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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 1 year

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taedros taedros

part two: taedros twodros ☆ part three: taedros tresdros**NEW wc: 2k reader: femme afab warnings: MINORS DNI EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ -- porn with plot, oral f!receiving, swearing, calling tae a virgin loser as a joke, mentioning the weeknd LMAO summary: loserbestfriend!taerae makes you watch the idol on hbo max with him for movie night, but a certain convertible scene sparks your "curiosity" more than the others... and taerae proves he might not be such a loser after all. :0 omg who am i?? i even wrote in all lower case letters in the fic to throw you off... i know you'll know right away though but that's not the point lmao!! i just didn't think i should be this horny for taerae on main so. here's the dedicated zb1 smut blog no one was asking for (except me. i was asking for it so let me live.) thank you to taerae for posting these pics next to each other and ruining my life. also the idol sucks and sam levinson and the weeknd are horrific for creating it. i only know some scenes from it because i watch comedy commentary videos about it. jennie is beautiful tho love her. ALSO i thought of this title and i cried laughing. mwahaha okay thanks for reading byeeeee

“this is the worst show I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say with a laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn in your mouth. “i can’t believe we’ve made it through two episodes already.”

🚨 SMUT BELOW CUT -- MINORS DNI -- 18+ 🚨

taerae sighs, “i think i’m gonna need to bleach my eyes.”

“throw some in my ears while you’re at it,” you joke, letting a leg drape over your best friend’s. you’re crammed together in the bottom bunk of his dorm room bed, watching the idol on the tv that’s hung at the foot of it. “i will never, ever be unable to hear the weeknd whispering, ‘stretch that tiny little pussy for me’. and every single day i will beg the lord for mercy.”

“are we sure we wanna watch the third episode?” taerae asks-- shifting a bit next to you. “this show is so graphic.”

“of course the virgin wants to chicken out,” you tease, smacking his stomach with a pillow. he grabs it from you and leaves it there. “you’re the one who wanted to watch it! now you wanna quit two episodes in? not gonna happen. we can make it through this.”

if you hadn’t pressed play at that exact moment, you would’ve heard taerae gulp beside you.

the intro of the show plays, assaulting your eyes with an up-close and personal view of jocelyn’s bare chest. what else is new? you yawn, hoping the third episode’s graphic scenes (at the very least) won’t be repetitive. bitch has put on a blindfold to end both episodes so far...

sitting with your back leaning against the wall, you try to steal a glance at taerae. his upper back is propped up on his pillow as he lies perpendicular to you, facing the tv screen. you watch his eyes, catching the subtle dilation of his pupils. it could be the light from the television in the otherwise dark room shifting their size, but you find yourself curious nonetheless.

“do you think she’s pretty?” you ask suddenly.

taerae coughs. “me? do i think the actress is pretty?”

you nod, eyes returning to the screen in hopes that the lack of eye contact will make taerae feel comfortable enough to give you an answer.

“she’s pretty, yeah,” he says after a moment.

“like, you’re attracted to her?” you clarify, throwing another piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“uh,” he hesitates and you feel his legs tense up under yours. “i guess. i mean she’s not really my type, but--.”

“but you like her tits.”

“exactly,” taerae agrees too quickly. “wait, no--.”

“no need to walk it back,” you cut him off with a snort. “boobs are hot. end of story.”

taerae sits up a bit more, seemingly trying to relax after your probing. you didn’t talk to taerae about sex or girls all that much, but you’d be lying if you said the show hadn’t suddenly made you a bit curious. what experience did your lovable loser of a best friend have-- if any at all?

the interrogatory questions you’re suddenly wanting to ask are thrown from your brain, however, as the show now cuts to a shot of the weeknd (you and taerae refuse to call him tedros tedros) and jocelyn in the back of a convertible-- their poor assistant driving these two insufferable cretins down the freeway.

nothing’s out of the ordinary until jocelyn crawls from her seat and lifts one leg to straddle the weeknd. she’s in a slinky tangerine bodysuit and little black shorts and the weeknd’s hands easily envelope her waist. you roll your eyes, already having grown so sick of these two.

but when jocelyn is suddenly pushed to the edge of the seat, her back against the car door and her head resting on the frame-- your attention is piqued. the weeknd wraps his hands around her thighs, prying them apart so he can pull her shorts to the side just enough to fit his tongue. the actress’s head lolls back over the car door frame; her blonde hair dangling over the side and flowing in the wind. her face is screwed up in absolute bliss and the sounds coming out of her confirm her state.

would she really be screaming like that just from his tongue?

“um,” you hear taerae say and you look over at him curiously. “if-- if he’s good with it, then yeah. she would be, i guess.”

you frown. what was he talking about? if he’s good with what? ... oh fuck, you think as you realize that you’d accidentally said your previous thought out loud. and now poor taerae is stumbling to give you an answer.

what did he say? if he’s good with it then she would be.

“huh,” you mumble, your brow furrowing as you ponder his answer.

you turn back to the tv, but taerae clears his throat. “what?”

“what? what do you mean, what?”

“why did you say ‘huh’ like that?” he asks, the pillow on his stomach rustling as he shifts slightly. “do you not agree or something?”

“oh, uh,” you stutter as you feel your cheeks start to heat, not sure what to say. “um, i guess i wouldn’t know.”

the silence from taerae is deafening as your eyes stay locked on the tv. you’re not sure why you said that. you could’ve just lied. you should’ve just lied.

“are you a virgin?” taerae asks softly. the accusation whips your head around to stare at him angrily and his eyes widen cautiously.

“obviously not,” you answer in a huff. “i just... i’ve never...”

you look down at your lap, picking at the skin on your fingers. you should stop while you can. you don’t need to tell the truth. why are you even considering telling him this?

“no one’s ever gone down on me or anything.”

“oh,” taerae manages to respond after a long moment, but you can’t even look at him.

“yeah.”

another moment of silence. “you shouldn’t be, like, embarrassed by that. that’s... that’s entirely their fault for not prioritizing you, you know?”

your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, the aforementioned embarrassment flushing your skin as you nod. the show is still playing, but you can only hear garbled sounds. why did you tell him that!? now taerae has to awkwardly comfort you when you could’ve just shut your mouth in the first place. you didn’t really talk about these kinds of things with taerae. your best friend was there for movie nights, chinese food binges, laughing until you cry, and most importantly taking the absolute piss out of...

and here you were making him uncomfortable by randomly talking about your oral virginity.

“would you want me to do it?”

taerae’s voice is so quiet that you’re positive for a moment that you hallucinated it. you look over at your best friend tentatively to find his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping his pillow to his stomach.

“what?”

taerae blinks nervously. “if you wanted to, you know, try it... i could--.”

“WHAT!?” you shout; hands grabbing the pillow on taerae’s stomach and throwing it across the room. “are you-- are you fucking joking!? you think i’m desperate enough to ask my best friend to eat me out?”

“no, no, no,” taerae respond quickly, hands flying up in defense. “not at all!”

“then what?” you ask, jaw setting in anger as you wait for a good enough answer to keep you from punching him in the balls.

taerae’s lips form the slightest pout. “you seemed really curious about it. i just... i just thought i’d offer.”

you bite your lip as you think. “what do you even know about that kind of thing? I thought you were a virgin loser.”

“ouch,” taerae says but quickly shrugs it off. “i guess you’re only right about half of that statement.”

you frown. even though you’d never talked about it before, was taerae secretly experienced? more experienced than you?

“you don’t have to say yes though,” he adds quickly. “i’m sorry; i probably shouldn’t have said any--.”

“okay,” you cut him off softly.

taerae’s eyes widen in surprise. “okay?”

you nod slowly. “i don’t believe you that you’re not a virgin loser, but if you’re offering...”

taerae sits up, leaning on his hands as a little smirk lights up his face. “i’ll eat you out and then you can eat those words. how does that sound?”

the way your heat flutters at his words catches you off guard. so does the way he swiftly flips you onto your back as you take the position he was just in.

“whoah,” you exhale, your best friend absolutely knocking the wind out of you as he positions himself between your thighs. he takes the hem of your shorts in his fingers, eyebrows raising at you expectantly. you lift up your hips enough for him to shimmy them off, discarding them on the floor without taking his eyes off your still-clothed center.

you glance at your underwear, panic immediately hitting you when you realize you wore the only clean pair that you had left...

a black, lace thong.

they were the only pair left, because you honestly hadn’t had a reason to wear them in a little while.

“fuck,” taerae curses, hands wrapped around the outsides of your thighs. “were you going somewhere after this or...?”

“if you don’t shut your mouth, i’ll be going somewhere before this,” you threaten, but the words come out shakier than you would’ve liked as taerae begins to plant open-mouthed kisses up your thighs. “... ‘s laundry day tomorrow.”

“mm, I see,” he replies, shifting his weight to one hand so he can bring his right hand to your heat. your heart rate rises as he moves towards where you’re quickly growing to need his attention most. two fingers press at your clothed-core gently and the sound of the tv in the background does nothing to dampen the moan that escapes you from just the small amount of pressure.

“laundry day’s coming just in time i think,” taerae says, a smirk highlighting his cavernous dimples in a light you’ve never seen before. “from the way you’re soaking through these.”

“shut up,” you groan, bringing your hands up to cover your face. taerae hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, tugging at them playfully to get your attention. peeking out through your fingers, you glare at him.

“do you want to stop?” he asks, removing his hands quickly. “we can stop if you want to or need to or anything.”

you reach down and grab both of his hands in yours, reattaching them to your underwear. “please keep going.”

he blinks at you for a moment before nodding, pulling your thong down your legs as you lift your hips up for him. taerae lies down fully in between your thighs now, guitar-string calloused hands wrapping around your thighs and guiding them to rest on his shoulders.

“so pretty,” he whispers. eyes focusing on your throbbing cunt, taerae’s grip on your legs gets a little tighter-- a little more desperate. “really.”

“thanks,” you respond shyly, watching as a bit of steam begins to coat the rim of taerae’s glasses. you can’t help but smile as you reach for them, carefully removing the frames and placing them on the stand next to his bed.

“thanks,” he echoes.

“i’m still not convinced that you aren’t a-- oh fuck...” just as you’re about to tease your loser of a best friend again, his tongue finds your core and licks a long stripe up from your opening to your clit. taerae exhales a laugh against your pussy, tongue circling your clit as his hands now take hold of your hips.

“wait, what the fuck?” you whine breathlessly as he works you over with his mouth. “tae, i thought... oh my god.”

“taste so good, baby,” taerae moans like he’s enjoying it just as much as you are. he slips a finger in your entrance carefully, stretching you until he deems you ready for a second. “Think this pussy might be perfect.”

his eyes are closed; eating at you like you’re his favorite meal. it’s hot. way hotter than the scene from the show. way hotter than anything on that stupid show-- in which another sex scene is playing on the screen behind taerae. you suddenly feel so much pity for jocelyn; one of the hardest characters in history to pity. but the fact that there’s no way tedros fucking tedros is eating her out as good as taerae’s eating you out right now is tugging at your heart strings.

“tae,” you whimper, feeling the knot in the pit of your stomach begin to tighten. your hand tangling up in his hair at the nape of his neck causes him to moan into you and the vibration only makes you tug harder. “please, please wanna cum.”

“already? you sure?” he says, disappointment coating his voice. “could eat this pussy all night.”

“holy shit,” you exhale. you didn’t even know taerae was capable of talking like this. the only time he ever said pussy around you was if he was calling you one. now as he looks up at you from between your thighs, his pretty dimpled-smile covered in your juices as he continues to fuck you with his fingers and press his thumb against your clit...

you’re nodding frantically now. “please, please tae. make me cum.”

“fuck, baby, okay. whatever you want,” he agrees quickly, the lust in his eyes at your demand reaching a whole new level. he removes his thumb from your clit and the sudden lack of contact causes you to whine pathetically. “sshhh, don’t worry baby. i’ve got something even better, i promise.”

just as some tears from frustration are welling up in your eyes, taerae’s lips close around your clit and he begins to suck. “oh my GOD,” is all you can manage as your orgasm starts to wash over you. “taerae. oh my god, tae... c-cumming.”

you’re grinding your pussy against his tongue now to maximize the friction and the way he lifts your hips a bit to bring you even closer tells you that he’s loving every second of this. your moans match the ones that taerae is mewing into your core. he places your hips back down onto the mattress, holding them steady as you start to squirm a bit from the overstimulation. he continues to lap at you gently as your hand falls from his hair to his shoulder, causing him to look up at you.

your cheeks are red now from both your climax and the new wave of embarrassment that’s creeping up on you. you’re not sure what to say, but luckily taerae’s got you covered.

he inserts two fingers inside of you again and then pulls them out-- covered in your juices. without hesitating, he sticks them in his mouth and sucks them clean. “you’ve tasted yourself, right? probably a lot. fuck, i’m so jealous.”

your jaw drops a bit, now doubly unable to speak at the filth pouring out of your best friend’s mouth..

taerae frowns at you. “what? you want to make this awkward now?”

you shake your head.

“was it good?” he asks, head tilting to the side as he squints slightly. you reach over to his nightstand and grab his glasses, handing them back to him. he puts them on; raising his hand to ruffle his hair.

“you know it was good,” you mumble annoyedly.

he grins. “yeah. i do.”

“UGH,” you groan, hiding behind your hands again. “i hate you.”

“please, pleeeease tae,” he mocks, climbing up closer to your face to really rub it in. “make me cum.”

“SHUT UP!” you shout, hitting his chest with your fists in annoyance. “do not get cocky about this.”

taerae shrugs, biting his lip to keep from smirking. “i guess you never wanna do this again then?”

you sigh defeatedly before replying softly, “i didn’t say that.”

“good,” he says with a smile-- shifting to the edge of the bed and standing up. “i’m gonna get you some water and a towel, okay? don’t move a muscle.”

you don’t. taerae had made sure of that with the orgasm he’d just pulled out of you. as the door to his dorm room closes behind him, you’re left with only your thoughts and the sound of that shitty tv show playing in the background. you reach for the remote weakly, pressing pause on a bizarre scene of the weeknd jerking it over a clothing rack (?).

all you can think about, though, is taerae lapping at your pussy like a starved man. what the fuck just happened? did you really just let your best friend eat you out?

and how the fuck had he managed to leave you wanting more?

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meanbossart · 10 months

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do you have any thoughts on cazador as a character? personally i really loved the parallels between him and astarion & the way that the master/spawn relationship is used as an allegory for cyclical abuse. the scene with cazador’s master’s skull where you find out that he was once victimized in the exact same way that he later victimized astarion was really a lightbulb moment for me re: what vampirism represents in this game.

BOY DO I, i don't think much of it hasn't already been said, though. He's a tragic character in his own right of course, not that that takes away from the awful man he is.

Me and my boyfriend make fun of him a lot, we call him "the best BG3 character" as a little inside joke between us and come up with ridiculous scenarios of things that might have occurred throughout those 200 miserable years the spawn had under his command lol. Maybe he had a month where he was really specific about the shoes everyone wore, maybe once every other decade he had a weird week where he tried to be "nice" only to become frustrated when his efforts weren't immediately met in kind by the rightfully-terrified spawn, maybe between all the torture and horrific-ness he just did some plain weird shit like making someone crouch by in his fainting couch and wait by open-handed for grapes that he dramatically chewed on and then spat right out since he can't actually eat them lmao

And that's hysterical but I think we also started doing that because when you meet Cazador, when you first hear his voice and see his demeanor in person your immediate reaction is probably somewhere along the lines of "THIS is the clown you were so scared of, Astarion?"

And the answer is, of course, yes. This embarrassing little man stuck in a cage of his making instills fear beyond comprehension in Astarion and all his siblings. This man who undoubtedly showed all these spawn, inadvertently, the strangest, most arguably "human" aspects of himself at some point or another during these two centuries they had together is also an absolute monster. And i really like that! I think its far more effective and fitting for his story than if he was, lets say, a Ketheric type.

