slow realization. Perhaps the little show he put on for her had the intended effect after all.

Sawyer scoffs. "Stop smiling!"

He grins like a lovesick fool. "I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are! Your eyes smile before your mouth does." She goes to tuck her stray baby hairs behind her ears, and when she does, Harry traps her fidgeting fingers with his hand still resting beside her head.

"Yeah?" he goads, his pulse throbbing faster. "When did you notice that about me?"

"I've always noticed it. It's so easy to tell when you're about to smile. Your eyes glimmer, and then you scrunch your nose."

"You like watching me?"

"Cállate. We're not finished with this argument."

"Go on, then."

Sawyer waves her free hand around as incomplete sentences get caught in her throat. "I— you— we can't keep doing this!"

Harry's heart falters at the vagueness of her confession. "What are you saying? Be gentle with me."

She gathers her crumbling composure, then carefully says, "What I mean is... we can't keep fueling this fire if we're not going to do anything about it."

The fire she speaks of has been wildly swirling in his stomach for a long time. He's managed to tame the carnal flames by waiting for Sawyer to declare her desires first since her comfort level is always his top priority. The opportunity has now risen, and he's lucky she has opened up this much so that he can jump in and kickstart the colloquy they've been hesitantly dancing around for months.

"Is this about sex?"

Pink spiderwebs of heat spread across her face. Harry's thumb presses down on the apple of her blushing cheek, her skin delightfully warm. It's nice to know a little fire has also been burning in her stomach. It's just a matter of tending to both of them. Kindle the flames until they roar with lust.

"Sort of," Sawyer mumbles, her eyebrows plunging with an unknown emotion. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to tiptoe around it anymore." Her hand reaches out to rest on his neck, her pleading body language igniting the embers again. "Harry, it's killing me. I can't hide it."

He cups the side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, baby?" His voice has stooped to a deep, gentle rumble that shelters her with compassion.

"I didn't want to rush into things." She drapes her arms over his shoulders and plays with the outgrown curls at the nape of his neck. "I want to take my time with you and soak you in day by day. Take slow sips of your sunshine."

Knees weak, Harry whispers, "Don't. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those eyes, Sawyer. Don't look all innocent when your words are the opposite."

She's completely clueless about how her imploring brown eyes can hold such seductiveness. Amber flecks swim in her irises, which are the color of dark chocolate. Rich. Exquisite. Tempting. Harry wants to break her off between his teeth like peppermint bark and swallow her silky, revivifying sweetness.

The tip of Sawyer's nose trails along his jaw, her lips brushing a path against his hot skin and setting fire to his loins. "I'm just tired of being patient. Does that make sense?"

Harry gives her a slight, truthful nod, then slumps his forehead against hers. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. There's no need to be shy around me. I'm your boyfriend."

"What if you don't want the same thing? That'd be so embarrassing."

"Sawyer Alejandra, you are so goddamn stubborn. Do you want me to just give it to you straight? Because I will." He takes a deep breath before blurting, "I want to have sex with—"

She clamps her hands over his entirely-too-bold mouth. "Shush!" Pinching her eyes shut, she whines and grumbles, "Forget I said anything. I have to finish cooking dinner."

If there's one thing he knows about Sawyer's personality, it's that the second she feels an ounce of mortification, she immediately backtracks. He'd usually let it slide, but this topic of conversation is a tricky one to simply forget about and move on from like nothing happened.

Harry unwinds her hands from around his neck and keeps them cradled in his grasp. Then, while staring into her devastatingly gorgeous eyes, he says, "This tension between us isn't going to just magically disappear. Either we do something about it, or ignore it. Your choice."

Sawyer swallows thickly. "I want to, so badly. But I'm scared."

"Why?" he asks, trying to open her blooming petals. They're singed with uncertainty.

"It's an incredibly vulnerable act, dufus." She cutely wrinkles her nose.

"And we're incredibly vulnerable lovers, so what's the sitch?"

She brings their conjoined hands up to her lips and kisses his knuckles. Against his skin, she mumbles, "How do we even go about this? I've made it awkward."

He shakes his head in disagreement. "You didn't. Do you trust me to take the reins?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me to the bedroom."

Sawyer points to the stove. "But what about dinner?"

Harry pinches her cheek and starts dragging her down the hallway. "I know just the cure for an appetite."

☼ ☼ ☼

The queen-sized bed has sheer canopy curtains draped around it. They were too lazy to make it this morning, so the sheets are still crumpled, and pillows are strewn about. Sunlight streams through the open bay window, making the room glow a tender hue of honey.

It's alluring and also equally terrifying.

Harry went into the master bathroom to mentally prepare himself, even though he told Sawyer he was just freshening up. His reflection in the mirror peered back at him pensively. He fixed his hair about ten times, swiped another layer of deodorant across his armpits, and then gave himself a hushed pep talk before swinging the door open and putting on a cool, calm, and collected face.

Yet the butterflies in his stomach currently contradict everything he's trying to convey, especially when he finds his sweet Sawyer sitting against the headboard, the puffy duvet covering her bare breasts. The sun casts light on her stunning face and accentuates her apprehensive features. She's innocently staring at him as if she didn't knowingly climb into bed without any clothes on and sat there patiently waiting for him like the good girl she is.

And... he's hard already. Well, that's one less thing to worry about.

Harry clears his throat and strips down to his boxers, then slides into the space next to her, waiting with bated breath. Neither of them looks at each other, too hesitant to make the first move. They've both had sex with different people before, so it's not like they're blind leading the blind, but now that they're actually in the bedroom, all confidence has apparently flown out the window.

"We could start with, like, kissing or something." So much for saying he'd take the reins. He can't even speak properly right now.

In his peripheral, he sees Sawyer nod hastily. "Sure," she says, quieter than ever.

"Okay. Are you comfortable doing it naked since you're already... naked?" She laughs, and Harry smacks his forehead. "Sorry. God, I'm so nervous. You're making me feel like a teenager all over again."

Silence lingers long enough for him to finally gain the courage to glance at Sawyer. She locks eyes with him, then slowly, almost teasingly, lets the duvet drop and pool around her waist. Harry's mouth goes dry as he takes in skin he's never fully seen before. She's soft, shapely, and undeniably tempting.

Sawyer crawls on her hands and knees until she's straddling his lap. She still has her underwear on, lace boy shorts that hug her hips deliciously well. With blood rushing to his brain (and other places), his reaction is a bit delayed until his hands eventually find their place on her waist. He's breathing deeply, nostrils flaring as he ravenously wonders how she will look naked underneath him, pleasure etched on her face.

"You're divine," Harry whispers while toying with the flimsy hem of her underwear.

"So are you," she replies, rubbing a coquettish hand down his chest. "Hey, let's maybe skip the kissing part? I'm kind of impatient."

"Damn, all right. We're diving straight in?"

She presses her body against his torso and hooks her arms around his neck. "I want to feel you. I've dreamed about it."

A desperate groan sounds in his throat. "You're lying."

"I'm not. Then I'd wake up, and you'd be kissing me like you knew exactly what I needed. And your hands would get so close to where they were in my dream but never close enough."

"Yeah? Where were my hands in your dream?"

Her eyes flutter shut as if she's recalling the fantasy. "Mm... everywhere. Warm and heavy between my thighs. Sliding up my stomach." A lazy, sensual smile creeps onto her lips as she adds, "Around my neck."

Harry is tired of waiting a second longer. He flips her over so he's on top, his silver necklace with the 'S' pendant swinging over her collarbones like a pendulum. "Let me make you feel good. I'll give you the real deal."

Sawyer twists the chain around her pointer finger and tugs him closer. "Please. I want it more than anything."

"Dig your heels into my back," he instructs before shuffling down her body until his head is lined up with her thighs.

She complies, and the pressure on his shoulder blades makes him choke on a moan. Her bent legs effortlessly fall open, granting him access to the single layer of fabric that comes between him and paradise. He stares at her from his position, his hands hooking around her knees. She stares back at him, a vehement fire in her eyes.

"It's all yours."

Her readiness is enough for him to lose his last shred of self-control. He leaves a suckling love bite on her inner thigh, then murmurs, "Lift your hips for me."

She raises the lower half of her body, and Harry slides her underwear off. She assists him when it reaches her ankles by kicking it across the bedroom. He focuses back on the inviting sight before him. A shiver trails down his spine when he takes two of his fingers and circles them around her entrance. She's dripping wet.

Sawyer's jaw goes slack as she scratches her nails across the expanse of Harry's sturdy back. He hisses past his clenched teeth, loving the luxurious burn. Tingling and tantalizing sensations course through his system as he tests the waters, slowly sinking his middle finger past her drenched opening. He vigilantly gazes into Sawyer's eyes the entire time, gauging her expressions for the faintest flicker of pain or unease.

"Talk to me," he says.

"It stings a little, but keep going."

"You're doing so good. So, so good. Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

She nods with a raspy whine, so he adds another finger, then uses his thumb to press against her clit and rub halo shapes onto it. Her thighs tremble and tighten around his head, tiny gasps escaping past her lips. He leaves bruising, biting kisses on her skin as he skillfully works his fingers, which are now soaked with her arousal. Filthy thoughts invade his fuzzy brain, thoughts of dreams he's had himself. Vivid images of doing what he's doing right now, except they'd always be cruelly cut short by the breaking of dawn.

Harry grinds his hips into the mattress, alleviating the ache while his kisses move closer to where his fingers are. Sawyer's panted breaths motivate him to ask: "Do you want my mouth?"

"Yes, please. Eres tan bueno conmigo."

The foreign praise rolling off her tongue enchants him to dive into her sweet, sticky heat. He laps up her wetness like its melted candy, the taste dangerously addictive. He hums insatiably, palms spreading on her lower stomach as he swirls his tongue inside of her. His cheeks are ablaze with sex drive as his eyes train themselves on Sawyer's face. Soft, sensual sounds trickle out of her mouth, fueling the intensity with which he pleasures her.

Pulling away for air, Harry whispers, "I can't get enough of you," before replacing his mouth with his fingers. They slide past her clenching walls so enticingly, so perfectly.

"Harry," Sawyer moans, fisting his hair and tugging at the strands. "I-I'm almost there. It's so strong."

He removes all body contact while sucking his fingers clean, then catapults off the bed to quickly grab a condom before she loses her approaching climax. He sifts through his duffel bag, finding the box he secretly packed in case something happened on this trip.

Maybe he manifested it. Or perhaps his girlfriend is simply braver than him.

Making his way over to the bed again (tripping on Sawyer's unplugged curling iron in the process), he bounces back on the mattress and hands her the foil package. Her skin is glowing with an angelic radiance, but sinfulness cracks through when she pushes on his chest to get him to lay back. She straddles him and rips open the package with her teeth. The arch of her back, the excitement in her movements, and the slickness of her arousal are all he sees. She has no idea how heavenly she looks.

Sawyer's fingertips walk down his abdomen and brush over his length, which is straining against his boxers. "Can I?" she asks politely, her eyes wondrous.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Harry cradles her head and brings it down for a fond kiss, her hair tickling his face. "Feeling okay? Not in pain or anything, are you?"

She shakes her head. "No. I feel like I'm floating."

"Same here." He breaks into an aching smile, coming to the realization of how special this moment is. "I love you so much. I'm gonna remember this forever."

"Me too." Sawyer slides his boxers off, their harmonious breathing mixing together. Harry's cock breaks loose and rests against his happy trail, reddened and throbbing. "Woah."

He laughs at her reaction. "Don't act so surprised. It's all your fault, baby."

