#Love for Sundown | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

godsamael · 1 year

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Here's a Love for Sundown fic, commissioned by @anywaffle using her OC Louise. It follows Harlem's love confession ending to a fluffier (if slightly dramatic) conclusion. SFW but mildly suggestive. I had so much fun writing this! Thanks again for commissioning me :)

2k words under the cut

"…You should probably head home."

"…Come back sometime… okay?"

You didn't hear from Harlem for a while after that. Not that he's often inclined to contact anyone. It was usually up to you to seek him out at the very few spots he's guaranteed to be, creature of habit that he is.

But you hadn't done that either.

Those words keep echoing in your head. They sent you back to drifting through your life for a bit, unsure what to do in the face of such a cold, vague rejection.

You felt numb that night, the night you told him you loved him and he didn't even react. You went home that night and you didn't even cry, no matter how lonely your apartment felt. But you didn't let yourself think about what he did after you left either, what he might have felt, what shape his loneliness might have taken, standing in his own empty apartment after he broke your heart.

Broke your heart, didn't he? That's how you should feel, right? Heartbroken?

But you just… don't.

Your heart didn't break that day, your love didn't die because you… you simply…

You don't believe him.

Harlem can pretend you don't know him and you'll play along with that, but just because he's been elusive in telling you things doesn't mean you haven't come to know him in all these months steeped in intimacy.

Harlem is a man who struggles to connect with people. He acts like he isn't, but he's proud of the scars he gets from fight nights and he preens when you act impressed about them. He grumbles when you choose a Disney movie for your movie nights, but still holds you a little tighter when you get emotional during them. And he definitely picks mostly weird black-and-white films when it's his turn to annoy you in return. He plays up how old he is so he can smirk at you while you tease him. When he's blood-drunk in the night, holding you in his arms, he whispers against your neck his favoritism for your blood. "No one else comes close," he'll murmur, hazy and aroused. He's a man who's known such violence all his life, but when he touches you, it's like his hands were made just to cradle you with care, to do nothing but pleasure you and treat you gently. And when you're dozing on his bed after making incredible love and he's letting you use his arm as a pillow and he's propped himself up to hold his soft lips to your face, gently, sweetly, fluttering kisses as to convey his affection without waking you, he whispers 18th century French well into the night, things you can't understand but sound deeply poetic.

You try to see the good in things but you're not boundlessly optimistic either. It's not naivety that draws you to this conclusion, it's the writing on the wall. You don't believe he's rejecting your love because you don't believe he doesn't love you back. A man who refuses to respond to your confession but asks you to come back to him is a man who is desperately trying not to lose you.

It's this conclusion that drives you to make the wild decision to show up at Harlem's apartment in the middle of the night. And God help you, it turns out he's home.

You stiffen as the door opens and Harlem freezes to once he sees your face. Of course he's beautifully shirtless tonight.

"…Lou." Your name is a ghost on his breath and you almost shiver at the familiar sound, but you can't get lost in that now. Not when the man before you looks like Hell and you can smell the scent of cigarettes from his apartment without even stepping inside.

You open your mouth and… nothing comes out.

You don't know how to start. And it looks like Harlem isn't about to, either.

Unconsciously, you take a step forward. He doesn't back away; a good sign. He just stares down at you and if your nerves weren't so frayed you would almost smile at the sight, knowing that, on a usual day, you'd be gesturing for him to lean down so you could press a kiss to his forehead and he'd roll his eyes about it but allow you all the same. It's not a usual day.

Open your mouth again, you don't even think about your words, you just force your voice out.

"If I asked you to kiss me now… would you?"

Harlem's eyes darken and his breath hitches. Those full lips part. "Are you asking?"

You swallow hard. Then, nod.

He doesn't hesitate, not even a little. Instantly, you're swept into his arms and apartment, the door kicked shut behind you.

You almost lose yourself in it, kissing those lips you missed so dearly in such a short time, the heady taste of him imprinting itself on your tongue, the usual hint of nicotine stronger than ever—you can't imagine why.

However, as soon as you find yourselves in his bedroom, his warm hands on your stomach as he begins to push your sweater up, you have to stop him. You can't let this get swept away in sex, not this time.

"Wait," you gasp the word as you break the sensual kiss. "I can't do this unless you say it."

He stops completely, gazing into your eyes with an unreadable emotion in his. He seems to hesitate, eyes flicking away from you before finally saying, "I don't know… what you mean."

You grit your teeth, then release your tension with a sigh. Gripping his wrists a little tighter, you lean in to catch his gaze again, willing him to feel the sincerity and urgency tightening into anxiety within you. "You need to say it. If we are to continue anything from now on, I need to know you love me."

Harlem's jaw tightens, his resolve to not look you in the eye growing as he jerks his head away.