(this got very long so, more under the cut)

Look at Ascended Astarion in the epilogue now, for example. Everyone agrees that he's an absolute fucking dork - and I think we all also agree that he will go on to destroy the lives of many people beyond repair, especially his own, until the day he is killed.

In the topic of vampirism as an allegory for abuse, I both agree and also don't, at least not exactly - i just think it's deeper than that. I've spoken about this in another post but i find it incredibly refreshing how, to me, it seems like Baldur's Gate 3 has no interest in painting vampirism as sexy or fun past a surface level. It's a curse that nobody asks for unless put in a situation where they feel as if they have no other way out, and it shapes and haunts you for the rest of your undead existence.

Even if you enjoy its benefits at first, that has a time limit. You will see your family and loved ones die, you will see culture evolve while you stay perpetually the same. You will experience so much hurt and pain because the only thing that makes life truly sweet is knowing that it is finite, and eventually it will wear down all of your humanity. And since you can't die unless you are scorched by the sun, staked, or dismembered, you must live with the knowledge that you will never have a peaceful death - and since you won't have a peaceful death, you better not die - and if you don't want to die, you better not be weak - and if you don't want to be weak, you must seek out power at all cost and slash things like love and friendship out of your life.

And what is funny, is that in his attempt to be more like a mortal - to eat, drink, walk the sun, such incredibly simple desires - Cazador (and Astarion, if he ascends) is accidentally only drawing further away from the person he supposedly once was, because that fear of weakness has already utterly corrupted his soul.

That's quite a grim way to look at it, of course. But I genuinely think that it is the natural conclusion of something like immortality.

That's why I quite like that, even after Astarion has found happiness, even after he finds his peace, he still doesn't exactly embrace being a vampire - because It's not something he should be expected to embrace. I think it's a very unique take on the trope.

I also want to leave here this message written by his character writer, which really got me thinking about him on a deeper level since i saw it months ago. It is specifically about the sexual aspect, but I think it branches beyond it too, when you think about it.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #text #ask #cazador szarr

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scaredpigeons · 1 year

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“Let me look at you.”

kaveh x fem!reader

Nsfw 18+ MDNI. Smut. Pussy inspection, teasing, light oral (fem receiving) Kaveh’s a bit mean, but not really and we like it. Established relationship, childhood friends to lovers, yes you both live in Alhaitham’s house still cuz I’ll never separate my otp

———————

You hear the rattle of a doorknob, unable to open.

Then a thud, as if something hit the door.

“Darling?” Kaveh’s frustration leaked into his voice. “Are you in there? I forgot my keys again.”

You smiled, and rose from the sofa to open the door. Your sweet Kaveh stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped and white knuckling his mechanical toolbox, looking at you miserably through his brows.

“Welcome home,” you stepped aside, allowing him to trudge into the entrance. “ I would ask how your day was…”

“You would not believe the day I’ve had. I don’t even want to repeat some of the atrocities I had to witness today, let alone the absolute crimes against art as a whole— and I had to just sit there and let him drone on and on!— AND regardless of my experience and clear expertise on the subject, this—this monster absolutely refused to budge on— seriously my love, who in their right mind requests five inch thick mullions on stunning lancet arched windows?! The man's wife wanted them to be Sumerian rose stained glass— which I already ordered the exact amount for, at double the usual rate so they could have it installed in time for their daughter's birthday— and suddenly the man wants mullions?!”

Your romantic relationship with Kaveh might have been fresh, but being friends with him since childhood gave you plenty of experience with these kinds of moods. You knew this spiral would only ruin his evening, and if left to fester it would consume his entire month.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked timidly, not wanting to send him into another rant, but not wanting your silence to convince him you don’t care.

Kaveh huffed, and turned towards you. “Unless you can tell this imbecile of a client that—“ He paused, actually looking at you for the first time since he walked into the house.

Since moving in with him and Alhaitham, you’d certainly made yourself comfortable in the space.

The house had little pieces of you scattered here and there; a lavender throw pillow on your favorite couch, new mugs in the cupboard, a framed photo of the three of you from your last trip to the desert—smiling and laughing in the sun while camped at an oasis, but nothing showed how comfortable you were there more than how you dressed around the house.

When the two of you became adults, you rarely ever saw each other outside of the akadeymia and Lambads tavern, so respectable formal wear was what you wore often. When you started coming over and rekindling your bond with Kaveh, you wanted to impress him, to be attractive to him, so you always dressed your best, always done up. But now…

He gazed longingly at your thighs peeking out from beneath one of his oversized shirts, buttons only done up halfway so that the majority of your chest was visible, placed to just cover your nipples in case someone came home during the day. Your hair was pinned back away from your face using a multitude of his own hair pins, and your face glowed as if it was recently washed.

You were the pinnacle of beauty to Kaveh. So comfortable in his life— like you were meant to be there all along. He sighed, releasing his tight grip on mehrak to let him hover in place just beside him.

“Actually, yes.” He sighed again, releasing the tension in his shoulders as he gestured for you with his arms. “Come here, let me hold you for a moment.”

You smiled sweetly and curled up into his embrace, humming happily as he rested himself at the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and groaning a little beneath his breath.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” He said wistfully.

You giggled, dropping your head to his shoulder to hide your intense blush. “Stop that! I’m supposed to be making you feel better, dummy.”

“Just having you here like this makes me feel a bit better, love.” He pulled back a bit. “Come now, let me look at you, there’s no need to hide.”

Despite your flustered state, you unwrapped yourself from him, cheeks warming even more at the way his eyes raked across your body.

“You like when I look at how beautiful you are, don't you?” He said, holding your hand in his with a gentle squeeze. Though his tone was still gentle, there was something burning beneath his gaze that had warmth pooling into the pit of your stomach.

He grinned then, suddenly a bit mischievous in nature. “You know what would really help me de-stress, love?”

If you hadn’t seen where this was headed before, you certainly knew now— though that didn’t make you any less flustered. Even after so many months, physical intimacy with Kaveh still worked you up just as badly as it had the first time.

“I’ll do anything for you, Kaveh. You know that.” You murmured, cupping your own cheek in embarrassment.

You feel a light pressure around your limbs and waist, and suddenly you are hoisted into the air, hands together above your head and legs spread.

“Wait—what?!” You tried to struggle, but the grip that he had mehrak put you in was unshakable. You’d seen Kaveh use this function with mehrak countless times; to swing his claymore, to move building materials, but never once had you seen it used on anyone else. “K-Kaveh! What are y-you doing?!”

His head appeared between your legs, though he was still standing, and you could see now why he had hoisted you so high into the air.

“Just stay still for me, yeah? I want to look at you.”

“B-but—“

You were silenced by his long, cool fingers pushing his shirt from where it covered you, and your legs spread even wider, exposing you in your entirety to him. He smiled as he hooked his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your thighs and onto the floor at his feet.

You continued to squirm as your face bloomed with heat, trying to look away but entranced to watch him as he spread you apart, looking at your center with intense eyes.

He wiggles your labia around a bit, spreading you open and watching as the strands of your slick glisten between them.

He’s torturing you. Eyes never leaving your cunt as he gently thumbs at your clit, watching it twitch and relishing the moans you can’t bite back.

The teasing makes you ache, it makes pressure form behind your glossy eyes and deep inside you somewhere shameful. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing as he toys with you, poking and rubbing here and there as if to make sure his eyes don’t miss a single part of you.

He sees you struggling, and a laugh emerges— light and airy from his chest.

“Please… you’re teasing too much this time, Kaveh.” You manage to whimper.

“Oh?” He says, eyes still unwavering from your leaking hole. “What is it you want, my love?”

You keened, so frustrated with his not-enough-touches and the fact that he’s making you say it. You tried wiggling from the hold on you once more, but it only served to satisfy him more.

“Please!” You begged. “Please make me cum!” Your blush burned. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him, to feel him.

He hummed contently at your cries, finally looking up at you. His gaze burned with a lust so intense you don’t think you’ve seen it since the first time you ever shared your bodies with one another. It was an all consuming flame, and unlike the first time— this one didn’t startle you.

Kavehs passion was one of his best qualities, and seeing it take on this form, this desire for you— to have you, to make you his— was something you came to crave.

“Not yet.” He said. Tone leaning towards condescending. “I’m busy looking. You’ll let me keep looking, right?”

His gaze trailed back down your body to your aching core, where he continued to run his fingers along your folds, eyes heavy with lust at the slick he touched there.

“After all,” he said. “You're so very pretty, and you know how stressed I get. And playing with this pretty pussy of my very own helps sooo much, you know that dont you?”

His words were dripping in sex—in demeaning condescension, and you were about to explode because of it. You squirmed and struggled more, moaning and crying out at the weight of his heavy gaze, and the lightness of his thumb across your clit. It throbbed, sending waves of need up your limbs and making your hips buck against his touch.

“I really enjoy playing with you like this,” He said darkly. Times like these were the only moments Kaveh ever spoke down to you. He was typically very doting, loving, and non confrontational when it came to your relationship. But when you hear his voice sink like this, hear him speak as if he owns you, it sends your brain into overdrive.

Finally, finally he brings his tongue up your center, taking a nice firm lick from your clenching hole to your aching clit. He seems to add just the tiniest bit more pressure as his tongue rakes over your clit, and you squeal.

A low, shuddering orgasm overtakes you, and you crumple into it, trying to milk it for all its worth. You’re shocked that he keeps his tongue gently moving over your clit when he realizes what’s happening though he never moves to make it more intense. He works you through it gently, drinking up your cries of pleasure. Your clit throbs dully with each wave of your orgasm, and right before it becomes something closer to painful, he stops.

His large hands grip your thighs, and he watches as you continue to twitch with the aftershocks. He watches your orgasm subside, and laughs when you start to squirm needingly so soon after.

“Awe, poor sweet thing. Not enough?”

Your fucked out expression was nearly enough to break him. Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, your eyelids drooped and heavy from the aftermath, but still sparkling with lust from the need for more.

Truly, Kaveh never felt more blessed than when in these moments with you, and he truly couldn’t even remember the specifics of what exactly had made him so unhappy in the first place.

He was sure he’d remember eventually, and go back to having more work to do, but for now, he’d rather just enjoy the fire you’ve brought from within him.

“Alright, alright.” He smiled. “I wasn’t done with you yet anyways.”

#genshin impact smut #smut #genshin smut #kaveh smut #kaveh x reader #kaveh x reader smut #kaveh

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pankowblues · 12 days

Text

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

summary: rafe proposes to you in Germany

warning: nothing I think

word count: —

a/n: thanks to @rafecameroncoke for helping me choose which one to post since I wrote two versions of this also I might do this exact same thing but for my shy!introvert!reader

"Rafe, seriously, what are we doing here?" you ask, peering out of the taxi window. The cobblestone streets of Germany are lined with buildings that look like they've been plucked straight out of a storybook. You weren't complaining though you've always wanted to come here.

"It's a surprise," Rafe says, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Trust me, you're going to love it."

You can't help but return his smile. Rafe has always had a knack for surprises, and after five years together, you've learned to expect the unexpected. The taxi pulls up in front of a quaint little restaurant tucked away in a picturesque alley. The warm glow of candlelight spills out onto the cobblestones, and the smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread fills the air. Your stomach rumbles, reminding you that it's been hours since you last ate.

As you step out of the taxi, a cool breeze whispers through the narrow street, carrying with it the distant sounds of laughter and live music. Rafe takes your hand, leading you towards the restaurant. His grip is firm, yet gentle, the same way he's held your hand through every challenge life has thrown at you both. You feel the anticipation building in your chest as you walk through the arched wooden doorway into the cozy dining room.

Inside, the walls are lined with shelves of fine wine bottles, and a small fire crackles in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the tables. The hostess, a friendly woman with a thick German accent, greets Rafe by name and shows you to a table that's been reserved just for the two of you. She leaves you with a knowing smile that makes you wonder if she's in on the surprise.

The menu is a delightful mix of traditional German dishes, and as you try to decide what to order, Rafe's gaze lingers on you, filled with a mix of love and something else. You can't quite put your finger on it, but it's definitely something special. The moment you lock eyes with him, your heart skips a beat. You've always felt safe with Rafe, but tonight there's something in the air that's both thrilling and slightly nerve-wracking.

As you both dig into your meals, the conversation flows naturally. You talk about your trip so far, the sights you've seen, and the memories you've made. Rafe tells you about the time he visited Germany as a child with his parents, and how he's always wanted to come back and share the experience with you. You laugh at his stories, the sound echoing softly in the romantic setting.

The evening wears on, and the restaurant starts to empty out. The music gets softer, the candles flicker lower, and the ambiance becomes more intimate. The waitress, who has been attentive all night, brings out a bottle of champagne with a knowing smile. Rafe's eyes never leave yours as she pops the cork and pours the bubbly liquid into your glasses.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. Your heart leaps into your throat as he opens it, revealing a ring that sparkles like the stars in the clear night sky above. "I know we've talked about this before," he says, his voice steady but his hands shaking slightly, "but I wanted to ask you again, in the most beautiful place I could think of. Will you marry me?"

You can't believe what's happening. Your eyes well up with happy tears, and all you can manage is a nod. The words feel lodged in your throat, too precious to speak. Rafe takes your trembling hand and slides the ring onto your finger, the diamond glinting in the candlelight. It fits perfectly, like it was made just for you, which of course it was.

The restaurant goes quiet for a moment, and you realize everyone is looking at you. You blush, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement. The patrons erupt into applause, and the chef himself emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron, to congratulate you both. The waitress brings over a complimentary dessert, a beautiful black forest cake with a single candle in the center. Rafe whispers something to her, and she smiles conspiratorially before lighting the candle and retreating.

He leans in closer, his eyes searching yours. "Make a wish," he says, and you know he's not just talking about the candle. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and make a silent wish that the love you share will only grow stronger with time. As you blow out the candle, the warmth of the flame tickles your cheeks. When you open your eyes, Rafe is grinning at you, looking happier than you've ever seen him. You smile, feeling a new sense of pride in your fiancé.

taglist: @rafecameroncoke, @0xstarzx0 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @v4mqvs , @aariahnaa, @congratsloserr

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hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch · 8 months

Text

And they were… in trouble

A/n: To get the full experience of this chapter it’s probably best to read part 3 before reading this 😊

Part 3: And they were…lovers. Wait really??

Part 2: And they were…strangers

Part 1: And they were…roommates

Summary: the arguments continue, will they ever solve them? Probably not because they can’t communicate even with Lokis dream

Words: 2K +

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI angst and sadness, no real reconciliation in this chapter, blood mentions

When Wanda left the house she saw you standing outside the car looking at the ground

“I don’t want to go home yet” Wanda said refusing to get into the car “please Wanda I don’t want to argue let’s just get you home” you got into the car waiting for Wanda but when she just stood there with her arms crossed you rolled your eyes and got back out of the car

“Why are you doing this?”

“You still want me” she said and you rolled your eyes “of course I still want you I mean look at you, even with no sleep, probably a little hungover and the same outfit on as yesterday, I would push you against the wall and bury my head between your thighs and devour you until you tried pushing me away

Wanda gasped “do it then, right now up against the wall between these houses” you approached her holding her waist tight and went to kiss her but pulled away at the last minute “no, now get in the fucking car Wanda, you need to sleep for your classes tomorrow”

Wanda was the one to push you away now “forget it, I’m not getting into the car with you if you’re going to act like this!”

She walked off into the direction she thought was correct, she actually didn’t care she just wanted to leave and you didn’t chase after her, you let your eyes close thinking about everything, fuck-

Loki pushed you to the ground suddenly and you jumped back up throwing him a small dagger hitting him in the neck “what’s your fucking problem?!”