She blushes and carefully rolls the condom on while Harry stifles moans by biting his knuckles. He won't last very long, but he'll make it worthwhile for her. He'll take his time, just how she likes it. Soak her presence in. Slow sips.

He sits on his knees, then motions for Sawyer to recline and spread her legs. Once she's in position, he settles an arm on either side of her body and hovers over her. He tucks her hair behind her ears and leaves a hungry kiss on her lips. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she exhales. "You?"

"Totally."

"Change my life, sunray."

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lines it up with her entrance. He reminds himself to go slow as his tip sinks into her, and he keeps it there as he watches Sawyer's face. Her shiny lips are parted, eyebrows pushed together. Her legs squeeze him while her hands hold onto his biceps. The muscles of her cheekbones twitch. God, she's an angel.

"I've got you," Harry says, a thrilling knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, you were made for me."

He sinks further into her wet warmth, one hand grasping her leg to bend it more. She's tight, yet he's able to fit himself all the way in. Gasps leave both of their mouths at the feeling of him bottoming out, and it's like everything is moving in slow motion, the golden haze in the room adding to the delicacy of the moment.

"Mierda. Oh my God, Harry. Oh my..." Her fragile voice, leaking with whispery weeps, shatters his poise as he begins thrusting in and out. Sawyer's limbs become weak, her feet slipping down to the dip of his spine. It's all hot breath and swallowing each other's noises with sloppy kisses. Being inside her is a level of intimacy that electrifies every part of his soul. It's unfamiliar territory that binds him closer to the girl he wants forever. The orange flames they stepped around for years are now a cool, sapphire-blue.

Their hips reconnect with each thrust, a beautiful sound fused with their satisfied moans. Harry's pendant sways forward, his neck straining. Sawyer's nails pierce crescent moons onto his back, followed by more scratches that make him shudder.

"Goddamn," he chokes out, his cheek pressed against hers. "You feel stellar. I'm close. Give me... Christ, give me something to dream about."

"I'm there," she says. "I love you. I can't hold it any longer."

"Let it go, Sawyer. C'mon."

Arching her back off the mattress, she orgasms with a cry of release, and the vision of her has Harry immediately spilling out into the condom. It's powerful, otherworldly, and absolutely life-changing. He pulls out and lays on top of her, embracing her in a hold of overwhelming adoration as he whimpers into the pillow beside her head. They both melt into each other, sweaty and happy, coming down from their individual climaxes.

Every minute that passes, the room grows darker due to the moon painting the sky black with stars. Only the wind and their breathing fill the space, cool and heated gusts reciprocating. Harry can feel Sawyer's lips against his temple, curving up with a smile every so often. He's got a permanent smile as his fatigued gaze stares at the ring on her finger. He feels like sunshine is bursting from his pores and serotonin is being absorbed.

Sawyer is the first to move. She uses her remaining strength to get up and tightly wrap the sheets around her naked body before stepping out onto the balcony. With the door open, he can see the full moon illuminate the expanse of the flat desert, cacti and palm trees looming as far as the eye can see. The lack of humidity at night causes a balmy breeze to encircle her body, whipping her tousled hair.

"Can I tell you a secret now that we've had sex?" Harry asks from his place on the bed. His voice is sore and hoarse.

Sawyer turns around and bites her lip with a giddy grin. "Shoot."

He disposes of his condom, then puts his boxers back on and joins her, not caring about the chilliness. He still feels warm inside and out. "Do you remember our phone call last September when I was in South Carolina with a broken wrist?"

A flash of remembrance crosses her moonlit face. "Yeah. I was so worried about you."

He cradles her cheeks and pertly kisses her nose. "You took such good care of me when I got back."

It's the absolute truth. All the tagalongs to physical therapy, icing his wrist while cuddled on the couch, being a shoulder to cry on when he got frustrated—he couldn't have done it without her.

"I hated seeing you in pain," she says, looping her arms around his torso. "It hurt my heart."

"Never mind that." He inhales deeply and pushes forth his confession. "You... when you said you missed me during that call, a feeling came over me. Something in your voice made me weak. And something happened to me that had never happened before. I don't even know why I'm telling you—"

"Spit it out, Harry."

His head tilts back as far as it can go. "Fuck's sake. I got hard, Sawyer. Your voice made me hard."

Her mouth hangs wide open. A well-timed gust of wind passes like an awkward moment in a cartoon. "Um, wow. I'm not really sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to say anything. Just thought you should know now that we've done the deed."

Sawyer giggles, hiding her face in the space between his pecs. "First off, please don't call it that." She looks at him and continues, "Secondly, you thought I should know that you got hard in South Carolina?"

He starts laughing too. It's contagious around her. "I should also probably tell you that I jerked it out in a crummy Holiday Inn shower. It was quite pathetic and sad."

She sputters out a boisterous cackle that echoes across the barren desert. Harry's cheeks flush instantaneously. "I appreciate your honesty."

"On a more serious note," Harry starts, gripping the balcony railing with one hand, the other on her hip, "I appreciate how you forced a confession out of me the next day. Don't know if I've ever told you that."

Her expression turns sorrowful. "I didn't mean to pressure you. It had been building up inside me for so long, and you looked so beautiful that night. My heart spoke for me and—"

Harry cups her jaw and kisses her unexpectedly, making her squeak. It reminds him of that night in the rain when his blue raspberry lips collided with hers for the first time. He pulls away slowly, fitting his nose over her own and swaying her slightly. "You did everything right. I was a coward who was frightened of rejection. The thought of ruining what we already had was nauseating."

"You thought I would've rejected you?"

"I never really know what you're thinking. That pretty brain of yours holds so many secrets."

Sawyer steals a ripe kiss. "Can I tell you one right now?"

"Always."

She kisses him again before saying, "I see forever with you. I want to wake up in your arms every day. I want to laugh with you until our sides ache. I want to kiss you until I get dizzy."

"Sawyer," Harry whispers, his eyes softening.

"I mean it. No one will ever make me feel this type of love again."

"I feel the same. You're all I need."

"Te quiero. Mi alma es tuya."

He nips her neck, slow and tender. "If you keep speaking Spanish to me, we're not getting any sleep tonight."

"Sí? Quieres más rasguños en la espalda?"

"Gonna tell me what that means?"

She gracefully traces the tattoo on his abdomen and says, "I can show you instead."

Harry's stomach suddenly grumbles with hunger, ruining the intimate moment. He peers at the twinkling sky above and laughs at the inconvenient interruption. "I would love that, but I'm absolutely starving right now. We skipped dinner."

"There's cold peppers on the stove."

"Delicious," he says sarcastically, shifting his gaze to her again. A few seconds pass before something he wants to mention pops into his thoughts. "Hey, did you know this month marks five years since we first met?"

Sawyer gapes at him, genuinely surprised. "No way. Five years?"

"Crazy, right? Five years since you almost gave me a concussion."

"I still feel terrible about that," she admits with a pout.

Harry remembers everything about that day, even when his brain got jolted by a killer volleyball serve by the prettiest girl on Cocoa Beach. Her brown eyes up close, holding gentle concern for a stranger. That sassy hand on her hip thing she still does today. Clementine fabric against caramel skin. Orange juice in a bottle. Summerboy.

"But if that never happened," he says quietly, "then we might've never spoken to each other."

Her dreamy hum tells him she's musing about it too. "That's true. Isn't it mind-blowing how the tiniest of decisions can affect the entire course of your life? I like to think that every past choice of mine led me to you."

He admires the way her voice gets wispy when her mind wanders. "Word. Does post-sex make you all philosophical and shit?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Cool." Harry backs away while holding her hands until their fingers eventually slip from each other's grasp. "Well, while you brood about Plato's teachings, I'm going to snack on your world-famous half-cooked peppers."

"Have fun with that."

"I will. Love you." Halfway through the doorway, he suddenly stops and rushes forward, giving her a suffocating hug, his lungs breathing everything about her. "All jokes aside," he murmurs, "I also believe everything I did brought me to you. And it just makes sense to be in love with you. Okay, bye."

He's off and running toward the kitchen before she can say anything else, not even the shadows of night on the floor being able to darken the natural luminescence he leaves behind.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #sunstruck #southpaw series

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14dyh · 7 days

Note

camp sina (is this the inbox LOL i don't know how to use tumblr 😭)

Entry no. 1: A Nightmare on Camp Sina

═══ ⚠ You're boarding a bus to Camp Sina. Let's begin. ⚠ ═══

The bus to Camp Sina stopped right where you stood, the squeal of the tires causing dust to billow in your direction which you gladly avoided. You hoisted your backpack and other essentials, following a short trail of campers boarding the bus. When you entered, there were no vacant seats except for the two seats at the back. You rushed to the seat apart from the window and settled along with your baggage, hoping you packed enough items. The drizzle from outside dotted the windows, each minuscule drop hurriedly forming a larger one. You watched as the buses towards Camp Maria and Camp Rose began to depart, leaving the bus of Camp Sina to follow the trail.

The bus rumbled to life once again, your cue to sleep until the bus arrived at the destination. Your eyes wandered over the drizzle turning into a light rain, enough to form a thin fog on the window. You were about to close your eyes and count sheep when a yellow sign glared at you above the bus window.

"Don't sleep facing the window."

It was a considerably strange sign for riding a bus but when you peek over other seats, all their windows contain the same ominous sign. The font and color were akin to the usual signs you see on public vehicles. However, you couldn't help but feel that it shouldn't be there.

You almost yelped when the bus skidded to a halt, stilling the hit of raindrops on the window. The cold atmosphere inside the air-conditioned bus was trying to rock you to sleep but doing so would brew a headache in your head, as it seems. Like the other campers, you snapped out of your musings to peek over the front and wonder why the bus stopped.

You saw someone enter, their soaking green raincoat being shoved inside a bag. The person muttered an apology before approaching the back where a lone seat was left. Beside you.

Their tall stature almost blocked the window, their messy brown locks beaded with a few raindrops. Their expression was soft, and lively despite their sharp features when they looked at you.

"I'm so sorry. Hope I didn't get you wet," they smiled, shoving their bag under the seat when their eyes met yours.

"Not at all," you responded. You wished to add more to the conversation, seeing that their eyes were trying to communicate with yours. However, it felt like chasing a rapidly flowing barrel into a stop.

"I assume you're new to Camp Sina," they observed, bridging the conversation. They finally relaxed in their seat next to you.

"I wonder what gave that away," you answered good-naturedly.

Their smile softly creased the corners of their mouth. "It's just that I've never seen you here before."

"Hm, I see. Do you often go camping here?"

"My third time, yes," they responded. Outside the window, the droplets flow steadily, chasing each other down. "New campers are a rarity when it comes to Camp Sina. Only a few favored the yearly morbid themes, after all."

"Morbid themes, like what?"

"Oh, simple," they grinned, your inquisitive nature prompting them to tell you the accounts in all those three years. Truly, some of the details were morbid, maybe too rough for people trying to have fun during camp, but they sounded fascinated nonetheless.

"Well, there was one time when we were divided into two groups. We were assigned survival items such as canned food, bottled water, flashlights, etc. However, the camp counselors hid them and made us hunt for the items. Stealing items from the other group will start a war so some of us prevent such trouble. Unless you're too thrill-seeking, that is," they toured around the memory, equipped with more visual words and gestures to pull you into the story.

"I assume you stirred some conflict yourself," you answered, stopping short when a realization hit you both. "Oh, this is embarrassing. I never asked your name."

They waved a hand and smiled, offering a handshake, "It's alright, really. I'm Hange."

