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argumentativantitheticaldream · 13 days ago

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𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲

ੈ✩₊christmas at your old family home˚˚୨୧⋆

Warnings: age-gap, smut and handjob

Word Count: 7.2k

Under the twinkling string lights that were somehow still aglow, the path to my old holiday home glistened with an incandescent glow, blanketed in a thick layer of freshly fallen snow. Towering evergreens flanked either side, their boughs sagging under the weight of frost, as though bowing in reverence to the season’s magic. I stopped to stare at the shimmering colors that reflected off the frosty ground, their soft hues painted the snow beautifully.

The air was crisp, biting at my cheeks, but it carried that unmistakable scent of pine and woodsmoke, a fragrance that wrapped around me like a scarf. Every crunch of my boots felt louder than it should, the sound sharp in the stillness. Yet it’s a sound I could remember clearer now, as though the years had rolled back in an instant.

The house appeared suddenly through the trees, as though it’d been waiting for my presence. Its roof was heavy with snow, the gables edged with glinting icicles. The front windows glistened softly, the warm light inside spilling onto the porch, onto the wreath hanging on the door. The red ribbon was a little frayed and the plastic firs had started to discolour but it was that same wreath from all those years ago.

Every step I took over the frost-laden ground seemed as though I was splitting the peace this house had sat in for years. I could almost hear the hum of voices from years ago, how my mother would call us in from the cold, the sound of wrapping paper tearing and the crackle of the fire. For a moment, I wasn’t stood at an abandoned house but I was outside of a home bustling with people. Laughter seemed to echo faintly, ghostly yet comforting, woven into the fabric of this place. I recalled snowball fights in the front yard, the smell of cinnamon wafting from the kitchen, and the way the world always seemed simpler here. The memories are almost tangible, pressed against me like a familiar embrace.

The path, though dusted with snow, felt alive like an artery that led straight to the heart of my childhood, pulsing with the energy of holidays past. As I reached the porch, I hesitated, letting the moment linger. It felt as though the house had been waiting for me, timeless and tender.

I hesitated for a moment on the porch, my hand hovering over the doorknob. It felt almost sacred, standing here again, as though stepping inside might disturb the memories still lingering in the air. But the soft glow of the lights through the frosted windows and the faint hum of something–music?, drew me forward.

As the door creaked open, the familiar scent hit me first: pine, woodsmoke, and something faintly spiced, like mulled wine or cinnamon. The warmth of the room wrapped around me instantly, chasing away the chill clinging to my coat. I stepped inside, and there he was, my dad's best friend, Alex, standing near the fireplace, his broad shoulders backlit by the dancing flames.

He looked the same as I remembered, though a few fine lines had etched themselves around his eyes and mouth, giving him a rugged, almost weathered charm. His brown hair, still thick, caught the light, glinting with strands of silver that hadn’t been there before. And his eyes—deep and warm, the kind of brown that reminded me of autumn woods met mine, sparking with recognition and something unspoken.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice a low rumble, full of surprise and affection. “It’s been… what? Seven years?”

I managed a shy smile, brushing the snowflakes from my hair as I stepped fully into the room. “Eight,” I corrected softly, my voice small in the cozy expanse of the living room. The contrast between us struck me in that moment; he, tall and steady, every bit the grown man I’d remembered, and me, barely twenty and still finding my place in the world. I was sweet, I suppose, in the way people describe someone who hasn’t yet been hardened by life. Though we shared the same brown hair and eyes, he carried the weight of experience, and mine the soft light of youth.

Alex chuckled, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the years. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

I shrugged out of my coat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, though it was anything but unkind. “And you haven’t changed a bit,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely true. He’d grown older, yes, but there was something deeper there, an enduring warmth, a steadiness that felt grounding that I hadn't noticed until now.

“Come on,” he said, stepping forward and reaching for my coat. “Let’s get you warmed up. You must be freezing out there.”

As he moved past me, his presence filled the space, familiar and comforting in a way that made the house feel even more alive. It was like stepping back in time, but with a strange, bittersweet edge because though nothing had truly changed, I had. I rubbed my hands together, trying to shake the chill from my fingers, even though the warmth of the room was already sinking into me. Alex motioned for me to sit by the fire, but I hesitated, still standing awkwardly in the center of the living room.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to show up while you were here,” I blurted, my voice tumbling out faster than I intended. “I just-” I gestured vaguely toward the door, my cheeks flushing under his steady gaze. “I wanted to visit the house. I didn’t know anyone would be here.”

Alex tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. “Why would you think no one would be here? It’s Christmas. Of course someone’s here.”

I shrugged, biting my lip. “I don’t know… I thought maybe it’d just be empty. Like it used to be when we’d come up for the holidays, you know? I guess I just wanted to…” I trailed off, searching for the right words not finding them until he’d interrupted.

His eyes softened, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, understanding smile. “To remember,” he muttered, as though the words carried weight for him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I added suddenly. “I didn’t even know if the place would still look the same.” I hesitated, my eyes darting to the wreath on the door, the glow of the lights, the crackling fire.

Alex stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not intruding, sweetheart. It’s as much yours as it is mine.”

The warmth in his words caught me off guard, and I found myself swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at him, unsure of what to say.

He broke the silence, his voice lightening with a hint of a teasing edge. “Besides, if anyone’s intruding, it’s probably me. I just came up here to get away for a few days, clear my head. Didn’t expect to have company.”

I laughed softly, the sound awkward but genuine. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Alex smiled, his gaze lingering on me for a beat longer before he nodded toward the couch. “Well, since we’re both here, I might as well make the best of it. Sit down. Warm up. I’ll make some tea—unless you’re still a hot chocolate kind of girl?”

I felt my face flush again, this time with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. “Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” I admitted quietly, and he nodded, disappearing into the kitchen.

As I sat down on the worn couch, the memories seemed to wrap around me like an old quilt. I let my eyes wander over the room: the familiar beams of the ceiling, the photographs still on the mantel, the faint hum of Christmas music crackling from a vintage radio in the corner. This place hadn’t forgotten me, not even after all these years.

The kitchen was steeped in a quiet kind of warmth, the kind that wrapped itself around you and refused to let go. The air smelled of chocolate, rich and sweet, mingling faintly with the scent of aged wood and the faint musk of a house that had seen generations pass through its doors. I cradled the chipped mug in my hands, its warmth soothing my cold fingers. The faded floral pattern on its surface seemed to whisper of the past, of hands long gone that had held it just as I did now.

Across from me, Alex sat in the weathered stool that shifted under his weight. He held his mug close, letting the steam rise and curl around his face like an ephemeral veil.

“You’d have caught your death if you stayed out in that snow any longer, love,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with an easy familiarity. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on the crooked bookshelf, the worn rug, the faded curtains that swayed slightly in the draft from the window, I assumed he was avoiding my intrusive gaze.

I took a sip from my mug. The chocolate was thick and velvety, the perfect kind of sweet. It spread warmth through my chest, a feeling that wasn’t entirely from the drink.

For a while, we talked about everything and nothing, our voices mingling with the sound of the wind outside. The house seemed to breathe with us, its wooden bones creaking softly in response. I watched Alex’s hands as they wrapped around his mug, his fingers strong yet gentle, his nails short and clean. The way his thumb traced absent circles along the edge of the ceramic seemed almost hypnotic.

As I reached for my mug again, our hands brushed. Just a whisper of skin against skin, but it was enough to make the moment still. His fingers were warm, rougher than I’d expected, but gentle in a way that sent a ripple of something unspoken through me.

He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second. “Sorry,” he murmured, though his hand didn’t move right away.

“It’s fine,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavier than they should have, carrying a weight I couldn’t quite name.

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. The fire crackled faintly in the corner, but everything else faded into the stillness between us. Then Alex pulled his hand away, his lips curving into a sheepish grin.

“Careful,” he said lightly, breaking the tension as he raised his mug again. “Wouldn’t want to spill and ruin your mother’s precious mugs.”

I smiled, though my heart was still beating faster than it should. “She’d never let me live it down.”

He laughed softly, the sound filling the room, but the echo of that brief touch lingered, quietly reshaping the space between us.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth seeping into the room and wrapping around us like a heavy quilt. I stretched out on the sofa, my legs tucked under me, while he sat at the other end, one arm resting along the backrest, the other draped casually over his lap. His presence filled the room effortlessly, a quiet confidence that seemed to settle into the old wooden beams and faded upholstery.

The bows on the back of my boots caught his eye as I shifted slightly, the ribbons brushing against the sofa cushions. Without saying a word, he leaned forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the soft fabric.

“These are… sweet,” he said, his voice low, almost amused, as he hooked a finger around one of the loops and tugged gently.

I glanced over at him, catching the playful smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Sweet?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his hand still toying with the ribbon, the firelight catching the roughness of his knuckles. “Yeah. Like something a little girl would wear. But they suit you.”

I scoffed, though I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “You know, some people find them charming.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, his voice teasing but soft. He tugged at the bow again, looser this time, like he was testing the strength of the knot. His fingers lingered there, warm and deliberate, as though the act of untying it was more interesting than it should have been.

“Alex,” I warned, trying to sound light, though the closeness of his hand sent a shiver through me. “tying those bows took ages.”

His grin widened. “That so? Guess I’d better not ruin your handiwork, then.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. His fingers hovered over the ribbon, brushing lightly against the fabric, and I could feel every quiet pull of the room between us. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, the playful smile fading just slightly, replaced by something softer, quieter.

“I didn’t think you’d still wear things like this,” he said, almost to himself.

I shrugged, my voice a little more hesitant now. “I guess some things don’t change.”

“Not everything has to,” he murmured, letting the ribbon slip from his fingers before leaning back again, the firelight catching the thoughtful curve of his smile.

The ribbon fluttered back into place as he leaned into the sofa, his arm brushing the backrest as though claiming the space between us without thought. I adjusted slightly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders to pool at my waist, though the fire’s heat was enough to keep the chill at bay.

He tilted his head to look at me, his gaze steady but warm. “Houses like this… they take on the weight of the people who leave them behind. It’s why I never stayed in one place long enough to feel that.” his tone shifted back to something firmer, though it still held that quiet intimacy that he seemed to demand.

I looked at him, his words hanging in the air. There was a quiet honesty in what he said, a crack in the carefully composed presence he always carried. “That’s not true, though,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “You come back to people, don’t you? That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

He glanced at me then, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite let it through. “Touché,” he said, and for a moment, the tension eased, a soft laugh settling between us.

I leaned back again, letting the sofa creak beneath me. “I guess this place will always feel like home,” I said, turning my gaze to the fire. “Even if it’s not the same anymore.”

I felt his hand then, resting on the back of the sofa, just inches from my shoulder. It wasn’t intentional, not exactly, but I was suddenly aware of how little space there was between us. My breath caught slightly, though I tried to hide it, shifting to tuck my legs beneath me again.

The blanket slipped further, and without thinking, he reached out to adjust it, his fingers brushing against my arm. The touch was light, but it sent a ripple through me, one I knew he must have noticed.

The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, it was thick, heavy with all the words we weren’t saying. The fire crackled softly, the warmth of it pressing against my skin, but it was his presence that made my chest tighten.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, his gaze still fixed on the fire. “How some moments feel bigger than they should. Like this one. Sitting here with you.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I said, barely managing the word. “Funny.”

He turned to me then, his expression unreadable but his eyes searching mine, as though waiting for me to say something else or maybe as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite find the words.

I hesitated, my eyes dropping to the ribbon he’d let fall loose on my boot. “Everything feels so different when you’re not a kid anymore. The way the house creaks, the way the fire sounds, it’s all the same, but it doesn’t feel the same.”

He nodded, leaning back just slightly, his arm still draped across the back of the sofa. “That’s growing up, I guess. You start to realize the world’s not as big as it felt when you were younger. The edges get sharper. Things feel… closer.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the house or us.

I glanced at him, his face illuminated by the firelight. There was something in the way he looked at me, something quiet and unspoken, as though he was trying to puzzle out the thoughts I couldn’t bring myself to say.

“Closer, huh?” I said, forcing a smile to keep my voice steady. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes flicked to mine, catching the faintest hint of mischief. “You have another way?”

I felt the corners of my mouth tug upward despite myself. “Maybe. But I’m not sure you’d like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, shifting slightly closer, just enough for me to feel the weight of his presence. “I’m pretty open-minded.”

The words were light, teasing even, but the way he looked at me softened their edge. I bit my lip, unsure whether the warmth in my chest was from the fire or from him.

“Don’t test me,” I said, feigning a warning tone, though I couldn’t keep the smile from my voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, though his gaze lingered, betraying the lie.

The silence that followed felt thicker this time, not awkward but charged, as though the room itself was holding its breath. I let my fingers trail along the edge of the blanket again, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to shake.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he said, his voice dipping lower, enough to make my pulse quicken.

I glanced at him, meeting his eyes only briefly before looking away. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

The word hung between us, an invitation I wasn’t sure how to answer. I hesitated, letting my gaze drop to the ribbon again, its soft edges now slightly undone.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Doing what?” I asked, though I knew exactly what he meant.

“Deflecting,” he said simply, reaching out to brush his fingers against the ribbon again. This time, he tugged it loose entirely, the bow unraveling beneath his touch.

“Alex!” I protested, sitting up straighter.

He smirked, holding up the ribbon as though it were a prize. “Relax. I’ll tie it back, better than it was before.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, though my heart betrayed me with its quickened beat. “You’d better. That bow took me ages.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning forward to take hold of the loose ends. His fingers worked deftly, surprisingly careful for hands that looked so strong.

I watched him, the firelight playing across his features, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “You’re awfully invested in this bow,” I said softly, my voice almost lost in the crackle of the fire.

He glanced up at me then, his fingers stilling for just a moment. “Maybe it’s not about the bow.”

The words hit me harder than they should have, the weight of them settling in my chest. I held his gaze, my breath catching as the charged silence returned, this time sharper, more defined.

“Then what is it about?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually answer. But instead, he tied the ribbon neatly, his fingers brushing against the back of my boot as he leaned back with a quiet smile.

“Done,” he said softly, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still held something deeper. “Better than it was before.”

I stared at him, my chest tight with the weight of the moment. “What is it about, Alex?,” I said, though my voice wavered.

His smile deepened, his hand resting casually on the cushion between us. “Shh, darling, you’re disrupting the silence.”

The ribbon sat perfectly tied, a little neater than before, though I barely registered it. My focus was on him, on the easy way he leaned back, his arm still resting on the back of the sofa, his fingers so close they might as well have brushed my shoulder.

The firelight danced across his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw, and for a moment, I wondered if he felt it too–the pull, the quiet gravity between us that seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice breaking through my thoughts. His tone was light, teasing, but there was something behind it, something softer.

I blinked, caught off guard, and quickly glanced away. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” he said with a quiet laugh, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Should I be flattered?”

I scoffed, though my cheeks burned. “Maybe I was just admiring your handiwork.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “The bow, huh?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the edge in my voice didn’t quite land. “It’s a very good bow.”

“Thanks, m’love” he said, leaning a little closer, the movement subtle but impossible to ignore. “I take pride in my work.”

The shift in the air was palpable. The teasing, the playful back-and-forth, it was still there, but now it felt like it was building toward something, like the words were just a way to stall whatever was about to happen next.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” I murmured, my voice quieter now, almost unsure.

I swallowed, my throat tight, and glanced back up at him. The firelight reflected in his eyes, warm and steady, and for a moment, I felt completely unmoored, like I was standing at the edge of something I couldn’t name.

His voice split the silence, holding a sincere air of honesty. “Christmas doesn’t feel the same now, when I’m not spending it here with your family. When I’m not with you,”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable, thick and heavy with words unsaid. I could feel my heart pounding, and I was sure he could hear it too, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I whispered finally, my voice barely audible.

“Why not?” he asked, his gaze unwavering.

“Because…” I hesitated, my breath catching as I searched for an answer. “Because it feels wrong.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly, but there was no humor in his expression. “Maybe it’s supposed to.”

His hand shifted then, moving from the back of the sofa to rest on the cushion between us. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but it made my pulse race.

“Are you going to keep playing with that blanket,” he asked, his tone light again, though his eyes betrayed him, “or are you going to actually look at me?”

I froze, my fingers stilling on the fabric as I glanced up at him. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and for the first time, I realized how close he was, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, even with the fire blazing in the corner.

“I’m looking,” I said softly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

“Good,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the fire’s crackle the only sound as his words settled between us. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think—all I could do was watch him, my heart pounding as though it was trying to tell me something I wasn’t ready to hear.

His calloused touch grazed the bows again, this time pulling my boots off with a gentleness that I’d not expected coming from him. He gently pulled at the hem of my sock and ushered me over with a slight nod of his head, his voice monotonous and sure. “Over here, darling.”

The space between us seemed to shrink with every heartbeat, the air heavier, charged with an electric tension that neither of us could ignore. I could feel the weight of his gaze, steady and warm, pulling me toward him. My breath caught as I shifted slightly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders entirely now, exposing the softness of the moment in its most raw form. I wasn’t sure what possessed me, but something in the stillness between us, in the way he looked at me, something told me to move.

Without thinking, I shifted closer, just a little at first, then a little more, until my legs brushed against his. His body shifted instinctively, creating space, but his eyes never left mine, the quiet invitation undeniable.

I settled in slowly, my knees grazing his, my hands resting lightly on his chest for balance, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. The sudden proximity, the closeness of his warmth, made my pulse quicken. It was like everything I’d been trying to hide, every silent question, was suddenly laid bare.

There was no hesitation in his gaze, only a softness, a kind of understanding that made my heart race faster than before. And before I could second-guess myself, I shifted again, this time fully into his lap, my legs gently draped over his, my body pressed flush against his chest. The warmth between us was almost overwhelming, but it was a comfort too.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The crackle of the fire filled the silence, and I could hear his steady breathing, feel the way his chest rose and fell beneath my fingertips. My hands rested against his collarbone, the steady rhythm of his pulse under my palm grounding me.

“You’re still quiet,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, like he was trying to keep his own composure. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

I leaned in just slightly, enough for my forehead to rest against his, the gentle heat of his skin against mine making everything else fade away. “Just… taking it all in,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “This moment. You.”

His hands moved then, slowly, carefully, like he was unsure of how much space to take up. One of his hands slid gently up my back, just grazing the skin beneath the hem of my sweater, the touch so light it made my breath catch.

“You feel so… real,” he said, his voice low, thick with meaning. “Like everything else is just noise, and you’re the only thing that's… real.”

I shivered slightly, the warmth of his words sinking into me, filling the space between us in ways I hadn’t expected. Slowly, carefully, I reached up, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the rough stubble beneath my fingertips grounding me in this strange, quiet moment.

“I feel it too,” I whispered, moving even closer, until I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand moved to cradle the back of my neck, his thumb brushing softly over my skin, and I closed the small distance between us.

The kiss was slow at first, tender, like we were both trying to navigate the weight of everything that was unspoken between us. His lips were warm, the taste of him familiar, yet new in a way that sent a flutter through my chest. As we deepened the kiss, I felt him pull me closer, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with mine.

When we finally pulled away, our foreheads still pressed together, I could feel the lingering warmth of him, the shared space between us now feeling like something undeniably real.