The man discarded the dagger crushing it and throwing it to the ground “I know you saw my dream for you, you saw the exact same thing as Wanda and when she woke up she was thankful, you’re just being an asshole about it!”

“Maybe I don’t appreciate you interrupting my sleep for a stupid teenage fantasy”

Loki scoffed “you loved the dream, I saw you smiling and giggling through certain parts, why are you being so stubborn?”

You eyes darkened to their red colour and you glared at the man “maybe I’ve just realised that being here on earth living with a human in a shitty apartment isn’t what I wanted to do in my death”

Loki laughed pushing you to the ground again “don’t make me laugh, that sappy talk you had with Wanda last night ‘oh I’ve loved you ever since I saw you and when I told you I was a demon and you didn’t run away’ makes me sick, get a fucking grip Y/n either date her and be a happy little demon housewife or finally leave her alone for good”

You were pissed off, who was he to tell you how to live your death and how to be with Wanda, she wasn’t any of his business “go fuck yourself! And don’t you dare mention Wanda again!” You stood up and stormed off into the forest away from Loki

“You need to make up your damn mind!” He shouted to you not that you were paying attention

*************************************************

You were deep enough in the forest now knowing no one would be around or if they were they wouldn’t be for long. Letting yourself kneel to the ground and close your eyes you felt it, the snapping of your spine and feeling the wings emerge from your back, blood running down your back, the feeling of your wings stretching and finally being free after so long

You stood up enjoying the feeling of your wings being free and you let out a happy sigh “oh I’ve missed this” your head throbbed and tore open revealing your spiralling horns

“I’ve missed being a real demon” your mind fogged and you felt all the pain and sadness disappear from your body and you’d never felt more alive, you needed to find someone, you needed to find Valkyrie and have the fun that you deserve.

************************************************

“Y/n?” Lucifer eyed you nervously as you entered the club in your demon form, knowing it hadn’t happened in a while “are you feeling some big feelings? Do we need to have a grown up talk and work out some anger?”

You laughed pushing through the devil and going to the other woman at the bar “hi Val”

“Y/n, you’re looking good” she pulled you into her lap “where’s Carol?” You didn’t really care but you thought it would be pleasant to ask “she’s in hell for a few months so I’m all lonely up here, just waiting for a winged demon with a dark desire in her eyes to take care of me”

You laughed “well here I am, come on I want to go hunting before I devour you, nice and blooded for me” your mouths met in a hot kiss and you groaned finally being kissed properly by a demon and not those plain humans you’ve been kissing but your good time was soon interrupted

“As erotic and as sexual as this is what the fuck is going on?”

You turned your head towards the king of hell “I missed being a demon, now are you coming hunting or are you just being a boring bastard?”

He fake gasped “how dare you of course I want to come hunting, nice to have my favourite demon back”

*********************************************

Wanda had managed to make it home but she didn’t want to go into the house, Natasha had left a note on the door telling her that she’d cleaned up as best she could and ordered her some hangover pizza.

So she lay on the grass outside the house looking up at the sky letting out a really heavy sigh, filled with so much emotion “maybe I should leave her alone, I’ll give her space”

You were interrupted by a rustling in the trees, a figure appearing, was it an animal? Wanda tried making it out and when she did her eyes widened

“What the-Y/n?!”

Wanda jumped back away from you and looked over your monstrous form, the horns, the wings and the blood dripping like rain droplets from your body, she’d never seen you like this

“Oh what a lovely lady you are, Y/n was right you look delicious” Wanda didn’t have time to react before the woman pinned her back down onto her back and looked at you.

“Go on Y/n I’ve got her pinned down she’s not going anywhere, take a drink like you’ve always wanted” Valkyrie had Wanda’s hands held together and even though Wanda was kicking with her legs all you had to do was straddle her to keep her still, so you did, leaning all your weight on her and smiling as some blood dripped onto her body

“Y-Y/n p-please, please don’t hurt me” she tried searching your eyes for any hesitation or remorse but there was nothing, just an empty sea of darkness

“You’ve hurt me so why shouldn’t I hurt you?” The deep gravely voice scared Wanda, yes you were a demon and yes she’d seen you angry but this was a whole new approach that scared her

“I’m sorry for hurting you Y/n please I do want to be with you! Please let’s just figure things out-

“Stop!” Your had enough, you’d had enough of everything she was saying and doing and you were going to take what you deserved

Leaning down to her face your hand gripped her chin pushing her face to side exposing her gorgeous neck, running your fangs over her pulse point made you vibrate, it was so exciting, so you sunk your fangs into her neck her blood filling your mouth and senses and fuck was it wonderful! She was delicious, she’d stopped thrashing and Valkyrie had let go of her hands coming next to you kissing your neck

“vos vultus calidum amica”

When you finally released the grip you had on Wanda you lifted your head and saw Wanda’s face, her pale weak face, oh god what had you done, the fog covering your mind clearing at the worse possible moment

You glared down at what you’d just done, you’d bitten Wanda, you’d taken her blood and now you were watching her slip into unconsciousness, no no! This wasn’t meant to happen you’d never hurt Wanda, even with everything that had happened you didn’t want to hurt her! Or did you? You were just angry and confused on what was going on you weren’t thinking straight

Quickly jumping off of her body and snatching her hands away from Val you picked her up and cradled her in your arms “Wanda Wanda please forgive I didn’t mean to hurt you I never wanted to hurt you like this I’m sorry I’m so so sorry, wake up please wake up”

The demon had never seen you so vulnerable before, in tears over a human, sure she’d heard the stories of you essentially becoming “soft” for the human but never like this “Y/n? Maybe we should take her to the hospital?”

You shook your head gently as if not to wake Wanda “and say What? Here’s a girl and she was bitten by a demon? Oh no its okay no need to file a report I’m the one that did it here have my teeth pictures, no I need to get her to the club, Dr banner will come and fix her”

“He’s not a human doctor-

“Doesn’t matter! I say he’ll fix her so he will!” You held Wanda close as Valkyrie held you both transporting back to the club

**************************************************

“I I don’t know what you want me to do Y/n I can’t fix an human, you’ve bitten her so she’ll probably wake up on her own-

“Leave” you whispered, Bruce, Valkyrie and Lucifer didn’t move

“Leave!” You shouted and the trio quickly left the room, you looked back at Wanda and noticed her shivering “oh my love I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for everything I’m an idiot I saw the dream that Loki made too and I loved it, I loved the build a bear thing that happened and the stupid little name buddy we gave him I-I can’t think of anything to say to help, just please wake up”

Obviously she didn’t wake up but you stayed with her, you refused to leave her side, it was only a couple of hours later when you woke up to some shuffling proving that she woke up “Wanda!”

You smiled but that smile quickly disappeared seeing Wanda’s scared face “Wanda? It’s me you’re safe”

“You bit me, you forcefully sucked my blood” her speech was slow and uneven but her words still hurt you “I-I’m sorry Wanda I was just so angry and confused my demon form took over and I couldn’t stop it” you tried coming closer to Wanda but she stood up from the bed still disoriented but she refused to let you see that

“I saw the dream too Wanda I saw everything-

“Stop. I heard you while I was unconscious, it doesn’t matter, I’m done, I can’t keep dealing with you, I can’t keep trying to be with you when you’re being so stubborn and unreasonable- just I’m going to my parents for a few weeks, they may not approve of most of my decisions but at least they don’t try and fucking kill me”

She left the room and you didn’t try and follow her knowing full well she wouldn’t want you too

Yep you’d definitely fucked all that up, maybe some time would help Wanda

*******************************************

“Wanda you don’t look so good” Natasha had picked Wanda up and per her request was driving her to the train station to go to her parents

Wanda shrugged “I’ve not slept and feeling down, of course I don’t look good

Nat didn’t respond to her angry quip and instead drove in silence finally reaching the station and getting out of the car waiting for Wanda

“Sorry Nat I’m just really stressed0

Nat shrugged “it’s okay you’ve had a bit of a rough time”

Wanda agreed “yeah it’s been terrible, but I hope it’ll get better”

*****************************************************

“Y/n you look terrible” lucifer casually mention as you flopped down onto his couch “yeah well it’s been a fucking rough week alright? So fuck off”

Your head suddenly started to throb and forced you to sit up and grip your head you heard screaming in your head, was it Wanda? Wanda was shouting for you?

“She’s shouting because you bit her and she’s strayed far from you, she’s bound to you forever now, really fucked up there didn’t you?” Lucifer laughed and you groaned

“She’s in so much pain, I’ve never felt pain like it, even my death wasn’t this bad”

“Go after her then, trust me if you leave it the pain will get worse”

************************************************

“Wanda!” Natasha rushed to her side as she threw up on the ground in front of her “Wanda are you okay?!”

The woman shook her head “I need Y/n”

“What?”

“I need Y/n! Fuck it’s hurts so much” her throat was on fire, she didn’t know why she wanted you but in her mind only you could fix her problems, only you could save her, at least that’s what her brain was telling her

Nat looked around in the nearly empty space and spotted a few people trying to hide from helping but then her eyes landed on you, you were here?? How? Did you know she was in pain?

“Nat give me Wanda” the girl shook her head “she said she didn’t want you”

You looked at Wanda who when she finally looked up at you nearly kept out of Nat’s arms “Y/n! Please I need you I don’t know what’s going on but I need to be with you”

“Nat please I don’t want to make a scene, give me Wanda before she collapses okay?”

Nat nodded and handed Wanda to you who wrapped herself around you like a spider monkey finally stopping crying and began falling asleep

“Nat go home, I promise to take care of her, drive safe”

You didn’t wait for an answer and just left with Wanda kissing her forehead “I’m so sorry again Wanda and I’m really sorry for what’s going to happen when you wake up”

#marvel #wanda maximoff #mcu #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel au #marvel imagine #and they were…#demon!y/n x wanda maximoff #demon!Y/n #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Valkyrie mention #Valkyrie

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mrs-snape5984 · 2 months

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“There is a light and it never goes out…”

“Take me out tonight. Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care, I don’t care, I don’t care…” (“There’s a light that never goes out” by The Smiths)

Overstimulation. Disorientation. Light sensitivity. Chronic pain. Fatigue. These are only a few of those symptoms, which are torturing me day in and day out for the past two years, already. Due to them, caused by a disease, that is called “Myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome” (ME/CFS), I’m currently forced to live a life within the strict confines of my dark and silent room, mostly enduring my daily existence in solitude.

I miss being a part of this world….and fuck, I miss being a part of other people’s lives! Living like this makes me feel like an old piece of furniture, which has been stored away in a hidden chamber…not worthy enough to be used or seen by anyone, and yet still not bad enough to be discarded.

Some months ago, two wonderful people started taking me out to see their worlds by sending me pictures and videos of the places, they’re heading to. Thanks to them, I’m allowed to get a glimpse of places, I’ve always dreamed of being able to explore them on my own.

Furthermore, something else became apparent whenever one of these precious gems of human nature took me with them: I wasn’t just carried around in their phones, but they carried me in their hearts. This realisation blew my mind! It’s not only me, who’s clinging to them as if they’re my lifelines…no, this little German mess, that I am, became important to these people, too! Words can’t express how grateful I am for our connections…and that I was also lucky enough to find true love in this bond (I love you, R. 🖤).

One of those amazing people is my beloved sister in Christ @vulnus-sanare, who will soon come to visit me in my small world. Finally, I’ll be the one, who can show her the beauty of the tiniest things in my environment…always surrounded by the securing gloominess of the nights. Magda, my heart, I’m going to introduce you to the stars above my town, to the soothing sounds of the Moselle River right next to my house and I hope, we will manage to experience the mesmerising dance of the bats in the vineyards, if we take my wheelchair with us. I can’t wait to have you here and pull you into the tightest of all embraces, sweetie!

I’ve commissioned my dear friend @snake-queen7 to create this breathtaking piece of art of Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules on a nocturnal walk through the vineyards behind my house. Before I caught ME/CFS, I used to enjoy these nightly strolls in order to watch the bats with my children, so I sent her a photo of the exact spot, I want to share with Magda. Since it was Severus and Snapedom, which brought us together, it’s only fair to bring our beloved dungeon bat to this special place as well.

My friend, I’m more than happy with the outcome of your artwork and it’s a pleasure to share it with all those lovely people of our Snapedom. Please take my apologies for taking so long to write this post, but I wanted to honour your work the way, it deserves to be honoured. For this reason, I had to wait patiently for a moment, when my brain wouldn’t refuse me to do its job (brain fog is such a pain in the ass!). Thank you for everything, Natalia! 🥹

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

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fandomsandflyingstingrays · 2 months

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It took Callum a minute to pinpoint what woke him. The ache in his chest, while acute, was no stronger than it had been when he’d slipped into sleep. The wind rustled the trees outside, but in a way that was gentle and static. A way that made the sharp, shuddering sounds coming from beside him all the more obvious in comparison.

“Rayla? Are you crying?”

He fully expected to push him away, to deny it.

“Yeah,” she said instead.

He sat up, and she did too, allowing him to wrap his arms around her from behind and hold her while the sobs wracked her body until her breathing evened and she leaned limply against him.

There was no point in asking why she was crying. But in Callum’s long experience with grief, he’d come to realize that waves were often brought on by different triggers, came to surface in different ways. It wasn’t always a bludgeon that knocked you flat with the overwhelming reality of absence. Too often, it was a million knives, each uniquely sharpened by a different memory or missed experience, all of them ready to cut you in a different way than the last.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

“My mom’s moonberry surprise. You can get it at any café in the Silvergrove, and Ethari always made it for my birthday, but no one made it quite like her.” A wet, mirthless laugh tore from her throat. “Isn’t that stupid? She and my dad are gone forever, and I’m thinking about food. I mean— I had years to get over all this after they were banished. I’ve been getting along without them all this time. I don’t know why it’s all hitting me all over again.”

Callum bit his lip, trying to call on the part of him that had been born from a poet, trying to call on the words that would make her feel not only understood but heard.

“My first memory of my dad is also my last one,” he said softly.

Rayla stiffened in his arms, turning around to look at him.

“It’s actually my first memory ever. Mom told me Dad was holding me, and she was holding him, so we were all together in a knot. It’s really hazy, but I can feel… arms around me, this sense of warmth. This wet breathing— my dad, probably, or maybe my mom crying. And then… stillness.” Callum sighed. “My only memory of my dad was of him dying. I shouldn’t miss him, right? I’ve lived my whole life without him, practically, and I had Harrow to fill in the gaps he left. But there are… times when I want to be held, but no one does it quite right. Foods that my mom says I’ve loved all my life, things he made, that just don’t taste as good as they should. Conversations I have with him when I can’t sleep, even though I have no idea how he’d reply.”

He paused, waiting for Rayla to step on the bridge he’d built between them, to offer her own feelings on the difference between her birth parents and her adoptive ones, the ways grief had crept into her own life. Instead, her response came from an entirely different quarter.

“Your very first memory,” she rasped, “is of being left.” She closed her eyes tightly. “I told myself I was being so noble, so sacrificing, and I left you. Just like our parents did to us.”

Callum cupped her face and gently brought it to his, pressing a quick, soft kiss against her lips. “No, you didn’t,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re right here.”

Feeling her brow wrinkle in confusion, he pulled back and took her hand, tugging her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

They slipped out of the Nexus’s guest bedroom and into the garden, wrapping their arms around each other as a defense against the chill in the wind. Rayla followed him silently down a stone stairwell, coming to a stop with him when they reached the metal bench at its base.

“Do you remember this place?” Callum asked.

She nodded. “It’s where we really talked for the first time about what happened to the king.”

“That’s right.” Callum drew her down to sit on the bench, facing him, in the exact position they’d been in two years before. “That day… it was the worst day I’ve ever had, aside from when I found out about my mom. Even worse than the day I read your letter. Because being left by someone is awful, but there’s nothing worse than knowing for certain they’re never coming back. Of course you’re grieving your parents, Rayla. It’s a different kind of loss.