"Y/N," you shook their hand and chuckled. "So, Hange... Do tell. Are there any more I should know about camp activity this year?"

Your intrigued tone made them smile yet again.

"Well, certainly not the previous ones I've told you about. As far as I know, they are planning something much worse."

"Oh, is that supposed to scare me?"

"Depends," they smirked. "Expect tests of courage, though."

"Sounds fun," you mumbled. The rapidly approaching night was lulling you into sleep despite the glaring sign above you.

"You should sleep, Y/N. It's a long ride before we get there,"

You forced your lids open and whispered, "I'm afraid I'll be disobeying that rule over there."

You pointed at the yellow sign above the window, it was almost laughable. Was it there for a cheap scare?

Hange caught you smiling, hiding the way their lips rose when your eyes went back to theirs.

"Funny, they don't often give warnings," Hange laughed softly. "It wouldn't be so fun that way."

Looking beyond the window, you saw nothing but dark outlines, quite hindered by Hange's frame looking over outside as well. Not a lamp street in sight.

"If you don't want to sleep, perhaps you might want to hear a story," Hange offered, their benign smile stained with a slight, devious smirk. Do they have more camp stories to tell?

"Another camp story, I presume?"

"No," they answered. "Not this one."

And for a while, the bus A/C blew a chilly gust that you had to turn it away from you.

Hange will likely tell you yet another strange story.

The choice is yours.

a.) let them tell you that story

b.) ask them something else

[Answer here to continue the story.]

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tomhollandisabae · 1 year

Text

arcadia - simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

masterlist

fandom; call of duty

summary; maybe helping emotinally ghost isn't the best idea. harsh words are being said, feelings are hurt and after an eventfull night your lives make an 180 turn

warnings; angst, mature language, mature themes, mentions of trauma, heavy smut [18+/ MINORS D.N.I.] / unedited

words; 4.1k

a/n; it's actually friends to enemies... i uploaded again because for some reason tumblr is messing w the hastags... and my nerves!!!

enjoy❤️

Since the first day you joined task force 141, you had been obsessed with Ghost.

Behind his scary mask, you imagined a man that was hurting. You could read his eyes like an open book, understanding when he was in pain –physically and mentally- when he was sad, angry and many other emotions.

It wasn’t like you were sorry for him, but sad by everything he had been through. Of course you weren’t aware about his childhood trauma, but everyone had experienced something bad in their lives that made them join the army, well... most of them. Apart from you...

You were coming from a wealthy background, being raised as a princess, having the world at your feet, a happy family and a happy life. And that was why Ghost didn’t like you.

Not one bit.

He was thinking very low of you, believing that a person like you would never understand everything that he had been through. He basically loathed you because you were happy, the people you loved most were all alive and you didn’t have to keep a blank face while hiding behind a mask, feeling like a coward.

As a matter of fact that you were a medic and didn’t have to be on the field, you were only seeing Ghost while he was in base.

You were always smiling warmly at him, trying to cheer him up –maybe even make him crack a smile too –yet you never succeeded. He was being grumpy all the time, ignoring you all the time. When you would sit next to him at lunch, he would silently eat his food not even paying attention to what you were saying and then get up and leave. When you would join him in training, he would pretend that you weren’t even there. When you would approach him for a small talk in the hallway, he would pass you by. When he would get hurt and you would have to treat him, he would keep his face straight, never look at you and leave as soon you were done, not even saying a small thank you.

But you wouldn’t let that get to you. You would try every day, every hour and every second. You wanted to make that man see the happiness in life, that no matter what happened to him in the past, he would be able to start over.

It was no lie that with time passing by, you fell for the big scary grumpy man that would never spare you a single glance. But you kept trying, until one day...

Everyone had returned from a mission and some of the men were at the med bay getting treated. However, you never saw Ghost coming in... you felt relieved knowing that he didn’t get hurt, but you still wanted to see him for you missed him.

“y/n, will you go check on Ghost in his room. Some said that he got hurt, but never came in” a nurse informed you and you felt you heart dropping.

As you made your way towards his room, many thoughts surrounded your head. How badly hurt was he? Why wouldn’t he come at the med bay? Was he so weak that he couldn’t walk anymore? Your heartbeat picked up at these thoughts and you found yourself sprinting to his room.

When you finally reached your destination, you knocked at his door, hoping for an answer, yet nothing, so you knocked again and again and again until you heard him groan from the other side, finally opening his door.

“are you okay?” was the first thing that you said while scanning his body for any injuries.

“i’m good. I took care of everything” he replied with a cold voice.

“why didn’t you come to me?” you tilted your head in question.

“i’m fine” he avoided your question and tried to close the door, but you blocked it with your hand.

“no you’re not ghost! What is wrong with you? do you ever think about you and the risk you’re putting yourself through?” you pointed your finger at him.

“even if i did, that's none of your business. So stop being so fucking annoying and leave me the hell alone.” he raised his voice and you gasped by that.

“sim--” you tried to say but he cut you off.

“don’t you fucking say my name. You're nothing but a filthy rich little girl that is used on having everything she fucking wants and now that she can’t have that anymore she’s being a pain in the arse.” his words took you aback, breaking your heart.

“you don’t mean that...” you let out a weak voice.

“believe what you want” and with that he closed the door loudly.

Tears started running down your face and you ran towards your room, avoiding everyone in your way. When you entered the place that you could found some kind of comfort you fall onto your bed and cried your heart out.

You never believed that he would ever treat you like that. You thought that would manage to get on his good side as the time was passing by, but obviously that never happened and never will.

His words resulted in you not leaving your room for the next week, until one day after a successful mission when everyone had decided to go out for drinks.

You made a huge effort to get ready and follow the others at the bar.

When you reached there you isolated yourself at the far end of the room, away from everyone’s eyes, while you started getting yourself drunk.

You were on your fifth –or something –beer, when someone caught your hand, preventing you from attaching your lips on the cold bottle, but when you turned your face to see whoever was that that was holding your wrist, you came face to face with those sweet, but also cold eyes that you had fallen for. Ghost...

“you’ve drunk enough” he exclaimed.

“hmm how’d you know? Have you been watching me big guy?” you smiled lazily at him, feeling a weird confidence overtaking you.

“i’m taking you to base” he said.

“nooooo I wanna drink more” you let out a whine.

he didn’t say anything back, just tighten the grip on your wrist while he literally dragged you out of the bar.

On your way back to base, you kept singing and singing while following Ghost carefully.

“my body is a map of L.A and my heart is like paper, I hate ya...” you swung from side to side as your eyes were travelling all around the street.

“i’m not from the land of the palms, so I know I can’t stay here” you wiggled your hand out of his grip and he turned to look at you stand.

“i’m not native, but my curves, san gabriel all day” you grabbed his hands, intertwining your fingers.

“my lips like the fire licks the bay, if you think that you know yourself, you can come over” he tensed.

“lay your hands on me like you’re a land rover” you rested your head on his shoulder.

“in arcadia...” he took in a sharp breath.

“arcadia...” you placed your other hand on his forearm softly.

“all roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries” he felt as if he couldn’t breathe anymore.

“that get the blood flowin’ straight to the heart of me...” you hummed as you stroked softly his hand.

You felt a warm feeling overflowing within you as you were so close to him, so close to the man that you so very much loved with your whole heart.

The man that had broken your heart...

You unfocused for the rest of the walk, letting him guide to through the dark of the night.

At last you reached your room, without you even realising. You only felt Ghost placing you down on your soft mattress as he took of your shoes and stand back up.

You raised your head looking him straight in the eyes with tears falling down on your cheeks.

“stay...” you let out a low whimper while holding his hand.

He stood like a statue, not knowing how to react.

“i can’t--” you cut him off.

“why do you hate me?” you sobbed.

Again, he didn’t say anything.

“i won’t apologise for the life I had for I wasn’t the one that chose it, but with all my happiness and wiliness I wanted to make you feel better, I wanted to make you see that there’s still life out there for you, because... I care about you.” you sniffled.

“i never meant to annoy you, never meant to make you feel bad, I just wanted to brighten your day.” you got up, still holding his hand.

“i’m sorry if i made you feel bad about yourself, I'm sorry for everyth--” he placed his other hand on your mouth.

“no one cares about me” his voice was barely heard.

You couldn’t reply though, as his hand was preventing you from talking.

However, what he did next made your eyes widen as he lifted his mask so that his soft pink lips were revealed. The hand on your mouth travelled south, placing itself softly on your waist, while his other hand intertwined with yours. He leaned down, lips hovering above yours, his breath falling soundly against your mouth.

You squished his hand in reassurance and finally his lips connected with yours. His lips were warm and soft almost silken, and pillowy against your own. Your lips parted slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. Now, he had brought both hands on your waist, pulling you closer resulting in your bodies to be pressed together heatedly, breathing heavily as your lips pressed against each other. You could taste your shared breath, while feeling the thud of your combined heartbeat.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, sparks igniting as he lowered his head, disconnected his lips from yours, guiding them towards your jaw, peppering kisses across it and the lower on you neck placing a light kiss on your pulse point as he took in your sweet aroma. The smell of his own perfume, of the soft scent, was dizzying, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“Ghost...” you whimper, tears now dried.

He lifted his head looking at you. Once again, he brought his lips again on yours, this time in a more demanding kiss. His hands started fumbling to take off your clothes, starting with your shirt as you lifted your hands up to help pull it off of you, while your other clothes followed suit, as you stood now completely naked in front of him.

The room was dark, so you both couldn’t see much. Ghost finally, picks you up and throws you on the bed as he eyed you for a long moment, searching and looking at your body, before the tension left his own. He tried to take in as much as he could with the help of the moonlight that was making its way through the curtains. He took in your unscarred body, the way your chest was moving up and down as you tried to regain your breath, your beautiful breasts with your erected nipples that were awaiting for him to feel his tender touch, his gentle fingers, his warm lips around them. Then his eyes darted onto your waist and he couldn’t help but imagine his hands grabbing on the soft flesh, squishing your skin, while pleasing you the best he could. Then he moved on your hips and the area he craved more as he felt his feet giving up from under him as he kneeled down, placing his big hands on both your thighs parting them without taking his eyes from your pussy, noticing the way it was glistening with your wetness. He looked up at you, your soft eyes locking with his.

His hands travelled across your stomach, reaching your breasts, cropping them softly and then it was as something snapped in him. He stood up taking of his shirt and climbed on top of you, bringing you in the middle of your bed as your legs rested on either side of him. His breath hitting against your lips, one hand lowering itself on your soft body, while the other stayed on the side of your head, supporting himself.

“Ghost...” you cried out.

Now his hand was only inches away from the warm core, caressing it with a finger –or was it two fingers? -two, perhaps even three, were now travelling down the gulley and any moment, any millisecond, you would have to plead –this was what you had wanted him to want to do since the day you first met him –and you were caught between excitement and panic, and it –the tongue –you felt as if you were swallowing it and you didn’t mind it anymore, because he had begun to moan softly –he couldn’t very well say anything with his tongue in your mouth –streak the hand had leaded back up to the rib cage, no longer on the side but going up the front, inland. Slither went the tongue, but the entire terrain of your torso to explore and not just the sides –oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest –no, the hand was cupping your entire right –Now! You must plead, not able to take any more of his teasing, and talk to him like a dog –and oh God, what were you supposed to do now –inasmuch as it, his hand, was at this instant passing over your entire right breast and you could feel the pressure –light pressure, but pressure –Now! The ‘please, Ghost –but it was as if the cord between your will and your central nervous system had been cut.