“Isn’t this wrong?” I said softly, my voice barely more than a breath.

“Do you think it is?” he whispered back, his fingers brushing through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine.

I shake my head.

I shifted, pressing in a little more, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the solid strength of his body beneath my touch. His hands shifted too, grazing the sides of my face before gently cupping my jaw, his thumb lightly brushing over my lips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a whisper, a tremor of uncertainty threading through it, as if he needed my affirmation before he let himself lean in further.

I nodded, a soft exhale escaping me, a breathless laugh at the back of my throat. “Certain,” I whispered. The words felt like an admission, like a truth I hadn’t known I was ready to speak until now.

Without another word, he closed the space between us again, his lips brushing mine once more. This time, the kiss was deeper, more insistent, as if we were both trying to capture something, to hold onto this fleeting connection before it slipped away. His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me in closer, until I could feel the length of him pressed against me, the warmth of his body completely surrounding me.

I didn’t pull away, didn’t hesitate. Instead, I shifted, moving so that I was straddling his lap, my hands curling around the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, as though we were two parts of something that had always been meant to fit together.

His breath hitched, and I could feel the heat rising between us, a soft tension hanging in the air as I traced my fingers along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my fingertips. He shuddered slightly at the touch, his hands moving to my back again, the warmth of them seeping through my clothes.

“You feel so right here,” he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of my ear as he spoke. The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I pressed in closer, my hands tightening around his neck.

“I know,” I breathed, the sound of my voice a soft gasp against his skin. “I don’t want this to stop.”

His lips found mine again, this kiss more urgent, more frantic, as if we were both desperately trying to keep hold of something that felt too perfect to let go of. My body responded instinctively, moving closer, pressing into him, and I could feel the way his pulse raced under my fingers.

His hands slid up my back, the heat of them spreading through my sweater, and I gasped softly, my body arching toward him in response. The moment felt suspended, as though time itself was holding its breath, waiting for us to take the next step, to move even closer.

Alex’s voice was soft, his hands found my hips and gripped them just enough to keep me steady in his lap. He gently guided my hips over his lap and a pit of warmth settled in my lower stomach, a familiar feeling that echoed through my entire body. His erection pushed against me, straining against the thin polyester of his trousers and it left me aching.

I was already gasping, each subtle shift of his body causing his trousers to rub against mine, sending waves of burning pleasure through my every nerve. The friction, every tiny contact, was enough to leave me breathless, my pulse quickening with each passing second.

“Alex, please-” I murmured against his skin, my voice barely a whisper but heavy with the weight of what I longed for. I tried so hard to maintain some semblance of control, but the need was growing, the desire coiling inside of me. I could feel his warmth radiating through the fabric of my clothes, like his very touch was igniting a fire within me. My hands clutched at his shirt, my nails lightly digging into his skin as if grounding myself, trying not to let the rush of feelings overtake me.

A reassuring nod brushed against my hair, the weight of his breath warm and steady. Then, with deliberate slowness, his hands slid down my sides, the sensation sending a soft ripple through me, each movement more intentional than the last. My breath caught as he paused at my hips, his fingertips grazing the gold embellishments of his belt before he quickly unbuckled the strip of leather and let it falter to the ground. I felt my chest tighten, and the world around us seemed to fade, leaving only the two of us in this fragile moment of suspended tension.

His hands moved lower, steady, calculated, as if he was savoring every inch of my skin he could touch. I could barely catch my breath, each moment feeling like an eternity, his body an undeniable magnet pulling me closer. My pulse raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Lift your hip, love.” His voice was muffled against my skin as he left kisses down my jaw but I still complied, lifting my hips from his lap.

He didn't waste a second, tugging down his trousers and boxers simultaneously, needing to free himself from the pressure and then his hands found me. The tenderness of his touch juxtaposed the way he’s just handled himself, his rough fingers trailed up my skin and under my skirt, finding my panties. He held my hips firmly and pushed up against me, his tip brushing the material of my underwear. It was achingly pleasurable and a reluctant whine spilled from my lips.

He was relentless as he spread his precum over the fabric and rubbed the lace over my clit only using his length. I bit down on my lip and his eyes caught mine. A wicked grin found his mouth and he nodded knowingly, slowly slidiing two fingers down from my navel to my clit, then pushing the fabric aside, spreading the wetness around which echoed through the confined space of the living room.

“So wet for me, love.” His voice was husky and drawled as if his sentence was one big word.

My thighs had started to tremble and his unwavering teasing had become overstimulating. “Alex,” I pleaded.

His face flashed with recognition and he gently rested his hardness against my entrance. “Relax, hm?” Alex muttered roughly. He used his hands that were secured with a white-knuckle grip on my hips to guide me onto him. He filled me perfectly but the initial stretch sent a gasp from my lips into the air, splitting the heavy silence.

“Perfect” He groaned through gritted teeth as he started to rock his hips deeper, slowly moving them back and forth. I could feel him as he twitched inside me, each brush of his tip against my walls coaxed a wanting sound from my lips. His grip tightened on my hips pulling me down onto him to meet every thrust, he pushed deeper, brushing my sweet spot that sent a harsh jolt of heat through me.

“Alex,” His name was all I could manage. It escaped me like a prayer, soft and trembling. He had this way of pushing me to the brink, only to pull back at the last second. His lips wandered down my neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving heat in their wake. When his fingers skimmed the curve of my collarbone, I felt the weight of it, like I was something fragile, something sacred. There was no rush, no frantic need. Just him, savoring every second, and me, unraveling beneath his touch.

I felt it tightening within me, an unbearable tension that coiled deeper with every passing second. It was relentless, like a spring wound too tight, each movement, each touch pushing me closer to the edge of something I couldn’t name but desperately craved. My breaths turned shallow, my chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm as his hands gripped me with a mix of certainty and care, as if he knew exactly how far he could push me before I unraveled.

It wasn’t just the physicality of it, it was the way he seemed to draw out every fragment of my will, leaving me completely at his mercy. My fingers dug into his shoulders. The tension spiraled tighter, hotter, until it consumed me completely.

A sound escaped me, half gasp, half plea, as my body betrayed any composure I had tried to keep. My back arched, pressing into him as though I could fuse us together. I was trembling in his lap, every nerve in my body alight, shaking with a release so complete it left me raw and vulnerable. I couldn’t stop the ragged breaths that tore through me, couldn’t hold back the way my fingers clung to him, desperate and unsteady. I felt exposed, seen in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. And yet, in that moment, I didn’t care. All that mattered was him; his presence, his hands grounding me, and the way he pulled me back from the brink as if I was the only thing he’d ever held.

"Are you okay, darling?" His voice came low and rough, scraped raw with exertion, matching the labored rhythm of his breathing. I barely had the strength to nod, but I did, my limbs heavy and slow as if they were no longer mine. He shifted beneath me, his movements deliberate but unhurried, almost tender. His hands, warm and slightly calloused, slid to my waist, guiding me off him with a care that felt surprising in its quiet gentleness.

And then I saw it, the way his hand replaced me, confident and practiced, fingers curling around himself with an ease that spoke of habit. The tension in his jaw, the subtle twitch in the muscle near his temple, betrayed his focus. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic, the way his body moved in response to his own touch. I had never seen anyone so unguarded, so wholly caught in the grip of sensation.

I didn’t mean to stare, but I couldn’t look away. Something about it felt intimate in a way that surpassed words or actions, a glimpse into a vulnerability he didn’t bother to hide. His head tilted back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as his breathing quickened. The muscles in his abdomen tensed and released, his body arching slightly as if chasing something just out of reach.

When it came, the moment he unraveled, it was as though the air itself had been sucked out of the room. His breath hitched, his movements stilled for a heartbeat, and then he shuddered, the tension in him snapping like a coiled wire. He didn’t hide the sound he made, a raw, guttural exhale that felt more honest than anything he’d said tonight.

I watched him crumble, watched the way his chest rose and fell, his hand slackening as the last shreds of control bled away. He lay there, undone, as spent as I was, his eyes closed and his expression unreadable. A strange mix of awe and curiosity curled in my chest, like I’d just witnessed something private, something meant to stay hidden.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. It felt charged, like the room itself hadn’t quite settled. And then his lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You always watch that closely?” he murmured, voice still rough but tinged with something lighter now, something almost teasing.

I blinked, caught off guard, my cheeks warming as I realized how openly I’d been staring. “Only when it’s worth watching,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt.

His smile deepened, a flash of teeth now, as though he’d been waiting for exactly that answer.

By the time we’d both showered and cleaned up, the heat between us had softened into something quieter, something that lingered in the space between words. The bathroom had been a quiet exchange of towels and knowing glances, his smirk a little too satisfied, my blush a little too obvious. We didn’t say much, but the unspoken understanding was enough.

Now, we were in the living room, the fire crackling low in the hearth, filling the room with a golden warmth that made the world outside feel a thousand miles away. The snow still whispered against the windows, but it felt less intrusive now, like a soft rhythm playing counterpoint to the calm that had settled over us.

He was already stretched out on the sofa when I joined him, fresh from the shower and wrapped in one of his pullovers. It smelled like him, clean, faintly woody, and grounding in a way I couldn’t quite name. He’d pulled a blanket over himself, leaving just enough space for me to slide in beside him.

“You took your time,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer, as though the stillness of the room demanded it.

I rolled my eyes, settling in beside him, the blanket shifting to cover us both. “Some of us like to be thorough.”

“Mm,” he hummed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. His body was warm, solid, and I felt his fingers absently trace circles against my upper arm. It wasn’t intentional, I don’t think, just a natural extension of the closeness between us now.

For a while, neither of us said anything. The fire popped and crackled, and the weight of the day began to pull at me, softening the edges of my thoughts. I felt his chest rise and fall beneath me, steady and rhythmic, like a metronome drawing me closer to sleep.

“You’re being quiet again,” he murmured, his lips close enough to my ear that I felt the words more than heard them.

“Just... tired,” I admitted. “But in a good way.”

“Good,” he said simply, and I felt his hand shift, threading his fingers lightly through mine where they rested against his chest.

It was the kind of moment I’d always thought should feel contrived. But now, with him, it felt effortless. Real. The weight of his arm around me, the heat of his body, the occasional scrape of his stubble against my temple, it all made me feel safe. Like I could let the world fade out entirely and just stay here.

His voice broke through the quiet, low and tinged with a softness I hadn’t heard before. “I like this,” he said.

I tilted my head to look up at him, his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. “What? Me being quiet for once?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. You. Here. With me.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. But then I didn’t need to. I shifted closer, tucking myself more securely against him, my face buried in the crook of his neck.

“I like it too,” I whispered, the words muffled but no less true.

His hand stilled against my arm, resting there like a promise. And as the fire burned low and the storm outside softened into a distant memory, I let my eyes drift shut, lulled by the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

a/n: Is it too early to post christmas stuff? Never! I wrote this rather late last night and fell asleep right before the end so if the last bit is quite rushed my sincerest apologies, I also think the start of the smutty part is quite arse because I didn't really know where it was going and then I kind of got into it. Also, I've forgotten if I've mentioned in the fic but Alex is meant to be your father's best friend and I can't remeber if I ever specified, it'd be really odd if I didn't. Anywho, hope you love it, enjoy!!! xxx

#alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #arctic monkeys #christmas #smut #black and white #xmas fic #christmas fic #alex turner arctic monkeys #the car era #excuse mistakes

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delopsia · 6 months ago

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Cinnamon, Coffee & Vanilla | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 12,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Bob, omega! Reader. Physical altercations, implied abuse/mistreatment & trauma from the Navy, a little blood, brief food mentions, handjobs, mating cycles, first ruts, knotting, unprotected sex, a (slight) open ending, and a weak traitor plot woven between the lines. Brief Summary: You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing.

Wind howls around the corner, rain pattering against the window with soft thunks that dance and twist down the hallway like their own little melody. You haven't got the slightest idea where your feet are falling, barely guided by the pale blue light that peeks out from the kitchen and out into the hallway.

Turning the light on is a viable option; the switch should be somewhere on your right, but your arm is too heavy to lift, dangling limp at your side as you amble down the hall.

There are some things that you can't bring yourself to do this late in the night. Not when this is the first time you've seen these walls since you left this morning, skipping off into the sunrise, naively believing that you'd get to come home at a normal time.

Lightning flickers so brightly that, for a moment, you think the kitchen light has turned on by itself. But it's gone just as quickly as it appeared, thunder rattling the picture hanging on the wall as you drift past.

The kitchen isn't that much better. It seems that being closer to the window doesn't do all that much in regards to lighting because...you can't see a damn thing. All you know is that you're surrounded by vaguely shaped splotches, all varying shades of black. Some of them are familiar: the round blob that is the clock on the wall, the rug, the step stool, the dining table, the foot sticking out from underneath it...

Your eyes narrow. Squinting as if that can possibly brighten the room.

"Bobby?" Because there should only be one other pair of feet in this apartment.

"Hm?" It's faint, but you recognize that hum all the same.

Your weary knees creak as you crouch down, peering below the table. Light leaks out from a crack in the curtains, casting across a familiar mop of hair. His eyes squint back at you, unfocused and blurry, without the assistance of his glasses.

"What are you doing?" Your head tilts to the side, trying your best to shake an idea out of your brain.

"Dunno," Bob raises his hand, watching intently as he knocks his knuckles against the wood above his head, "trying to figure out what omegas get out of this."

You're...not following. "I've never gotten under the table."

"You said you like small, dark spaces." His shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "This is the only place I could fit."

"Well..." pausing, you shrug the backpack off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a resounding thunk. The neighbors downstairs probably heard that, but it's not your problem right now. "Is it striking any instincts for you?"

A chuckle rumbles out of him. "Not a damn thing."

But he's not making the slightest effort to come out from under there. Content to rest with his back against one of the table legs, like it's the best spot in the house. If the sun were still out, and your eyes weren't halfway closed, then you'd probably have a lot more questions for him, but fuck if questions are the last thing you want to think of right now.

Your palms flatten against the floor, left knee chirping as you begin to crawl under the table with him. Another motion, and it pops, the remnants of a nagging ejection injury. It's usually an easily missable sound, but in this quiet little kitchen, it might as well be as loud as the thunder.

"Was that your knee?" Bob asks it as if he doesn't already know the answer, his hand darting out as you settle next to him. His palm is hot against your bare skin, thick fingers squeezing around the joint like he thinks that a bit of pressure will heal the old fracture.

You wish it was that simple.

"Yeah," your head falls against his shoulder, unable to keep it up any longer. "I should bill Maverick for the surgery."

As if they'd even give you enough time off to heal. The consequence of being the best of the best: your free time vanishes because everyone on planet Earth needs you.

Bob's head comes to rest against yours, a subtle weight that seems to quiet your thoughts in an instant. No worries about getting into bed before six-thirty rolls around, what you'll pack for your rushed lunch tomorrow, and whether or not you'll come home from this mission alive. All you can do is breathe and watch as Bob reaches for your weary hand, squeezing it gently.

His wrist shakes, and you don't need to ask to know that it's been caused by another one of those full-body tremors. One of the side effects of being taken off navy regulation suppressants for the first time in over a decade, left to suffer the consequences of a body that has never learned to regulate its own hormones.

Slow, you tilt your head, nuzzling into the soft fat of his cheek. Squishy. "Anything change for you yet?"

"I can smell your scent now," you can feel the flex of muscle as he smiles, peeking at you through the corner of his eye, "but...nah, I think that's about it."

You'd figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he's an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can't catch a damn thing. Still the same vanilla shampoo and faded woodsy cologne.

"What do I smell like?" Asking after a moment.

"Somethin' like..." All of a sudden, the tip of his nose finds the shell of your ear. His fingers dance across your sensitive thighs, tickling.

"Hey!" You squeal.

A kiss presses to your cheek. "Sugar." Kiss. "'n fresh laundry." Another kiss.

Your noses bump together. It's too dark to see, but you know there's a shade of cherry dusting across his cheeks as he pulls you into him, mouths colliding like galaxies, merging into one.

There is no end to your exhaustion—simply an intermission.

Your feet fall so heavily that it sounds as if you're stomping down this empty hall. Boots pounding against the floor with heavy thump, thump thumps that pale in comparison to the voice that booms above all. It's so loud that you can hardly understand a single word, and you're making no effort to try and decipher it.

The hand on your bicep tugs, forcing you forward. A voice in the back of your head sparks to lie; they shouldn't be hauling you around like a mutt on a leash, but you can't bring yourself to say a damn thing. Not when your throat is already raw from shouting, voice run ragged in a desperate attempt to convince Cyclone that you're not the person he's accusing you of being.

What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty, anyway?

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Maverick's voice crystallizes as you round the corner, feet flailing beneath you as you're thrust into the room.

Weary heads turn your way. Jake. Natasha. Rueben. Mickey. Bob. Javy. Billy. Brigham. Callie. And you know the names of the remainders, but their names just aren't coming to you right now. But one glance is all it takes to realize that they must have pulled all of you all at once; they look just as miserable as you feel.

"The Navy trusted you!" Spit flies out of Maverick's mouth. "I trusted you!"

He turns, hands combing through his hair as if to try and soothe himself. It doesn't work. It never works. "I paraded you as the best goddamn pilots the Navy has seen this decade, and you make a fucking fool of me!"

Bob's head tilts, muttering something to Jake that you can't quite hear. Whatever it is, it's enough to have Jake nodding his head and leaning over to Javy.

"I give you my best and how do you repay me?" Mav doesn't seem to hear them, too red in the face to think about anything other than this. Betrayal. A figurative knife in the back. "By running off and becoming an insider for the goddamn enemy!"

His arm swipes across a shelf. Porcelain figures and glass frames fly in your direction. Shattering on the ground into a million and one pieces. Damn near invisible on this white floor, presence merely indicated by the glisten of the shards in the light. But he's not done. A potted plant strikes the wall, exploding like a firework.

"God, so help me," spinning around, Mav jabs his finger in your face, "if I find out which of you fucking did this—"

"For godsakes, Mav!" Bradley's voice is loud in your right ear. Every bit as strained as yours is. Cracking in the middle. A husk of its usual sound.

Just as quickly as he's turned to face you, Maverick is moving again. Storming across the room. Turning. Pacing back to you and Bradley like a mad dog, thirsty for someone's blood.

"How are you so damn sure it was us?" Bradley continues, throwing his hands up. He's so close that his nails scratch your elbow on their way past. You hardly feel a thing. "We weren't the only ones who knew this shit!"

A hand appears on your shoulder. Warm, a thumb swiping back and forth in such a familiar manner that you don't need to look to know who it is. Bobby. His slight nudge is enough to get you to follow him, slinking toward the back of the room. Walking backwards has never been your talent, but somehow, you don't bump into anything.

What's he trying to do?

"You and your team are the only pilots who knew the information that made its way across enemy lines," there's a sudden calmness to Maverick's tone that wasn't there before. You don't like it, not one bit. "And now you've cost us an entire goddamn mission."

Boots stomp across the tile. Louder. Closer.

"And not one of you is fucking leaving!" And all of a sudden, Maverick is nose to nose with Bobby. "Not until someone starts talking!"