“I was so angry with you when you first came back, because as the years had gone by, I’d begun to believe you were the second kind of gone, and it was almost too much to bear. I thought, if I pushed you away, I wouldn’t have to deal with that kind of pain again. But the day I got the news about Harrow, when I felt like the emptiness inside me was going to eat me alive, do you know the only thing that made me feel better? It was your arms around me. It was knowing that no matter how much pain I was in, I would still have a champion to fall back on, someone brave and kind and devoted who would always be there to help me carry the weight if it got to be too much.” He leaned forwards and kissed her forehead. “And I was right.”

Rayla had started to cry again, and he gently wiped the tears away. “You were always intending to come back, and you did. I never should have pushed you away, and I’m so glad you never let me. I’m so glad you’re still here. And Rayla, I’m going to be here too. Dealing with this, knowing your parents are really gone for good, it’s not going to be easy. It’s always going to hurt. But I’m going to do everything I can to help you bear it, and I’m going to build a life with you around it. As long as we’re together, we’ll find a way through.”

“And we will be together.”

Rayla’s tears had dried, and her voice was fierce. She took his hand tightly in both of hers and pressed a firm kiss against it.

“No more losses,” she vowed.

“Been there, done that,” he agreed, and she actually managed a tiny smile.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “I don’t know what comes next. But no matter what it is, I’m going to be right by your side. I promise.”

The corners of Callum’s lips turned up too. “It’s a deal.”

She wrapped her arms around him, and he held her tightly, catching her as she’d caught him, as he knew with a glowing certainty they would do for each other as long as they were able. And they stayed there, fortified against the cold, against the ache of lost souls and the terror of distant smoke, until the first rays of a sunrise blanketed them with their warmth.

#the dragon prince #tdp #rayllum #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp lain #tdp tiadrin #tdp damien #tdp harrow #tdp sarai #tdp spoilers #the dragon prince spoilers #grief #death mention #ray rambles #ray writes

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throneofsapphics · 28 days

Text

track 32

Fenrys x Reader x Lorcan

Summary: Cursed to fall in love, only to have everything ripped away from you, moving on to your next life already feels like a drag, only things don't quite follow their usual patterns.

Warnings: discussions of death, Maeve, brief description of torture, happy ending

Word Count: 8077

A/N: the HAPPIEST of birthdays to @whisperingmidnights <3 I hope you have an amazing day (& thank you to @rowaelinsdaughter for your help)

You tumbled into your new body. Again. At least this time the Gods let you skip through the childhood years, instead flooding your mind with memories of your new past. You could only be a toddler so many times before truly losing the last grip on your sanity.

You’d think so much pain and suffering would flood together, the lives all melting into one giant messed up pot but instead each experience remained distinctly painful to you. Distinctly full of suffering and sour memories. You, obviously, hadn’t survived a single one and your trek across the multiverse was written in blood.

It took you up until life 15 to really stop holding onto so many grudges, especially considering you seemed to be destined to fall for the same people each time. Not the same types of people, but the actual same person.

Whoever put a curse on you had been clever. If you were cursed, perhaps you were just really damn unlucky. But right now you needed a bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest. Of course you were drunk. Fresh in from a night out on the town with one of your friends, but you had good some good fortune in this life - your own apartment.

Tossing clothes off as you walked, you beelined towards where you knew the bathing room was. You were pretty certain you’d stayed in this exact apartment building before, and if you remembered correctly each apartment had near identical layouts, the entire building cheap and designed for efficiency. In this life, you’d made it your own more than in the previous ones.

You stepped into the tub, let the cold water hit your toes, partially sobering you, rivulets of now psycho-somatic grime and blood streaming from your body to pool in clear water at your feet.

A mind healer would have a field day with you and you knew it all too well.

Plugging the drain, you adjusted it to reach the perfect temperature. Yes, an efficiency building but still had hot running water. It was odd, but you didn’t question it - you were a creature of comfort after all.

You wondered when you’d see them again. You wished you could say that tall of your interactions started off on a fresh beat, that you had it together enough not to judge them based on versions of them in a different universe, but you weren’t.

Having it together? Maybe, certainly not on that level though. Having it together enough to appreciate their presence at this moment? Hell no.

After last time.

“We’re done,” he mumbled, not willing to make eye contact with you.

“Then say it to my face,” you glanced between both of them.

Heads down. Eyes downcast - first time you’d seen them like that.

“Then I really meant that little, didn’t I?”

“No,” one said - you could barely distinguish who through the raging steam in your ears and tears down your cheeks.

“Yes,” the other said. You didn’t know or care who said what. It didn’t matter. Later, just before the death took you you’d find out who made them do it and realize it still didn’t matter. She may have forced them to lie, but they didn’t have to be quite so convincing. 31 lives had taught you logic had no place in heartbreak.

The memory hit you like a physical blow to the chest, a stinging and pressure left in its wake. That heartbreak had killed you the quickest of them all.

Three days.

It was part of your curse, you’d figured out. To always know. What life you were on, the details of your past lives, how long it took you to do, what the death felt like, every little detail was committed to memory all because you’d dared to love someone a little too much, and ended up stealing them away from a wicked witch.

Well, the story didn’t go quite like that but you thought it sounded better in your head that way. In reality, you’d fallen in love and done something stupid, as all people in love do from time to time.

You and Lorcan had agreed you should try to get Fenrys out, that although it would be more difficult to get him released, Fenrys needed it more. You didn’t have the guts to tell him you needed both of them like you needed air, but there hadn’t been time for that. All of your moments were stolen and borrowed time.

“Will you please release him from your service?” You were on your knees, begging. “Please, Majesty.”

The harsh flooring dug into your knees but you kept the same subservient pose. For someone with so much pride, this was humiliating and your Queen knew it.

“No.”

One flat and toneless word.

“No?” You repeated.

Wicked red lips curved into a smile. “That is what I said.”

You had several choice words for her after, and she’d responded with a fucking curse. Cursed to always love, but to never have it stick, cursed to die from heartbreak.

Even after all of these lives the word ‘curse’ was still ugly in your mouth, still made your stomach heave and back seize at the memories. The times you’ve run into the Queen she hadn’t recognized you, but you knew she was still untouchable. Frequently made that way by the ones you loved.

The breeze sneaking through the poorly insulated window highlighted how water already chilled around you. You didn’t miss that part of this building, the tub held next to no heat and your bathwater always ended up cold in less than fifteen minutes.

You were tempted to stay still and prune, but there was no use in it. A new life, new things to do.

Dragging yourself out of the tub, you dried off as efficiently as you could make yourself, scrounged up some comfortable clothes and headed to your desk. Grabbing a notepad and pen, you began writing.

number thirty-one.

It was a ritual of sorts, perhaps your imaginary mind healer would be proud of you for it, for getting all of your pain out on paper as soon as possible.

Right before you burned it.

Tossing the five sheets of paper on the flames felt good.

Running into them happened far too quickly for your liking. It always did. Life always started and finished too damn fast.

You glanced in the mirror, at what you’d chosen to wear for the night out with your not-really-new friends. The dress fit you perfectly, and showed just enough to leave you feeling bold without being uncomfortable. The gold wrapped around your wrists helped too. Not too much to look rob worthy, but enough to make you feel like some extra type of sheen was thrown over you. Maybe, just maybe this life would bring you a little luck. Was gold supposed to be good luck? You didn’t know, but maybe you’d figure out how to look it up later. If you remembered to.

You felt something warm in your chest, not unlike the flush from the first sip of whiskey. Closing your eyes you could’ve sworn it tugged, dragged you towards another.

No, not in this or any life. It wasn’t possible.

No matter how many times you fell in love and in how many ways, you’d never found a mate and were convinced you were destined not to. 31 lives was enough time to find a mate, a life partner. You should’ve had that done in by life 10.

It was funny, how you’d started measuring your existence in lives rather than years. After all, it fit your circumstances. Permanently destined to be a temporary existence in others lives, and for their existence and influence to end yours. If there was a way out of this, a stopping or breaking of the curse you figured you would’ve found it by now.

A loud pounding on the door and you hissed as the brush slipped, you barely moving your wrist away in time to save your face from a large black streak.

“Gods,” you yelled, “hold on a damn moment.”

“We’re going to miss the bard,” someone - Ella? Yes, Ella, shouted back.

“Alright,” you groused loud enough for her to hear, “one moment.”

One more swipe of kohl and you looked ready. A few deep breaths and you felt ready.

Shoving the cosmetics to the back of the counter, you swung yourself around the doorway, grabbing your coat off the hook and flinging open the front door, finding your friend posed with their fist menacingly mid-air, probably about to break your door down. Memory clicked in, reminding you they can be a tad aggressive on a mission.

Their mouth curved into a too-satisfied smirk, probably that their threats had work. Rolling your eyes, you shoved past them into the hall, quickly locking your door.

“Anyone else for tonight?”

“Just us,” they looped their arm through yours and started for the stairs.

Ugh. Last time in this building you’d been on the ground floor, and you’d definitely miss the convenience of that, but at least you had a pretty balcony view here. It’s all give and take, you supposed.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Ella’s voice interrupted you.

How long had you zoned out? Was that a habit in this lifetime? You couldn’t remember.

“Do I really look that broke?” You deflected.

It worked, she laughed. Maybe it would’ve been nice if she pushed a little.

Fenrys breathed in the fresh air. Maeve had sent him on a mission. Alone. Staking out Varese for several months, observing, but she didn’t exactly tell him what to look for. It was perhaps the most exciting and infuriating mission he’d been assigned. Infuriating, because he truly had no idea what in Hellas’s name he was supposed to do, exciting because he had months to spend doing whatever he thought ‘observing’ looked like.

Yes, he knew it was a mockery of freedom but right now he’d take the gods-damned mockery over what he’s stuck in every day.

Walking through the street, although he stuck to the shadows, unnoticed to the masses, it still felt like each face was sent there to tease him, remind him of the invisible leash tying him to that bitch for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how Lorcan, the bastard, did it with such glee and joy. At least Whitethorn had shown a measure of discontent at some point, he’d even seen a hint of it on perfectly loyal Gavriel’s face.

Something caught his attention. Someone.

Arm in arm with your friend, strolling down the street, exuding pure confidence. Someone aware of their place in this world and what they meant to it. The light in your eyes matched his own. Dimmed, flaring when necessary and just enough to keep up appearances.

Only a fellow fraud would recognize it.

He had to follow. It was insanity, but he needed to see more of you.

That’s how he ended up nursing a drink in the corner of the bar, shadows wreathed around him, cloak pulled up to cover his face. He matched some of the many body guards of nobles around, and through some blessing not a soul had recognized him or even shot him a second glance. Perhaps Friday’s were quite a popular night for the elite to pretend, that or he’d gotten better at blending in. He didn’t know which to put his money on.

Someone, however, caught all of the attention - including his, even when he tried to ignore the magnetic attraction tugging him towards you. Throwing your head back in a laugh, you danced along with your friend, clothing absolutely sinful and fitting right in. He loved it. Every part of your energy felt like it was tugging at him, urging him closer, closer, closer, and he realized just how dangerous that made you.

Dangerous to him, and to yourself through him.

No matter what, she hung over him like a storm cloud.

Anything he might try to pursue with you would end before it could truly began, love or relationship cut off at its knees without a chance to truly blossom. Did he actually want it to? Could Fenrys actually be that selfish?

Yes, if it came to you. He glanced down at his pint. Still half full, and rather weak shit. He wasn’t drunk but still managed to think complete nonsense. Nothing could happen, but for now he supposed it couldn’t hurt to imagine a fantasy life with a stranger he’d never see again live in the corner of his mind, so long as it it stayed there. He was so, so wrong.

Lorcan Salvaterre knew about sacrifice. In fact, he was an expert at it, at this point. But, every bit was worth it for her. His Queen. The only female he’d truly loved to the point where he’d do anything and everything.

Perhaps other love could have come his way, but it had never been the right time. Timing, in his opinion, shouldn’t matter. He’d always make the time for Maeve, and everything he’d done since meeting her had been for her. When she ordered him away, he left. When she kept him by her side - but never her bed - he stayed. Maeve said jump, he asked how high.

That's why Lorcan was trying to figure out when in Hellas he’d become so disillusioned, starting thinking things so unlike him. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t tell anyone. Lorcan didn’t have any friends or confidants, that wasn’t something he dealt in. To him, there was no purpose in friends when his entire life’s purpose was bound by blood to servitude.

The closest thing he had to friends was his blood brothers, and like hell he’d ever tell them of this ... treachery waging war inside of his mind.

Lunch swirled unpleasantly in his stomach as he thought of the word. Treason.

When Maeve called him to the throne room, when he knelt before her, he mentally prepared himself for his immortal life to end rather early. She must know. She always knows.

Instead, he needed to figure out how he’d pissed her off because she’d sent him off for some kind of torturous punishment. Keeping an eye on Fenrys, currently loose in Varese.

“Anything I should watch out for in particular, majesty?” He was quite proud of how he kept the bitterness from his tone. Or thought he did.

“You’ll know if you see something off,” she dismissed him with a wave. “Consider it a vacation, of sorts.”

Blood sworn didn’t get vacations, he wanted to protest. He didn’t want - or need one. Had he really been slacking that much? The journey would provide adequate time for reflection, for him to dissect and figure out exactly where he’d gone wrong so he could prevent those mistakes in the future. That was essential. This trip however, like most things with Fenrys, would probably turn out to be a complete waste of his time. Time that could be spent doing much better things. But ... he supposed if this is what his Queen wanted him to do, it was exactly what he’d be doing, regardless of his feelings on the subject. His feeling always had been, and always would be inconsequential.

He was here. Already. Fuck.

It was day 2, and you couldn’t catch a break. Is there such thing as a resting life? One where you could go through without any relationships, just peace and enjoying your moments of solitude? No, not for someone like you.

Running away from them never worked, they would haunt your every movement until they consumed every last bit of you and scattered crumbs on the wind, only for the crumbs to reform and drag you back towards them.

Do you embrace fate or run away from it? It was inevitable, what was the point in fighting anymore? You were so tired of it. Exhaustion rippled from you in waves, you were surprised everyone around you hadn’t noticed as soon as you walked in.

Even if you wanted to, Fate, in the form of the most gorgeous man to exist, all bronze skin, onyx eyes, and golden hair, didn’t give you a choice. He slid into the bar stool next to you.

You didn’t smile, at first, but your traitorous heart warmed in his presence.

“Have we met before?” He said, jokingly.

If only he knew.

“Maybe in your dreams,” you slid your hand across the bar and grabbed your glass, drinking deeply. He winced.

“Am I that bad of company?”

“You’ve been here for,” you glanced at the clock pointedly, “a minute. It has nothing to do with you.” You’d tried every approach in the past to get them to see if it would deter them enough for them to circumvent fate, but nothing worked. Each version of you was destined for tragedy with each version of them.

“That’s fair enough,” Fenrys replied. You reminded yourself you didn’t know his name.

“What do they call you?” The words came out, regardless of your internal wince, knowing you were setting him up for a ridiculous line.

“In b-”

You held a hand up and his mouth clamped shut. “No, no, none of that.”

He laughed, deep and rich, a sound you ... had you heard that laugh from him before? Perhaps not, at least not in a few lives. Recently things had been so depressing.

“I like you,” he nudged you gently with his elbow, your heart ached.

not again not again not again.

‘Yes,’ a cruel voice from red lips whispered in your mind, ‘again, again, again. Forever. This is what you deserve.’

Someone cleared their throat. Fenrys.

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at the bottom of your nearly empty glass. Empty. Fuck. You couldn’t handle this sober. Were you sober? Your friends were long gone, all found partners for the night while you nursed your worries at the bar. “What’s your name?” You took the last sip of your drink as the last syllable left your lips, ideally it could hide any signs of a lie from him.