“y/n, do you want me?” he finally spoke as he pulled away from yours lips, but you still couldn’t matter a word, his touch was too much.

He took notice of this, the hand that was in your core swirled around your wetness.

“you do want me” he answered himself.

He smiled, a smile of genuine delight, never seen in the last months, made the moment even more precious. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

“oh God, yes, I do want you” you cried out, something awakening in you as you kissed his sleek muscular chest, then sliding your hand downward outside his trousers encountered a leaning tower of pressure “and I could say the same ‘bout you” you whispered in his ear.

His head fell limp in the crook of your neck, your hands finally finding their home around his neck.

He pulled away abruptly, trembling, breathing like a drowning man, and his hands went to unclasp her hands from his neck.

“i can’t” he said in a anguished tone.

You were deaf to all reason, your small face blind with aroused need, the slender naked body on flames.

“i love you” you cried, fingers touching where his hair is hidden by his black mask, and it was not the first time that you had known, but the first time you had said it, and all miracle of your understanding it was in your shivering voice.

Ghost didn’t say anything, just made a wild, smothered sound, staring down into your face as you raised your limp head to meet his hard mouth, your lips filled with a sensuality which turned you both to fire.

You wanted to tell him that you understood him, in a way that you'd never understood anyone before. Because you were with him, in this moment. It wasn’t even like being colleagues or work partners –even friends, it was much closer than that, much deeper. You'd torn down all the barriers and put your soul into his hands.

“i love you” you told him again.

his lips slightly brushed against your cheek before he stood up once again.

You broke into cold sweat thinking that he would leave you, that all this was too much for him, that you’d overstepped his space... his feelings, but he didn’t leave.

You watched him as he took of the rest of his clothes, joining you on the bed again, now him being completely naked too. You gasped at the feeling of his warm cock head against your swollen clit. He had worked you up so much that you were on the verge of a break down –but no, you couldn’t beg, plead for your realise –too scared that he would up and leave you for good.

But you’ve had enough... so you took matters into your own hands and you flipped him around, the look on his face not going unnoticed by you.

You placed your body between his legs, giving yourself access to what you needed and he exhaled harshly.

“y/n, what are y--”

Your lips flowed over the wide crown. He reached for the white mattress underneath him, his hands curling around them with white-knuckled force. You held him with both hands and mouthed the plush head, sucking gently. The softness of his skin and his uniquely appealing scent made you moana round him. You felt the vibration ripple through his entire body and heard a rough sound rumble in his chest.

“lick it” he touched your cheeks.

Aroused by the command, you fluttered your tongue across the underside and shivered with delight when he rewarded you with a hot burst of pre-cum. Fisting the root of him with one hand, you hollowed your cheeks and drew rhythmically, hoping for more.

You wanted to drive him crazy.

He made a sound filled with the sweetest agony;

“God, y/n... your mouth. Keep sucking. Like that... hard and deep.”

You were so turned on by his pleasure you squirmed. His hands pushed into your bound hair, pulling and tugging at the roots. You loved how he starred out with tenderness, then grew rougher as the lust he felt for you overwhelmed his control.

The soft bite of pain made you hungrier, greedier. your head bobbed as you pleasured him, jacking him with one hand while you sucked and stroked the crest with your mouth. Heavy veins coursed the length of his cock, and you slid the flat of your tongue along them, tilting your head to find and caress each one.

“stop” he let out a heavy voice after a while.

You pulled away from his cock, looking at him anxiously.

“come here” he instructed and you climbed on top of him.

He didn’t waste on second as he collided his lips with yours turning you both around as you were now underneath him. His mouth departed from your own, making its way along your neck, your collarbones, and he was cupping your breasts, kneading them with soft, rhythmic squeezes.

“ghost--” he cut you off.

“shh” he sucks on your lower lip, his fingers rolling and tugging your tender nipples.

His mouth surrounded the tip of your breast, the wash of heat bringing a mist of perspiration to your skin.

One of his hands pushed between your legs. They fell open shamelessly, your body so aroused you were flushed and almost feverish. His other hand continued to plump your breasts, making them heavy and unbearably sensitive.

“you’re so wet for me” he murmured, his gaze sliding down your body to where he was parting you with his fingers.

“you’re beautiful here too. Plush and pink. So soft.” he said and you whimpered.

He lowered his head between your parted legs, joining his hand. His tongue made contact with your heat drawing provocative laps against your flesh. Your hands fisted in the sheet, your chest heaving as he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, he nudged the hypersensitive knot of nerves, as your hips were moving restlessly into the devious torment, your whole tightening with the clawing need to cum.

The light teasing flutters were driving you insane, giving you just enough to make you wtiyhe but not enough to get you off.

“ghost, please...” you finally cried out, pleading for your realise.

“not yet.”

He tortured you, coaxing your body to the brink of orgasm, and then letting you slide back down. Over and over. Until sweat misted your skin and your heart felt like it would burst. His tongue was tireless and diabolical, cleverly focusing on your clit until a single stroke would set you off, then moving lower to thrust into you. the soft, shallow plunges were maddening, the flickering against the nerve-laden tissues making you desperate enough to beg shamelessly.

“please Ghost... let me cum... I need to cum, please.” you begged.

“shh, angel... I'll take care of you.”

He finished you with a tenderness that made the orgasm roll through you like a crashing wave, building and swelling and spreading through you in a warm rush of pleasure.

He threaded his fingers with yours when he came over you again, restraining your arms. The head of his cock aligned with the slick entrance of your body and he pushed inexorably into you. You moaned, shifting to accommodate the heavy surge if his penis.

Ghost's breath gusted hard and humid against your throat, his big frame trembling as he slid carefully inside you.

“you're so soft and warm. Fuck.” he breathed out.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, welcoming him deeper. Then his thumb was on your clit, rubbing in circles that had your hips churning.

“yes!” you moaned, raking your nails down his back. He wasn’t icy anymore. He was on fire.

“fuck me, Ghost. Fuck me hard.” you moaned.

Y/n...” his mouth covered yours. He fisted your hair, holding you still as he lunged again and again, pounding hard and deep.

“fucking hell...” he groaned into your neck.

The rhythmic slap of his heavy balls against the curve of your buttocks and the harshness of his possessive litany drove you insane with lust. You felt yourself quickening with every twinge of pain, felt your sex tightening with your growing arousal.

With a long, guttural groan he started coming, his flexing body quaking as he emptied himself inside you.

You held him as he climaxed, stroking his back, pressing kisses along his shoulder.

“hold on.” he said roughly, pushing his hands beneath you and flattening your breasts against him.

Ghost pulled you up, the sat down with you straddling his hip. You were slick from his orgasm, making it easy for him to push back inside you.

His hands brushed the hair away from your face, then wiped your tears of relief.

“i’m always hard for you, always hot for you. I'm always half-crazy with wanting you. If anything could change that, I would’ve done it before we got this far. Understand?” he confessed.

“yes.” your hands wrapped around his wrists.

“now, show me that you still want me after that.” his face was flushed and damp, his eyes dark and turbulent “i need to know that losing control doesn’t mean I've lost you.”

You pulled his palms from your face and urged them down on your breasts. When he cupped them, you splayed your hands on his shoulders and started riding him. You kept lifting up your body and then falling back down over and over again while he kept on squeezing your breasts.

“ghost...”

“simon.” your eyes locked with his “call me simon.” he breathed out, lips parted, breathing heavily as he started pistoning his hips against yours making throw your head backwards.

“fuck, simon...” you cried out as you felt your silk walls flattering around him.

“come on, angel, cum for me. Show me how good I'm making you feel.” that did it for you as you through yourself backwards, hands clasping on his hips as you tried closing your legs due to the extent pleasure, but he made sure to keep them open, as he came inside you once again.

“fuck...” you exhaled as you slumped against his torso, legs still trembling.

He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close, stroking your back softly, as he tried to show you with his actions what he couldn’t express with words... I love you.

#simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost smut

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 month

Note

Ooh right — what would you recommend for roleplaying life in the Silo, from the Silo Saga by Hugh Howey?

Theme: Silo Saga

Hello friend! So I looked up Silo Saga thanks to your request, and I appreciate the further details that you provided me. I started looking for games with underground themes, and then went back and broadened my search for games in cramped spaces.

So with that premise, let's see what we have that hits the mark, or gets close to it at least.

Worlds of Legacy: Generation Ship, by UFO Press.

You’re trapped inside the heart of a decaying generation ship drifting between the stars. How will you survive and find a new home?

Your families woke up from cryostasis halfway through a thousand year journey. Now you must find a way to live on a ship that wasn’t intended to support long-term habitation, keep it running, and try to make sure future generations reach the promised land at the end of your journey.

You’ll need the core rulebook of Legacy: Life Among the Ruins in order to play this game, but it definitely fits the bill. Each player controls a Family with a specific role on the ship, as well as a character who has a unique narrative role within that family. Legacy games like to zoom out and look at long-term changes, so you are likely going to watch your families change according to the needs of the ship as time passes - and who knows, you might even get to your final destination as part of your end-game.

Depths Below, by Josh Domanski.

The surface of the Earth is barren. Left uninhabitable by countless environmental disasters. What remains of humanity has moved into underwater cities, the last of which is known as Terminus.

Take the role of humanity's last hope, doing what's necessary to survive while the elite cower in wait for the inevitable end. Depths Below is a complete RPG by Josh Domanski. It uses and expands upon the rules and systems developed for 24XX by Jason Tocci.

I think there are some ties to Silo that you might be able to see in Depths Below, even if the setting is a little bit different. The underwater city of Terminus is just as fraught and dystopian as the underground Silo, with political factions and plenty of hierarchies. The world above the waves is much more a mystery than it is in Silo, and there’s not much in the game that encourages you to seek out the surface - which means you are well and truly trapped.

When it comes to how to play the game, you’ll want a number of different polyhedral dice, as the size of the dice rolled depends on your skill level. Rolling a 5 or higher is a success, and you can use your gear to mitigate harm or give you the ability to do something. The actual rules of play only fill about one page of this game, but there’s an extra 12 pages of lore, character options, beasts to fight, and roll tables for the GM!

Underground, by emmy.

UNDERGROUND is an 8 page gm-less tabletop roleplaying game, where you take on the roles of post-apocalyptic factions living within the remnants of a metro system.

The details of the Cataclysm that brought you down here are long forgotten. You now have the chance to forge your own world.

Underground has a similar premise to the Silo saga in that you are groups of people living underground, in a post-apocalypse. However, the apocalypse looks much more recent, and as the players are all representing different factions, I’m not sure if there’s the same sort of hierarchical structure as seen with the different factions of the Silo - it might be if everyone agrees to represent it that way!

The biggest difference is the structure of these underground settlements - they’re not purposefully built to house people, they’re the old metro system that just happened to be there. You use d6’s to help construct the metro map, including spaces that may have not been fully explored yet. The biggest draw of this game is the exploration, so if you want to spend some time just building your own (altered) version of an underground dystopia, this might be the game for you.

Apocalypse World, by Meguey & Vincent Baker.

Something's wrong with the world and I don't know what it is. It used to be better, of course it did. In the golden age of legend, when there was enough to eat and enough hope, when there was one nation under god and people could lift their eyes and see beyond the horizon, beyond the day. Children were born happy and grew up rich.

Now that's not what we've got. Now we've got this. One of the classic post-apocalyptic games in the scene, Apocalypse World might be able to give you what you’re looking for, if you’re willing to establish some serious world-building. This game has been played in all sorts of apocalypses, and the truths of each one is dependant on what the game group is looking for, as well as which playbooks you choose to use.