Bob's mouth opens, but for a moment, nothing but air escapes. "You can't lock us in here."

Jake's head nods. So does Javy's. Silent agreement.

Mav shoves Bob's shoulders. Knocking him against the wall. "Yes, I goddamn can."

Bob's lip curls. Canines uncharacteristically flash in the light with the same glisten and sharpness as the glass scattered across the tile.

Maverick strikes him.

You don't even see him reeling back. You blink, and his fist is crashing into Bob's glasses. The frames fracture, falling to the floor with a clatter.

Someone gasps. Mav falls backward, hand shielding the side of his head. A boot finds his jaw. Hands grab hold of his hair. A flurry of bodies dart between. Someone's got Mav by the collar, and Bob—

Bob growls.

Held back by Jake and Bradley. Teeth bared. Blood pouring from the corner of his mouth. Shoving against Jake and Bradley's hold. And he's strong, but he's not stronger than both alpha and omega combined. You hardly feel your feet moving, bending to scoop the fractured frames off the floor.

"What's gotten into you?" Natasha shouts. Somewhere off on your left. "Both of you!"

Her shoulder clocks yours.

You spin on your heels.

She's nose to nose with you. "Get your roommate under control," she hisses under her breath. For a moment, her gaze darts to Maverick, eyes so wide that you fear she may never close them again. Then, back to you. "If this goes south—"

"I know." Your hands find each other at the same time. Squeezing once. Twice. Four times. She's got this handled. "I'll get Bobby sorted."

"By safe," she's stepping away, already beginning to shout something that you don't quite catch.

By the time you turn around, Bob is gone.

For someone who usually operates at a turtles pace, Bob sure does move quickly when he wants to. Jake tells you that he caught a glimpse of him leaving the locker room, and by the time you get outside, his truck is missing from its usual place beneath the old maple tree in the back corner of the lot.

"Do you think he's realized that he can't read the road signs?" Javy wonders aloud as you walk toward your vehicles. Always parked next to each other. He's the only one you trust not to ding your car with his door, and vice versa.

You're still waiting on Mickey to pay for that giant scratch he gifted you this past Christmas.

"He's probably wearing the set with the tinted lenses," you chirp, adjusting the bag weighing on your weary shoulders. "I think he usually keeps them in the center console." That's where you last saw them, at least.

Javy nods his head like he's agreeing with your train of thought. "Well, if I see a black truck swerving in and out of lanes, I'll give you a heads up."

The front of your boot thunks against the curb. Your weight falls forward. But your footing recovers just as quickly as you lost it. Javy's already grabbing your shoulder, holding you steady.

You might be too tired to be driving. But what other choice do you have other than to call a car and pay the fine when your car gets towed overnight?

"Maybe we should check for him around Mav's place," the sound of Reuben's voice is the only reason why you remember that he's walking behind you, "might be looking for a round two. No referees this time."

Your hand darts into your pocket, pressing a button on your key fob. A second passes, and the locks in your car doors audibly open. "Well, if he's not home, I'll sound the alarm,"

"Y'all make it home safe!" Jake's voice echoes across the lot.

"Text the group chat, or you'll find me at your front door!" Natasha picks up right where he left off, her phone shaking in the air as she yells. "That means you, Bradshaw!"

Bradley's horn honks. "It was one time!"

It's not until you get situated in the driver's seat and are combing through your music, looking for something decent to listen to, that your phone dings with a singular message.

Bob: Made it home 👍 12:47 AM

With everyone leaving at the same time, it's not difficult to find yourself falling into a loose line as you all make your way off base. A symphony of honks soar through the air once you've crossed onto city-owned pavement, some dumb little routine that sparked from Jake's incessant need to remind you all that he's here before you can possibly begin to forget.

This place is so far out that for a good three miles, the only vehicles on the road belong to your little group, following the slightly too-fast lead of Mickey's project car until the street guides you into town. Jake and Bradley take a left at the red light. Natasha cruises off onto the upcoming exit. Mickey and Rueben turn off into the parking lot of a sandwich shop; Javy tails you until you enter a roundabout.

And all of a sudden, you're by yourself.

It's almost strange, actually. You've grown so used to Bobby's headlights reflecting in your rearview mirror that without them, the road feels impossibly dark. Not another person on this Earth but you.

The sight of his truck parked in its spot is just as foreign, and once parked, you catch yourself trying to wait for him to pull in next to you. But there is no smiling WSO to accompany you on the walk into the apartment complex. No giggling as he tries to beat you to the elevator doors. It's just you and your overfilled backpack.

All that, only for the apartment to be dark when you open the door.

"Bobby?" You call out, trudging into the darkness. No response. Blindly, your hand feels along the wall, seeking the switch.

A whine jumps out of your throat. Light does nothing to reveal him, but his backpack rests in its usual spot beside the door, those tinted glasses sit on the arm of the couch, and his work shoes rest in the place of the beat-up pair reserved for the gym.

Is he not tired?

Evidently, you aren't either because somehow you've got the energy to slip into a softer pair of shoes and head back out of the apartment. Eyes half-lidded, barely paying attention to your surroundings as you make your way down the hallway.

There's absolutely zero reason for you to be doing this. It's not as if Bob is never going to come home again, but something has got you hunting him down like a bloodhound on a trail. Frozen images flicker through your head, like flipping through a picture book.

The drop of his smile when Cyclone made his accusations that someone is leaking information to the enemy. How tired those usually bright eyes were when you were finally hauled out of the office. The flashing of fangs, the fist connecting with the side of Mav's head. You don't understand. You've seen him riled up a number of times, but this...

This is new.

You suppose that you can't blame him; you acted similarly when they finally took you off those suppressants. Too many unbalanced hormones, all at once, thrown in the deep end with no idea how to swim.

You hear him before you've even stepped off of the basement stairs—the soft patter of fists against leather echoing throughout the stairwell like a beacon. Heat greets you like a slap in the face, enveloping you as if you've just walked into a sauna. It's always so damn hot down here; you don't know how Bobby can stand working out in it.

The door to the bottom of the stairwell is missing, seamlessly opening up to the gym. Treadmills, a long rack of weights, specialty machines you've already forgotten the names of; the mini fridge in the corner is still broken, and whoever left their neon yellow yoga mat has yet to come back for the poor thing.

It's so big that at first, you don't notice him. But then you do, and...

Shit. Has Bob always looked like that?

It's got to be a trick that the lighting is playing on your eyes, set off by the sweat that pours off his body like a waterfall. Dripping down the swell of his chest, running loose across a toned stomach, only makes it that much more obvious when his abdomen flexes. There's no way that he's fully awake, but his feet are alive beneath him, dancing left and right as if this old punching bag might start punching back.

You've seen this sight more times than you count, have followed him down here for the sole purpose of drooling over his swollen biceps, but this...this is different. Something has changed, and you can't pinpoint what that is.

The strike of his fists might be more aggressive than you remember them being, but maybe the exhaustion slowing your senses is causing you to misjudge. His upper lip twitches up, breathing hard through his nose. It's the only other sound in the room. Too shy to allow himself to make much noise, for fear of hearing his own grunts.

There's a foreign scent in the air. Something hidden beneath the stench of sweat and the indescribable sourness that comes with a poorly maintained gym. Your brows furrow. It reminds you of...a kitchen. Fresh. Warm. Kind of like...the pot of black coffee that he brews every morning. Wrapped around a cluster of cinnamon and vanilla, like a hand-crafted candle.

Is that...?

All of a sudden, the gym falls quiet, his fists frozen at his sides, the punching bag still swaying from his final strike. From across the room, his eyes lock with yours, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed, unkempt in an almost endearing fashion.

Oh, his poor eye. Mottled with red and darkening purple, swollen around the corner, just enough to be noticeable when compared to his right one. The split in his lip doesn't look that much better, a visible scab resting in the corner.

Something in your lower belly twists. A shiver wracks down your spine.

Bob doesn't say anything, and you don't either. Frozen into silence.

Coming here may have been a mistake. Shit. Why did it never occur to you that he probably came down here because he wanted to be left alone? Why else would he be down here at one in the morning?

"I...I'm sorry," Bob's voice breaks through your thoughts like sunshine peeking through storm clouds, warm enough to melt away the words fluttering about your head, "I almost blew—"

"Mav had it coming." Cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. You were never upset about that to begin with.

Again, it's quiet. Hesitant, Bob steps forward, then pauses, looking back toward the swaying punching bag, then back to you. Then, one foot falls in front of the other, head hanging low as he crosses the room. A small part of you wishes that he would have stayed right where he was because that little voice in your head stirs to life the moment that he's within an arm's length of you.

Touch his chest. Touch his chest. Touch his chest.

You're no better than an omega in heat.

"'s my face look that bad?" A chuckle rumbles out of him, blindly pawing at his bruised cheek with the side of his hand.

Blink. "Huh?"

"You're looking at me kinda funny," he says it like there's absolutely nothing different here. As if today is just another average day. Same old, same old.

"You really haven't figured it out, have you?" It's more of an observation than a question. Even through your half-open eyes, it's not hard to tell that he hasn't put two and two together.

He reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. "...no?"

Ugh.

"Flashing your teeth, sudden aggression..." You're starting out slow, listing your evidence out bit by bit, but he's not reacting to a word you've said, "developing a scent..."

A scent is an understatement. He smells like a goddamn bakery.

A beat passes, and then, slowly, his shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "I'm not following."

For a guy with glasses, Robert Floyd can be really fucking dense sometimes.

If you were more awake, then maybe you'd put more effort into spelling this out for him, but a king-size mattress on the ninth floor is calling your name, and you're running low on willpower. Your brow furrows, swallowing hard. It's been a minute since you last tried to do this, but if you dig deep and focus on flexing your throat...

A chirp bursts out of you. Sharp. High pitched.

Jake did a piss poor job of explaining what that noise does to an alpha, but he must be right about one thing. Bob stiffens. Holding onto his breath, his wide eyes flickering up and down your body.

His eyelashes flutter. "Oh."

You're fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Alphas.

Of course, that's what he would wind up being.

It seems that you can only fight one battle at a time because your hands are on the move. Palms skittering up the sides of his waist on a one-way track to his chest. He's on fire, burning so hot that the feel of his skin alone is enough to have you feeling light-headed. There's no reason for you to be embarrassed by it, but you find yourself masking your intentions by using him to remain steady as you lean in.

His scent glands have only just begun to awaken, producing so little oil that your scent almost wipes his out entirely, but it's there, and it's real, and it's so...him. Hands appear on your waist, drawing you in, his sweaty body pressing against your uniform. Slow, his head moves against yours, temples brushing against each other once more.

"'m I doing it right?" He asks, breath tickling your ear.

"You're getting the hang of it," your confirmation doesn't amount to a whole lot. He knows that as well as you do. You're only slightly better than he is, too far removed from the instinct that resides in your DNA to make much connection with it.

Even so, that doesn't stop him from following your lead. Letting your hand curl around his jaw, guiding him to nuzzle against you in a sloppy, unpracticed fashion that just feels right. A noise lurches out of him, a low, rumbling thing that sounds like the beginnings of a purr.

Lips appear on the corner of your ear. Breaking your attempt at scenting in favor of kissing along the side of your cheek, each one growing closer and closer until his lips finally meet yours. Soft, melding with yours in a dance that you know like the back of your hand.

This is something that the Navy can never take from you. The weightlessness that settles into your joints, the way your head goes completely and utterly quiet when you kiss him. He molds against you like he's been built just for this, the soft jabs of his prickly chin drawing you into him like a moth to a flame.

You can feel the flex of muscle in his arms as they curl around you, strong and burning and so, so familiar. The fresh, warm scent that greets your nose is new and yet so undeniably him; you've only known it for a few minutes, but you can't wait to spend a lifetime wrapped up in it. In him, and his soft hums and the dizziness that he puts in your head.

It's the voices in the stairwell that break you apart, but it's the deepest craving of your soft, cozy bed that has you both tumbling up each and every step. Shoulders bump together as your weary legs carry you to that familiar apartment door, not quite awake enough to maintain any sense of balance.

"I can't believe you never put it together," you find yourself saying as you meander down the hallway. Whoever decided that the elevator should stop on the first floor and not the basement should be fired.

"Well...I sort of already did," Bobby pauses, squinting at the buttons, "I just didn't..." he trails off, too focused to finish his sentence.

"Uhuh, sure," Your hand darts out, pressing the correct one. "What other symptom could I have possibly missed?"

"A knot."

Saliva catches in your throat. "Huh?"

The elevator dings, evidently just as surprised as you are. A moment passes, and the door slides open. It's empty, thank god. No prying ears to overhear what is about to come out of your partner's mouth.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," his hand squeezes yours, obediently following along as you walk into the elevator. There's no use in him trying to do anything else. Not when he can't see. "It's not...you know, all the way there yet, but it's either that or an unfortunately placed tumor."

Almost automatically, you press one of the buttons, not even entirely sure if it's the correct one or not. Guess you'll find out when the doors reopen because this cheap old contraption gives no indication as to what the hell you just did. Are you going to the ninth floor or the third? Only the elevator knows.

Bob's weight sways from foot to foot, and in the thin sliver of mirror in the corner, you can see the overhead light glistening against his sweaty chest. There's that twitch in your lower belly again, thighs pressing together on their own as if to keep something at bay. Maybe there would be something if your head weren't so...empty.

"Nobody ever warned me about how sore it'll be when it's coming in," Bob's words are stretched around a yawn, quickly chased by a second one.

Almost simultaneously, your mouth pries itself open, yawning, too. "That bad?"

"You have no idea," his laugh bounces off the metal walls, ringing in your ears; it's the kind of thing that might put you to sleep right here and now. "I forgot about it while I was in the shower this morning and about hit the floor."

With another ding, the doors slide open, and as it turns out, you did pick the correct floor. The next thing you know, you're stumbling into the apartment together; your phone rests on the couch, screen flickering to life with a text. Right.

You: Made it home! 2:12 AM

Almost instantly, a new message appears on your screen.

Rueben: Is Rob home, or should I send the search team to Mav's house? 2:12 AM

Bob: 🙄 2:15 AM

Something about that text has both of your phones buzzing away with a flurry of texts as if some kind of floodgate has been opened. Bob entertains it, but you're too focused on gathering clothes and towels, dumping them in an unceremonious pile on the bathroom sink.

Where your belongings end, and his begin can be figured out when you're out of the shower. For now, all you're focused on is turning on the water and pulling this stuffy uniform off your body before it becomes permanently stuck there.

"Do we have work in the morning?" You find yourself croaking as you test the water. Still a little chilly.

Lips appear on the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. "We don't work on Sundays, remember?"

"I don't even remember what day it is." Oh how you wish that you were exaggerating. At some point in the week, you've just quit looking at the calendar and let your overfilled schedule swallow you whole.

There's no reason for him to guide you into the shower; hell, it's a walk-in, but he does it anyway. One hand on your waist, moving at the same slow pace until you're standing under a warm stream of water. Your eyes are already trying to drift shut, fighting against you as you try to keep them open.

Defiant, they drift down between Bob's legs as he reaches to grab a bottle off the shelf. There's a soft swell to the base of his cock that wasn't there before; skin stretched tau, not quite adjusted to this sudden change he's been hit with. Whether or not he catches you staring, you don't really care.

Moving is the last thing that you want to be doing. Your shower gel is only an arm's length away, but it might as well be a mile, and once you finally grab it, it's almost too heavy to hang onto. Somehow, though...somehow, you manage. You think you do, at least; you catch the familiar scent from the soap, and you certainly remember washing the bubbles off, so you must have washed something.

You're staring at your reflection in the foggy mirror when a cold wipe presses to the side of your neck, rubbing at the scent gland there. Funny, you'd almost forgotten about that. But now that it's been brought back to the forefront of your mind, you can't help but pluck one from its container.

The corner of Bob's lip lifts, obediently tilting his head to expose his neck for you. A few little swipes are all that it takes to unveil a scar atop the scent gland there. Faded white with age and almost blending in with his pale neck. For something that could cost you both your jobs, it's quite small.

"We're lucky Mav didn't see these," you mutter, thumb swiping over top of it. The gland is still dry, hasn't figured out how to produce that thin sheen of oil yet.

Maybe it never will.

Bob's frown is something that you find yourself having to kiss away, can't stand the sight of such a thing. And that's really...that's the last thing that you remember doing. Standing in the bathroom, feeling his arms snake around you, as you kiss his lips until they lift with a smile one more.

What you do know is that somehow, you get into bed because the next time you open your eyes, you're snuggled into the sheets. Sunlight peeks through a crack in the curtains, casting a horribly bright light into this otherwise dark little bedroom, all too visible behind your closed eyelids.

Defiant, you roll over.

If you don't acknowledge it, it's not there.

Guided by habit, your arm darts out from your side, sliding across Bob's warm belly. His hand settles around your wrist, squeezing gently as if to test and see if you're really there. Through the haze of sleep still lingering in your head, you think you can feel him moving, hips wriggling back and forth against the mattress, unable to keep still.

It takes a moment to find your voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." fuck, you forgot how deep his voice can get in the mornings, it's the kind of thing that can put thunder to shame. "It's nothing."

The room is darker than you expected it to be, nothing but that little sliver of light to illuminate the whole place, stretching across the bed and up onto the wall.

"Well, it's got to be something," gliding your palm up and down his belly in that lazy sort of fashion that always makes him sigh.

His mouth opens, then snaps shut just as quickly, afraid of the words that rest on his tongue. "'m hard," he croaks, and then, before too much silence can build in between sentences, "which wouldn't...which wouldn't be a problem, but that stupid...that stupid knot hurts."

Oh, and his cheeks are on fucking fire, red as they can possibly get. All these years, and yet he's still so shy about these topics. It's cute. Even if part of his face is decorated in a frightening mixture of red and purple, only just beginning to recover from yesterday's events.

You're only just beginning to blink away the blurriness resting in the corners of your eyes, but there's already a lightbulb going off in your otherwise foggy head. So bright that you can feel it lighting up your features, eyes brightening, smile sprawling across your face.

Bobby clocks it before you can even begin to formulate words. "I suppose you have an idea."

"When do I not?" Your weary arms help to push yourself up, lazily swinging a leg over his waist.

The sheets jostle, pooling around your hips, a chill nipping at your skin. But alphas run pretty warm, and Bobby was already a furnace, to begin with, downright burning against you like a flickering campfire.

Your plan isn't that unpredictable. It's so easy to figure out that Bob is already leaning up, elbows settling on either side of himself as he meets you halfway. Teeth knock together, lips crashing with so little grace that you distantly wonder if you're at the start of your relationship again—just two fools who don't know how to navigate around each other's bodies.

But you do know.

Only several years spent together could teach you that he'll shudder when your nails trace down his chest, gasping into the kiss when they drift across his nipples. Always has been sensitive here, even if he struggles to admit it.

Biology suggests that you won't get away with it, but history assures that putting your hands on his shoulders and forcing him onto his back will be rewarded with perfect compliance. Instinct be damned, he's putty in your hands. Blinking up at you with those big, unfocused eyes, like a lamb caught in the hungry gaze of a wolf.