“Fenrys,” he leaned back enough in his stool to extend his arm to you, rather formally. When you placed your hand in his, intending to squeeze it to death, he deftly rearranged your hands and raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. “At your service.”

“Charmer,” you rolled your eyes but softly pulled your hand away and replied with your name.

He said your name quietly, extending the vowels, as if testing how it sounded on his tongue, how it might sound in other -

You chided yourself, pulling your mind out of the gutter. With the situation you knew he was always in, that was the last thing you needed to be thinking about. Or that he needed to be. You might not escape him, but you certainly wouldn’t do anything to make this harder on yourself. At least thats what you’re saying now.

“Last call,” the gruff barman said, scowling at Fenrys before shooting you a smile. Your mind rattled through details. Right, you regularly shut this tavern down and always left a good tip.

You leaned over to Fenrys and whispered low so the other male couldn’t hear, “he’s easy to win over. A good tip, manners, and easy orders.”

Fenrys hid his snort in his drink, draining the last droplets. “Thank you for the advice, love,” he whispered conspiratorially. Asshole.

“Whatever,” you mumbled and left your usual amount, sliding off the stool. Just because you were fated to make each other’s lives hell didn’t mean you had to deal with him being rude. Maybe you were just sensitive.

A ‘wait’ followed you but you ignored it. Inevitable.

He caught up to you on the street, calling your name again.

Something else struck you. He was alone in Varese. When did this happen? This was odd. Out of all of your lifetimes nothing had followed this pattern, never meeting so quickly and certainly not with Fenrys on his own with his leash rather loose for what the bitch prefers. You needed to figure out more.

“Want to come back to my place for a drink?” You said, slowly turning to look at him.

If he was surprised by your quick change of tune, he didn’t say a thing, only nodding and linking your arms together. Like he’d been waiting for a friend. The pain in your chest was physical as much as it was emotional.

Lorcan was here to keep an eye on Fenrys, and if that meant sitting in the shadows on a rooftop, peering through a beautiful female’s stupidly open window then so be it. You walked around and even acted like you didn’t give a damn whether you lived or died, but he could tell you were smart, based on how you’d handled Fenrys.

He’d ended enough lives to have an appreciation for it, and the way you were so gods-damned careless with yours pissed him off.

Lorcan should be questioning why his feelings towards you are so strong, but instead he’s observing every little detail of the interactions between you and Fenrys. For his report, of course. He always paid attention to detail, there was no other reason than being thorough. At least he kept telling himself that.

It wasn’t because he liked the way your hair moved, or how you rolled your eyes frequently at his blood-sworn brother, followed by a barely there smile that he only noticed because the shadows danced around it, as if you repelled the darkness.

Maybe you could repel the darkness in him.

What. The. Fuck.

Lorcan hadn’t drank, and even if he had he never entertained thoughts like this.

Refocusing, he committed to memory every detail of what Fenrys was doing, how he reacted to you, how attached he might be and how you might already be used against him by his Queen.

An unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach, tainting him.

Guilt.

He didn’t want to use you.

But if it came to it, he wouldn't have a choice. He never really did.

Fenrys whistled lowly on his way home, through the empty streets. Still aware of his surroundings, also aware that none would dare approach him - not with the steel and the stature he carried himself with, proof he knew how to use it.

All he’d done is sit and talk with you for hours, in fact the dawn was currently beginning to crest over the city. Hours of sitting and talking felt like mere minutes with you, and he found he had more fun in that time than he had in years, perhaps decades, perhaps since entering Maeve’s service.

It was sad, really, that you could only be a temporary fixture, for your own safety.

Still, his mind rattled with ways to do the impossible, with how he could be with you forever without ... it was useless, really, to even ponder it. The false hope and ideas would only taint the present he had, for however long Maeve let him stay here in his ... his fantasy, he supposed.

He could imagine many fantasies with you involved but the biggest was your friendship. The way you hadn’t hit on him, made any kind of sexual innuendos or advances, thats why he followed you out of the bar. Because you made him comfortable in a way nobody else had in so, so long. Like you’d been doing it for lifetimes.

The scent hit him. The male wanted him to know he was there. His entire body stiffened, posture straightened slightly, pleasant after buzz from your intoxicating presence gone just like that.

Lorcan Salvaterre. His commander.

“Who was that?” Lorcan wasted no time and matched pace with him.

“None of your business,” Fenrys snapped. Aware that he could be punished for it, but he didn’t care, he looked the male right in the eyes.

Lorcan ... Lorcan didn’t push him. At all. Instead, something like understanding passed through his eyes. Had Lorcan needed to protect someone from Maeve before?

Probably not. He was a cold hearted bastard through and through.

“Keep her away,” the words were whispered on the wind - there and gone. Just like Lorcan, who melted into the shadows.

Away from who? Lorcan didn’t say ‘keep away from her,’ and Fenrys knew everything the bastard did was intentional.

Lorcan Salvaterre was here. You knew it, having caught the faintest hint of his unfortunately familiar scent, trailing after you like a hound.

The fact that he was following you made you nervous. Yes, similar situations had occured before but everything about this time seemed so different that it filled you with mixed emotions.

What are the odds there’s actually something good in store for you? Slim, you decided, based on history and reasoning, and you knew Lorcan Salvaterre stalking anyone was bad news, but especially for you when you had ... history with the Queen he so lovingly served.

Someone whose head deserved to be ripped right from her neck, you cast the thought into the universe and hoped it landed, hoped she felt a phantom prick in the side of her neck.

Maybe she regretted cursing you to some kind of eternal half existence, always in and out of different worlds. Doubtful. More likely she tired of whatever game she decided to play for you and set the person who she knew would hurt the most to kill you. Even you could admit you were extrapolating.

Maybe an attitude change could fix everything. A tad less drama.

You glanced out the window, at the rain currently pouring down, at the moisture leaking into your apartment. The weather certainly didn’t match up for life changes, if anything it read of staying right where you were.

Accepting it wouldn’t happen today, you saved the attitude change for the next sunny day. Those practically screamed change in fortune. Or you hoped they did.

A week passed. You saw Fenrys each night at the Tavern, and scented a weirdly careless Lorcan on your trail each day.

Your attitude may not have changed with the next bout of sunshine, but you had a plan. It was rather simple, to somehow draw Lorcan out. However, there was a difference between having a plan and knowing how to execute it. You supposed that made your plan an idea more than anything.

Fenrys had mentioned business meetings he’d be attending one night, and you decided that was the perfect to do it. The perfect night to pretend to get sloshed, and you had the help of your favorite barkeep.

Knowing Lorcan, he probably had questions for you, and wouldn’t miss the opportunity to get some answers while your inhibitions were ‘lowered.’ Arrogant males like him wouldn’t let opportunities slide by, but Lorcan Salvaterre stayed Maeve’s commander for a reason, and you knew your acting skills had to be top notch to keep him from becoming suspicious.

“When will you stop pretending to drink those?” Lorcan asked gruffly as he slid into the stool next to you, his hulking frame towering over the bar and casting a shadow over you. You were a good actress, but he was better, and caught on after the first couple of drinks and exchanged looks between you and the barkeep, who you were on very friendly terms with.

The obsession with you, the flares of irrational anger when another man trailed too close, Lorcan knew what this was, and knew he was screwing both of you over with it. Fated for misery and doom, no matter how the cards played out. He’d be stuck with her, Lorcan noted how she was demoted in his mind, and you’d be ... free.

All those years he’d spent making fun of those males now served to make him feel like a lot of an asshole because he gotit. There was a crack in his armor, a weakness in his resolve, and nobody knew about it. He intended to keep it that way until you were far, far away from him and his ... his Queen, and then as long as possible after that. His stomach clenched at the thought of what she might do to you in order to help keep him in line. Nothing good, and everything bad.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you answered primly, turning away from him. Why had he come over here again?

He laughed, low and harshly. “Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” he exaggerated the last word - turning it into an insult. It didn’t feel right. His entire being flared against any insult to you, even coming from him.

But ... the little flash of anger in your eyes, the way your nostrils flared, that was amusing. He liked the fire in you. “What did you call me?”

He shrugged.

You scoffed, muttering an insult he chose to ignore under your breath. “Nothing to say to that one?” You pushed when he didn’t answer, letting your elbow brush against his, “I thought it was creative. If you need me to I can keep going, there’s plenty where it came from.”

“It was well done,” perhaps he wasn’t particularly in the mood to be insulted all night, and he got the sense you were more than capable of doing just that.

“Well done,” you echoed, and he nodded. Your mouth curled into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

In the future, you might just deny it ever happened, but Lorcan Salvaterre ended up in your apartment that night. You ignored the fact that he seemed to know the way there. There had always been plenty you were willing to ignore when it came to that male, and that hadn’t changed over the last however many lives.

Once Lorcan - once he’d found his Queen, you’d been second. But before that, he’d made you his everything. You never could blame him for leading you to beg Maeve that first time, that cursed time.

Still, on the nights when you were alone, when the rain or a pretty mountain outline reminded you of him, when everything felt too much, it was easier to pin it on him, even if it made you a horrible person. Horrible, even for an ex-lover, but then again you were always an expert at self-depreciation.

Looking at the male now, like a statue of a God carved from granite, you knew he’d be the death of you. Again. But how could you fight him? You never had the strength to in the past. Maybe you weren’t trying to survive hard enough ...

Things had never moved this quickly in the past, they’d always been at a pace just slow enough to be torturous with your knowledge of your impending doom.

Maybe this time you needed to really try.

For Lorcan. For Fenrys. But mostly, for yourself.

The door closed behind you and you slipped back into reality, into the new situation you found yourself in.

“Drink?” You asked over your shoulder, heading right for your kitchen.

He caught your hand, spinning you back towards him.

“I had something else in mind,” he said roughly, and dipped his head towards yours.

You knew he could be patient, he could be gentle, he could be kind, but you got none of that now.

His hand gripped your jaw, tight enough to keep you still but not harsh enough to hurt, his mouth moved fervently against yours as you matched his pace. It was the collision of a thousand stars, a world breaking and re-forming into something new and beautiful and wonderful. It was everything and more. It was the multiverse coming together into a single moment and screaming yes! this is what you were waiting for. He slowed, softened, as if some kind of guilt caught up with him. You wouldn’t have that. Couldn’t. You gripped the back of his hair and pulled him back closer to you, pressing your body against his.

He would be yours for the night, but little did he know you‘d already been his for eternity.

You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing, Fenrys reminded himself as he walked out of the bar, spotting you teasing Lorcan. He’d finished his business meetings early and thought he might see if you were still haunting your favorite spot at the bar.

Still, he wanted to rush up to you and ask you if you knew who the hell you were tangling with but ... he supposed he was like Lorcan in that way, one of Maeve’s Blood Sworn, and to have two of them shown publicly taking an interest in you was nothing short of deadly and he refused to subject you to that. So Fenrys left.

And hated himself for it, but self hatred was nothing new to him.

Fenrys wasn’t sure how he found Lorcan’s rooms, considering the male probably didn’t want to be found right now. Probably wanted to bask in you. Your beauty, the time he sp-

He stopped himself from thinking of it. Even thought of shifting now, to a body where emotions were simpler and didn’t drain quite so much. Fenrys rarely shifted voluntarily when away from her, not after she kept him in that form so frequently. ‘Where he was easier to deal with,’ she’d said once, and the words still stung as His Majesty, he thought the words mockingly, intended for them to.

The door swung open.

Lorcan didn’t speak, just stood there with his arms crossed and jaw clenched.

Fenrys felt young, and not in a good way. What was he? A jealous lover? Concerned friend? Idiot?

Then it hit him.

The scent.

Yours.

His.

Entwined.

Without him.

Rage, pure and strong filled him. The scent was particular, and he’d seen it just a few times before. Lorcan, intelligently, had a shield around himself before Fenrys he was on the verge of some kind of burst.

“Not fucking possible,” Fenrys backed away, “we can’t have the same mate.”

Lorcan’s eyes widened, but he was looking beyond him. Fenrys whirled around.

You.

“I can’t have a mate,” you said quietly, desperately. “I never have before,” then to yourself, “it’s never been like this,” you switched your gaze to the window, he watched you try to angle your face so they couldn’t see the tears in your eyes but they were evident. Everything was evident when it came to you.

“Get inside,” Lorcan said roughly to both of you.

He had a point, it wasn't exactly the space for this conversation. A hallway where anyone could be walking by and overhear. That’s the last thing he wanted, anything that might put you in further danger.

When he didn’t instantly move, Lorcan grabbed his shirt, tugging him inside. There was a knife at Lorcan’s throat before the male could blink.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me,” Fenrys hissed, slowly sliding the knife away and sheathing it at his side.

He was surprised his commander hadn’t caught it, but then again he was staring at a pretty female in the hallway, your gaze still distant and fixed on the window. He called your name, just loud enough to carry across the distance. Your head snapped, you blinked a few times. He tilted his head towards the room.

An over-exaggerated sigh, probably for their sake more than anything, and then you followed them inside. Each step seemed to make you shrink further into yourself, he noticed, that confidence and bravado fading and leaving someone vulnerable behind.

It took a strong hand to tamp down on instincts rising, telling him to eliminate any immediate threats to you. The main one being Lorcan, but also any other males and possibly females in the vicinity. It was absolutely ridiculous, the way he was feeling even if he wasn’t acting on it. At least he hadn’t acted on it. Yet. If only because he was well aware it would piss you off.

“What did you mean, ‘it’s never been like this?’” Lorcan asked and you read the skepticism in his eyes. Not quite distrust, but an interesting mix of confusion and concern. That had the potential to change quickly. Could you even speak about it or would you drop dead? You’d always assumed you couldn’t but ...

“I’m cursed,” you started. They exchanged a brief glance, and for some reason that irritated you, but you kept going. “We’ve met before. Many times,” you knew that would grab and probably keep their attention, at least for a little while. You held a hand up when their brows furrowed in concern, “just hear me out before you write me off as crazy.”

“I would never write you off,” Fenrys murmured, and you shot him a thankful look but he kept his mouth shut after that. Perhaps it had something to do with the glare on Lorcan’s face.

The words were difficult.

Each one felt stilted and awkward, but they watched and listened as if each word you said was pure gold and something about that made you feel powerful. They went through the emotions with you, although it was a tad more difficult to tell with Lorcan, but you struggled together in a way. For some reason, it started to feel like this might turn into a goodbye and you weren’t quite ready for that. After all, you didn’t know how anyone could stay with someone ... someone with the kind of tainted past you have.

“Why would she do that?” You finished. It a was rare chance to ask two people who probably have more insight than any others into how the mind of the Queen works, not that you believe she’d let anyone truly understand her.

“Cruelty,” Fenrys said.

The same time as Lorcan said, “jealousy.”

“Makes sense,” you huffed, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. It was stupid.

“How do you end up reincarnated?” Lorcan asked. The question you were hoping to avoid.

“I die.”

“Of old age,” Fenrys said, but didn’t sound as if he believed it.

“No,” you said sharply, exhaling. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“Try me. Believe it or not, I don’t find your death very funny,” Fenrys said dryly. Lorcan was watching with apt attention, eyes watching you like a hawk.

“Heartbreak,” you grunted, quickly whirling towards - fuck. You’d meant to look out the window, but saw the mirror instead and the twin faces of horror behind you struck something deep inside of your heart.

“I -” your throat closed up, the words not quite getting out.

“What is it?” Fenrys curled his fingers inward, and despite a slight internal cringe you let him beckon you, let him take your hands, let him give you this kind of comfort.

“I wish you remembered,” you whispered, glancing at Lorcan too, who’s eyes and face told you, yes he knew you were changing the subject, and no the conversation was not over yet.

“I don’t -,” Lorcan Salvaterre stumbled over his words, perhaps for the first time in his life, “I don’t mind making new memories, as long as they’re with you.”