Pick up a Hardholder or Brainer if you want someone who knows all too much and is trying to hide that information or control it. Play an Angel if you want to be needed. Play a savvyhead if you want to know how things work, and pick up a Hocus if you want to lead a faction of this settlement to a rebellion. You might want to cut out Choppers and Drivers though - underground, there’s not as much room for engines or gangs of roving bikers.

Neon Black, by NotWriting.

Neon Black is a role-playing game about a community of poor people fighting back against tyrannical corporations and the indifference of the rich, as well as surviving in a dystopian city state. It’s like real life, but in this world you can kill the CEO’s, rob banks to pay rent, and help your friends do the same. You'll help your community, go on dangerous heists, explore artificial realities, and encounter friendly and nefarious machines. We play to find out if the community can survive amidst warring corporations, an unforgiving climate, and the negligence of the extravagantly wealthy.

When putting together your crew in Neon Black, you need to decide which community you live in, and both the 55 (an apartment complex) and the Chariot (an abandoned space station) are possible candidates for communities with no other place to go. The biggest theme that resonates is the mega-corporations that have put you there in the first place.

Neon Black is a Forged in the Dark game, and it’s exceptionally good for playing a long-term faction game. There will be plenty of groups with interests that align or oppose yours, and you’ll be doing missions to help the people you care about while trying to take down those who don’t care about you. The biggest difference between this game and the Silo setting is the introduction of cyberware. Setting up the game is a bit of work, but I think it has legs!

For Similar Vibes…

White Sands, by Critical kit, has a dystopian feeling and the desire for rebellion, but on an Earth where clean air now has a price tag.

Lost Eons, by David Blandy, is for folks who want to explore the world after they breach their underground Havens, a world completely mutated and changed into a solar punk, sci-fantasy future.

2XXX: Promised Land, by Quasinfinity Games, looks like it starts on a spaceship, and with the horror undertones it presents, I'm skeptical about your cultists ever reaching the planet they're headed for.

My Post-Apocalyptic Community Rec List (has some overlap).

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg

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silverstagspirit · 1 year

Text

Survivor of Ramshackle - part 2

Part two is here!

Warnings: Swearing, dark themes, death, lots of death, gore, blood, body horror, vomiting, dead bodies, I am not responsible for what you read.

PART 1 PART 3

Everything was flying by so fast. The second they stepped through the portal, it felt like all their insides were being rearranged. Yuu flew past universe by universe. Saw shapes beyond human comprehension, colors that don't exist, and sounds that could never be fathomed. Closing their eyes helped a little, but they were still being thrown around like a rag doll through the space-time continuum. After about 15 minutes of absolute hell, they blacked out. When they regain consciousness, they are lying in the dirt of some unknown place. They picked themselves up. Their body felt like lead. They were sure they were going to have a migraine after this. Looking around, they realized this was a plot of unused land that was located near their hometown. Then it clicked.

They made it

Yuu knew the way to their house from here, so they wasted no time in running home. Heavy pants exhaled from their chest as they sprinted home. Nothing could hold them back anymore. They were finally home. They were giggling like a madman between breaths, and before they knew it, they were already talking out loud to the family members they were yet to meet again.

"MOM!! DAD!! I'M HOME!! I MADE IT!! I KNOW YOU ARE PROBABLY WORRIED, I CAN EXPLAIN!! SOMETHING TOOK ME AWAY BUT I'M SAFE NOW! I HAD SO MUCH FUN THERE WAS MAGIC I SAVED PEOPLE I LEARNED SO MUCH I MADE NEW FRIENDS YOUR GOING TO LOVE THEM SO MUCH I-"

Yuu stopped dead in their tracks. Their town was there. But it was reduced to rubble, ash, and crumbling ruins. There was still smoke coming from the leftover embers.

"..."

They didn't know what to say. The world tilted on its axis. Before they could pass out, however. Yuu found themselves running to their already intended destination. Charred corpses littered the streets of what was once their home. There was complete silence save for their swift, heavy footfalls against the broken tar of the roads, and the increased pounding in their chest. Rounding the block, they could see the sign for their street. It was bent and burnt bit still recognizable. With the last of their stamina, Yuu made the final push to their house. Seeing their home as nothing but a pile of rubble and ash is a sight they never wanted to see. But this is really happening right now. This realization hits even harder when they see their parents charred corpses next to the rubble.

"No," they whispered. Utterly shattered. They were shaking at this point . Both from physical exhaustion and the emotional trauma being inflicted on them. With a shaky hand, Yuu slowly reaches down and holds the skeletal hand of one of their parents. Nothing could stop Yuu from breaking down. Yuu's screams of pure agony filled the sky as tears and snot cascaded down their face. They barely registered themselves falling to the ground and weeping on all fours. It didn't matter. For there was only one thing that existed right now: PAIN.

Yuu whole body hurt like it never did before. There was something coursing through their veins that felt like lava. It was another factor in their screaming. Yuu's throat got tired after the outburst and just gave up after a while. They could only wheeze now as they fell into misery. Not like they even had the energy to make any sound anymore.

Yuu did not wish to look at the ruins of their home anymore. So they lurched their way into the street. Looking down the road, they saw a pile of bodies heaped high. What caught their eye about this, however, is the flag pole that was stuck in the middle on top. The flag had an insignia of some kind. It was threatening. The triangular red flag flowed in the wind like a trail of blood in water. The insignia mocked them of being unable to save their family.

Yuu trudged their way to a lake. Their skin paling and sweat cascaded down thier face with every step they took. Setting eyes on the water, they went to the edge and stuck their whole head in. They felt so thirsty. Yet no matter how much they drank, it still was not enough. Their entire stomach was now filled with water, yet they still needed more. What was happening to them? Their breaths had been labored for some time now, but now they were becoming even more intense. Yuu began to feel nauseous. Something weird was happening inside them. That weirdness turned into pain as they suddenly vomited a whole ton of blood. There was just a thick stream of blood coming from Yuu's mouth, straight into the lake. It was a horrifying sight. Yuu is just emptying out an entire bodies worth of blood. The blood coming out changed from red to black as now they had no blood left in them. Yuu identified the substance even in this state:

Blot

Then it started happening. Yuu was overblotting.

They were so tired they could only slouch there as thier body morphed and changed. Fingers growing sharp claws. Hair turning pitch black. They could feel their clothes changing and materializing more features. Their right eyeball burned like it was on fire. The ink seeping into shapes down their face. The process was surprisingly calm. As if this whole thing would bring them peace. At last.

The ink around them started to morph into a shape. The shape grew features as more ink accumulated around it. The shape began to form into a creature. This creature looked like a biblically accurate angel. Because it was constantly changing between different forms of different creatures. It finally settled on one form, however. It was the form of a three-headed dragon with two tails and a pair of giant wings. Each of the three heads had a crown atop their cracked glass skulls. This thing beared uncanny resemblance to an antagonist Yuu saw in a monster movie once. But judging how it looked like an eldritch creature beforehand, this thing probably has multiple forms like this. That and they remembered seeing somewhere that a multi-headed dragon is one of the forms of the devil.

Yuu's transformation reached its end as they opened their eyes. The fatigue they were feeling earlier was now completely gone as they felt like they could take on the world. They felt so good. They felt powerful, too. They wanted to see for themselves if that was true. They attempted to fire a spell they saw the boys use towards some rubble. To their surprise, a burst of magic sprung forth from their hand and completely demolished it in the blink of an eye. This was amazing. They could do magic now. It made them feel a little bit better. But they were still alone in this world now. Alone, except for their monster. The three-headed dragon peered down at them with its soulless eyes. There was electricity crackling where its mouth should be. It didn't have that many features on its face. But if it did, it would have the face of: "What are you? You are the only living thing here. Do not cross us."

Yuu looked at the creature. The creature looked at them. This was their phantom. This thing would eventually kill them. They knew this, yet they couldn't bring themselves to turn it away. This was the only company they had left. Their family was gone. Their home was gone. And their friends in Twisted Wonderland would never think to look for them. They would die completely alone. Without anyone here to save them. Or even know what happened to them. This was it. The end.

They could still do something. The blot was meddling with their mind. But a part of Yuu's morals were still trying to function in a way. But it came out twisted. Their goal now was to destroy whatever killed their people. To stop this from happening to any other world out there. They will end this madness even at the cost of their own life if they must.

Floating their way to the pile of dead bodies they passed earlier, Yuu pulled the flag pole out the heap, snapped it in half over their knee, and threw it away.

Sorry this took so long. I hit a brick wall of writers block. Also, I am now doing this series with they/them pronouns as you may have seen. Once again, I apologize for any mistakes. I did not proofread this. Hope you enjoyed it.

Taglist: @kami-kun1003

#twisted wonderland #twst #yuu #overblot #overblot yuu #angst #twst angst #twisted wonderland angst #tw: dark themes #tw: dead bodies

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badgirl411 · 2 years

Text

Devil In The Darkness: PART 3 (Corinthian Fanfic) 18+ SMUT WARNING

Pairing: The Corinthian x f!reader

Summary: When the mystery man who has been visiting you in your dreams returns spiciness ensues.

Warnings: Strong Language, Smut, Fingering, Dry Humping, DDlg themes MINORS DNI

PREVIOUSLY ON DEVIL IN THE DARKNESS:

You can't move frozen in place, mind gone blank not being able to process a single thought. He brings a large hand to your jaw, fingers tilting your head upright to look him in the face. You don’t know why you should be feeling scared, terrified even you heard this man in your room last night and now he is here again. But you don’t feel scared, not even one bit. You feel comfortable, butterflies are swarming your stomach.

Are you attracted to this man? Surely not. He has to be something your mind has made up; you are almost convinced you are losing your goddamn mind.

A laugh falls from his lips, thumb caressing your jaw.

“Little one that noise you made last night was just sinful, think you can make it again for me?”

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Your body seems to have shut down because no words are leaving your mouth, he has a vice like grip on your waist his other hand still under your jaw thumb caressing you. Staring at you he runs his tongue along the length of his lower lip, corners of his mouth turn upwards into a smirk. Your skin is alight with goosebumps and you breath catches, your gaze drifting to his lips. You want to kiss him, to replicate the action he just done but you are still frozen in place: brain not able to compute what it is that is happening right now.

Both hands seem to have found a home against his body: one grips his blazer and the other lays flat against his broad chest. A laugh falls from his lips, jaw flexing as he chews a piece of gum. You did not think it possible but his grip on your waist has tightened drawing you closer to his large frame, only a hairs width passing between the two of you now. All the air has left your lungs, leaving you breathless and waiting in anticipation for his next move.

“I know you want to kiss me, come on little one just give in!” His voice is a mere whisper now, his chest heaving as he waits to see if your resolve will crumble and finally give him what he has been craving every night he has visited you.

Something snaps in your mind and you close the gap between the two of you. Lips colliding with one another in a hurried moment of passion your tongue teases his lower lip begging to be let in to deepen the kiss, he gleefully accepts. It’s intense neither of you pausing for breath as you both become consumed by one another’s presence. Your bodies are pressed against one another, a growl sounds at the base of his throat sending shocks straight to the pressure that is building between your thighs.

Pulling away his lips find their way to the base of your throat nipping and kissing up the column of your neck, he reaches the spot just below your ear and a moan falls from your mouth. You hear him utter a hushed “fuck” when the moan leaves your mouth, your body feels like it's on fire pleasure invading every sense.