You just can't help yourself. Mouth finding the soft underside of his jaw, where a little bit of stubble has managed to make itself known, scraping against your nose as you drift past. His hands splay out on your hips, his only attempt at reigning you in as you kiss down his neck. Soft little pecks that can't last any longer than a second or two, lest you get carried away and leave a mark that your superiors may spot.

One of these days, you're going to childishly mottle his neck with marks. Make everyone understand that the cute WSO is yours, nobody else's. Alpha or not.

"Don't tell me..." his chest heaves as you make your way across it, peppering every little freckle with attention, "don't tell me you're..."

"I'll be gentle," peeking up at him through your lashes, blindly following the hard valley of his sternum. Down, down down to the start of his upper belly, soft and squishing beneath your kiss. Here, you can pause, sucking gently at a patch of pale skin.

A hand slides up your back, settling into the space between your shoulders, just resting there. "Ain't worried 'bout that," his words come out breathy, not quite focused on what he's trying to say.

You've already got a little red spot forming. Then a second, and a third, before you've reached the treacherous territory of where his shirt may unexpectedly ride up. Being visible in the locker room is one thing, but if he reaches to grab something while wearing that little black regulation t-shirt...

"Do you want me to stop?" Pausing in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," his head shakes back and forth, then, hesitantly, "'s just...new."

Your knee pops as you scoot further down his legs, fingers hooking under the thick elastic of his boxers. Obedient, his hips lift, letting you slide the fabric down his thighs. But you're a little too close, forcing him to pull his knees to his chest in order to get it safely past his ankles.

Fuck, he really does have a knot. Properly swollen at the base now, the skin stretched tight and flushed a dark shade of red, not quite adjusted to this sudden change. At least at sixteen, your body encounters these things over time, gradually increasing in intensity. But he's a decade older and up the creek without a paddle.

"Well, if you could handle me on my first heat," carefully taking his length into your hand, feeling the weight of it, "then this should be a walk in the park, right?"

Bob's head tilts to the side, gaze fixated on what you're doing. "'s easier when I ain't the one changing."

Fair point.

Maybe you would have more to add if you weren't too busy settling between his legs. In hindsight, you should have detailed your plan a little bit more because now that you're here, you're not entirely sure what to do. Start at the base? The tip? Somewhere in the middle? What do you usually do here?

Your tongue darts out, running over the swell of his knot. Just one little lick and—

"Oh."

A spring squeals as his hips writhe against the mattress, suddenly full of life.

Curious, your tongue pokes out once more, gliding across it slower this time. A whine cuts through the morning air, rising to chase your touch. Greedy. Like he hasn't been touched in forever.

"Do that..." sucking in a desperate gulp of air, "do that again."

You don't need any more encouragement; already beginning to fall into some kind of rhythm. Lazily mouthing at his delicate knot, all lips and tongue, like you're playing with a lollipop and not the base of his twitching cock. So simple and yet he throws his head back and whines, content with this and this alone.

"Lube," speaking against him, if only to see the shiver that ripples up his spine.

His hand audibly pats around the bed, feeling around until he makes his way onto the bedside table. A beat passes, and the bottle appears next to you. Thank god for being lazy; otherwise, he would have had to move and dig into the drawer.

This is something you know. Leaning back to pour it directly onto him, savoring that little hiss at the chill. Maybe you're a bit too generous with it, thick globs of it running down him like some kind of waterfall, but it's too early in the day to be worrying about such a thing.

All you care about is getting your hand around him, feeling that familiar girth beneath your fingers as you give him an experimental stroke. How his back rises up off the bed once more, his hand reaching to grab a handful of the pillow, anything to keep himself from pawing at your arm.

"Feel good?" Your wrist twists. His thighs squeeze around you.

Dumbly, he nods. "Uhuh."

It's not enough for you, and so you're already opening your mouth with another question. "Can you use your words for me?"

But that pretty head shakes back and forth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "N-no."

He's cracking. Hand flying away from the pillow, making a little grabbing motion until you offer him your unoccupied one. Always has to be holding your hand. Always. Even if it's when your other hand is lazily gliding up and down his weeping cock, working at its own comfortable pace.

Swift, your thumb darts out, massaging circles around his enflamed tip.

You don't know what's louder, the squelch of lube or the cry that rips out of him, muffled a little too late. This is so new. He's so much louder, reacting to every little thing as if it's the first time all over again.

"Up—mmh!" Bobby's eyes squeeze shut, then flutter open again, panting hard. "Up here."

If this was his first time requesting such a thing, you wouldn't know what he's talking about, but it has almost become second nature at this point. For a moment, you let go of him, needing both hands as you crawl back into your place beside him. He rolls onto his side, already beginning to reach for you before you can even settle in.

"This better?" You chirp. He's nodding before you can finish your question.

The change in angle makes it so much easier to stroke him, following your own undisclosed rhythm, feeling the way he twitches under your touch, sensitive to all hell. But you're already growing distracted, letting go of him once more, lightly tracing your fingers over that newly formed bulb at his base.

"That..." his thighs squeeze together, whimpering high in his throat. "That..."

In the back of your mind, you wonder if the neighbors can hear this. The unusually loud noises that just keep tumbling off his pretty tongue, so beautifully overwhelmed with the newness of all this. Glassy-eyed and pink in the cheeks, reaching out to hang onto your wrist as your fingers wrap around his cock once more, if only to keep himself grounded.

Maybe he's worried about being overheard because he's craning his neck, lips crashing together with the same clumsiness as before. Your tongue darts out, wrapping with his for a fleeting moment, wet and messy and certainly getting saliva on the pillow below.

Again, your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, running back and forth across his slit. His body jerks, gasping into your mouth so sharply that it startles you.

"Talk to me, Bob," you've got to quit using that phrase outside of the workplace, but it just works so well on him.

"Feels, feels, aha—!" If he sounded this pretty in the backseat of a jet, you probably wouldn't have a license anymore. "Feels good!"

Vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee kiss your senses with all the strength and intensity of a roaring freight train. The scarred gland on the side of his neck glistens, finally producing that intoxicatingly warm scent. So strong that it makes your head spin, senses downright swimming in it.

"I want...I'm gonna..." Bob's eyes scrunch shut, his foot kicking at the sheets like he can possibly keep it at bay if he fights hard enough.

But you're not slowing down.

"That's okay," squeezing him a little tighter, twisting your wrist in a fashion that makes his knees knock into each other. Close. So, so close. "Cum for me, Bobby."

And he does. Twitching in your hand one, two, three times before that first rope of cum paints your palm with white. Fuck, and it just keeps coming, knot swelling impossibly wide, pulsing with every spurt, until your entire hand is fucking dripping.

You've never seen so much of it. Not from him.

On their own, your fingers dip down, delicately rubbing at his expanded knot; it throbs under your touch, his thighs snapping together on impulse. The greedy voice in your head wonders what it would be like to feel that inside of you, locking your bodies together, cum flooding your pussy until you can't possibly take another drop from him.

"Feels..." he's fighting for a proper breath, eyes rolling, "feels so different."

"Is that a good thing?" You hum, drawing your hand away before that nonexistent refractory period of his can raise its ugly head and drag you in for a round two.

Weary, his head nods, but you're not entirely sure that he realizes he's doing it. "Uhuh."

You don't know if he's just not awake or if it's something about the alpha thing, but he hardly has his eyes open, lying next to you like a lazy puppy. His belly and your hand are a downright mess, drenched in an obscene mixture of cum, saliva, and lube, and more just keeps spilling out of him.

A shower is the only thing that can clean this mess up, but it's too late for that. He's already wriggling an arm around you, his head nuzzling beneath your chin, and moving is suddenly impossible.

If he's not worried about it, then you suppose that you aren't either.

It takes twenty minutes for his knot to go down, disappearing entirely as if it were never there, to begin with. It takes an hour to get out of bed and another one for your impromptu bubble bath to end, only for you to crash on the couch like a pair of sleep-deprived teenagers.

What else are you meant to do on your day off? Something productive?

You'd known this day was coming, but Christ, you didn't expect it to arrive this soon.

A gray building with gray floors and even grayer walls. The definition of boring and exactly where you're supposed to spend the next several hours rotting away in a meeting. The plastic chairs, the doors, and the pen that the lady sitting at the front desk taps her cheek with are all the same, dull monochrome.

It's such a severe lack of color that it makes the fading on Bob's cheek appear brighter. Fresher. Like he walked out of the fight ten minutes ago and not three days. There's no uniform, but Jake's red t-shirt is almost offensively vivid, persistently resting in your peripheral, no matter which direction you turn your head.

All of a sudden, the unnamed girl stands, darting into another room without a word.

"Sure can't wait for this to be over," Bradley mutters almost as soon as the door slams closed.

Jake shifts his weight, bumping their shoulders together. Hard enough to make Bradley sway with the impact. "Worried you can't take the heat?"

"Are you projecting?" Bradley hums, hardly even reacting to the second attempt to shove him.

There's a response there that you don't quite catch about something back at home. But before you can decipher those whispered words, your eavesdropping is cut short by a weight appearing on your own shoulder. The burning press of Bob's nose against your neck, shamelessly burying into you.

"Bobby?" You chirp, craning your neck to try and get a better look at him. No dice.

He doesn't move. "Mmm?"

Rueben's head swivels in your direction. Nose wrinkling.

...did you forget to take a shower? What's he looking at you like that for?

All of a sudden, Bob's feet stumble. Weight falling atop your back as he tries to regain his footing, so damn heavy that he's got you wobbling right along with him. A strangled noise rumbles out of him, riding on the coattails of his breath.

"Robert?" Because he's not answering to your nicknames. "Do you feel okay?"

"My head is..." his words vibrate into your collar, arms wrapping around you as if to use you as a pillar, "spinning."

"You're not gonna get sick on us again, are you?" Nat has suddenly appeared on your left, brows knitted together.

Between the lingering glances from Rueben and the sudden end to Jake and Bradley's conversation, it's suddenly far too quiet in this little room. A second drags by. Then a second, and a third. Your only indication that Bob is even awake is the brushing of his eyelashes against your skin.

Just as you're beginning to think he doesn't have a response, he opens his mouth.

"'s not that kinda spinning," he mumbles, hardly even loud enough to reach your ears.

Surely, it can't be something that he ate; you two have shared the same meals all week. If he's feeling off, then you should be, too. It's certainly not allergy season, and as far as you could tell, he was perfectly fine on the drive over here.

So what gives? What could have possibly changed in the span of a few minutes?

The unnamed woman stumbles back into the room, her heels clicking with every little step that she takes. Something comes out of her mouth, but the grumbling noise that rumbles out of Bob covers it up entirely. It must be a request to follow her because all at once, everyone around you begins to move, filing through the same door that she just came from.

Bob's arms loosen from around you, and he's straightening up, all things that should make him appear better, but...he looks worse. Pale in the face, shoulders appearing to slouch in on themselves as he walks next to you. He's moving, though, feet falling in perfect tandem with yours, following the crowd down the corridor and around a corner.

The group comes to a sudden halt.

Bob's shoe squeaks against the floor. His shoulder hits the wall, his head rolling like it's too heavy to hold up. Eyelashes flutter, his chest rising with a breath so shaky that you can see him quiver with it.

Something's wrong.

"Bobby?" You start to reach for him, but Rueben's quicker than you, settling a sturdy hand on the back of Bob's shoulder, trying to draw him away from the drywall before he can accidentally put a hole in it.

Abnormally short fangs flash. Something akin to a growl rips out of Bob's throat. Heat rushes between your legs.

His face drops. Eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I—"

"It's nothing personal," Rueben's already backing up, his palms facing the ceiling. The closest thing he can get to waving a white flag. "I get it."

You don't believe what you're seeing. Smelling, even. It's way too soon for this, but...

He's starting his rut.

"Is everything okay?" The girl from before is asking; you wish you could remember her name, but reading her nametag is the last thing you're doing right now.

Bradley's shoulder nudges against yours, his head hanging low as if to shield out the rest of the group. "Get him home," he whispers. Firm. "I'll cover from here."

Your attention flickers to Bob, then to the rest of the group. "You're sure?"

All it takes is a look. Unwavering, jaw stiff, commanding all the authority that he can possibly muster. Omega or not, he's not one to be argued with.

Bob's shoulders shudder. Sweat is already beginning to bead at his forehead; lips parted, breathing through his mouth.

You don't need any more convincing, already beginning to take him by the wrist. There isn't the slightest bit of resistance, falling into step with you without any ounce of convincing. Whether or not he's actually comprehending what's going on, you're not sure, but he knows enough to not try and let go of you.

Taking the keys from him is the hardest part, trapped in the front pocket of his jeans, right next to the growing tent in the fabric, downright begging for your attention.

"Feels...weird," he grumbles, foot missing on his first attempt to climb into the truck. The second is a little more successful, almost trembling as he pulls himself up into the seat.

"I know," if it's anything like what your first heat felt like, then you've got a pretty good guess of what he's going through. Heat flashes, loss of coordination, nausea, the overwhelming need to orgasm damn near eating you alive.

In fact, you think that's exactly what he's going through. Grumbling with every turn you take, slouched against the corner of the seat, his head against the glass. There's a tremble in his hands that wasn't there before, knee bouncing up and down, unable to slow itself even for a second.

There are more signs that you would likely notice if you weren't so focused on the road ahead. You've only driven this truck a handful of times; the turn signal is in a different place, the view of the road is different, and it doesn't quite take turns as sharply as your car does.

But he's quiet. Uniquely so, as if he's lost in his own head. Doesn't make a comment on how you pull his truck into its spot rather than backing it in, only grumbling when you don't immediately give him your hand during the walk toward the apartment complex.

His chin falls onto your shoulder the moment the elevator doors close.

"Still feeling weird?" You ask, attention flicking to the mirror.

He whines, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist. A familiar hardness shamelessly grinds into the curve of your ass. Even the thick material of his jeans can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches, desperate for something. Anything.

Warmth rushes down into your thighs. Knees knocking together as they clamp shut, helpless to do anything but wriggle against him. His shaky exhale tickles your ear.

Something clangs overhead, but you can hardly pay it any mind. The elevator could be falling, and you still can't bring yourself to care. Too focused on twisting in his hold, bodies so close that your noses crash together.

Bob looks no better than he did while you were in the truck. Skin so clammy that he glistens in the overhead light, not quite pouring with sweat but if you give him a few minutes, that story may change.

The elevator doors open with a squeal. You move toward them. He doesn't budge.

"Bobby?" Your head tilts.

His eyes dart toward something in the hallway. You follow his gaze, but not a damn thing is there. Nothing but the same old gray carpet, dusty, decorative table, and the welcome rug sitting outside your neighbor's door.

Your alpha neighbor.

"Bobby, it's your instincts running wild," your attempt at diffusing fails to evoke the slightest reaction, "nobody is going to hurt us."

He doesn't seem to believe you. Still staring off into the hallway as if his greatest enemy is about to slink around the corner at any given moment.

You reach over his shoulder, fingertips brushing over the back of his neck. Scarred and battered from all those scruffings during basic and every other time a superior thought they caught a glimpse of defiance. Delicate, you pinch the soft skin there, but his shoulders don't loosen like they should. No, they stiffen.

His chest swells with a sharp inhale.

"It's okay," whispering, as gently as you can, "it's just me."

Hesitant, he takes a step forward. Obediently following your lead, those big blue eyes flickering back and forth across the hall as you walk down it. The apartment door is only a few steps away, off in the corner of the building, but it must take a minute or two to get him there. He's just sane enough not to fret when you let him go in exchange for digging the keys out of your pocket.

The door opens, and it's as if an invisible string snaps.

Kisses appear on the side of your neck. Crowding you through the threshold, the door slamming closed the moment you're through it. The apartment is at the same temperature it's always been at, and yet it's too damn hot in here. Feels as if you're walking into a burning room, but instead of flames licking at your skin, it's Bob's hands. Darting under your shirt, desperate to feel more of you.

"I..." Bob's voice dies in his throat. Rumbling against your nape. "I..."

It's too easy, letting him pull that thin piece of material over your head, your back finding its way up against the wall. The meeting, your friends, the buzzing of your cell phone in your back pocket, none of it matters. Only the press of Bob's lips against yours, how his body slots against yours, built for this and this alone.

He's everywhere. His lips are crashing into yours, and his hands are creeping up your naked back, and the bulge in his jeans is pressing against your hip, and, and—

It's so much.

Fuck, it's so much.

"Bob," you find yourself gasping, aimlessly uttering his name as if it can quench the fire beneath your skin. "Bobby..."

He whines at that. Rumbling against your mouth and down your spine, rattling through you like a shockwave. Your fists gather the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Deeper. Draws a surprised groan right out of his throat, caught off guard but making no move to stop you.

His hips roll into yours once more, all too eager for something, anything. Your thigh slots between his, pushing up just enough and...

"Shit," he's swearing under his breath, so quiet that you hardly hear it.

Your impatient hands tug at his shirt. The kiss only breaks long enough for you to yank it over his head, taking his glasses with it. They the floor with a painful clatter.

He makes no effort to retrieve them.

Neither can you because he's back in your space within an instant, his lips stealing your breath away as if it has belonged to him all along. He tastes like coffee and the honey biscuit he scarfed down on the way to the meeting, so warm and sweet that it's like kissing a bakery instead of a man.

It ought to drown you. Flooding your senses like some kind of pleasant assault swirls your thoughts and delves deep into your belly, disturbing the butterflies there and setting you alight. This is...this is new. He's always made you weak in the knee, but you don't recall them nearly buckling from his scent alone, only held up by the strong arms looped around you.

Something in your lower stomach clenches. So upset over the overwhelming sensation of being empty that it begins to cramp, a wave of slick rushing to ease the ache.

Bob's moving, and it's all you can do to throw your arms over his shoulders and hang on. Following blindly as he backs you through the bedroom door, feet stumbling blindly. Back, back, back, guided by the pressure of his hands and the bump of his chest against yours.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, crumpling out from beneath you.

Your ass hits the bed. Vision swimming as you try to regain focus.

That soft belly is right in front of you. Pale and dusted with freckles, the thin layer of fat concealing the muscle that lurks beneath. You just can't help yourself, greedily leaning in and kissing a fading hickey. One of your hands finds its way to the tent in his jeans, pressing softly.

Bob sucks in a breath. Jerking. "Hurts."

"I'm gonna take care of you," you say it as if you've got yourself together. You don't. "I promise."

The button to his jeans pops open without the slightest resistance, zipper racing down the tracks at a record pace. He's too quick to help. Hands colliding with yours as you both yank at the hem of them, pulling his pants and his boxers down in one go, sloppy as it might be. His cock springs free without warning, the flushed tip nearly hitting your cheek as you try to help him pull the fabric past his thighs.

Once they're past his knees, you can no longer reach them.

Your eyes dart to the bottle of lube sitting on the bedside table. With the heat between your legs, you're almost certain that you won't need it, but you're squirming across the bed anyway, rolling onto your belly, arm outstretched, reaching for it. Your fingers wiggle, catching on the side. The bottle spins across the table, right into your grasp.

Hands appear on your hips, dipping beneath your waistband.

"Hey!" You squeal, but it's too late. He's already tugging your pants down, too, pulling you across the sheets in the process. Your phone pops out of the pocket, landing next to you.