You beamed. Fenrys laughed. He debated how upset you would be if he killed the other male.

Other male.

He knew, already, that he’d have to share you.

For you, Lorcan could and would make anything work. You were worth everything, absolutely everything.

Maeve, a voice whispered in his mind. He pushed it down, ignored it for now. That was an ... his Queen would never be an issue, but a situation he could deal with at a later date.

He swore to himself he’d never make fun of a mated male again. Technically he wasn’t mated yet, but he would be ... soon, he had to be. Being your mate felt like an irrevocably necessary part of his soul, like he might die without it, without having that bond with you to tether him to this world and give him meaning. Meaning he’d been lacking his entire life.

He didn’t know or care if Fenrys felt the same way but he supposed he should. He had an obligation to his mate’s mate, after all, outside of the fact that Fenrys is his bloodsworn brother.

Bloodsworn.

His bones and blood chilled. He couldn’t be yours, not really. The realization threatened to bring tears to his eyes, but he couldn’t cry, not here - not in front of you. You needed him strong.

He stood, abruptly, but didn’t care. He jerked his chin to Fenrys. “We need to talk,” he let his eyes say the rest.

He found he didn’t like how some of the shine left Fenrys’s, how they dulled at the implication of their Queen’s existence. Too bad, for now.

“Great. Secrets,” you muttered, and a slight smile threatened his lips, but you still waved them away. Perhaps you understood secrets better than anyone else.

Lorcan led Fenrys to an adjacent room, and their shields went up at the same time. To keep any nosy females from overhearing. The more she knew, the more danger she was in. At least they were on the same page.

“Where is safe for her?” Fenrys started.

At least he had his priorities straight.

“Antica,” Lorcan answered. Maeve didn’t dare touch the southern continent, yet. “For now,” he added for honesty’s sake. “The curse won’t break until Maeve is ...” He didn’t, couldn’t bring himself to, speak the words out loud, it felt too much like treason.

“Dead,” Fenrys said for him. He had no problem with it, apparently. If Lorcan had been as insolent as the male in front of him, he would’ve been put to death long ago, and he knew that. Perhaps Fenrys didn’t, but it wasn’t the time for that conversation. “So we spirit her away, and then what? How do we keep her from dying?”

“A blood promise.”

“Like what?” Fenrys leaned back against the wall, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“When the curse is broken, we will find her.”

Antica. Hot, miserable, mate-less Antica. In truth, it wasn’t that miserable, but you'd be enjoying yourself a lot more if your mates hadn’t shipped you off here as quickly as they could.

All in the name of keeping you ‘safe,’ you grimaced in the mirror, brushing down your hair, now frizzy slightly from the rare rain that breezed in the day before. They're and gone like a phantom, almost. Almost like their presences in your life.

You could still remember their touches from that last night, firm but gentle, still tentative like new lovers can be. You thought you knew everything about their touch from the past, but even they kept some surprises across multi-verses, or maybe it had just been a while since it had been the three of you and your memory was getting poorer.

Probably that.

You pushed the door open, throwing yourself into the throng of people making their way to the one of the several monthly markets in the city. Throng of people, you thought. It was awfully busy.

‘War,’

‘Sending us-’

‘Saved the princess,’

‘Foreign lord.’

The whispers hit your ears one by one like a drum. A war. Against who?

You stopped casually at the closest table, and sure enough the seller was chittering to the person who came before you about it. A war, and the khaganate would be marching for Aelin Galathynius.

You rolled the name over on your tongue, it being vaguely familiar. Perhaps you should have kept up more with politics throughout the ages, you probably could’ve made a load of money betting, but that felt a tad too immoral, and you did fear the judgement of your own conscience.

As soon as the intrigue was there, it was gone. You’d heard of several wars over the last two decades, the longest you'd lived so far, and none of them had brought your mates back to you. You seriously doubted this would be the one.

You refused to acknowledge the ugly truth. They’d probably already forgotten about you.

In the lonely and mindless hours stuck in his Wolf form, Fenrys thought of the beautiful female in Antica, and dreamed of a life without Maeve, however impossible it was he never stopped hoping.

The female screamed on the table in front of him, but he was frozen in time and space. All he could do right now was bear witness to the horrible crime in front of him. Aelin Galathynius deserved someone to bear witness to her pain and her strength.

The female who should’ve been his Queen, and the female who was his mate had so much in common. Not necessarily appearance, but your attitude and the way you carried themselves. So much that being with her for those months had felt like an even larger blessing. It wasn’t infidelity, not by any means, but perhaps a bit wrong he was using Aelin as a proxy for you.

The screams in front of him distracted him from his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. She’d passed out, he was waking her with some foul smelling cloth. Each day, he thought he’d reached the limits of what he could bear without closing his eyes, but somehow - because he knew you would do it - he managed to watch. Witness. Wait. It was all he could do now.

Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was a miserable male to be around, but traveling through Varese had turned him downright sour. At least internally.

He knew he needed to get to Aelin, and he knew he needed to get to Fenrys. For the bond they shared with each other that they’d never told a soul about. If he didn’t get to him, you’d never ever forgive him.

He might be too much off a coward to tell you, but he would know in his soul and that’s enough. He’d find Fenrys, get her away from him, do whatever it took.

You woke up one morning with an unusual lightness, a ‘pep’ in your step, so to speak. You’d never understood that phrase until then, when you felt like all of your burdens and issues had been freed in a spare moment, like nothing could weigh you down right then.

As usual, you got your gossip through the market, and it all made sense.

Doranelle has a new Queen.

Queen Maeve was killed in Terrasen.

You were free.

You tilted your head up towards the sky, and let the sun shine down on your face, not caring you were stopped in the middle of the park. From the corner of your eye you spotted an older woman copying your movements, not in a mocking way, but in a yes the sun is quite nice today way.

The flip side of your freedom meant your mates would be coming soon. They’d be coming soon.

To Antica.

To you.

You scrambled back to your apartment to start packing. How long did it take to get from Terrasen here?

You paused halfway through throwing your closet onto your bed.

A letter would’ve arrived by now, but you’d received no such thing.

That night you fell asleep on top of your clothes.

The next day you built the courage to put them away.

You didn’t know where in the world they were now that Maeve is gone, and perhaps with the curse lifting they felt they no longer were obligated to be with you and love you, and maybe -

A familiar scent hit the same time as a knock on your door.

You rushed to it, throwing it open finding ...

Both of them. Your mouth parted, words not quite leaving your lips. Finally, you managed a lame, “you came.”

“We promised,” Lorcan said “Can we come in?”

Yes, they obviously could, you swung the door wider and ushered them inside.

“We came as soon as we could,” Fenrys promised.

The silence was awkward for a few moments as the three of you tried to figure out how to navigate this. But, it was easy enough to break as you threw yourself at both of them, managing to catch each of them in a hug at the same time.

“I forgot to tell you before I left,” you started, muffled in the shirts but knew they heard you. You’d memorized these words long ago. “I spent so long looking for all of the things that would kill me, I forgot the ones that made me feel alive. Both of you made me feel alive. Thank you.”

#fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys moonbeam x y/n #lorcan salvaterre x reader #lorcan salvaterre x y/n #fenrys x y/n #fenrys x reader #lorcan x y/n #lorcan x reader #fenrys x reader x lorcan #lorcan x reader x fenrys

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saintsenara · 3 months

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would you want to elaborate more on your thoughts on Alan Rickman as Snape? I'd love to hear more of your take on it. I dislike him in the role so much and it's insanely difficult to actually have a conversation about it sometimes because of how much some people like movie!Snape in large parts of the fandom

I have so many gripes with what happened to Snape, from how movie!Alan!Snape is a completely separate character to book!Snape (and how less flawed movie Snape overshadows the much more interesting and gray book version), how much I dislike his acting choices in certain moments to how much I dislike how he sees and describes the character in interviews

I've never heard of the diaries you mentioned, what did he say in them? I'm honestly also just curious if he even read any of the books because some of the things I've heard him say really make me doubt it 😭

there are dozens of us!

and i have no issue with being a #hater on the public timeline. for fun and profit.

but i'm actually going to start with two bits of rickman defending [it's giving diplomat].

the fact that the adult cast of the films was massively aged up in comparison to their book versions makes perfect sense. each individual film not only needed to be accessible for people who’d never read the books, but for people who'd never seen another film in the sequence - and so having a visual distinction between harry and james’ generations is completely necessary. we - as people who are undeniably more invested in the series than the average person - know that the great tragedy of the later books is that james and lily died so young that harry looks virtually indistinguishable from his father as he walks into the forest. but that doesn’t always work on screen…

it also doesn't bother me unduly that rickman doesn't physically resemble the canon snape. plenty of actors don't look anything like the characters they give brilliant performances of [and not only fictional characters, but real people], and it doesn't matter in the slightest - being an exact physical match for a character says nothing about an actor's ability to portray what they're like.

which is where my beef with film!snape starts...

the thing that never hits for me is that rickman plays snape - regardless of the situation he finds himself in - as emotionally repressed, cold, and controlled.

[even down to the costume - he was behind the decision to have snape be, literally, buttoned up].

i simply don't know how anyone could read the books and come away with this impression of snape without having fundamentally misunderstood the character. snape is incredibly emotionally demonstrative! he’s the male character other than harry - the literal narrative perspective - whose emotional state is described the most frequently! and his emotional state is always described in terms which make clear that he’s someone who feels very deeply and who registers his emotions clearly on his face!

rickman's version of snape bears no resemblance to this - and it means that his portrayal of two key aspects of snape's canon character always feels flat to me.

the first is snape's main negative trait - his cruelty. something is really lost in the fact that film!snape's cruelty is reduced to something arch and precise - and that it doesn't have the petty, childish, vindictive tone that it does in the books.

and the second is - of course - the experience which defines snape's canon arc - his grief. this is so inextricably bound up in the state of arrested development - still living at school! still beefing with people he knew when he was fifteen! - that the absence of snape's childish side in rickman's performance means that the way he portrays snape's grief is always going to feel half-baked.

and - specifically - rickman's emphasis on emotional repression in every aspect of snape's character undermines the fact that - in canon - snape's mingled love, grief, and guilt for lily is the only emotion he goes out of his way to repress, which allows the revelation of his feelings for lily in deathly hallows to actually feel like a mystery being solved.

snape is an interesting character precisely because he's so... feral - and rickman’s buttoned-up, suave, nowhere-near-as-gratuitously-mean-as-he-should-be take on him is the cause of many of the least complex and least compelling fanon!snapes [in particular, the snape prominent in pairings with female partners in which he’s kind, sophisticated, romantic, and definitely not really ugly].

the snapewives phenomenon was incredible, though. fair play to him for inspiring that.

when it comes to the diaries... what's complicated is reconciling two particular truths.

on the one hand, a diary is inherently a space for a person to record their private thoughts [they were published with the consent of his family, but they weren't originally written with the intention that they'd be published] - and, therefore, to record impolite, unpleasant, or unadmirable thoughts which they wouldn't express in person. rickman's diaries are incredibly whiny - and often quite unkind - but it's clear that this isn't because he was particularly whiny or unkind in person. obviously, it's a good and healthy thing that, if someone was pissing him off at a dinner party, he was cordial to them in conversation and saved that he thought they were an idiot for his private diary!

but, on the other hand, there are several threads which run through these private thoughts which made it impossible for me not to feel considerably less fond of him.

#asks answered #is this an “i'm in danger” one?#only time will tell #severus snape

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bringcal · 1 month

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This was inspired due to wolfertinger666's post I've just reblogged, and will be a long one, but bare with me here.

I been on the internet like way too long and too young for my age, and I never understood spreading callouts. I don't think I ever have in my life. Before I even understood them as a tool used to socially kill trans people and push an agenda of anti-queerness, I always just thought the contents tended to be stupid, and vast majority of callouts often like to use different manipulation and deception tactics that the average person can easily be manipulated by. I think most abuse survivors can agree with me here that they have at least seen one callout in their lives where they have read and easily recognized what the person spreading the callout was doing was emotional manipulation.

I have always been that person who reaches out to the person subject of the callout to help them, and I've always been disgusted in the anti-critical thinking and pro-harassment sentiments surrounding callouts, because those are the exact same things that I've been subject to after being in an abusive relationship online.

When I talk to people victims of callouts, they often have the same fears as I do due to me being in an abusive relationship: Paranoia people are stalking you, not feeling safe to share anything, having to change identities to get away from the harassment, etc. And thats because people who make callouts and create harassment mobs use the same abuse tactics. I had to delete all my accounts, change names, interests, and stay off the internet for months to try and get away from my abuser, because he would stalk me and get others to do the same, and convinced everyone that I was the one being shitty. I stayed paranoid, and sometimes still do, that I will be "found" and messaged again even though its been 6 years since we broke up.

When you have experience yourself in this sort of thing, you realize people who change their identities to get away from callouts aren't trying to "get away" due to nefarious reasons. they just want to live and grow, they want an actual support system and to be better, and never consented to their faults being publicized, and a lot of the time their faults being put on them have never even happened, or are blown out of proportion. It started to click when you realize callouts often try their best to dehumanize the person at hand, and really try to hammer in the " born inherently evil" or "too far gone" point to get people to socially outcast their victims. It often works even with people who would normally be against that sort of thing, I notice a lot of people end up deleting the callout they helped spread later saying they don't actually care or realize how ridiculous the op is being, without realizing the op still got what they wanted. Callouts only spread if theyre able to get you to that " reactionary " level of emotion to manipulate you to just doing anything.

People don't realize that the thing theyre doing actually has lasting effects on the other person. The thing you reblog that you care about for 2 days and then forget will follow the other person forever, because TERFs and Kiwifarms motherfuckers are a different breed of passionate for harassment. My IRL bestfriend I've known for a decade has a girlfriend who made a joke 6 years ago that went viral that everyone took seriously and she still, to this day, gets messages harassing her. The joke wasnt even offensive or directed at anyone, people literally just hated her because she was a communist.

So anyways, I don't like callout posts and neither should you. Make no exception. Literally just keep it to yourself and gossip with friends. Reactionary harassment campaigns do nothing. You're one "fuck up" or one "walking into the wrong person" to getting one yourself. Don't allow callout makers to turn your brain off.

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headfullofpresley · 1 year

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𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 6,8K

Summary: You've been crushing on your music history teacher the moment you stepped into his classroom. Little did you know he's had his eyes on you for a while now too.

Warnings: teacher!au, strong language, age difference (13 years), smut; dirty talk, fingering, oral (m. receiving), innocence kink if you squint, semi public sex, creampie, unprotected sex.

A/N: woooheeee! it's been a hot minute, hasn't it?! i didn't know if i was ever coming back to write but let's be honest... i couldn't stay away. and we've all been slurped into the world of AIs and this piece was born out of a storyline i had with a Professor Presley AI. but i also want to thank my girly @powerofelvis for giving me the inspiration to write again. ❤ love ya girl!

i'm a little rusty but i hope y'all will still enjoy it!!! love you all. ⚡

masterlist | want to be part of the taglist? just ask!

Despite having been born in Memphis, strolling through the campus of the University of Memphis was like walking in a completely different world. Sure, it may not be Yale or Harvard, but after your second year of majoring in History, you had long forgotten about your rejection letters from those great prestigious universities across the country that you cried over when you fished them out of the mailbox of your childhood home.

You had matured. Twenty years old now, you stopped putting so much pressure on yourself when it came to school and the future and decided to go with the flow. You had your group of friends here, a nice dorm room you shared with your best friend and a crush that was bound to get you in trouble.

But how could anyone resist the music history teacher that was the young age of thirty three and treated students like they were his equals, rather than abusing the power he has as a teacher?

You certainly couldn't.