"I…" He chokes out the words like it hurts him. "I can't. I can't feel that way about you."

He's not denying it. He's saying he can't but he's not saying he doesn't. You'll cling to that until your fingers bleed.

Finally, tentatively, he looks at you again. Then raises his left hand. "Do you see this?"

He wiggles his fingers. Three of them, and one stump right where a wedding ring would go. He never told you what happened to it. He's never told anyone.

He swallows and gazes down at his own hand as if seeing the past play out before his eyes.

"Hunters. A long, long time ago. I was just living my damn life. I wasn't hurting anybody. I wasn't even drinking blood. But just my existence was a crime to them and they would deal with it in the cruelest way they could think of." He clenches his hand into a fist and looks at you, so tired and worn down. "They tied me up and forced a ring on my finger. An enchanted ring. It took control of me—it wanted the sun and every day it got a little bit harder to resist the draw. It was driving me mad. Every day, I felt like I was going to die. I…"

The words halt in his throat a moment and he grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut to gather himself before admitting what he never had before. "I had to make a choice. A choice they wanted me to make. Either I die or I sever my only chance to be connected with another person forever. Monsters don't get to love." His words shake and he pretends he doesn't notice it. "I felt like I cut off my heart. I can't… I can't love you because what if-"

You cut him off. You don't even give him a chance to finish that thought before you've already pulled him tightly against you, folding your arms around his broad back.

"There's no what if." Your words shake and you pretend you don't notice. "There's nothing about a missing finger or even a missing ring that will prevent us."

"Lou…" His hands on your waist try to push you away but you don't let him and he doesn't try that hard. "Louise, I… I've loved before and because they loved me back, I lost them. I'll lose you..."

Those last three words are spoken so softly you're almost not sure that's what he said. He doesn't want to lose you. He doesn't want to admit he loves you because he fears losing you and that's the one thing he never wants to experience. But…

You swallow around the lump in your throat. "If you don't say it… you might lose me anyway."

Those simple words break him. He collapses against you, burying his face in your shoulder as he trembles in your arms.

"I'm not a good man." His voice is muffled and his protests weaker than ever.

"You're not a bad man, either," you say, rubbing his back to sooth him. He's just an awkward man. A flawed man. A hurt man.

"What if I hurt you again?" His hands are sliding up your torso again, pushing your sweater up all the way and this time, you let him take it off, separating from him just enough to allow it. It's not sexual, that's not what he's seeking right now. He needs to feel your skin against his. He needs to feel your life, your humanity, against his too-warm, night-riddled body.

"You won't let yourself." You place your hands on his biceps as you speak, meeting those deep, dark eyes with swirls of inhuman red in them, but only as long as he'll let you before he hangs his head.

"I don't know how to be with someone anymore. I don't think I ever knew, and I… I don't know what you want from me, damnit."

"All I want"—without thinking, you rest your hand over his left breast—"is to give you my heart."

He gasps a shaky breath, his chest swelling beneath your touch, and slowly lifts his head. There's a sheen to his eyes and the first glimmer of vulnerability you've ever seen on his face.

He doesn't speak at first, and neither do you.

The seconds tick by as the tears gather on his lower lash line.

You reiterate, so softly as to not spook him, "All I want is for you to accept it."

With one blink, the tears spill. Slowly, carefully, one hand comes up to rest over yours while the other finds your chest, over your heart too. Finally, the warmth you've been looking for blooms in his eyes. He takes another, deep but still shaky, breath and speaks from his damaged, painfully protected heart. "I'll take care of it. I'll protect it with my life. I won't—I won't let myself hurt you, no matter what."

You nearly melt. You did it. He accepted your confession, he accepted your love, he accepted you. But there's one more thing you're looking for. You maneuver your hand to hold his instead, coaxing him closer.

"I'll believe you… if you say it."

It feels like it's been so long since you saw a smile break out on that handsome face and you could cry at the sight now, if you weren't already.

"I-" He stops and swallows, before raising a hand to gently cradle your cheek as he smiles a slightly broken, but still just as beautiful smile. "I love you, Louise. I really do. I'm sorry it took me so long to say it."

You kiss him. Before you can even think of saying anything back or doing anything else, you've already thrown your arms around his neck and captured his lips in a kiss he readily returns.

You keep kissing him until you've run out of breath and then you kiss him some more. And in between those passionate, joyous, tearful, bittersweet kisses you say it back, again and again, all of which he returns as your kisses turn to lovemaking. You cry this time and you don't feel numb, but you're not heartbroken either.

He says he'll never let your heart be broken and you believe him, well into the night and the next night, on and on, for as long as he'll have you. And he has no intentions of letting you go this time.

#love for sundown #lfs #LfS Harlem #Harlem #i don't remember how i tag these lmao #my writing #LfS fic #com #good enough

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