“Prettiest sound to ever exist” He mumbles against your skin to himself, your hand making its way to his belt. Fingers wrap around your wrist before they manage to reach their desired destination, a sigh echoing round the room from their owner.

“Not so fast little one, time you woke up for that job of yours!”

Before you have the chance to protest you are awake, frustration at an all-time high. Long hair sticks to your forehead, still breathless and the ache between your thighs is ever present. Rolling over you groan into your pillow before deciding to end your mini tantrum to silence your alarm that has just went off in time for another mundane day at the office.

Picking up your phone you phone the doctor's office making an appointment later in the day to discuss your current predicament. Once getting off the phone you send a quick text to your boss letting them know you will be leaving the office slightly earlier to attend your appointment.

Making your way to the mirror to fix your hair before leaving the apartment you grab the brush opting to throw it into a quick pony tail not having the energy to commit to anything too complicated. Tying the band round your hair you notice a mark on your neck just below your ear, it looks like a bruise but it can't be you haven't hurt yourself recently that you are aware of. On closer inspection you see that it is indeed a bruise it appears to be a hickey, your fingers graze the mark on your neck images of last night flashing through your mind. How is it possible that he has been able to bruise my neck if he was only in my dream.

The end of the day rolls round and your appointment with the doctor passes, you tell them everything that has happened minus the kiss from last night. They suggest keeping a detailed account of the ending of the dream, installing a night light and prescribe you with a course of sleeping tablets to help you stay asleep.

Bedtime rolls around and you enter the kitchen turning on the tap to fill a glass with water to wash down the tablet, placing it in the dishwasher when you are finished you head to the bedroom and climb into bed falling asleep not long after.

Time ticks on and you have only blackness in your head, no dream. It goes on like this for a couple of days until one night you close your eyes and find yourself not in the bar but instead in your own apartment. There is a knock at the door and you turn towards the noise heading towards the door to see the source of the noise, opening the door there he stands leaning against the door frame arms crossed. Raking your eyes over his frame you eye his crossed arms, biceps accentuated by the long-sleeved zip up he is wearing. Standing aside you let him into your apartment closing the door behind you, he stands waiting in the kitchen resting against the counter top.

Walking into the kitchen you approach him placing one hand on his sharp jaw and the other resting against his chest thinking about your previous encounter.

“Why did you wake me up before?” You pout your lips at him in some feeble attempt for sympathy, eager to continue what you both had started.

“Eager are we little one?” he pauses. “Baby you can have me now if you are a good girl.” he breathes biting lightly at your ear.

“You going to be a good girl?” pulling away he raises an eyebrow awaiting your response.

“Yes Daddy” nodding your head in agreement.

Before you know it you are both in your bedroom back pressed against the wall as his hand wraps around your throat, lips connecting with the same passion from before. His knee knocks your legs apart separating them, his thigh lies directly underneath your cunt. He hasn’t even touched you and has worked you into a frenzy with just his mouth on your neck. Desperate for any kind of relief you grind your cunt down onto his clothed thigh, a whimper of relief releasing.

A laugh resonates round the room as he watches the sight unfolding before him, his desperate little one grinding her throbbing cunt on his thigh such a needy girl. The sight is one of pure sin, God this is what he had wanted to happen from the very first night he invaded your dreams.

Hands trail their way up your bare thighs before reaching your underwear now soaked from your assault on his clothed thigh, his fingers tear through the flimsy material now discarded on the floor in two.

His palm cups your dripping cunt applying just the right amount of pressure for you to let out a moan, the sound going straight to his rock-hard cock. If he was being honest he was already hard when was standing at your front door, flashes of the night days before stiffening his cock before he had even seen you.

Gathering the wetness between your thighs with two fingers he lightly circles your clit before working the digits into you teasingly curling them up at that soft spot inside you. Unintelligible words rolling out your mouth as he works you into a frenzy, the string in you is about to snap your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Oh my god, oh god, oh... Fuck. Fuck. FUCK” you are seeing stars, your cunt spasming around his long fingers. His pace never faltering he keeps going, the wave not subsiding.

“Daddy fuck.” The phrase makes his cock throb, your cunt clenching around his fingers unleashes something in him.

He needs to be inside you, needs to feel your warmth wrapped around him. Needs you clenching round him, needs you moaning no screaming. This is it there’s no turning back for him now you are his, no one else can have you.

He withdraws his fingers once your orgasm subsides, lifting two fingers to his mouth he sucks them cleaning off the wetness from your cunt. God the taste of you is better than he imagined, its making him absolutely feral. A low growl erupts from the base of his throat when he licks of the rest of the wetness from his fingers.

“Baby you are mine now.”

#the corinthian #the corinthian fanfic #the corinthian smut #the sandman #the sandman netflix #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x f!reader #boyd holbrook #the corinthian imagine #my fic

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stardragongalaxy · 6 months

Text

Blood Moon: The Forbidden Lotus

Pairings: Seonghwa x Rayne (named reader/ OC) x Yeosang

Trope/Au: Vampire au, e2l, s2l, f2l, angst, fluff, horror, smut

WC: 3.4k

Rating: 18-19+

Warnings: Dark themes, death, blood, tragic events, manipulation

Kinks: Predator/prey, mxm, poly, blood play, bulge kink, voyeurism, rough sex, aphrodisiacs, temperature play, let me know if I missed anything

AN: Hello!! It finally arrived!! It's the first part collab with @sanjoongie ! Make sure you check out Topaz fics to connect everything! Thank you to my amazing beta @choisanshine and @starlitmark (for the help!!) as well!! Credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers!! Please enjoy and Happy Halloween!! Be safe, everyone, and if you celebrate!!

Taglist: @abiaswreck @twisted-tales-of-all @kitten4sannie @anyamaris @drunk-on-hwa @piratequeen-queenofgames @whatudowhennooneseesyou @xsweetelegantdisasterx (if to be added or removed, dm or ask)

Disclaimer: These are not true depictions of the idols, but rather face claims. Do not plagarize, translate, re-upload, or steal my works! Thank you!

Yeosang was the first to step into the night, looking into the sky with a smirk peering upon the blood-red moon. Turning, he looked back at his long-time friend, Wooyoung, with a glint in his eyes.

"Care to cause mayhem with me this night? It is, after all, Hunter's moon and the perfect remedy to cause chaos~" He questioned, pulling his ebony hood over his head, eyes flashing in anticipation of Wooyoung’s answer.

Yeosang smirks after hearing Wooyoung’s answer about joining him on this eventful night. Ready to feed after a time of waiting, but thoughts wondering if this night would be enticing to do more.

"Let us begin, my brother"

He looked at Wooyoung, with a proud smile turned wicked smirk and flash of his piercing eyes, pulling the edge of his cloak, disappearing in the blink of an eye into the night.

Seonghwa had ended his nightly shift from work, getting his things for the week ahead with Rayne. He looked up at the clock, 19:32. He smiled happily, finally putting time in for the paid vacation, to be exact, and to finally get out to spend time with his group of friends. Seonghwa said his goodbyes to his co-workers for the night, heading to his car. For some reason, he felt unease when he got to his car, looking around to see nothing in sight. He breathed deeply, opening his car door after unlocking it, getting inside, settling everything in his passenger seat, and cracking the windows to let the night air come in.

He gripped the steering wheel tight and closed his eyes, leaning his head back for a moment in thought, knowing these last few weeks had been hell alone not only in work, but the heartache from the person he loved from someone who continuously hurt Rayne. He hated watching every minute.

"I wish I were stronger so I could protect her and tell her my feelings before someone else finds her heart… and shatters it again. Zeph is right… I'd burn the world for Rayne. Tonight will be the moment to tell her everything in my heart and soul." His voice mixed in conviction and pain.

Sitting back up in his seat, he moved his hand to the key, feeling a shiver up his back. Seonghwa didn't like the feeling. Rolling up his windows after starting the car's engine that purred to life. Setting his car in drive, he drove off quickly to his next destination, you.

A figure watched from the tree line under the shaded darkness, eyes glowing, watching Seonghwa leave. A dark chuckle is heard in silence, hearing the wishes he normally brushed off, but this one piqued his interest. The figure dropped his previous meal, a hiker he caught running previously, moving back elegantly into the shadows, disappearing under the crimson moonlight to follow.

Seonghwa had made it down Fever Road, seeing the bridge in sight, knowing he was closer to home in less time than anticipated with the road mostly clear. The fog was very light compared to most autumn nights, and the moonlight guiding the way helped. The bridge is close in sight. Something ran across in front of him, taking him by surprise, causing him to swerve and lose control of the car. The tires screeched, but it wasn't quick enough to stop hitting between a tree and part of the bridge.

Seonghwa groaned in pain, coughing and being disoriented after the crash. He swallowed hard, hearing a drip hit his jacket from his head that felt wet from his head. He raised his gloved hand, touching the injury, making him hiss in pain. He groaned, seeing the blood on his hand. His hand rested on his stomach, feeling something against his skin but not wanting to look where the pain resonated. His free hand reached out the shattered window to the handle outside to get out, attempting to open the door. He growled in frustration and stopped, leaning back against the seat, feeling his strength slowly wane.

Seonghwa cried out when he was yanked out of the car with force, snapping the seat belt which shattered more glass hitting the ground. He whined, the feeling of being carried so unfamiliar to him. The figure set Seonghwa down onto the concrete and dirt from what he felt. His eyes opened in alert at the figure while holding his injury, coughing into his arm, looking back to examine the being under the moonlight. Its predatory eyes under the hood caused fear to ripple through him.

"Who are you?" He questioned, dragging himself backward when the being pulled the hood back, revealing an ethereal-looking man with longer black hair, tilting his head with his unnatural, glowing eyes, crimson, and indigo intertwined within the irises.

"The one who will make your wishes come true." Giving an indirect answer to Seonghwa, walking forward, hearing the thrill of Seonghwa's heartbeat speed up in fear. The being quirked an eyebrow, bending down in front of Seonghwa, knowing the human had no chance of escape, gripping his chin roughly with one hand.

"Do you really want to keep going? For family, for yourself, maybe a lover?"

"I.." Seonghwa hesitated, feeling his body becoming heavy with each moment. He agreed to this, making Yeosang hum in satisfaction with the answer, with his clawed index finger lightly scratching Seonghwa's cheek, causing a shiver. A smirk etched onto Yeosang's lips, taking one wrist, raising it to his bloody lips, watching his victim’s face, biting into it, causing Seonghwa to cry out in pain, doing the same with a switch of hands. The vampire leaned in by Seonghwa's ear, hearing his shaky breaths, pulling him by force against his shoulder.

"Yeosang.. I'll make sure you remember it." He whispered darkly with sickly sweet undertones, swiftly biting into his neck afterward.

"R..Rayne.. '' Seonghwa gasped out painfully one last time, holding onto Yeosang with what energy he had left, feeling the hot tears run down his cheeks. He heard ringing in his ears and vision with darkness at the edges, feeling like a ragdoll from the slowed beats of his heart. Yeosang laid Seonghwa back, cutting his own wrist, letting him feed. Seonghwa tried to fight back but in the end, lost the battle after Yeosang pushed his wrist against his lips. He weakly let the coppery liquid slide down his throat, giving in to swallowing a few gulps. He let out a breath, closing his eyes slowly to a slumbering state.

"Rest before the next steps come into play.."

Yeosang looked back at the dropped phone lit up near the car tires, standing up with amusement. He walked over with a smirk licking the blood off his lips, devising his next steps.