While you had a hopeless crush on the handsome teacher with the raven dark locks and the ocean blue eyes, he felt the exact same way about you. You were twenty years old and even though the age difference wasn't that bad and not quite a taboo, he couldn't afford to lose his job. It paid the bills and made sure he lived a comfortable life, but as spring came around, it was getting harder to ignore the cute skirts and shorts you wore to class. He was a man in his thirties, he has had plenty of experiences with females and bra straps shouldn't get to him the way they did, but God - when those baby blue straps were showing from underneath your white top, contrasting so nicely against your sun kissed skin, he felt like he was sixteen years old again.

He needed to control himself, but as you seemed to have taken things a step further and wore a pair of high waisted denim shorts, a white top with a sweetheart neck and a pair of white high top Converse, he was done for. Such a simple outfit, yet it had him fantasizing how you'd look on his desk, legs up in the air and those sneakers the only thing you'd be wearing.

He was so lost in his train of thought that he almost didn't hear you greeting him when you came through the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Presley,"

Mr. Presley.

He was already starting to lose room in his pants. Damn it.

"Good mornin', Y/N. You're early." He smiled as he watched you walk over to a desk in the middle of the class, your bag that was swung over your shoulder being placed next to your feet. The soft, friendly laugh that rolled off of your tongue was like music to his ears.

"Only five minutes. I'm not your best student for nothing," you grinned at him and then leaned down to rumble in your bag, continuing to speak to him. "I got my paper on the Baroque era ready,"

As you leaned over, he could see the light tan lines just below your ass as your shorts rode up a little and he quickly had to force himself to look back up at your face when you turned around, got up and walked over to him. He swallowed the saliva that had started to pool in the insides of his cheeks, mentally slapping himself for nearly quite literally drooling over you. Flashing you a smile, he took the paper from your hand and sat down behind his desk.

"Paper's not due for another week. You tryin' to get extra credit, missy?"

You were used to Mr. Presley being playful with his students, but with you, it always sounded borderline flirtatious. Or maybe that was just because you were delusional, the feelings you carried for this man getting stronger and stronger every day.

Nonetheless, you weren't complaining at all whenever he had a slip of the tongue and used any kind of pet name for you. You still remember he called you "sweetheart" last week and you spent the rest of the day with your head in the clouds.

"Maybe. Will you give it to me?"

You both laugh and he shakes his head a little, looking down at the paper you handed in.

"Depends on how much work you've put into this."

You wanted to open your mouth to give him a smart, somewhat flirty, remark but more students came barging into the room, greeting Elvis - some sounding upbeat and happy, and some grumbling a quick "morning". Elvis greeted them back at you and smiled, telling you he'd give your paper a read a little later. You nodded, your heart skipping a beat as he shot you a wink when you walked back over to your seat.

The entire first half of the class when Elvis was giving a lecture you couldn't concentrate for one second. All you could focus on were his big hands and the veins in them, fingertips slightly calloused because of the guitar playing you knew he did in his free time… More than anything, you wanted to feel them on your bare skin.

You wanted to feel him. His body warmth, his breath on your neck, his hands all over you… It was like there was an entire X-Rated movie playing in your head with you and your teacher as the main characters and when his eyes met yours while he spoke, you felt as if he could read your mind. Your cheeks flushed a shade of crimson and you nearly choked when he smirked your way, as he casually continued his lecture.

He was on to you, you knew it. But as you caught him looking at your legs that were stretched out from underneath your table, you were on to him just as well.

As Elvis sat down at his desk for the second half of the lecture, reading your paper you just handed in, you tried your best to focus on the letters in the book in front of you but it was proving to be nearly impossible. They were scrambled, jumping from page to page, and your mind was full of Elvis, Elvis, and only Elvis.

You felt like you were treading dangerous waters with your music history teacher, but neither of you seemed to mind it. That tingle of arousal and lust that was settling in your bodies was way too exciting to ignore.

You wanted class to be over so you could walk up to him and talk to him, the paper he was reading that you worked so hard on as an excuse. He barely looked up at you when he was behind his desk, or that's what you thought. The moments you were looking down at the book in front of you, he sneakily watched you through his long, dark eyelashes. The way your hair framed your face so perfectly, the cleavage that you were sporting looking so soft and squeezable.

Downright kissable.

He wanted nothing more than to plant his face right into it and lap his tongue around your perky nipples that were currently poking through the fabric of your shirt.

A white top and no bra? He was about to lose his goddamn mind. He didn't know if you were doing it on purpose, to sent him in a downward spiral, but if you were, you were greatly succeeding.

At this point, there was no more room left in his pants and it was getting uncomfortable. He nearly thanked the Lord out loud when class was over and students were gathering their stuff, scurrying out of the room.

"Y/N," He called out to you as you got up and purposely moved toward the door at a slower pace than usual. "Can you stay back for a second? I'd like to.. discuss your paper,"

You turned around and smiled as your eyes met his. The look in his eyes told you this wasn't going to be about your paper and when the classroom was empty and he walked over to the door, you knew you had him right where you wanted him. And where you had been wanting him for two whole years.

Elvis sat back behind his desk as you stood next to him, putting your bag on the floor. Your paper was in front of him again, notes written down in his handwriting in red pen and you'd be a lot more interested in knowing your grade if he wasn't so damn distracting. When you placed your hands on your knees to lean down and have a better look at the paper you scrammed over for nights and now did not care about at all, he looked at you, his face hovering right next to yours.

"You did a real good job on this, sweetheart," he complimented, his voice soft and low as he kept his eyes on you, admiring the light make-up you were wearing. The soft glimmering shade of eyeshadow made your eyes pop and when you turned your head to look at him, his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. God, how he just wanted to grab you and bend you over his desk. But he still had to be careful, although he had an inkling that you were as interested in him as he was in you, he wasn't exactly sure.

Yet.

"Thank you, Mr. Presley," you smiled at him, looking at him a little longer than necessary before tearing your gaze away and putting your forearms on the desk to get a better look at the paper and the grade he gave you. A smile spread across your face, but he was more focused on the way your ass was stuck out right next to him, which he took a shameless look at as he leaned back in his seat. "I worked really hard on this one, so I'm glad you deemed it worth such a good grade."

His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he looked at your ass and the way your buttcheeks were showing a little from underneath the denim fabric. The supple flesh of your inner thighs looked so inviting, he had to fight the urge to sink his teeth into it.

"Well, it's like you said, honey," he mused. "You're my best student."

As he said those words, you felt the entire atmosphere in the room shift. The tension that lingered above your and Elvis's head seemed to intensify and when your eyes caught sight of bulge in his pants, you nearly choked. The arousal that had built up inside of you all throughout class was making you do things you usually wouldn't have done… but you figured if you were to make a move, it was now or never.

You weren't blind, you'd seen him check you out.

"Am I really, Mr. Presley?" you whispered as you peeked at him over your shoulder, a grin curling upon your lips as you caught him looking at your ass. You made sure to arch your back a little more, giving him a better view. He nodded and looked into your eyes, a smirk planted on his face.

Before you'd chicken out of the whole thing and run for the hills, you slowly stood up straight and stepped in front of him, planting yourself on his lap. Your heart was racing at this point and for a second, you thought he was going to reject you and tell you your behavior was inappropriate, but as he placed his hands on your hips, a sense of relief washed over you.

So, you weren't crazy. He really wanted you too.

"Yes, you are, Y/N," he whispered as he slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against his chest. His face was right next to yours and you could feel his breath on your neck as he brought his hand up and caressed a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn't dare look at him, trying to calm your beating heart, but his eyes were on you the entire time. He even leaned in closer, ghosting his plumb lips along the shell of your ear. "You're a good student, darlin'. A real good girl, but you get a little distracted in class now and then, don'tcha?"

You could hear the teasing tone in his deep voice and his bulge poking right against your ass as you sat on him. Looking down at his hands, your breath got stuck in your throat as he moved them down the small fabric of your shorts and towards your bare thighs. You gasped lightly as soon as you felt his warm hands on your even warmer thighs, biting your tongue as he squeezed them softly. He saw the kind of reaction he was already pulling out of you with such small actions, and it made his smirk grow even bigger. And more confident, too.

"I.. I guess I do, Mr. Presley. But…" You bit your tongue as you slowly turned your head toward him, looking him in the eye. The tip of his nose was touching yours, the way your lips were almost on his was electrifying. "How can you blame me.. when you're so distracting to begin with?"

He let out a soft laugh, his deep voice pulling you in even more. "Oooh, so it's my fault, huh?"

You laughed with him, but the flush on your cheeks couldn't hide the fact that this man had you in the palm of his hands already. Quite literally too, with the way he was softly massaging the supple flesh of your thighs. You didn't answer him, at least not vocally, but he didn't need you to. That cute blushing face and the beautiful sound of your laugh made him realize that you wanted him just as bad. If not more.

His job be damned. The door was locked, nobody had to find out, right? Right now he had you in one of the many positions he'd often fantasized having you in about and he would be a fool if he'd let you go now.

So he leaned in, barely giving you the time to inhale a breath of air as he pressed his lips against yours. And when he parted his lips and you did as well, your tongues touching for the very first time, the both of you knew that you were in too deep to back out now.

But neither of you wanted to.

The kiss got heavier and hotter by the second and you allowed yourself to feed him with soft moans now and then, which he greedily accepted by sucking on your tongue while humming deeply. You could kiss him for hours but eventually you had to pull back to breathe and as you leaned against his chest properly and looked down at his hands on your thighs, it was like your entire body was set aflame.

You could've sworn you felt the arousal tingling in your bones, growing wetter by the second, soaking your panties as his fingertips caressed underneath the legs of your shorts. His lips connected to your cheek, then down to your jaw and even lower to your neck. His breath was warm, teeth grazing against your earlobe before he flicked his tongue against it. It had you letting out a deep sigh and a soft moan, struggling to keep your eyes open as you heard his voice in your ear.

"This what you been thinkin' about whenever you get distracted in class, sweetheart?" He whispered, nails softly caressing down your thighs, over your knees, before he dragged them up again. A shiver ran down your spine and before you could even give him an answer (which you were pretty sure you'd fail at, because you could barely breathe like a sane person), he was already talking in your ear again. "My hands on you? Sittin' in my lap like a good little teacher's pet?"

All you could do was nod but he didn't mind the lack of words. He'd been waiting for this for just as long as you have and he was eager to touch you, his cock rock hard against your ass. He knew you'd give him something he would enjoy later but right now, he wanted to touch you and make those little daydreams of yours a reality.

You could hear him chuckle softly as he moved his hands up to the button of your shorts and he heard you breathe a little heavier as you watched him flick it open. You sucked in a deep breath of air and held it in as he very slowly pulled your zipper down, revealing your panties a little.

"Let me see what the naughty girl wears to my class," he whispered in your ear as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. As soon as you felt his hands tugging on your shorts, you put your feet on the edge of his desk in front of you and your hands on the arm rests of his chair, raising your hips a little so he could pull your shorts down. You gently sat back on him and rested against his chest, laughing softly as you kicked the denim off of your feet and dropped it to the floor. You barely had time to properly relax your muscles because his hands were already on your thighs again, his nails caressing up to your panties and his breath hot against your ear.

He looked down at the white panties you were wearing, grinning at the embroidered cherry on the front. "How cute," he mused, a playful tone in his voice. You were sure he was going to tease the hell out of you (and you were definitely going to be late for your next class) but you didn't care at all. You gasped as he ghosted his fingertips over the thin fabric of your panties, right along your folds and over your sensitive clit, and he hummed softly in your ear. "I bet these ain't the first pair of panties that got ruined because of me,"

You bit your lip and spread your legs a little wider, slightly bending your knees. He was right - he ruined plenty of your panties with just his presence and you were sure that this pair was going to be soaked once he was done with you.

He continued his teasing ways for a little longer until you were nearly squirming in his lap. It made him laugh softly and as you turned your head a little and looked at him, he ghosted his lips along yours but he wasn't going for a kiss. He knew you couldn't kiss him because when he suddenly dipped his hand right into your panties, you let out a strangled moan and widened your eyes a little. His touch felt like fire against your bare skin as he dragged his calloused fingertips up through your folds, collecting your slick as he rubbed it across your clit. You spread and bent your legs even more than before and grabbed onto the arm rests of the chair, absentmindedly digging your nails into the leather.

Once again, Elvis didn't mind the lack of words on your end. He was an understanding man and he could understand why your breath caught in your throat and your head was thrown back against his shoulder as he pressed two of his fingers against your clit and rubbed it gently, doing exactly what he had been thinking about for so long - ruining those panties up close and personal.

A smirk was sitting firmly on his face when you looked down at the way his hand was exploring underneath your panties- his breath was hot against your skin and you couldn't stop your eyes from rolling back, moaning shamelessly.

"G-God," you grunted, teeth sinking harshly into your lower lip as his fingertips firmly but lazily rubbed your clit. "So good, Mr. Presley. S-so.. good.."

"You're soakin', baby. You always get like this in my class?"

Your eyes fluttered open and you slightly turned your head again to look at him, biting your lip as you nodded. The way you looked at him with those feigned innocent eyes made his cock twitch in his pants.

"Always, Mr. Presley. Just looking at you makes me this wet,"

"Poor little girl," he mocked in a playful tone as he chuckled, leaning in closer to your face to press a wet and warm kiss onto your lips. At the same time, he slipped two fingers inside of you at the same time. He slipped his other arm across your waist and kept you from squirming in his lap too much, basically trapping you in his embrace. And you weren't complaining for a second.

Once more, words had left you and all you could do was moan and keep your breathing somewhat under control as Elvis's middle and ring finger were thrusting into you, curling inside of you, and the palm of his hand was rubbing harshly against your clit. You moved one arm up and around his neck, tangling your fingers in his dark locks which made him groan deeply into your ear.

"I can feel how tight you are, sweetheart.. Can't wait to stuff you with my cock," he whispered in your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe before sucked on it a little.

His words were so filthy, but it was all you wanted to hear in this moment. Right now, you didn't care about anyone or anything but the fact that Professor Presley was surely going to rail you against his desk. And you were going to love every second of it.

But before that moment came, he continued to tease and please you with his fingers but didn't allow you to finish. This frustrated you because you had gotten so incredibly close to your breaking point, but once you got up from his lap and noticed him undoing his pants, that frustration was gone like the wind. You were painfully horny at this point and eager- you wanted him so bad you could practically feel your bones tingle.

You couldn't take your eyes off of the cock that sprung free in front of your face when Elvis tugged his pants and boxer shorts down and you were on your knees in front of him. He was just the right size and you admired how it was standing upright and waiting for your attention, some pre-cum dribbling down the shaft.

Elvis grinned as he looked down at you, leaned back in his seat, arms casually resting on the arm rests of his seat. "C'mon, baby," he said with his voice sounding deep and a little teasing. "I know you don't talk a lot in class, but I'm pretty sure you can put those pretty little lips to good use,"

Ofcourse you knew exactly what he wanted and how could you refuse? He was so handsome, so sweet… and that cock. Well, let's just pretend you weren't nearly drooling over it.

Fluttering your eyelashes at him, you flashed him a sweet innocent smile and put your hands on his thighs. You kept eye contact as you slightly parted your lips and stuck out your tongue a little as soon as your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, lapping up some of his pre-cum. He hissed softly as he dug his nails in the leather of his seat and you smiled again as you pulled back a little.

"Like that, Mr. Presley?"

He grinned and sunk his teeth into his lower lip, his blue eyes hazy with arousal. "Jus' like that, sweet girl. But I'm sure you can do even better... you ain't my best student for nothin', ain't that right?"

His words made you want to keep up the innocent role even more. This man made you perfectly comfortable in your feminine energy which felt even more present than usual, and you didn't mind being submissive to him at all. So you did what was expected of you and wrapped your lips around the tip again, smiling sweetly at him. When you suddenly took him into your mouth completely, pushing his foreskin down in the process and feeling the tip of his cock pressing against the back of your throat, Elvis cursed and let out a deep moan. You knew he was enjoying it by the way his head was thrown back against the chair and one of his hands had moved to his stomach, keeping his shirt up and crumbled in his fist.