"Sorry," but those half-lidded eyes and his lazy grin imply that he's definitely not sorry, already hovering over top of you. There's barely enough room for you to roll onto your back, caged between his shivering arms.

Funny, you'd always presumed alphas to fall under the same old, aggressive stereotype once their rut started, but this one...he's anything but. Pink in the face, pressing soft kisses against your cheek, almost entirely himself.

Whether or not he hears you uncapping the lube, you don't know, but he doesn't react to it in the slightest.

"Ah—!" He does react when your dripping hand wraps around his heavy cock, spreading cold lubricant across him without so much as a warning.

His knot is hardly there, nothing but a slight bump at his base, as it should have been this whole time. You reckon that something about his rut finally kicked his hormones into gear.

Your hand is hardly doing anything special. Simple strokes to spread the sticky substance across him, thumb swiping over his head once, twice, drawing little whimpers past his lips with every motion. Sensitive and so wrapped up in the feeling that he doesn't realize that you're surging up off the bed. Pushing him over, your leg swinging out to straddle his hips.

Those wide eyes draw a giggle out of you. "Dummy."

It's so easy, reaching between your thighs and taking hold of his weeping cock, guiding it up until his tip slips through your folds, nudging against your clit and all. Ugh, you've missed this feeling.

"You're..." Bob sucks in a trembling breath, eyes flickering from your face to the sight of his cock nuzzled against your cunt. "You're sure?"

"Are you?" Mirroring him. You've already made your intentions loud and clear.

He nods before he can find his voice. "Uhuh."

"Then so am I," and before either of you can begin to conjure up a response, you're sinking down on him.

A sudden pressure appears at your entrance, an ache already arising from your severe lack of interest in stretching yourself for him. It's a dizzying kind of burn that has your body shuddering, taking his cock head in with a soft 'pop' that ought to make your heart stop.

"Jesus," Bob's hands fly up to your hips, squeezing tight, "fuck."

There's just something about hearing him swear that gets your head spinning, fighting to keep your body upright as you take him inch by delirious inch. Not obscenely thick, but enough to already be rubbing against those little hidden nerves. It's not fair. He has no right to have your thighs tremoring before you've even taken him halfway.

Your hands fall forward, bracing yourself against his heaving chest. The feeling of the pitter-patter of his heart beneath your palms isn't doing much to help you either, beating at his chest like a caged animal.

Coffee and cinnamon strike your nose with the intensity of a freight train, tearing through your head so quickly that everything becomes muffled, wrapped up in your own little world. A little place where Bobby is your only concern, with his oddly sweet scent and soft blue eyes that threaten to drown you if you gaze too closely.

But your ass is settling into his lap, and you're too damn full to remain up in your head much longer. Fuck, you can't breathe. Lungs tight as if you've run out of room, forced to pant for air that you can't possibly hang onto.

Already, Bob's hips roll up, unable to keep himself from squirming beneath you. His hands roam up your sides, idly touching, as if to make sure that you're really here. That you're not a figment of his rut-clouded mind.

"So pretty," he babbles, sounds absolutely awe-struck, "you're so pretty."

"You're just saying that because I'm riding you," teasing, a little smile emerging onto your face as you draw yourself up.

"No, I'm—mmh!" His head falls backward, thunking against the pillow.

This...this is something. You've hardly even drawn yourself up an inch, and he's already whining about it, his hands squeezing your sides once more, hanging on tight as you sink back down on him.

It's on the second attempt that your breath hitches, stars sparkling in your vision as he rubs against a particular bundle of nerves. An experience nearly identical to any of the other times his cock has been in you, but something...something is different here. You don't recall feeling a sudden gush of slick, reacting to an extreme.

He should have quit taking those suppressants sooner.

You're drawing yourself up quicker now, clinging to his chest as you try to find your pace. Something quick enough to get what you want but shallow enough to avoid wearing yourself out before you've even gotten close. But it's so hard to remain rational when he's downright nailing that little spot, cock head kissing it over and over and over.

Bobby's hips jump up once more, meeting you halfway. His whine intertwines with yours, dancing about the room and through the walls. You hope the neighbors aren't home because you don't have the strength to quiet him down. Not when he sounds so pretty.

"Darlin'," his head rolls back and forth, blinking rapidly, "darlin', I..."

A beat passes. He doesn't finish that thought.

"Hm?" Fighting to keep your eyes open, "talk to me, Bob."

You're using workplace phrases in the bedroom again.

But his eyes only scrunch shut. So tight that his nose wrinkles with it. "I don't know."

On its own volition, your hand darts out; he meets you halfway, fingers lacing together as you push them onto the bed. It's a motion that forces you to lean forward, such a subtle change in angle, but—

"There," you blurt it as if you're not the one in charge here. Heat rushes up your belly, burning high into your throat, smoke clouding your vision.

You're babbling something, but you just can't hear it. Control crumbling like a house of cards, impossible to rebuild as your hips quicken, chasing the delicious pressure of his cock against your nerves. Cunt clenching around him like a vice, every little motion punctuated by an obscenely wet noise that you're only vaguely aware of.

It's a sudden growl that rips you back into reality. Bobby's short fangs sink into his shivering bottom lip, pretty blue eyes glassy as he bats his lashes up at you.

"Huh?" Freezing in your tracks. Is there something...did you do something that he doesn't like?

He's pushing himself up, suddenly all too close. "Wanna roll over."

The room is spinning before you can even realize what he's just said. Back hitting the soft mattress, a familiar weight settling atop your chest. Arms brace on either side of your head, already finding his favorite position.

Your newly empty hand darts up. Grasping at his wrist until your fingers lace together once more, his weight pinning them into the sheets. You haven't the slightest clue how he stayed inside of you, but he's already beginning to move, and your shaking legs are coiling behind him, and—

"There!" It rips out of you so suddenly that you think you sound akin to a wounded animal. Little shocks jump up your core, pussy fluttering around him. "There, there..."

His hips move a little harder, properly jostling you beneath him, rubbing into those little nerves once more. "Jus' like this?"

All you can do is nod, tongue limp in your mouth.

Bob's leaning closer, his nose nuzzling against yours, hardly an inch of space left between your heaving bodies. The slight swell of his knot catches on your entrance, such a sudden thing that it rips the air out of your lungs, fighting to keep your legs hitched around his waist. All it's doing is drawing him up against where you crave his touch most, growing impossibly wet from the feel of his knot alone.

A stray squeezes out from the corner of his eye, rolling down his cheek and leaping down to hit your nose. His lips crash into yours before you can begin to ask about it. A soft intertwining that makes your thoughts swirl together until they've blended into a constant, incessant murmuring. Bob. Bob. Bob.

"Bobby?" It slips out before you've realized it, and if your voice itself could echo a word, you have no doubt that a hundred incantations of his name would be tumbling out your parted lips.

His whine cuts through the air.

"Feels good," he gasps, speaking against your lips, making no effort to pull away any more than he has to. "Feels...it's so—mmh."

There's no possible way to keep himself quiet, his whimpers so distracting that you hardly notice the ones coming out of your own mouth. Your unoccupied hand rises, shaking with the heavy thump of your heart as it settles against his cheek.

As if it's come alive, your back twitches up off the bed, legs squeezing around his bony hips, a wildfire rushing across your skin. Head swimming with the noise that is Bob Floyd and the incessant nudge of his growing knot rubbing against that sweet little spot. It's so new and it's so much, and, and it's got spots decorating your vision. Patches of black fading in and out, like you're about to faint.

His knot catches on its way out of you. So big that it doesn't slip back in on the next pass, merely pressing into your pussy once, twice, three times.

You don't feel it coming.

One moment you're fine, and the next, your eyes are rolling, cumming without warning, as his knot finally pops inside of you. Quaking with the force of it, ears ringing so loud that you can hardly hear Bob's cry as he cums inside of you. Knot swelling to its full size, locking your bodies together, his cum flooding your spasming cunt, with nowhere for it to escape.

You're only distantly aware of your back hitting the bed once more, legs slipping out from around him to fall at his sides instead. There are teeth sinking into your shoulder, and your heart is pounding against your chest, lungs burning for a breath you've gone too long without.

The first inhale grounds you. Brings you down from the ceiling and back into his arms.

The second rips every ounce of strength from your body. All too limp beneath Bobby and his crushing weight that has long since settled on top of you.

"I love you," his words are jumbled together, so unintelligible that you hardly realize what he's saying.

It must take a minute or two for you to squeeze his sweaty hand, still linked with yours. "I love you too."

There's no way that you'll be separating any time soon, not with his knot pulsing inside of your poor pussy, stretched to a limit you didn't know you had. Even when his phone dings from the other room, there's nothing he can do about it. How cruel nature is, forcing you to lie here and accept his snuggling advances. Barbaric, even.

"This..." Bob hums, kissing at your jaw, "feels so damn weird."

Idle, your arm loops around his shoulders, hand greedily delving into his hair. "Tell me about it. If you cum any more, I think I might pop."

Your giggles melt into yawns; whoever said that sex was a quick and easy thing clearly wasn't doing it right. The moment that Bob gets his head comfortable, his nose nuzzled beneath your ear, you know that you've lost him. Frankly, you're not far from it, either, already beginning to fight back another yawn.

But your brain isn't on the same page because while your body is already sinking further into the bed, growing heavier by the second, your thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Maverick. The prescription suppressants sitting on the dresser, waiting for the day that the Navy requires you to start taking them again, for the sake of efficiency and making the job easier for all parties.

You don't understand it.

Why does the Navy prioritize scrubbing you of alpha, beta, and omega statuses? What's the point of soap designed to strip your scent glands when all it does is make you so much more sensitive to the variety of scents out there? Was the endless scruffing from your superiors really meant to 'build character'? Or was it just a bunch of insecure superiors desperate to make themselves feel in charge?

Bobby should have known whether he was alpha, omega, or beta over ten years ago. Why is it that you and he have been medicated to high hell while Maverick has walked around for the better half of thirty years without being given a single fucking pill to take? He's exactly what the Navy preaches about; a hot-headed, cocky alpha who gets so invested in instinct that he hurts his team.

God, fuck, his fangs aren't even formed properly. Short and stunted from the lack of hormones, not an ounce of threat to them, no matter how many times he may try to flash them.

Your eyes dart to your cell phone, resting on the unoccupied side of the bed.

It's barely within reach, but it's nothing that a little stretching won't resolve. Heavy in your hand as you type in the passcode and navigate toward an app, resting in the far right corner. The screen turns black.

A beat passes.

Then, a second.

And a third.

The camera opens, little squares dancing across the screen as it scans your irises. A microphone crosses the screen. Your name tumbles off your tongue.

Finally, it opens. A crudely built messenger app, a myriad of texts flooding in as it loads. Wire transfers. Messages about the mission. Information that the Navy never thought would leave your lips. Names. Javy. Natasha. Jake. Rueben. Bob. Mickey. Three other familiar names that you cannot be bothered to read. All you care about is finding a contact by the name of Admin, and pressing the call button.

As the dial tone sounds, Bob's head lifts, sleepy eyes flickering up to meet with yours. Doesn't need to look at the phone to understand what you're doing. It's a call he made when Admiral Cain left a mark on your wrist. The same number Bradley dialed when Cyclone started that brawl with Jake.

Bob's just beginning to settle back into the crook of your neck when someone picks up.

"Who hit him?"

You know that voice. You know what happened the last time you called. But for once in your life, you've forgotten how to feel hesitant about the words that are about to leave your mouth.

"They call him Maverick."

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #oneshot

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robin-evry · 2 months ago

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Reading your demigod post, I liked it. I actually want demigod! Yuu who is related to Hestia.

sure thing, ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐃 ( 𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀 ) 🔥

A demigod is a divine mythological figure, a god who is either part human, or a minor god. In ancient Greece, dead heroes were sometimes thought of as demigods. Greek and Roman mythology have their share of demigods, and so do many other ancient religions and traditions.

Demi god!Yuu takes immense pride in making Ramshackle Dorm a welcoming space for everyone. It’s not just a place to live—it’s a home. They have an almost magical ability to keep the fire always burning in the hearth, no matter how cold or chaotic things get. Ramshackle smells of baked bread, warm spices, and something uniquely comforting whenever demi-god!Yuu is around.

Their magic is centered around protective fire. Their flames never burn destructively unless they wills it—they warm, soothe, and shield. During fights, they conjures a dome of fire around their allies, and they even use smaller flames to guide lost souls through dark places, like a guardian light.

They also have a talent at food magic, the food that they always make held magical capabilities, they are able to heal, enhance and banish anxiety. Their cooking has the ability to rejuvenate and heal the bodies and soul of those who ate it.

They also have a habit of finishing their food in half of it and then throw the unfinished in the fire, when multiple students ask why they did it, they said it's a way to say thank you to their mother.

Demi-God!Yuu is the grounding force in Grim’s chaotic life. Their relationship is much like a motherly bond—Grim causes chaos, and they quietly fixes it. Despite Grim’s mischievous nature, he often finds himself curling up by their side when the day is over, soaking in the warmth and comfort only they can provide.

Ramshackle has been transformed from its previously rundown state into a warm, inviting space. They have added soft, plush furniture like oversized couches, armchairs, and thick rugs, making it perfect for lounging or gathering with friends. The walls are decorated with warm earth tones and rustic, simple decor—wooden shelves, woven tapestries, and small plants give the dorm a homey, lived-in feel

.In the spirit of family and unity, there’s a large, handcrafted wooden dining table in the center of the kitchen, where they often serves meals to friends. The table is always set with mismatched, yet charming dishware, and they keeps it stocked with fresh bread, fruit, and snacks. Meals at Ramshackle are a communal affair, with friends from different dorms often dropping by for food and conversation.

The central feature of Ramshackle Dorm under Demi-godYuu care is a large, ever-burning hearth located in the common room. The fire never goes out, providing warmth and comfort to anyone who enters. The flames are magical, casting a gentle golden light that fills the room with a sense of safety. It’s both literal and symbolic, representing their connection to their mother and their role as the heart of the dorm.

Ramshackle has become a popular spot for study sessions under their watch. They’ll prepare snacks, light the fireplace, and create a quiet, warm environment perfect for focusing on schoolwork. The other students find it easier to concentrate when their around, as their calm energy balances the stress of academics.

The kitchen is the heart of Demi-God Yuu’s hospitality. It’s an open space with hanging pots and pans, shelves lined with herbs and spices, and a large brick oven where they bakes their famous bread and hearty meals. There’s always something cooking, filling the dorm with the scent of fresh-baked goods and simmering stews. The fire in the oven is controlled directly by their magic, ensuring perfect heat for every dish.

During free time trey, Jamil and them would try new baking and cooking recipes. You would always expect them at the school's kitchen or at the ramshackle kitchen cooking a hearty meal for students to enjoy.

Btw behind ramshackle holds a garden filled with vegetables and fruits Demi-God!yuu grow by themselves during free time you can always find them tending to the vegetables and for those who steal without permission is gonna suffer from their raft.

Ruggie enjoys their present, since they always give him free food. Or when he's tired and needs a place to rest you can always find him in ramshackle enjoying a meal prepared by Demi-God!yuu.

They love organizing small celebrations or get-togethers for special occasions. Whether it’s someone’s birthday or a dorm victory, they’ll create an event with homemade food, decorations, and warm fires to keep everyone cozy. These small festivals quickly become a favorite tradition among their friends, who look forward to their thoughtful touches.

They have a habit of collecting small, comforting objects from their friends and surroundings—little tokens like handmade charms, smooth stones, or dried flowers. These trinkets serve as reminders of the bonds they’ve formed with others, and they often places them on shelves or keeps them in pockets to carry that warmth with them.

At the end of the day, Demi-God yuu has a ritual of sitting by the fire, quietly meditating or reflecting on the events of the day. They’ll let the flames dance in front of them, using the soft crackling sound to clear their mind. Sometimes friends will join, creating a peaceful, bonding moment before heading off to bed.

They also often crafts small protective charms out of clay, fire, and herbs, infused with a spark of their divine power. These charms are designed to ward off harm and bring good fortune to those who carry them. Many of their friends have one, often worn as a necklace or tucked into a pocket. The charm glows faintly when danger is near, reminding everyone of their protective nature.

Though demigod-Yuu is kind and gentle, they are fiercely protective when it comes to their friends. They don’t always show it, but they’re constantly aware of everyone’s well-being, ready to step in if something goes wrong. Their quiet but vigilant nature means that danger rarely catches them off guard. When someone threatens those they care about, their flames burn hotter and more intense, transforming them from a peaceful caretaker into a protector.

Demi-God Yuu has an incredible emotional intuition, able to sense when something is off with their friends, even when they try to hide it. Whether it’s the way someone’s aura feels cooler than usual or how they’re behaving more distantly, they will pick up on the smallest shifts and offer quiet support. This makes them a comforting presence, as people don’t have to explain themselves for them to understand.

They can channel their fire magic into healing flames. When someone is injured, they place their hands over the wound and allow a gentle warmth to radiate, accelerating the healing process. These flames don’t burn or hurt but instead bring a soothing, regenerative warmth that makes physical injuries heal faster and leaves the person feeling rejuvenated.

Their clothing is enchanted to be fireproof, both for practical and aesthetic reasons. They often wear outfits that are warm and cozy, like oversized sweaters, soft scarves, and long skirts or pants. Their style is practical but has a rustic charm, blending comfort with the feeling of being always ready for action. The clothes seem to emit a slight warmth as well, making others feel comforted when standing close to them.

They also carries a small, portable cooking kit that includes a tiny pot, a collapsible spatula, and a few spices. While it may seem strange, this kit is perfect for impromptu cooking, whether it's brewing a quick soup or making tea. Their always ready to cook, no matter where they are.

Demi-God Yuu can communicate with fire spirits and small ember-like creatures. These spirits sometimes act as helpers or companions, flitting around them, providing warmth, guidance, or even playful company. These little spirits are drawn to their hearth-like energy and often appear when they need a reminder of home or emotional support.

While they are known for their warmth, they carry a deep sadness from feeling like an outsider. Their divine heritage often makes it difficult to fully connect with their peers, leading them to struggle with feelings of inadequacy or not belonging. They share their feelings only with their closest friends, who help remind them of their worth and the positive impact they have on those around them.

Demi-God Yuu has a collection of unique candles from different places, each with its own story. They love to light these candles during study sessions or gatherings, filling the room with various scents that evoke memories and feelings of comfort.

They carrie a small, intricately designed keychain shaped like a flame that their mother gave them as a child. It serves as a reminder of Hestia’s love and protection and brings them comfort in challenging times. They often hold it when feeling anxious.

Malleus has a soft spot for them, often visiting their room to enjoy the warmth and peace it provides. He feels a connection to their hearth-like energy, which calms him in moments of solitude. They share a special bond over their understanding of loneliness.

Demi-God Yuu holds various superstitions related to their heritage, such as always carrying a lucky charm or lighting a candle before an important event. They believe these rituals help them connect with Hestia and bring them good fortune.

Demi-God Yuu has an affinity for puns, especially ones related to fire or warmth. Their friends groan at Demi-God Yuu’s dad jokes, but they can’t help but laugh because of their contagious enthusiasm and genuine joy in sharing them.