Rayne bit her lip, looking at the time, knowing Seonghwa got off nearly an hour ago, coming from work to stay the week at her place, wanting to spend time with each other. She turned on the TV, flipping through channels to settle on the news, shivering at the events that had been happening this week alone. Rayne turned the TV off, concern spiking as she bit her lip.

"Why isn't he here yet?" You whispered, picking up your phone looking through the contacts. Texting Seonghwa first to see what had happened, swallowing thickly, thinking back to the news you just saw. Zephyr, your best friend, came up, opening the messages and giving yourself a moment before texting.

"Zeph, You guys be careful and please be safe. The weather is acting up, and these incidents are getting bad."

You sent it, looking outside at the light fog and the bright red moon rising in the night sky. Her phone vibrated, making you jump from the unexpected moment. A familiar name came up in the messages sending her pictures, making your eyes go wide. Upon seeing the last picture, Seonghwa's name appeared on the ID, answering the call immediately, thinking it was a joke.

"Seonghwa! What…" You answered, being cut off by the maniacal laugh that came through the other line, gripping your heart in fear as it dropped.

"What did you do to him??" You yelled in anger, standing up with your balled fist.

"My, oh my, angel, I can't tell you that." The voice responded in a mocking coo. You were about to speak, but the next words cut you off.

"Fever Road and Halazia Bridge if you want any chance of finding anything left. Better hurry before the cops catch on~" The voice finished hearing the smirk in his voice before the line went dead.

You raised the phone to your head, closing your eyes, thinking on your feet, and taking a deep breath. You moved in determination, putting your phone in your pocket, grabbing your keys and a weapon heading out to your vehicle following the directions the voice had given.

Upon arrival, you gasped, seeing Seonghwa's vehicle in such a damaged state. You parked your car on the bridge, turning on the emergency flashers, grabbed the weapon, and got out to investigate.

You took careful steps towards the crime scene, holding your weapon and torch close, eyes widening from what you could see between all the provided light. Fear started creeping up in your body, feeling as if someone was watching in the darkness. You searched the area carefully, biting your lip from taking in the surroundings. You stopped feeling something under your shoe, stepping off and crouching down, picking up the item. Tears stung your eyes, finding the bracelet you gave Seonghwa with blood on it. You stifled softly, lightly biting your tongue to keep from crying, standing back up and looking around one last time, being mostly unsuccessful in the search. You headed back to your car without looking back, gripping the weapon tight while listening.

Eyes watched you leave the scene after a few minutes, intrigued by you and looking back at the sleeping male, knowing what needed to come next.

You returned home with only the bloody bracelet that belonged to Seonghwa at the scene that you made him a few years back. You sighed, putting down your keys on the coffee table after locking the door and taking your shoes off. You felt the overwhelming sensation of crying, but you held on a little longer, heading to your sanctuary, your room, with your phone in the other hand.

You looked down at your phone upon entering your room, typing to Zephyr, closing the door behind you. You looked up from the phone, observing the room. you froze when you looked to the side, eyes widened upon seeing the sight on your bed, swiping across the screen and hit send before dropping the phone and running to the bed. You started tearing up, checking Seonghwa over, seeing the wounds upon his battered, bloody body, checking to see any sign of life, only to find none. A wail ripped from your throat, hugging Seonghwa the best you could, laying your head onto his chest, no longer holding back your emotions.

Yeosang leaned against the wall, watching, and moved off the wall tilting his head, eyes glowing. "You were looking for him, were you not?"

Looking over quickly, you see a man who looks ethereal, but his predatory eyes and deceptive smirk send shivers up your back.

"You?? That voice on the phone?? Who are you?? What are you going to do? How did you.." You questioned, trying to be confident if it wasn't for the quivering in your voice, feeling your galloping heart and freezing looking upon the man. A dark glint hinted in his eyes, hearing the next words when the man's smirk grew more dangerous.

"Darling, I don't have to do anything~"

You widen your eyes, feeling movement behind you, holding your breath when a hand softly wrapped around your throat, leaning you back against his chest. "S...Seonghwa...?"

"I need you. I've always needed you... " Hearing his plea by your ear sent shivers through your body. You feel his free hand go under your shirt and across your abdomen, making you jump, his coldness rubbing against your warm skin, causing you to shiver. His clawed nails ghosted the side of your neck. You were about to say something, but Hwa spoke up quickly.

"Let me take care of you.. to make you mine, would you like that...?" His sultry voice whispered into your ear, causing you to moan out a yes. His eyes changed more demon-like, striking like a snake, biting the side of your neck and holding your throat with enough pressure to cut the air off. Seonghwa growled, feeling you struggle, cutting off your airway that made your moments still, letting go of your neck after a moment catching your breath again with coughing, his hand relieving pressure, letting the blood run down his chin, but his head back with an open mouth smirk, his fangs revealed, licking his lips with his tongue. He lowered his head, his glowing eyes on full display. He growled, feeling you shake as he ran his hands up and down your sides, letting everything in his venom take effect.

"W..what's going on? Why is he cold and..ngh" You stopped with a whine feeling yourself heat up with tears pricking your eyes. They widened when Yeosang moved quicker than the human eye, standing by the bed at your side, gripping your chin firmly.

"He needed your blood to live. The feeling you have is quite euphoric to humans if they live long enough, that is. " Yeosang leaned closer, glancing between Hwa and you. "Let yourselves indulge. Everything will be explained in time."

Yeosang let your chin go, the back of his hand gliding down your cheek to your neck with an observant hum, watching you shake, nicking the other side of your neck, hearing you softly gasp before standing up. Seonghwa had growled, licking the new wound, laying you down on the bed, and hovering above you. Yeosang chuckled, seeing the romantic moment between you two.

"Don't mind me as I watch the show~" Yeosang smirked, leaning against the wall and licking some blood he captured from the cut he made on you.

"Rayne," he whispered needily, pushing your hair back from your face. "I need more of you, need everything," he continued looking into your eyes, waiting for a signal.

"Take everything.. p-please, I need you!" You begged him, bucking in his hands that laid on your hips. He didn't have to be asked twice to pull your bottoms with your undergarments in one fatal swoop moaning at the sight licking his lips. He followed by pulling his pants down and off, letting his cock spring free. You swallowed, wanting him now with a soft whine. Seonghwa went ravenous, diving into your pussy, causing a gasp to rise from your throat, feeling his muscle to your cavern. His growl reverberated at your core, making you buck your hips, wanting more, feeling your insides start to tighten.

Seonghwa's hands held your legs in place, still apart. He rose from your core when you were getting close, licking a stripe up your mound, making sure you were wet enough for him. A cursed high that faded with him moving upwards, licking the blood that ran between the valley of your chest up to your neck with a satisfying hum, moving to hover above you again. You took in his appearance above you, seeing the previous injuries either healing or completely gone. He pushed back the hair from your face, catching your attention, locking eyes with his. A devious smirk appeared on his lips, slicking his cock with your heat, hearing your moans like his favorite song, closing your eyes in pleasure, leaning your head back.

Seonghwa bared his fangs, entering you in one go until he bottomed out, groaning at your walls so snugly around him, a perfect fit for him. Your eyes snapped open, gasping in surprise from the temperature change, reaching out, hugging his shoulders closely, wanting to be closer. He shifted, bringing your legs around him, folding you to get deeper, snapping his hips relentlessly.

"That's it, so delectable, isn't she? She will make a good human to keep, a sweet treat to have~"

Seonghwa leaned down, hearing Yeosang's words hit his very soul, causing a growl to erupt from his throat, swallowing your pained cries that soon turned to pleasure in a heated kiss. In time he released the kiss, adjusting his position, having you against the wall. You felt your hand move with his, laced together, setting it on your stomach to feel him inside you. You lean your head back, feeling the tightening rise quickly. Seonghwa finally snapped, making you shakily gasp, when you felt Seonghwa’s fangs enter the cut Yeosang created, causing your orgasm to rip through you. He moved, laying you down on the bed, still feeding on you through the high.

"I…I love you, Hwa.." You whispered softly, causing him to hold your hands above your head, still laced together.

Yeosang glared, gripping a handful of Seonghwa's hair, causing the male to growl after releasing you, pulling his head back away from you. He separated you both after Seonghwa let go, seeing the blood cover his mouth and chin, dripping down his chest. Yeosang felt Seonghwa had enough of the ever-slow beating of your heart. Hwa started to move for more blood, stopping upon seeing Yeosang baring his own fangs, picking you up in his arms.

"You take anymore from her, and you both perish!" His voice deeply dropped in command. The moment he finished the sentence Hwa’s eyes widened, feeling many emotions, bringing his hand up to hold his throat. Seonghwa threw his head back, falling onto the bed. His transformation was finally hitting completion, making him cry out, clawing at the sheets, and his back arched. Yeosang sat on the edge of the bed, biting his own wrist, opening your mouth, and seeing Seonghwa feed too deeply from you. He let the blood drip into your mouth, moving his arm, letting his wrist rest against your lips, feeding you, wasting no time. He gained a reaction when you started weakly swallowing, lifting your head to let the blood go down easier after a few gulps of the metallic taste coating your tongue. He let his wound heal, listening closely to your heartbeat growing stronger, cradling your weak body, lifting his head up, looking at the newly, now fully turned vampire.

"I love you too, Rayne" Seonghwa whispered painfully with tears for you, falling asleep afterwards. Yeosang grabbed your phone, moving you between Seonghwa and himself, creating a new connection between master, newborn, and human. He linked both your hands together, leaning against the headboard, thoughts back on Hongjoong and Jongho. He used your thumb in the biometrics to open your phone, watching to see if you'd awaken, which you didn't as he continued setting your hand down over your abdomen.

"Be careful what is wished for. Everything comes at a price" sending the pictures with the message to their friend Zephyr, setting the wheels in motion. He set the phone down quietly before closing his eyes, leaning back against the headboard, resting together for the time being.

Yunho swallowed hard, seeing the scene in front of him after the cops let Mingi and himself through. Zeph sending those texts that she received from Seonghwa's phone had confirmed his fears. In his observation, his tongue pushed inside his cheek, keeping his emotions in check, taking everything in. Yunho looked closely, seeing his friend's blood or what he assumed to be was on both the road and the driver's side of the crashed car. Yunho fished for his phone inside his pocket, stepping away far enough from his friend, Mingi, letting him take the scene in and anything else that was needed. Finally finding San's number, he called, listening to the ringing tone. He waited until the pick-up on the other line, cupping the phone with his hand.

"San, I have bad news… Seonghwa is missing. There is too much blood on the scene to be anything but suspected foul play…" Yunho spoke with a solemn tone expecting his friend to break down after the call. He answered San's concern after hearing him out.

"About that…" Yunho sighed heavily, "I haven't heard anything from Rayne either. Seonghwa was supposed to meet her after work. I assured Zephyr it was all good, but now I'm even more worried."

Yunho nodded to San's request, looking up at the moon, giving his word before disconnecting. He put his phone away, taking a deep breath before turning and heading back to his vehicle, where Mingi awaited him.

#cultofdionysusnet #mfu net #pirateeznet #wonderlandnet #sandsofirenet #ateez #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #kang yeosang x reader #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #vampire au #vampire ateez #Blood Moon Series

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eupheme · 1 year

Text

Like The Movies | Day 11: Movie Night

alfred pennyworth x f!reader

Rated E | 2.4k

Also part of a belated request for @fluffyprettykitty, for the prompt “would you like to go somewhere a little private”

Tags: age gap, est. relationship, voyeurism, light sub/dom, PiV, masturbation, come marking, slight possessiveness

What begins as a cozy movie night turns into both of you watching something much more intimate.