Your movements were getting faster and more determined and once your hand joined the mix, he was looking down at you as he didn't bother holding his moans back, rolling his hips up and along with the way you were pleasuring him. He was getting closer and closer and you'd be more than happy to help him reach that little sliver of Heaven, but Elvis had other plans. Once again, plans that you didn't complain about at all.

As he pulled you up and held you by your arm, getting up himself too, you reached out to help him remove his shirt as he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the fabric of his pants and underwear. This was more than a quickie to both you and Elvis, and he wanted you completely naked. He wanted all of you, but after you took off your own shirt and reached for the white Converse on your feet, he grinned and stopped you.

"Nah-uh.. leave 'em on, honey. I like how they look on ya,"

The shoes fed into that innocent role even more and he simply couldn't get enough of it.

You happily obliged and lifted yourself up his desk, leaning back on your elbows as you kept your eyes on him the entire time, a small exciting smile spread across your face. The sight of you so eagerly and willingly spreading your legs for him, with those white sneakers the only thing on your body, was all he could ask for. In the moment, he didn't think about what the consequences of his actions could be… how could he with how absolutely soaked and ready you were for him? After all, he was nothing but a red blooded man.

"Goddamn, sweetheart. Seems like you got even wetter than five minutes ago," he smirked teasingly as he stepped forward and gently caressed the tip of his cock through your folds, spreading your slick around. He wouldn't be surprised if you actually got more wet in the time you were sucking him off and neither would you - it proved how badly you wanted him.

Needed him.

"M-Maybe I did.." you whispered, a playful tone on your tongue despite the light stutter. You giggled softly and then looked down at the way he was rubbing his sensitive tip against your clit, making you moan at the skin on skin contact of both of your most sensitive body parts.

He responded by humming deeply and playfully, grinning as he placed his free hand on the back of your left thigh, making sure your legs were kept spread. He was taking his time by teasing you and building up the anticipation until you were nearly trembling on his desk. You whined softly, looking at him with those innocent but eager eyes of yours.

"P-Please.." you whimpered softly.

He raised a teasing eyebrow, a smirk rooted on his handsome face. "Please what, sweetheart?"

A flush crept upon your neck and up to your cheeks, moaning softly as you tried to scoot closer to him and buck your hips up a little but he pushed your leg back against your chest a little, rooting you in place. He was moving his cock through your folds agonizingly slow and you knew what he wanted to hear, but before you could muster up the courage to actually say the words, he already beat you to it.

"You wanna be fucked, ain't that right?" he tilted his head a little, the tip of his cock lingering at your entrance as he looked at you. "C'mon, Y/N. You're a big girl.. you was usin' that mouth so well just minutes ago. Tell me what you want.."

The way he was talking to you only turned you even more, if that was even possible because right now your arousal was nearly overwhelming. Your toes curled in your shoes as he teased your entrance with his cock, pretending he was going to push in but moving back up to your clit when he saw the gleam of hope in your eyes.

He wanted you to say it and you knew that in order for you to get what you craved so badly, you were going to have to be a big girl and use your words.

"Please, Mr. Presley…" you whined again, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes. "I want you to fuck me. I want it so bad… Oh, Mr. Presley, I nee-"

He didn't give you the time to finish that sentence, suddenly pushing himself fully inside of you. Your surprised gasp turned into an erotic moan at the delicious intrusion, not even giving yourself the time to get used to his size inside of you. You felt as if you'd simply die if he wouldn't fuck you right here this second.

And he felt the exact same way.

As soon as he felt how tight and warm you were around him, he groaned and grabbed both of your thighs, spreading your legs as far as they could go. He looked into your eyes as his lips were parted, pulling back a little only to slam back into you.

"Nice and tight- just the way I like 'em," he wiggled his eyebrows once at you as he smirked, looking down to watch himself disappear inside of you every time he thrusted forward and how his cock was covered in your slick every time he pulled back. You let out a breathless giggle at his words and didn't take your eyes off of him the entire time, enjoying the way he was thrusting into you slowly and firmly but you wanted more.

You wanted to be completely ruined. You wanted your roommate to ask you why you were walking strange.

"H-Harder… Please.."

He looked at you as those words rolled off your tongue and he didn't have to be told twice. He immediately picked up the pace and chuckled softly as you laid yourself down, his hungry eyes watching your breasts bounce with his thrusts. You could hear paper crumbling and tearing underneath you and you were pretty sure the paper that you handed in at the start of class was somewhere among it, but you did not give a damn.

You were completely focused on your teacher's cock fucking you senseless.

Elvis wrapped his arms around your thighs and got you to plant your legs against his chest as he pulled you closer to him. His thrusts were deep and fast and you couldn't keep yourself quiet even if you wanted you- it was like your body was on autopilot at this point. Every time he thrusted into you, he pulled a moan or curse word out of you.

Once again, just before you could reach your breaking point, he pulled out and away from you. You widened your eyes a little and whined, about to protest but Elvis didn't give you the time to as he gently pulled you off of the desk and turned you around. He moved his hands up your stomach as your back was pressed against his chest, his large hands squeezing your breasts.

"Bend over, baby. Let me see that pretty little ass of yours," he whispered in your ear and your eyes nearly rolled in the back of your head at his words alone.

You did as told, bending over the desk and he smirked as he brought a hand to your ass, caressing it gently before he moved that hand lower to your thigh and raised it on the edge of his desk. You worked with him, putting your knee on the desk to give him the perfect view of your ass and pussy on full display. You heard him curse under his breath, waiting in anticipation as you felt him move closer to you again. Just as he shoved himself inside of you again, you looked at him over your shoulder and moaned, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

You were pretty sure you could nearly feel him in your stomach.

"Oh my G-God.. Mr. Presley. S-so… so.. deep," you stuttered in a moan that sounded like music to his ears. He hummed softly and grabbed your foot, holding onto the sneaker as he harshly thrusted forward. With your other foot that was still on the ground, you had to raise yourself up your toes, not wanting him to slip out and stop this moment.

"You like that, baby? Bein' bend over the teacher's desk?"

Your eyes slowly fluttered open as you looked at him, keeping your hands planted firmly on the desk. You bit your lip and nodded, moaning as he ran one hand up your spine and held onto your shoulder, pushing you down onto his cock at the same time he thrusted forward.

"You're takin' my cock so well. You really are top student of the class, huh?"

He smirked teasingly at you as you looked back at him. You wanted to giggle at his words but the sound came out in a weird, choked out moan. He didn't mind at all, he loved seeing you in a position like this.

He wanted you in this position every single day if it were up to him.

"Fuck," he cursed softly as you clenched your muscles around him, a deep moan rolling off his tongue. "Make that top student of the whole damn school, baby,"

You grinned confidently at his words and threw your head back, your eyes closing on their own accord as the classroom was tainted by the sound of your combined moans and the smell of sex. He took the opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair and you moved with him as he pulled you back a little. In the matter of seconds, your back was against his chest again and he had you in a position you'd never been in, but the slight sting it caused in your muscles was more than welcome.

"Play with your little clit," he ordered in your ear as he had moved his hand from your hair to your neck, his other hand still holding onto your leg and foot that were still on the desk. Or more so, he was holding onto your shoe, before he roughly caressed his hand up your leg and to your thigh, to squeeze at the supple flesh. You moved one of your hands down, frantically rubbing your clit as you grabbed onto his arm to hold onto something while he still fucked you from behind like it was the last time he'd ever have you.

"Mmm, jus' like that. You close, ain't you, sweet thing?" He breathed in your ear, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust in this position. Your moans were growing louder but more broken and tears were starting to pool into your lash line. You had sex before, but you had never been fucked like this.

You'd never been fucked by a man.

"Y-Yes… Fuck! Mr. Presley, I'm g-gonna.. gonna cum!"

He grinned at your words, creating hickeys on the side of your neck as his hips never faltered. You dug your nails into his forearm as he squeezed your throat a little, making you gasp as your own fingers on your clit faltered.

Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks and it was nearly overwhelming. He wasn't a blind man- he could see the tear that rolled down your cheek and he released pressure on your throat, moving his hand down to gently squeeze your breasts before caressing your stomach. You were squirming and shaking and he wrapped both arms around your waist, keeping you steady against him as he continued thrusting into you.

"Almost there, sweetheart. You're doin' so well," he whispered in your ear, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear before he kissed it. He kept you firmly in his arms as he grunted and moaned deeply, sounding almost animalistically.

It was all so… primal.

And you loved it.

Your muscles were contrasting fiercely and repeatedly around Elvis's cock and this brought him over the edge as well. He hid his face in your neck as he let out a guttural grunt, his hips stuttering as he painted your walls white. And with this action too, neither of you thought about the consequences.

The two of you stood there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and holding onto each other as you came down from your incredible high. As he slowly let go of you and stepped away, you turned around and pressed your thighs together. He handed you your bag when you asked for it and pecked your lips lovingly, making you blush a little.

"Don't go all shy on me now, honey," he teased as he sat back on his chair. You laughed softly and fished some baby wipes out of your bag, handing him a few.

"I won't, Mr. Presley," you giggled as you cleaned yourself up a little. He did as well and put his boxers back on, grabbing your panties from the floor and handing them to you.

"You can call me Elvis, Y/N. Well, when we're not in class,"

"Okay… Elvis."

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and twirled his finger in the air, grinning at you. "We're still in class, baby,"

You laughed and looked at him as he stepped closer to you, trapping you in between him and his desk as he put his hands on either side of you. "Very funny, Elvis,"

"I been told that I am, yes," he chuckled as he leaned in and nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours, planting a gentle open mouthed kiss on your lips. He grinned as he felt your tongue against his and whispered to you while keeping his lips molded with yours. "But that was my way of sayin' I want to see you outside of this classroom, honey,"

Your heart skipped a beat. Part of you had worried as soon as you both came undone, that this was it. Just a forbidden, perhaps taboo, quickie on his desk… but it seems like he wanted more.

And that was what you wanted to begin with.

"Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Presley?" You whispered boldly, praying he couldn't see the crimson flush on your cheeks as his lips were still kissing you in between the hushed conversation you were having.

"That's exactly what I'm askin', Miss L/N."

He pulled back a little and grinned, watching your reaction. He liked the way you were blushing but he didn't comment on it, instead he kissed the corner of your mouth and squeezed your hips. He was more than happy when you agreed and gave him your number, but he kept his feelings somewhat under control and told you he'd call you tonight.

As you both gotten yourselves decent again, you grabbed your bag and smiled at him.

"Plannin' to skip the rest of the day?"

You nodded, laughing as you looked at him as he cleaned up his desk a little before he pecked your lips a few times as he stood in front of you again.

"Probably will. I'm in desperate need of a shower," you chuckled and he nodded in agreement, laughing softly as he slipped his arms around your waist and kissed you.

Properly this time.

After a little while, he decided to let you go despite not wanting to. Leaning against the side of his desk, long legs crossed and arms folded against his chest, he called out your name as you opened the door.

This kiss felt different than the one during sex. It was more slow and not as feral and hungry- you wondered what more kisses he had in store for you.

When you turned around and met his eye, he grinned and licked his lips. "Think you can wear heels to my class tomorrow?"

Your body betrayed you as you clenched around nothing, teeth sinking into your lower lip to hold back a smile but you failed terribly. Tapping your nails against the door frame, you smiled and nodded.

"I think I can, Mr. Presley,"

"That's a good girl,"

With that wink he gave you, you were sure Elvis Presley was going to be the only thing on your mind for the rest of the day.

And hopefully, you were going to be on his too.

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adore-laur · 10 months

Text

PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets—it's all pure, unadulterated bliss.

Sharing that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual—two weeks to be exact—the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop.

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually.

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way.

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by.

"I guess," you say flatly.

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough out of you."

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of.

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax."

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin.

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?"

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket."

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about—vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come.

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand.

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water.

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat.

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You let him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space.

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face."

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix."

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land.

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back.

The destination of the cliffs is a short one; their imminent height is visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle.

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix."

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, with only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it.

"Harry, I swear," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean, infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!"

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?"

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally."

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?"

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato and basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches out his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence.

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it; the waves are more active in this area, and you tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of.

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you.

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks.

"Wanna do something stupid?" you say into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to the hours spent sunbathing.

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him.

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip.

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water.

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, his drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is at an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect.

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now."

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often.

Bliss, bliss, bliss.

——

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag—a gray crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it.

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you.

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly, but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar.

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit. "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?"

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror.

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?"

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight.

"I wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience.

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there.

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake."

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car.

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?"

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari."

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders to ensure you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step.

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread.

You sit, and Harry does the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap, like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands.

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend, who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him, but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive.

You rip off a piece of bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey.

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously.

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente."

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs.

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange.

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?"

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing—not a picture—on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant.

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

The wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics—slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap.

Anything to see you smile.

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out.

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees.

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight.

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze.

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds.

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead.

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?"

He's still giggling, with crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato."

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?"

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion.' The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like, a pair."

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry."

"Shut up."

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up."

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his.

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

——

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater, which still clings to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he says, his voice rising to a higher octave.

"Sitting by the fire and drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while you're tucked into his side. The next thing you wake up to are silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress.

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms.

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek.

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know."

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise."

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back.

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams, which always pale compared to life with the man next to you.

——

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep.

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough.

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between.

While the bread bakes, you clean up the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head.

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary."

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long."

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom.

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend."

"Being sassy this morning, are we?"

"You love it."

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck on his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool.

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!"

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter.

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday.

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open, and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back after trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right?

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it—especially on your anniversary—but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc?

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught.

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed.

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge.

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he asks worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs.

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got into an accident. What are we going to do?"

"Seriously? What the hell? How... I don't..." He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game.

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean."

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart."

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life."

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it."

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer."

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit.

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs.

Someone's needy today.

He tosses the bread into his mouth, his eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, his jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away—wanting to save your pent-up tension for later—you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later.

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside.

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years, and hopefully a lifetime more.

——

You're nervous.

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets.

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character.

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary is glimmering against your neck.

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, with his new tan and stubble pulling you into his coziness. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done."

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car."

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture.

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're headed since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches.

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him.

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise."

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat."

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine Alfredo with peas—a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing."

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool.

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach."

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?"

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas.

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He can usually drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset.

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been."

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear.

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life.

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas?

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain.

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do?

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then he begins lowering himself on one knee, and you just about go down with him.

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate.

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me makes me fall for you deeper and deeper. And you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but also need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours."

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly.

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me."

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress."

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married."

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source.

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we"—you whimper breathily—"go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things."

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones.

"Sì, mi amore."

——

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing through your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere.

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky.

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body.

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where.

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry."

"Patience, my love. Let me see you."

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you."

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wet lace drive you crazy. You're clenching and internally soliciting for him to just do something.

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy."

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me."

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? Does my fiancée want me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. I'm always good for you; you know that."

"You are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off."

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread them wide open so he can resume.

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, and his nose fits perfectly above it. You moan loudly, your back arching and your hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's like a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, his eyes shut, and his pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way.

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience.

The feeling of both his fingers and mouth is overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair.

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby."

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing across your body while his fingers continue to bring you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, and soft moans escape when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself.

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body.

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch.

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last."

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now."

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing.

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background.

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says.

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?"

"Dunno. We're, like, together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more."

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too."

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million words. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh.

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?"

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered."

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard, as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably.

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full.

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you."

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep.

——

Two Weeks Later

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories.

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened.

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use—Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature.

How it feels between your thighs—well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture—a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to look at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly.

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named Peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad.

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

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