They enjoy spending time with Lilia, as he appreciates the warmth they bring to any gathering. They often have deep conversations about life, family, and finding purpose, bonding over their shared experiences as guardians of their respective communities.

They also keeps a journal filled with recipes from around the world. They aspire to learn about different culinary traditions and eventually host an international potluck at NRC, encouraging everyone to share their heritage.

#not canon #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst scenario #disney twst #twisted wonderland yuu au #twst mc #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst yuu au #demigods #hestia

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marigoldenblooms · 9 months ago

Text

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 1

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, canon-level violence, use of medieval weapons, body horror description in transformation, magic use, slight dissociation/self harm, restraint, fluff (for five seconds), R is a simp, so is W, N is not here to play, etc.

A/N: I’ve been working on this next chapter ever since the previous. Chapter two is coming along quickly as well! I want to keep a bit of a backlog for my longer fics, so updates will be as frequent as I can manage. The name established in this chapter for R will be used sparingly, but I loved what Missmonsters2 did with Between the Lines when I read it months ago, and thought it’d be pertinent until nicknames/pet names are established (and for as long as I can avoid conversation where names are necessary).

R’s monster form brought to you by bearded vulture inspiration! Feel free to imagine your own version of avian horror to your heart’s content. Enjoy, y’all!

Word Count: 3.1k - Read Length: 11 minutes, 18 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~ The healer’s home was nothing short of overwhelming.

Multi-colored knick-knacks were strewn on every surface, perched below gatherings of drying, braided flowers which hung from the rafters. Beneath your feet, woven rugs of alternating sizes dotted the cabin’s cool wooden floors, like islands between a chilled sea of timber. The front door lead further into a sitting room, offering glimpses into a small, quaint looking kitchen, adorned with a single well-worn table and chair. Within that same place, a large pot was held still on the counter by wisps of scarlet magic, another more opaque plume coaxing a wooden spoon to stir whatever was inside.

Paintings hung along every wall, although you could never get a full glance at one, as though they’d subtly shift and change muses whenever you’d look away. The sound of a shutting door would heighten your senses enough to break from the scenery, turning on your heels to face the home’s owner once again. She’d pry at you with a half-smile, and you’d solidify your gaze at the floor before her eyes could have the chance to meet yours.

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet.

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids.

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!”

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft.

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you.

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her. You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?”

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant?

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.”

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.”

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?”

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?”

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.”

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew.

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company.

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

The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed.

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash.

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest.

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!”

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down.

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks.

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night.

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

209 notes · View notes

mxnsterbabe · 5 months ago

Text

Female Harpy/Female Reader

SFW

Wordcount: 3,451

Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You've travelled a long way to learn music from the legendary harpy. She'll teach you, in exchange for your company.

Evelyn stood at the base of the cave, her heart racing with nerves. The entrance loomed before her, dark and cold.

It led to Persephone, a once-famous musician who had lived in Oceanhall. Evenlyn had heard so many stories that it was difficult to tell fact from rumours—how she a tragedy drove her into hiding. Now, she lived alone in the wild, away from prying eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Evelyn stepped inside. The cave was cool and slightly damp at first, but as she ventured further, it felt surprisingly homey. The walls were decorated with paintings, while the floor was covered in soft moss and woven rugs. Instruments of all kinds were scattered around; a violin in the corner, a harp peeking out from another room.

“Hello?” Evelyn called out, her voice echoing softly against the stone walls. She took another step forward, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Persephone?”

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of soft footsteps approaching. From the shadows, a woman appeared. She hovered by the edge of the round doorway, eyes narrowed.

She was stunning, with cascading red hair flowed into equally vibrant feathers. Her eyes were a piercing shade of green, regarding you quietly. Powerful wings, lined with the same vibrant feathers, folded behind her.

Evelyn took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I’m here to learn from you,” she said, her voice steady despite her nerves. “I’ve heard that you’ve taught people in the past.”

Persephone’s eyes narrowed slightly, a shadow passing over her delicate features. “That was before, in my old life as a celebrity. I don’t teach anymore. I just want to be left alone.”

Evelyn felt a pang of sympathy. She could sense the pain behind Persephone’s words. “I understand that you’ve been through a lot,” she said gently. “I’ve come a long way because I believe in your music. I want to learn from the best.”

Persephone’s gaze softened a little, but her expression remained guarded. “Why should I let you? What makes you different from anyone else who’s sought me out?”

Evelyn took another step closer, her voice filled with sincerity. “Because I’m willing to listen and understand. I don’t just want to learn your music; I want to learn from you. Please, give me a chance.”

Persephone studied her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she sighed. “Very well. I will allow it, but on one condition.”

Evelyn’s heart leapt with hope. “Anything.”

“You must stay here for a month,” Persephone said, her tone firm. “Without leaving. You need to prove that you’re dedicated to learning and that you respect my solitude.”

A month? It was a daunting request, but Evelyn knew she couldn’t back down now. “I can do that,” she replied, determination in her voice. “I need to go home first, to tell my family where I’ll be.”

Persephone nodded, a hint of a smile touching her lips. “Very well. You may go, but if you truly want to learn from me, you must be back by sundown on Sunday. No later.”

Evelyn nodded, relief and excitement flooding her. “Thank you, Persephone. I promise I’ll be back.”

With a final look towards Persephone, Evelyn turned and made her way out of the cave.

The journey back through the woods was long and difficult, the path winding through dense forest and over rocky terrain. The sun dipped lower in the sky, weak beams of light filtering through the foliage.

By the time she reached the edge of the forest, the sky was painted with the warm hues of sunset. Evelyn’s home, a little cottage on the outskirts of Oceanhall, came into view just as twilight began to settle. She hurried the last few steps, her heart racing as she thought about how to break the news to her family.

Inside, the familiar scent of dinner greeted her. Her parents were seated at the kitchen table, her younger brother already halfway through his meal. They looked up as she entered, smiles of welcome turning to curiosity as they took in her serious expression.

“Evelyn, you’re just in time for dinner,” her mother said, setting an extra plate on the table. “Come, sit down.”

Evelyn took a deep breath and joined them at the table, her mind racing with how to begin. “I need to talk to you all about something important,” she said, her voice steady despite the rapid pounding of her heart.

Her father raised an eyebrow, setting down his fork. “What is it, love?”

“I’ve found Persephone,” Evelyn began, seeing their eyes widen in surprise. “She’s agreed to teach me music, but there’s a condition. I have to stay with her for a month, without leaving.”

The room fell silent. Her family exchanged worried glances before her mother spoke up, concern etched in her features. “A month; Evelyn, what about your job? What if something happens to you up there?”

Evelyn felt a lump form in her throat but pressed on. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Do you know how difficult it was to track her down?”

“How do you know she’s who she says?”

Evelyn frowned. “I… I just know.” It was a surety she felt deep in her soul.

Her father leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “How can you trust that Persephone won’t do something dangerous? You’ll be alone with her for a month, Ev.”

Evelyn reached across the table, taking her father’s hand. “I trust her, and I need you to trust me. This is something I need to do, Dad.”

Her younger brother looked up, brows scrunched. “What if we need you?”

Evelyn’s heart ached at the sight of his concern, but she gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll miss you, but I’ll be back before you know it. This is my dream, and I need to follow it. Please understand.”

Her mother sighed, tears glistening in her eyes. “We just want you to be safe, Evelyn, but I know you; you’ll do it anyway.”

Evelyn stood and embraced her mother, her own eyes misting with tears. It wasn’t quite acceptance, but she knew Mum wouldn’t try to stop her.

“Thank you, Mum. I promise I’ll be back, and I’ll be safe.”

Her father rose and wrapped them both in a hug, big arms easily wrapping around them both. “Go chase your dream.”

***

Evelyn arrived at the cave just as the sun was setting, the last rays of light casting a warm glow over the rocky entrance. She was exhausted and cranky from the long journey, her duffel bag heavy with the weight of her belongings. As she approached, she saw Persephone waiting outside, her silhouette framed by the light.

Persephone’s soft features and delicate face contrasted sharply with the stern scowl as she spotted Evelyn. Her red hair flowed gently in the evening breeze. She was radiant.

“You’re just in time,” Persephone said, her voice cold. “Come inside.”

Evelyn followed her into the cave, the familiar sight of the cosy interior greeting her. Persephone led her to a small side-room. It was simple, with no bed, but a pile of pillows created a makeshift sleeping area that looked surprisingly comfortable.

“This will be your space,” Persephone said, her tone clipped. “We start tomorrow.”

Evelyn nodded, too tired to respond. She set down her bag and sank into the pillows, which were almost as comfy as a real bed. As she lay there staring at the ceiling, she drifted off with the image of Persephone in her mind.

***

The first lesson was tougher than Evelyn had imagined. Persephone was an impatient voice coach, demanding precision and excellence from the start. Evelyn struggled to keep up, her voice cracking under the pressure. Persephone’s sharp corrections stung, but she pushed through, determined to prove herself.

“You must focus,” Persephone snapped, her wings fluttering with agitation. “Again.”

***

As the days passed, Evelyn found herself gradually improving. Persephone remained distant and stern, but there were moments that hinted at something.. more. During one lesson, as Evelyn hit a particularly difficult note perfectly, she caught a glimpse of pride in Persephone’s eyes.

“Better,” Persephone acknowledged, her tone still formal but softer.

Evelyn’s heart swelled at the small victory, spurring her on.

***

In the evenings, they would sometimes sit outside the cave, the landscape offering a moment of peace. Evelyn shared stories of her family and her life, trying to bridge the gap between them. Persephone listened silently, her expression unreadable, but she didn’t ask Evelyn to stop.

One night, after a particularly gruelling day, Evelyn played a simple tune on the violin, hoping to lighten the mood. Persephone watched her, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, though it never fully formed.

***

The lessons continued, each day blending into the next. Evelyn’s voice grew stronger, more confident, under Persephone’s rigorous guidance. Despite the challenges, she found herself falling for the harpy. There was something captivating about Persephone’s beauty, her strength, and the glimpses of vulnerability she sometimes showed.

During one practice session, Evelyn stumbled over a note, her frustration bubbling over. Persephone sighed, her stern façade cracking just a little.

“Take a break,” she said softly. “You’re pushing too hard.”

Evelyn nodded, grateful for the reprieve. As she rested, she noticed Persephone watching her, a flicker of concern in her eyes.

***

Three weeks passed, and a strange routine settled in. Evelyn and Persephone worked together every day, the initial coldness between them thawing slowly. Persephone remained distant, but there were moments that gave Evelyn hope. She cherished these small breakthroughs, heart lightening.

One evening, as the sun set and the cave was bathed in a golden glow, Evelyn sang a song she had written for Persephone. The melody drifted through the trees, slow and soft, as Evelyn watched Persephone from the corner of her eyes.

Persephone listened, her expression softening. When the song ended, she looked at Evelyn with an intensity that took her breath away.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Persephone said, her voice unusually gentle. “Rest well.”

Evelyn nodded, a smile playing on her lips. As she lay down in her cosy corner that evening, she felt a sense of contentment she hadn’t expected.

***

On the last day, Evelyn woke up early, determined to do something special. She gathered the few ingredients she had and prepared breakfast for Persephone. She wasn’t quite sure how Persephone usually got her food—she had never seen her forage or hunt—but she didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she focused on making a meal that would hopefully bring a smile to the harpy’s face.

As the aroma of cooking filled the cave, Evelyn set the table with care. She had managed to put together a modest spread: fresh bread and homemade jam, chamomile tea, and a fruit salad made with berries and yogurt. She even added a small vase with a wildflower she had found, a touch of colour to brighten the morning.

Persephone appeared just as Evelyn added the finishing touches, her red hair and vibrant feathers catching the soft morning light. Today, there was something different about her. She looked almost...nervous. Evelyn wondered if it was the impending end of their time together that was unsettling her.

“Good morning,” Evelyn greeted with a warm smile. “I made breakfast.”

Persephone nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

They sat down to eat, and Persephone began to outline the plan for the day. “We’ll work on your final performance piece today. It’s important that we—” She paused, glancing towards the cave entrance. The light outside was dim, the sky a murky grey that promised a storm.

Persephone’s expression grew serious. “It looks like a storm is coming. It won’t be safe for you to travel home today.”

Evelyn followed her gaze to the ominous sky, the wind already beginning to pick up. “Safety first.”

They ate breakfast in a comfortable silence. Evelyn couldn’t help but steal glances at Persephone, admiring her delicate features. Despite her stern exterior, there was a softness in her eyes that Evelyn had come to adore. She wondered if Persephone felt the same way—the sadness of parting, the hope of what might come next.

As they finished up breakfast, the first gust of wind billowed into the cave. It howled, and rain began to lash against the cave entrance.

Persephone seemed lost in thought, her usual composure slightly shaken. Evelyn reached out, placing her hand gently over Persephone’s.

“It’s okay,” Evelyn said softly. “These storms never last long.”

Persephone looked up, her green eyes meeting Evelyn’s. For a moment, all the barriers she had built seemed to fall away. She gave a small nod, her hand squeezing Evelyn’s in silent gratitude.

Suddenly Persephone stood, her wings rustling softly. “We should start your final lesson,” she said, her voice steady.

The storm raged on outside as Persephone and Evelyn began their final lesson. Persephone's demeanor was more intense than usual, her instructions sharp and precise. Evelyn could sense the urgency in her voice, the determination to make this last lesson count.

"Again," Persephone commanded, her wings rustling with agitation. "You need to perfect this."

Evelyn’s voice strained as she repeated the lyrics, her throat aching. Persephone pushed her harder than ever before, not allowing a single break. Every mistake was met with immediate correction, and the pressure was immense. Evelyn’s exhaustion grew, but she refused to falter.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Persephone held up a hand, signaling for Evelyn to stop. “You’ve done it,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ve perfected it.”

Evelyn panted, wiping the sweat from her brow. She should have felt a sense of pride, but all she felt was a dull ache. It was over. There was no more reason for her to stay.

She hummed the first few notes again, letting it echo through the cave. Her throat still stung, but it was worth it.

Persephone’s expression softened, and she seemed to hesitate before speaking. “This is my favourite song,” she admitted quietly. “It’s a love song. I used to make all my students learn it.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Why is it your favourite?”

Persephone looked away, her gaze distant as she gathered her thoughts. “It was the song that played at my wedding—well, it was supposed to. I was left at the altar, and that song was the last thing I heard before I ran away.”

Evelyn felt a pang of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Persephone. I didn’t know.”

Persephone took a deep breath, her wings drooping slightly. “After that, I couldn’t face my fans, the press, or the ridicule. I retreated here to escape it all. The love song that once brought me joy became a painful reminder of what I lost.”

Evelyn stepped closer, her heart aching for Persephone. “You still teach it. Why?”

Persephone’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, Evelyn saw a flicker of something in her green gaze. “It’s a beautiful song,” she said simply. “Despite everything, I still love it. Teaching it to you has help me to remember the good times before the pain.”

Evelyn reached out and gently took Persephone’s hand. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.”

Persephone’s grip tightened slightly, and she gave a small, bittersweet smile. “You’ve learned well, Evelyn. Your voice carries the emotion this song deserves. It’s not just about the notes or the words; it’s about the feeling behind them.”

Evelyn nodded, feeling a deep connection to Persephone’s story and the song they had worked so hard on. “I’ll make sure to honour it,” she promised. “I’ll never forget what you’ve taught me.”

Persephone’s eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. “Thank you, Evelyn. You’ve done more than just learn to sing. You’ve reminded me why I love music.”

As they stood there, the storm outside seemed to quiet.

Evelyn glanced toward the cave entrance, then back at Persephone. “Thank you for everything,” she said softly, a hint of reluctance in her voice. “I suppose this is it. Time for me to go.”

Persephone’s expression grew serious. “No, not yet. It’s safer to wait until the storm fully passes. Stay one more night.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them thickening. Evelyn’s mind raced, her heart heavy with the thought of leaving Persephone behind. She knew she couldn’t go without expressing what she felt. Gathering her courage, she stepped closer.

“Persephone,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Before she could second-guess herself, Evelyn closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to Persephone’s. The kiss was filled with desperation and longing, a surge of affection that had been building up throughout their time together. Evelyn’s hands trembled as they cupped Persephone’s face, her heart pounding in her chest.

Persephone froze for a moment, then responded, her wings enveloping Evelyn in a gentle embrace. The kiss deepened, each of them pouring their unspoken feelings into it. Evelyn felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, not wanting this moment to end, not wanting to leave Persephone’s side.

When they finally pulled away, both were breathless. Evelyn’s eyes searched Persephone’s, finding a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else—something hopeful. “I don’t want to leave you,” Evelyn whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You deserve better than this. You deserve to be happy and not shut yourself away from the world.”

Persephone’s gaze softened, a single tear escaping down her cheek. “Evelyn, I...”

Evelyn shook her head, her hands still cradling Persephone’s face. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that you’ve changed my life, and I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

Persephone’s wings tightened around Evelyn, her expression a blend of vulnerability and gratitude. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she murmured. “I never expected... this.”

Evelyn smiled, brushing away the tear on Persephone’s cheek. “Neither did I, but here we are.”

They stood there for a while longer, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the storm outside now a distant memory. In that quiet, intimate moment, Evelyn knew she had made the right choice. No matter what the future held, she was determined to help Persephone find the happiness she deserved.

Finally, Persephone spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Stay with me tonight. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

Evelyn nodded, her heart swelling with hope. “I’d like that.”

Persephone took Evelyn's hand gently, leading her deeper into the cave to a room that Evelyn hadn’t seen before. The bedroom was coay and warm, with walls adorned with more bright paintings, and a large nest-like bed filled with soft pillows and blankets. The flickering light from a small lantern cast a soft glow over the space.

Persephone turned to Evelyn, her green eyes reflecting a mix of tenderness and uncertainty. “Stay here with me tonight,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Evelyn nodded, her heart swelling with affection. They moved to the bed, and as they lay down, Persephone wrapped her wings around them both, creating a warm cocoon. Evelyn nestled closer, feeling Persephone’s steady heartbeat against her.

The closeness was both exhilarating and comforting. Evelyn felt a rush as she rested her head on Persephone’s chest, their legs entwined. Persephone’s fingers gently traced patterns on Evelyn’s back, sending shivers of delight through her.

“Thank you for staying,” Persephone murmured, her breath warm against Evelyn’s hair.

Evelyn lifted her head, looking into Persephone’s eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Their faces were so close now, and Evelyn felt a magnetic pull, her lips brushing softly against Persephone’s. The kiss was tender at first, exploring the newness of it all.

Persephone’s hands moved to cradle Evelyn’s face, her touch gentle yet somehow possessive. Evelyn responded by wrapping her arms around Persephone’s neck, pulling her even closer. The kiss grew more passionate, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other.

Breaking the kiss, Evelyn rested her forehead against Persephone’s, both of them breathing heavily. The air was charged, but there was no rush.

“Persephone,” Evelyn whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “I care about you, you know that right? It’s not just about the music anymore.”

Persephone’s eyes softened, a smile touching her lips. “I know.”

They shifted slightly, settling into a comfortable embrace. Evelyn’s hand found its way to Persephone’s hair, gently stroking the soft locks. Persephone sighed contentedly, her wings tightening protectively around them.