The movie flashes across the screen in the living room. It’s an old, holiday-themed classic, with soft tones of black and white, a smooth jazz soundtrack. Something he picked out from a lifetime ago.

He indulges you, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the floor, popped on a cast-iron skillet in the kitchen, dusted with sea salt and melted butter. A thick blanket fending off the winter chill as you lounge against him - an arm around your waist, your head tucked against the crook of his shoulder.

If you’re honest, you lost the plot of the movie a bit ago, the slow, dreamy dialogue going fuzzy in your ears - too busy concentrating on the warm hand on your waist, the lazy brush of his thumb and knuckles on the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up.

Your head turns, a soft kiss pressed against his shoulder, collarbone, then the bare skin of his neck. He hums low in his throat, still facing the large television, but when you glance up, you see his eyes are looking at you, watching.

The blanket pools around you as you shift, carefully twisting, drawing a knee over until they map his, until you’re straddling his thighs. His hands rest high on your hips as you lean in, continuing your path.

Throat, jaw, temple.

“Tired of old classics, dove?” He asks, voice low as your lips touch his cheek, causing you to pause your journey to his mouth.

“No. I love old classics,” You smile, “But you, sir, are distracting me.”

Fingers rest on strong shoulders as you lean in, finally reaching your destination, sighing softly when his mouth meets yours.

He’s warm beneath you, in a thick knitted sweater, warm woolen trousers. Alfred’s idea of loungewear - you had checked before, and the man did not own a single pair of sweatpants or jeans.

But that made it easier for you, to press yourself close, slowly rocking your hips against his. You shift, flush against him, his hands gripping you now as your tongue brushes his lip, and this time he’s groaning.

They part, letting you to deepen the kiss as grind yourself against the bulge that is quickly stiffening beneath you, his own fingers slipping under your shirt, trailing up warm skin. The soundtrack of the movie making you lose track of time, everything going soft and slow and hazy.

It’s only when his hand cups your breast, a soft pinch to your tight nipple, the loud, needy moan that follows - that he pauses, seeming to come back to himself. Your fingers have curled their way under his sweater, tugging at an undershirt - a dull, needy throb in the soft space between your thighs.

“Perhaps,” he breathes, eyes still closed as is he is loathe to say it, “Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more private?”

You’re already leaning back in, humming as you reach skin, as you press yourself against his palm, “No one is here.”

“Even so.” He pulls back now, still reluctant.

Lips brush against the scruff of his beard, your palm flattening against his chest as you roll against him, the heat low and hot in your belly.

He stifles a groan, his look stern, “Now who’s being distracting? Be good, dove. For me.”

You unwind from his lap - he’s right of course.

Ms. Dory would never step foot in this room again if she ever found out. The blanket lies pooled and movie still runs as you make your way to his room, as you lead the way, fingers tightly clasped.

———

There’s a few detours before you make it to your destination. Pauses in the hallway, a palm on your waist as you turn, minutes lost in the slow exploration of hands, mouths as you lean against the wall, a desk - and then finally at the edge of his bed.

Layers are peeled off, discarded, your shirt getting lost on the floor so he can map bare skin, lingering there as he follows you onto the bed.

It’s an unspoken thing, how you find yourselves as before - his back against the pillows lining the headboard, your hips straddling his, the press and drag of your bare cunt against his cock.

Watching how it presses against his belly, trapped between you. How he’s seemingly unhurried with your joining, content to let you grind against him, his mouth busy as he find places on your neck that make you squirm.

It’s you who breaks first - a hand splayed flat across a broad shoulder, the other wrapping around him. That catches his attention, the tight grip of your fist - angling him so you can lift up on your knees.

Watching him watch you as you lower yourself onto him. Missing the way his lips part with a groan because your own eyes are closing as you take him, air sucked in through teeth with the pressure as he stretches you out.

Sinking until you’re flush, knees pressing into the mattress as he grips the flesh on your hips. As you start to move, as you lift up, before rocking your hips back down.

Arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance, as an arm curls around your back, his hand splayed against your spine.

Your pace staying slow as the pleasure grows, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, as you lift, and then dip. A grind of your hips sending a spark that jolts through you, your moves still leisurely.

But somewhere along the journey that began with your lips on his shoulder to now, with the shallow rocking of your hips - his patience has grown thin.

Not expecting the tight grip of his hand on your waist, the other pressing between your shoulder blades to crush you against him. The shift as his knees raise, feet pressing flat as he uses his weight against yours. Keeping himself deeply seated in you as he pushes forward - until you’re gasping in surprise as your back hits the mattress.

Until he’s the one hovering above you, the smallest curve of a smirk as he adjusts you beneath him, pleased at the turn of events. Getting you back from before - interrupting you, this time.

Hands hooking under your knees, pushing your thighs back towards your chest, and then apart, until you’re spread open wide for him. Your breath caught in your chest as he shifts his weight back onto bent knees that press into the bed.

The drag of his cock as he pulls out, almost all the way. Your breath finally coming as a sharp gasp when his hips snap, seating him back inside. Eyes drifting over the expanse of his chest, the flex of his arms as he does it again. As he watches the way you wrap around him, the slick shine of his cock before it disappears into you.

It makes your toes point and then curl, how deep he feels at this angle. Your hands reaching up toward your head, twisting and grasping at the sheets. The soft brush of his thumb against the sensitive skin by your knee as he begins to thrust.

Spearing deep into your tight heat, barely withdrawing before he does it again. With the tilt of your hips he’s rocking against a spot that has you panting, aching.

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” He all but growls, a sharp exhale of breath as your eyes fix on him, “Just had to have my attention, even though the movie wasn’t even half over.”

The words transfix you, his low voice layering with his expression - a sternness is that only surface-deep. It has you arching into him as you bite back a smile, your eyes going half-lidded and wanting.

His own eyes bright, almost slipping because he knows just how much you like it when he gets a little bossy. How he enjoys it just as much when you beg, in your own way, like you had downstairs.

But it’s not hard for him to tap into it, not really. Letting his voice drop lower, quieter, “You have it now, love.”

Hands gripping just a little tighter, a rough thrust that makes you moan.

“All of me.”

And you do - have all of him. His focus and his cock and so, so much more than that. You can see it, in the heavy gaze of his eyes, hear it in his words, feel it in his touch.

So you reach for him, hands leaving the rumpled, wrinkled sheets where they had twisted beneath your fingers. Grasping on to the backs of his hands, curling around his wrists - just wanting that extra bit of connection.

“Alfred,” You moan his name, nails biting into his skin. “Please.”

You’re not even sure what you’re asking for - your brain a loose hazy of soft affection, as the pleasure in your lower belly climbs and climbs.

He can feel the tightness in your limbs, the way you clench him. The blink of your eyes above panting, parted lips.

A hand shifts, leaving the underside of your thigh, curving around your wrist - drawing it down to your center. They map your fingers, his index and middle pressing down, lining them up against your clit.

“Give me something to watch, now.” His words are soft, but spoken so low, carefully drawn out, “I want you to show me. Show me how you rub that pretty little clit of yours, and I’ll keep fucking you. Just the way you like it.”

You make a little sound - a whimper, a moan - as he continues, “Can you do that for me, darling?”

It has you moving without thinking - your fingers moving in a small circle, the movement practiced. He expects an answer and you give it, a sighed out “yes”, as you touch yourself.

His answering moan is reverent, eyes lingering on your face, a curve of lips and flash of teeth before his eyes drop.

Watching as he slows from the sharp snap, to something softer. A steady sawing of his hips, clever eyes catching what makes you gasp, the muscles flexing in your leg.

Bringing you higher and higher together, until he’s abandoning the grip of his other hand. Leaving your thigh to catch the fingers that still tighten around him.

Lacing them, bringing your clasped hands up to rest next to your head, as he braces himself over you. Close enough now to brush his nose, his lips, along your cheek. For you to hear the sharp exhale of his breath in your ear.

You arch into him, fingers stuttering. Losing focus for just a moment, horribly distracted by his closeness, the press of his mouth against the hollow just under your ear that muffles his groan.

A soft tsk falls from his lips, the scrape of his beard against your neck.

“Keep going, dove.” He croons, his fingers tightening in yours, “Love the way you clench around me. You feel so fucking good, darling.”

Your grip on his hand is equally tight, his weight pinning your hips to the bed. It doesn’t stop the unconscious rock as you try to meet his thrusts, your eyes fluttering shut as the fingers between your thighs press a little harder, circle a little faster.

The words slide through your teeth, a breathy stream of messy thoughts, “Oh god please, I’m so close-”

His answering hum is low, almost a growl. Angling his head so he can kiss you fiercely, until you’re moaning into his mouth as your thighs jerk, tightening around his waist.

Your pulse pounding in your ears as he grinds against the spot, as the circle of your fingers sends you hurtling over the edge. A blinding pleasure stealing your words and your breath - thudding between your thighs that swells until its racing up your spine as down your limbs.

His lips against your check, pressing as he murmurs against your skin, “Christ, good girl. Just like that.”

Slowing the thrust of his hips so he can feel the tight clench of your pussy around him, the way your knees press into his waist. Fingers circling until the waves ebb, until your limbs are relaxing onto the mattress.

But his words from before, echo. Giving you ideas, your own eyes flicking down to where his barrel chest presses into yours.

“Will you let me watch, too?” You sigh, tongue peeking between your teeth as you smile at him, letting him see how your gaze slowly drags back up to meet his.

He’s still now, resting heavy in you. A rough exhale of breath as he regards your request, his own look dark and hungry.

All it takes is another “please” before he’s easing from you, shifting until his knees bracket your thighs. A hand wrapped tightly around the thick, jutting shaft of his cock, your eyes fixed on the sharp jerk of his fist.

Where he’s slick with your arousal, your release. Aiding him, as his hips flex into his grip. A groan rattling in his chest as your hand reaches to cup him, thumb stroking over the skin as you gently squeeze his sack. The other stroking his inner thigh, nails dragging over the sensitive skin.

Your name on his lips, sounding broken. Almost worshipful, as he watches you watch him. The heave of his chest as his release approaches, the flushed head of his cock disappearing beneath thick fingers.

Until he’s groaning beautifully, the sound deep and rough and loud. You eyes pulling to watch his face, the way his lips form the dirty string of curses that fall before he’s there.

Angling himself over the curve of your stomach as he comes - his release arcing to reach the underside of a breast, pooling in the valley between. Until he’s spent himself completely, until he’s marked you so thoroughly.

A look in his eye, that tells you he’s enjoyed this as much as you have. Watching, seeing you then - and then now. One that says “mine” in a way that no words are needed. You both just know.

He cleans you carefully afterwards, wiping himself from you. Lips finding yours tenderly, the words sighed out against your mouth - helplessly susceptible to your charms.

“Oh, dove. The things you do to me.”

It’s not long later, that you find yourselves back downstairs. The television dark, the last slow scrolling of the credits inching up the screen.

Considerably cozier as you fit yourself next to him, unable to help a small jest.

“You know what?” You yawn, tugging the blanket back around you again, “That might have been the best movie I’ve ever seen.”

His own long-suffering sigh, affection lacing it as his hand finds yours. Smiling, as you grab the remote.

Starting the movie over, again.

[dilfcember masterlist]

(tags: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto, @obiknights, @stargirlfics, @squidlywiddly87, @maskhoper, @madamepoelzig, @hiddlebatchedloki)

#wwdilfcember #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x you

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