In the quiet space, Evelyn felt at home.

#exophilia fiction #exophilia #monster fucker #monster romance #monster girlfriend #monster x reader #tag: sfw #tag: harpy #tag: female monster #tag: female reader #tag: fxf

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months ago

Text

Miss Y/L/N P2

Media - The Artful Dodger Character - Jack Dawkins Couple - Jack X Reader Reader - Miss Y/n Y/l/n Rating - flirty AF Word Count - 4650

Jack headed through the dusty streets of Port Victory walking with a mission passing the tavern drunks and dock girls without a second thought until he reached the small thatched cottage on the edge of town with a sweet garden, small fence and freshly painted purple door the sunset behind it and the flickering of firelight beyond the windows. Jack's footsteps faltered for a moment as he looked up at the cottage... his heart was hammering in his chest and he felt a little out of breath. He had never been to her home before... it was... beautiful. The cottage, the garden... Y/n. Then he pulled himself together and approached the door... and knocked lightly.

The door opened to Y/n now with a sweet green apron embroidered with flowers and small bumble bees her hair was slightly askew and she seemed somewhat puzzled, "Doctor Dawkins? Ohh hello, to what do I owe the pleasure of a twilight visit?"

The sight of her, even with messy hair and an apron on, made Jack's chest feel tight. She looked breathtaking even when slightly disheveled. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Miss Y/L/N," He managed to squeak out, clearing his throat for a moment and trying again. "May... may I come in to talk with you?"

"of course," she smiled happily letting him inside to see her small cottage. The cottage had a sweet round fireplace flickering away, a mantle full of trinkets small framed windows and hand woven rugs on the wooden floor, two chairs and a sofa by the fire, a large and cute wooden kitchen with an aged dinning table, pots hung from about. A reading nook overlooking the garden filled with books on shelves, a door leading to the bedroom where a canopy bed can be seen. The whole place lit by candle light and smelt of lavender, "Would you like a cup of tea? Or given it's so late I could perhaps make you up a glass of wine?" When smiled going to the kitchen picking up a plate and drying the dishes

Jack glanced around the cottage as he stepped inside as a warm smile rose to his face. It was... cozy. The small rooms, the fireplace and the trinkets... everything was cute and just screamed Y/n... he felt a pang in his chest as he realized that it was just how he imagined her home, "I'd like a glass of wine if you don't mind, thank you." Jack went to sit down in one of the chairs while he waited patiently for her,

she finished with her dishes and poured two glasses of wine, "It might be a bit strong" she smiled as she handed him he small goblet style glass of wine sitting her own on a small side table and sitting in her chair across from him putting her feet up on a little stool by the fire clearly by the way things sat she always sat in that chair

Jack took the goblet from her, the tips of his fingers brushing hers and he felt a tingle course through him at the contact. She sat down across from him and sat with her legs up and he smiled slightly. "You really like that spot in front of the fire don't you?", He said with a small chuckle.

"it's warm and cosy," she smiled "it's a good spot when it's cold or dark, I prefer the little reading nook when the sun's out" she chuckled

Jack smiled softly at her before he took a small sip of his drink, the bitterness of the wine tingling his tastebuds... it did happen to be sweetly fruity and smooth as well and he hummed in contentment. "Why am I not suprised that you love to read...," He chuckled lightly, knowing her love for books was very well known to everybody.

"of course, I love to read." She giggled "but you haven't answered me, is there a reason for your visit?"

Jack froze for a moment before he remembered the reason he had come here to begin with. He had forgotten about that completely as he had just enjoyed talking to her and watching how she lit up as she spoke. "Oh, right.... I... had something important to ask you....," His voice trailed off as he suddenly felt nervous. The courage he had summoned to get here and knock on the door seemed to have all just suddenly fled from him now that he had to actually ask her his question.

"oh? Go on me then" she giggled sipping her wine

Jack took a large gulp of his wine, feeling the warm burn as the alcohol made it's way down his throat in an attempt to drown his nerves. He had to say it, there was no turning back… "Y/n...," He began to say, his words slightly slurring slightly as a result of the wine. He had to admit it was rather strong. "There's something I want to ask you... something important." Jack took one last large sip of the wine in an attempt to gather up his courage from bottom of the glass as he placed it down. "I've... I've known you most of my life. And our... friendship has been the most important thing to me. And I've watched you grow into the most kind, caring, beautiful, and talented young lady I have ever known." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes. "And... and during that time, it's come to my attention... that my feelings towards you... are no longer those of friendship...,"

"aren't they?" She asked sitting her glass down her face read of confusion "whatever did I do to offend you so? That you don't think of me as a friend... Whatever I did jack I'm sorry" she said immediately assuming she had done wrong

Jack's eyes widened slightly. He wasn't expecting that response from her. "No... oh no no no no... you misunderstand...," Jack quickly corrected her. God she was so sweet and innocent... she always thought she had done something wrong when there was never anything wrong to begin with. "I never said that I didn't think of you as a friend, Y/n. I said that my feelings for you are no longer just... friendship...,"

"Oh ... Then what are they?"

Jack swallowed hard. This was it. No backing down now... His heart was racing faster than it every had in his life and his throat felt dry and tight... but he had to say it. "I've fallen in love with you.... and it's been killing me."

she gasped, her hands began to nervously fiddle with her fingers "I see ... Why does this hurt you? To feel that you love me? Do you not wish to love me?"

Jack quickly shook his head immediately. His brain was fuzzy from the wine... but he needed to say this right. "Of course I wish to love you. That's what is killing me... knowing that I love you... and I have no idea how you feel about me...,"

"oh you sweet thing" she cooed stroking his cheek and pulling his chin to look at her emerald eyes before her hands met his own "jack I adore you, I worship you, I have loved you for as long as I dare remember"

Jack's breath caught in his throat as he felt her gentle touch. Her hand on his cheek was soft and he felt chills down his spine as she held his chin up to look into her emerald eyes, which shined with love. As her words registered, his heart skipped a beat… "You... you love me?," He managed to choke out, his brain racing and struggling to completely process what she just said.

"of course I do" she giggled "you think I'd walk half way across town every other day to bring you cookies if I didn't?"

Jack chuckled at that. Her reasoning was rather simple... but it made complete and utter sense at the same time. He took her hand in his own and laced their fingers together. Her fingers were so small compared to his... and as he held her hand, he realized that he never wanted to let go of her again. "Why... why didn't you ever say anything?," He asked quietly.

"not really proper for a young lady to go around shouting at doctors how much she loves them" she giggled "but... I did deny all those suitors who has ever come asking to court me, sort of ... Hoping you'd figure out I was waiting for you"

Jack's heart melted at those words... he had absolutely no idea she felt that way. He felt a pang of guilt realizing she must have been feeling that way for a long time... and he was completely oblivious. The thought that all those men came courting her, and yet she denied every single one of them... he swallowed hard and took a shaky breath, his hand clutching hers tighter. "I'm... I'm an idiot," He said quietly. "You... you denied every single one of them... because of me...,"

"you very much are an idiot, but your my idiot" she smiled rubber nose on his

Jack smiled widely as he felt her nose against his. Her words were so gentle and sweet as she called him "her" idiot... the feeling of her body pressing against his even if it was just her nose against his had his body tingling... and he suddenly realized that he wanted more than just her nose to be against him. He ached to hold her in his arms and never let her go… "Please say that again," He murmured.

"humm... My big idiot" she giggled "that I waited years for to finally figure out that I loved him"

Another pang of guilt hit Jack as he was reminded that Y/n had waited years for him to figure out her feelings for him. Years of wishing and praying that he loved her like she loved him... but... he was so focused on being a successful surgeon that he never paid much attention to his own feelings. His other hand slowly reached up to gently tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear before his fingers gently traced along her jawline and came to rest on her neck. He gently pulled her closer and smiled. "Can I... try something?,"

"you may jack" she nodded

Jack nodded, his heart beating wildly in his chest as his hand slid from her neck to the back of her head, letting her warm hair slide through his fingers as he drew her even closer. He gently but firmly put his other hand on her hip, guiding her into his lap so she was completely pressed up against him. As she sat on his lap, he wrapped his arms loosely around her and gently rested his forehead against hers.

she giggled as he pulled her into his lap her hands settled on his waistcoat as she slightly squirmed not in protest more just settling herself

The feeling of her soft body in his lap had Jack's head spinning to the point where he could barely think straight. Her giggling sent pleasant shivers through his body, and he had to restrain himself from just grabbing her and pulling her even closer... to feel every inch of her body against his. He let her squirm for a moment as he chuckled quietly. "Settle down now...," He murmured against her neck, letting his breath tickle her skin.

"I can't help it, something's pressing into me" she giggled as she shifted and squirmed her hips some more

Jack let out a low moan as he felt her shifting her hips in his lap... she had no idea what she was doing to him. Jack's eyes fluttered for a moment as a wave of desire shot straight through him... he wanted nothing more than to just pick her and carry her into the bedroom and keep her in there for a week... but he had to control himself. "Stop squirming and you'll feel it less...," He said through gritted teeth.

"sorry I'm just trying to get comfy" she giggled sitting still "humm... I want to say it's your belt pressing into me but you have suspenders on" she said giving the suspender on his shoulder a small playfull snap

Jack let out another moan when she snapped his suspender strap. Her hands and her movements were having a very noticeable effect on him... but he managed to keep himself under control. He gave her a little tap on her bottom in a playful "punishment." "You behave... or I'll give you a spanking over my knee," He warned, before he realized what he said and his eyes widened as the words left his mouth.

"Jack!" She protests

Jack froze for a moment. Why did he say that? He didn't know what possessed him to threaten her with a spanking! And yet... part of him liked how her little gasp and the way she said his name. He swallowed down a groan at the thought of her sitting on his knee like a naughty little girl, her skirts bunched up around her hips as his hand gently came down against her bare skin... He couldn't keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth again. "Oh don't act so virtuous," He murmured against her neck as he gently nipped at her skin with his teeth, leaving a faint mark as he whispered in her ear. "You know you deserve a spanking for all that squirming in my lap, don't you?"

"Jack. As much as I admire your enthusiasm, I think you've had a little too much wine" she said slowly moving his hands from her hips to her waist "I know you love me and I love you too and yes it does feel as if we have waited forever and now that we know I'm overjoyed and overwhelmed with possibilities. However" she explained "we have only admitted our love, we are not counting, not engaged, and as much as I am excited to finally be able to express my love... You speak of things that we would do only in marriage and that's a good while off don't you think?"

Jack was quite literally speechless. Everything she was saying was absolutely right... he was speaking and acting like as if they were married when they weren't even engaged and they had only barely confessed their love. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he realized how he was behaving, like a man who was absolutely out of control. His heart sank as he realized how foolish and impatient he was acting... he had clearly had a bit too much to drink and his emotions were running absolutely wild. Jack closed his eyes as he silently berated himself. What was wrong with him? He sighed deeply, feeling absolutely wretched. He wanted to be with her so badly, in every way possible... but he knew she was right. She was absolutely right, and he felt like a complete fool. He gently rested his forehead on her shoulder in shame, his words low and quiet. "You're... you're right. I'm... I'm sorry, you're absolutely right... I'm behaving like an absolute madman... I've clearly had too much to drink. I feel like an idiot...,"

"it's alright, over excitement gets the best of us all. It likely comes from waiting so long I think" she chuckled "but... We must wait a little longer save such things for the right times"

Jack chuckled weakly, his head still resting on her shoulder. The guilt of how he was acting and his excitement were still warring inside his mind, but she was absolutely right. He had to wait for "the right time". He raised his head to look into her eyes, a small, lopsided smile on his face. "And when would that be?," He asked with a slight smirk.

"... Well we need to court don't we? And then an engagement, then I suppose after a decent period of engagement we could get married. And then you can do whatever you want" she smiled

Jack chuckled softly and smiled widely. God she was so innocent and yet so mischievous. She was giving him absolutely everything he wanted but she wouldn't let him take it quite yet... and part of his mind was absolutely feral with desire at the thought of doing anything he wanted. Part of his mind wanted to take her right then and there... but he didn't want to scare her. "Anything I want?," He murmured with a smirk.

"once we are married, our marriage bed will be open for anything my husband desires. After he deals with my Maidenhead of course"

Jack was not expecting her answer, and his brain short-circuited for a moment upon hearing her words. His face suddenly felt absolutely hot. The thought of her, completely nude in the bed of their shared house... completely opening herself up to him as he explored every inch of her body... god his heart was practically racing in his chest. And then he suddenly realized what she meant by "her Maidenhead"... He closed his eyes to try and control himself. "M-Maidenhead?," He echoed her words. Her choice of words had him completely flustered. The thought of taking her for the first time, her body completely soft and untouched as he carefully took her... it made his body ache like never before. It was taking every single ounce of his self-control to keep himself from throwing her down on the couch and taking her right then and there... but he had to restrain himself. He forced himself to open his eyes and lock them with her gaze. "You're still... you're still a... a virgin?," He whispered.

"I am a proper young lady jack, and I've turned down ever suitors who's ever asked of course I am"

Jack was absolutely floored once again by her response. His guilt for acting so utterly foolish and feral melted away and he was completely filled with love and admiration for her. Once again he was in awe of just how much she had waited for the possibility of being with him... how she denied every single suitor simply because she wanted only him. He smiled softly at her before nodding. "You are... without a doubt... the most proper and patient person... that I have ever met," He murmured quietly.

"well, I had a very good thing I was waiting for" she smiled nuzzling her nose into his neck

Jack let out a soft sigh at her nuzzling her nose into his neck. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her close to him as he savored the feel of her body against his. As her words echoed in his mind, he smiled. She stayed pure and patient simply because she had been waiting for him... he felt another pang of guilt as he remembered how he had been behaving like an animal just a few moments ago. "Promise me one thing?," He murmured, his hands idly stroking her waist.

"yes jack?"

Jack was quiet for a moment as he gathered his words. He tilted his head slightly so his breath was against her ear and then quietly spoke. "Promise me that... even when I'm behaving like... like a madman... the way I was just a few moments ago... you'll keep me in check... keep me from acting like an absolutely mindless madman who will do anything to have you...," He whispered before gently nipping her earlobe.

"I promise, I shall do my best to." She nodded "the best things are worth waiting for wouldn't you agree? Would you rather toss me down on the sofa and make a mess of me just because of your urges or... To wait until our wedding night where you can carry me to our bed and ravish me to your hearts content"

As she spoke, Jack's brain was filled with the image of her spread out on the sofa beneath him, her skirt hitched up over her hips. His mind then flashed forward to the image of her in their shared bed, completely nude as he worshipped every inch of her body… Jack almost moaned but he stopped himself. He took a shaky breath before speaking, trying to keep his voice steady as he spoke. "You... you're absolutely right...," He whispered. "Waiting is absolutely worth it...,"

"I'm glad you agree" she nodded "but maybe soon a gentleman might come and ask to court me?" She cooed

The thought of a "gentleman" asking to court Y/n literally made Jack's blood boil. The thought of some "gentleman" coming in and asking to court his Y/n... the thought of her spending time with another man that wasn't him... He immediately shook his head and wrapped his arms tighter around her. "I'm not letting any other blokes try to court you... you're mine... mine...," He practically growled.

"I meant you! You idiot!" She chuckled

Jack immediately froze and realization settled over him like a heavy storm cloud. Of course... of course she meant him. She didn't want to be courted by some other bloke... she wanted to be courted by him. He suddenly felt completely foolish and an idiot and he was absolutely blushing. Jack buried his face in her shoulder, his face red hot with embarrassment. "Oh good lord, I'm a bloody idiot....," He mumbled against her shoulder.

"aww my sweet idiot" she cooed storking his hair

Jack smiled faintly against her shoulder at her words and her actions. Her words, as always, melted his heart and her hand stroking through his hair always made him shiver. As he spoke against her, his voice was quiet and low. "You can... you can call me an idiot all you want as long as you keep stroking my hair like that,"

"I know what will cheer you up, she giggled "would you like a little present? That you have to keep a secret?" She whispered

Jack lifted his head up off her shoulder, a curious look on his face. A present? He raised his eyebrow at her question. A secret present? What on earth would she give him that required a secret? "A secret present?," He echoed her words. He was suddenly very curious. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I'd love a secret present...," she smiled and shut her eyes giving his cheek a tiny peck before she pulled back and looked up at him with her big emerald eyes

Jack chuckled quietly as she gave his cheek a soft little kiss. Looking down at her, he suddenly felt that wave of guilt wash over him again as he remembered how he practically lunged at her and threatened to give her a spanking... He suddenly felt very grateful that she had been so patient with him. Instead and gently caressing her waist,

"did you like your present?"

Jack was about to respond when he suddenly realized that the soft little kiss on the cheek was the present. He was actually touched beyond words that such a small little kiss was her "present" to him. He smiled softly before nodding. "I loved it...," He murmured before leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her forehead. He couldn’t help himself and he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close to him and holding her against him.

she blushed hard at the kiss nuzzling onto his waistcoat "did I do okay? I've never kissed anyone before"

Jack chuckled as she blushed and nuzzled his waistcoat. She did "okay"? She did absolutely fantastic. And the fact that she'd never kissed anyone before made it even better. He felt a little guilty that he had plenty of experience and she had none... he suddenly decided to tease her a little bit. "Oh yes, sweetheart," He teased her slightly, "You more than did okay..."

"I did?"

Jack nodded as he smiled even wider at the surprised look on her face. It was adorable how shocked she was simply because he told her she did a good job at kissing him... which only made him tease her even more. "Oh yes, you did absolutely fantastic... you didn't even stick your tongue in my mouth or anything," He teased her as he chuckled quietly.

"... Oh... Was I suppose to?" She asked

Jack chuckled even harder. She was absolutely clueless and absolutely adorable. He would have to teach her all manner of things, and his heart swelled at the thought... but that could wait. "No, no... you weren't supposed to, sweetheart. It was a tease," He said with a quiet chuckle. He leaned his forehead against hers, gently and playfully bumping her forehead with his. "A tease. I wanted to get you all riled up,"

"oh. Sorry" she giggled

Jack chuckled again at her response. God she was cute to tease. She was so damn innocent... a complete contrast to his own behavior from a few minutes ago. He was suddenly hit with yet another pang of guilt as he remembered the absolutely feral way he had spoken and the way he had practically threatened her… He pushed the guilt aside as he pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. He smiled and spoke quietly, hoping to get her to relax more. "You don't have to apologize, sweetheart,"

"ummm" she nodded shifting a bit rubbing her cheek slowly against his waistcoat her eyes fluttering closed as she clearly got so cosy in his arms she began to get sleepy confirmed as her jaw falls and she lets out a long yawn

Jack smiled and chuckled quietly as she started rubbing her cheek against his waistcoat, her eyes closing slowly as her jaw fell open with a yawn. She was like a sleepy kitten... she was sleepy and comfy and absolutely adorable in his arms. Her sleepy actions and the way she was rubbing her cheek against his waistcoat stirred his heart and he instinctively wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her against his chest as he chuckled quietly again. "You're a sleepy little thing, aren't you?,"

"mhm" she nodded

Jack chuckled again. Her sleepy nodding only made the realization that she was sleepy and absolutely adorable even more prominent. As she nodded, he smiled and nuzzled his head against hers, his hands gently caressing her waist. She was so damn cute when she was sleepy... he wanted nothing more than to pick her up and carry her up to his bedroom and tuck her into his bed so she could fall asleep in his arms… "A little sleepy kitten...,"

she smiled widely at the name "ummm your kitten" she cooed

Jack smiled widely at how she immediately agreed to the name. She was his. She was his Kitten. He chuckled quietly before gently lifting one of his hands to gently pat her head like he would do to an actual kitten. "Yes, you are. My little Kitten," He cooed back at her. He smiled even wider at the thought of her belonging to him... belonging in his arms...

she smiled happily moving herself slightly so she sat on his left thigh, her head still on his chest and her feet coming up to lay against his right knee bundling herself completely up in his arms like she was reading for a nap right there on his lap

Jack chuckled quietly as she moved and got comfortable in his arms. She was so small and slender that she barely took up any room on his lap. As she sat, she nuzzled her head into his chest and bundled herself up all small like a little kitten, obviously getting herself comfy and ready for a nap. It was absolutely adorable... and once again it stirred his heart. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, one around her waist and the other around her shoulders, holding her snugly against his chest and effectively wrapping her up in his arms completely.

#thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster #tbs imagines #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #tbs imagine #tbs #thomasbrodiesangster #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #jack #dr dawkins #thearttfuldodger #theartfuldogger #the artful dodger #jack imagines #jack dawkins x reader

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simstorian-blog · 9 months ago

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Sandtrap Flat

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Bedford Strait

Lot Size: 30 x 20

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

High School Years

Game Packs

Dream Home Decorator

Parenthood

Strangerville

Kits

Desert Luxe Kit

Build Mode

Felixandre

Soho Pt. 2 (Light Switch Medium, Metal Door Medium)

Harlix

Orjanic Pt.1 (Glass Roof 2)

Harrie

Klean Pt. 2

Klean Pt. 3

Kwatei Pt. 1 (Double Arch Short, Front Door Glass- Medium, Front Door Solid – Short)

Peacemaker

Rustic Siding

Pierisim

Tilable (Plaster)

Woodland Ranch (Wooden Ceiling)

Sundays

Juniper Terrazzo Floor C

Buy Mode

Anniee-sims

Lilah Prints (Mesh Needed)

Anye

Prio (Duvet)

Townhouse (Loopchair)

Awingedllama

Boho Living (Wooden Arch Floor Mirror)

BlueTeas

Curtains

Jasmine Teenage Bedroom (Pendant Lamp)

Allen Seating (Walt Ottoman V2)

CharlyPancakes

Lavish (Clothing Only)

ClutterCat

Baby Boo (Coloring Book, Pouf, Tulip Vase)

BubbleGum (Calendar, Color Candle I Big)

Busy Bee (Glass Jars, Pen Holder, Pencil Case)

Cozy Cocina

Fairylicious (Cushion Pile, Kids Art)

Sunny Sundae Pt. 1 (Candle Small)

Sunny Sundae Pt. 3 (Alarm Clock, Open Book, Vanity Mirror)

CowBuild

Minotti Ottoman I

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 3 (Desktop)

Kyoto Pt. 3 (Bath Tray)

Shop The Look S1 (Magazine Stand, Tassel Rug)

Shop The Look S3

Soho Pt. 1 (Sideboard, Woven Rug)

Soho Pt. 4 (Ficus Planter, Stool)

Harlix

Baysic

Baysic Bathroom

Harluxe (AC Control, Book w Sunglasses, Light Switch, Makeup Tray, Mini Bar)

Jardane (Counter, Grill, Sink – Deep)

Kichen (Bowls, Glasses, Plates)

Livin’ Rum (Bookstand, Coffee Table Book, Frame Tv, Stacking Box)

Orjanic Pt. 2 (Foxglove Vase)

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 1 (Sink, Shelves)

Brutalist Bathroom (Bathtub, Block Vanity – Centre/Curved Left & Right, Frame Mirror – Large, Rectangular Sink, Shower, Tiled Decorative Shelf)

Coastal Pt. 7 (Mirror)

Country (Bed Vase)

Halcyon Kitchen

Shop The Look (Wooden Bowl)

Shop The Look 3 (Coffee Tables, Cushions, End Table)

JoyceIsFox

Simple Live #7 (Cooking Utensils, Double Chopping Board)

KiwiSims4

Blockhouse Dining (Pendants)

Piha Living (Chandeliers)

KKB

Citrus Room (Samsung the Serif Ver1)

Ledger Atelier

Mohan Living Pt. 3 (Sofa)

Nordheim Bathroom Pt. 1 (Bathrobe)

LittleDica

Delicious Kitchen (Paper Towel)

LorySims

2021 Ford Bronco

MyCupofCC

Bathroom Collection (Woven Bath Mat)

Nordica Sims

Art Poster 01

No Style x Woodland

Annika Meabh Sofa

Peacemaker

Creta Kitchen (Bar Fridge, Short Lineal Light Beam)

Ellipse (Ottoman)

Kitayama Bedroom (Half Moon Headboard)

Kassova Sectional

Matilda (Backpack, Jacket, Knit)

Pierisim

David’s Apartment Pt. 1 (Books 3 & 4)

David’s Apartment Pt. 2 (Nightstand, Open Book, Pile of Jumpers 2, Pile of Trousers 1 & 2, Shoes, Wooden Side Table)

MCM Pt. 3 (Metal Sconce 2, Narrow Rug Long, Narrow Rug Short, Wall Mounter Accent Table)

MCM Pt. 5 (Hair Dryer, Hair Straightener, Wigs)

Winter Garden (Olive Tree)

Pilar

Osaka Lamp Oval Large

Plush Pixels

Calm Sofa

Ravasheen

Knit Happens Clutter

Procrafination

RusticSims

Kind of Modular (Books, Deco Jar)

Loft Pt. 1 (Lampara de Pie Petrea)

Sooky88

Justina Blakeney x Loloi Area Rug

Mixed Modern Square Rug

Sundays

Canggu Pt. 3 (Pillows I)

Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow – Solids)

Swell Pt. 1 (Bolster Pillow)

TaurusDesigns

Eliza Walk-in Closet (Clothing Only)

Tuds

CRIB (Pendants – Small/Medium)

Winner9

Yokeda Wall Lamp Triple

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

#simstorian #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #cc #ts4 simblr #build #sims 4 build #oasis springs #bedford strait #sandtrap flat #residential lot #colorful #interior design

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sweetsweetjellybean · 2 years ago

Text

If Tomorrow Never Comes | Part 2 | Never Alone

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Inspired By: As the world burns by @myeuphoricmindset

TW: FemReader, Smut, Mentions of death, mild violence No Minors 18+ Series Masterlist WC:7607

Even though there is no sun, the light here does change. The black veil of night lifts, leaving the world awash in a pale blue half-light. The sun stays forever banished just below the horizon. Steve doesn't see it change this morning. Thick velvet drapes hung with brass rings cover every window of the cottage, keeping out the Upside-Down. His internal clock wakes him, and for the first time in a long time, it's without the heavy dread, without the emptiness. Instead, he wakes with the soft warmth of you gathered in his arms, with hope blossoming. His eyes trace the delicate slope of your peaceful features, committing them to memory. Goddam, you're pretty. He keeps still, letting the soft puffs of your breath fan over his neck, limbs still woven together as tightly as threads on a loom. Holding you like this, maybe it can be enough. These fleeting moments could be enough to get him through each day. Whatever else happens, he could have this. His lips brush your forehead as his eyes blink closed, and he lets himself drift.

Standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the chipped cast iron kitchen sink, you’ve been brushing your teeth for at least five minutes. Sounds of pleasure escape as the minty foam bubbles inside your mouth. Taking a small sip from the canteen, you swish and spit before running your tongue over your lips. Steve chuckles next to you, taking the canteen and doing the same.

“You really like brushing your teeth,” he teases.

“I will not apologize for good hygiene,” you counter, “Would you like to kiss someone with bad breath?”

“Definitely not.” He sets down his toothbrush and steps closer, tongue poking the inside of his lip as he crowds you against the counter. “It’s good to know that won’t be a problem for us going forward.”

Heat creeps up your neck until it settles into your cheeks. Something has changed with him overnight, like a decision has been made.

“You’ve got a little…” Picking up a knitted dish towel from next to the sink, you dab the toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. His hand covers yours, and your heart beats wildly in your chest. He’s got you off-kilter. You’ve never craved attention until you had a taste of his. A few looks, and you're drunk with it.

He turns your hand over and looks down at the towel with a frown. “Why is everything in this house knitted?”

Your smile widens. “I’m not sure.” Pulling your hand away, you fold the towel and place it back on the worn butcher block countertop next to the stacks of kitchen linens and trivets, all knitted in bright-colored yarn. Copper pots and shelves stacked with dishes and crockery line the ivory-painted walls of the rustic kitchen. The well-used avocado green appliances look at least twenty years old, and cozies knitted to look like potted plants cover the kettle and toaster.

“Do you know who lives here?” you ask, eyeing the table set for two with matching knit placemats and napkins, “I mean, on the other side.”

“No idea.” He leans against the counter, eyes roaming around the room. “Maybe there are some family photos around somewhere. Come on.”

His hand is on the small of your back as you follow the hand-tied rug down the hall to the living room, where folded homemade afghans lie over the backs of the two armchairs and a comfortable-looking sofa arranged around the stone fireplace. The mantel is crowded with a collection of framed photos filled with happy faces.

“I like it here.” Taking a seat on the couch, you imagine curling up with a book and enjoying the warmth of a fire.

“Yeah?” He stands at the mantle, squinting at the pictures, “I do, too,” he says absently as he plucks one of the frames from its spot. "Do you want to stay for a while?"

“Is it safe?” You ask as he sits down beside you, clutching the frame, his side pressing into yours. So far, you haven’t slept in the same house twice. Steve preferred to keep on the move, feeling you were most vulnerable at night.

“This place seems pretty solid, and it’s close to the water. I think it’s as safe as anywhere at this point.”

“Then I’d like to stay.”

It feels like you're building a bubble. A place for only the two of you where you could forget about the reaper that's getting closer to knocking at your door. Even if it’s all an illusion, you’re happy to pretend if he’s with you.

“I do know who lives here.” He hands you the frame containing a photo of an older couple posed in front of the cottage, the man's arm wrapped around the woman's shoulder. Instead of looking at the camera, their faces are turned to each other. “This is Mrs. Willard,” he says, tapping the glass, “When I was kid, she used to yell at us if she saw us hanging around downtown. She scared the hell out of me. She's always dressed in black, so all the kids call her a witch. If she caught me, I thought she would eat me like in Red Riding Hood.”

“I think that was Hansel and Grettle.” Tucking your leg underneath your body, you turn into him, setting the frame on your lap. “Red Riding Hood got eaten by the wolf.”

His brows pull together. “I thought it was all the same story."

Laughing, you shake your head in response.

"Anyway," he begins again, pretending to be irritated with your interruption, "My mom told me that her husband died, and she dresses like that because she’s in mourning."

"How long ago did he die?"

"Well, the first time she yelled at me, I was probably about five, looking at the candy in Melvald’s. She told me all my teeth were going to rot and fall out of my head. So he probably died sometime before I was born."

"And she still wears black?" you ask with wide eyes.

He nods. "She still yells at kids too."

Your lips stretch into a grin, and your shoulders rise as you release a sigh.

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"What?"

"I know that look," he says, shaking his head, "You think it's romantic."

"It is!" Your fingers wrap around his forearm.

"It's depressing," he says, laughing at you.

"No. Imagine loving someone so much that even once they're gone, you think about them all the time. A love you can never get over," you explain, squeezing his arm. "That is romantic."

Shaking his head, he glances down at where you're touching him. "I like the way you look at things," he tells you, taking your hand and slipping his fingers into the spaces between yours. “If we're going to stay, we should go into town and get enough food to last us a few days."

"Alright," you say, admiring the way you fit together. Knowing you'll follow him anywhere as long as he keeps holding your hand.

The walk takes longer than expected. Parts of the asphalt have cracked and given way into deep sinkholes that stretch across entire streets, causing you to backtrack and change routes more than once.

"I think we better take everything we can carry," he says as he ties the red bandanna covering his mouth and nose. "We might not be able to come back." The smell of rotten food is wafting through the shattered glass doors of Bradley’s Big Buy. Unprepared on your first visit, Steve threw a brick through the glass, and the stench left you both gagging.

"I'm ready." Your fingers smooth out the cloth covering your face before you follow him through the shattered door. He makes a quick pass across the store, checking down every aisle to make sure you're the only ones in here. After getting the all-clear, you walk to the opposite end of the store, moving up and down the aisles filling your backpack and duffle with anything you deem as a necessity. It's a cruel kind of race to see which will last the longest – your food or the Upside-Down.

Pushing a few cans around on the shelf, you search for the ones that haven't gotten puffy. The zipper on your duffle will never close, but you slip another can of SpaghettiOs in any way, knowing that Steve likes them. Your arms already ache with the thought of carrying all this back to the cottage.

"I'm done," you call out, lugging your bags to the front of the store, where you leave them to search for Steve. Typically much quicker, he's usually by the door tapping his foot, impatient for you to finish. Today you find him between the moldy bread and crackers, boxes of open Twinkies strewn all over the floor, and loaded bags at his feet.

"What are you doing?" You ask, catching him frowning down at the open box in his hands, its contents a putrid green.

"These things are supposed to last forever," he grumbles, tossing the box over his shoulder and reaching for another.

"You don't even like Twinkies, Steve," you point out, amused by the intensity of his search.

He throws another box on the floor and stops with his hands on his hips, looking at you. "Yeah, but you do."

He's trying. The muscle in the center of your chest swells, pushing against your rib cage, feeling too big for such a small space as its rhythm changes like a record skipping to a new song. Your feet carry you towards him without your permission, a sudden shift catching you in the pull of his gravity. Your I'll Never list has just shortened by one–you have definitely lost your head for this boy.

"It's the last box." He picks it up from the otherwise empty shelf, turning it over in his hands before his gaze shifts to you. "I've got a good feeling about this one." His fingers slide beneath the edge of the cardboard breaking the glue. Opening the box, he thumbs threw the cellophane

packets with a sour look. Finally stopping when a devastating smile takes over his handsome face.

He pulls out a single package, letting the box with the rest fall to the floor. Holding up the pristine cakes proudly, he quirks his eyebrows at you, looking just as smug as when you laid eyes on his other package yesterday in the cave.

"Remind me never to bet against you, Harrington," you say, returning his smile.

He answers with a wink, tucking them away into the breast pocket of his vest. "We'll save these for later."

Later is a decadent concept when it may never come, but delaying will make it taste even sweeter. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and his eyes linger there. He must know that, too.

“We should go.”

“Alright.” He retrieves his bags and accompanies you to the front of the store, where he waits for you to adjust the full backpack on your shoulders. The large glass windows begin to rattle in their frames, and a vibration runs under your feet.

“Shit.” Steve drops his duffle and reaches out to grab your shoulder as sounds of jars smashing and cans falling off the shelves fill the store. The tremor intensifies, sending you careening forward, falling against him. The weight in your pack adds to the force knocking you both to the ground. When you land on top of him the air is driven from your lungs. Strong arms wrap around you, holding you to his chest. One of the big grocery shelves tips over, starting a domino effect. A crack appears on the ground, widening as it lengthens, running straight toward you. Steve rolls you both away as it shoots past, leaving him on top. Then, as quickly as it started, it ends, everything goes still and quiet.

“Are you okay?” He asks a bit too loud, considering your face is inches from his. Sucking in panicked breaths, you manage to nod. He rolls off you onto his back and scrubs his face with both hands. “That was intense. The quakes are getting worse,” he says, trying to regulate his own breathing as the adrenaline leaves him.

“I think I’ve had enough shopping for one day,” you quip.

“Me too,” he chuckles beside you. “Let’s get out of here.”

The street outside Bradley's didn’t fare any better than inside the store. The fissure that started inside zig zags across the road leaving the building across the street torn in two, collapsing into a deep chasm. A look shared between you is easy to interrupt–you were lucky.

The destruction means you can’t travel the same route you used to get there, taking you further into a section of town that was already crumbling. Smoke filling the air from the nearby fire mixes with the low-lying mist that is a permanent resident here, making it harder to see more than a few meters ahead. You're shifting your duffle from one arm to the other when Steve's arm shoots out across your body, halting you in your tracks. With his other hand, he brings his index finger to his lips, then points ahead of you.

Three full-grown Demodogs are becoming visible through the fog, their attention drawn to something squirming between them. Their horrible petal mouths are open, jaws snapping and tearing at the whining creature they're feeding from. Steve hands you his duffle and reaches over his shoulder for the spiked bat sticking out of his pack. He points at an alleyway up ahead and motions for you to follow. Your eyes widen, and you shake your head no, tilting your head back in the direction you came. No, he mouths, pointing at the alley, Trust me. But your gaze moves back to the monsters, the wet squelching of their mouths louder in your ears. He steps in front of you, one hand cupping your jaw, tilting your chin towards him. Trust me, he mouths again. This time you nod, comforted by the deep hazel of his eyes.

A small smile is your confirmation. The warmth of his hand leaves your face as he turns away from you and takes a few steps toward the alley, looking over his shoulder to make sure you're following. Ice water has replaced your blood, your heart pumps overtime sending it through your veins, making each step forward a struggle. There's a voice screaming for you to turn around and run, but you trust Steve, so you follow.

Their growls and chitters drown out the sound of your footfalls as you approach the mouth of the alley. As you round the corner, you catch a glimpse of what they're eating. Fear rushes over you in a dark, suffocating wave, the slick gray spotted body of another dog torn open, washed in its own blood. Your hands start to shake, and nausea sets in. The fog seems to permeate your mind. Every line of thought frays at the ends, leaving the one terrible inescapable truth repeating.

This is the end. This is the end. This is the end.

The ashen color that replaced the glow on your skin is one that Steve is familiar with, along with the blank look and the awkward movements of your steps. You’re going into shock. He had seen it happen enough with the others to recognize the signs. He grips your arm above your elbow and steers you down the alley, needing to get you away in case your feet stop cooperating altogether.

After crossing a few more streets, the smoke starts to thin. There is less damage to this section of town. The rasp that accompanies your breaths is making him nervous. He pries his duffle from your grip, slinging it over his shoulder so he can wrap his arm around your waist, drawing you closer.

“You're okay,” he soothes, “We’re both alright. I’ll get you out of here—just breathe through your nose. Pull down your bandana.”

Relief floods him when you reach up with one hand and yank it off your face. “Good girl. Keep breathing nice and steady. I’m right here with you,” he says, hurrying you along. The streets have become residential, and he directs you through a maze of neighborhoods and backyards, recognizing spots where he played as a child. No, not here. This isn’t home, he thinks, spotting the collection of cracked and broken garden gnomes on Mr. Larson’s front lawn. It’s a nightmare, a cheap knock-off, and as he looks toward the horizon, he realizes nothing could ever replace the real Indiana sky.

The outlines of the angry storm clouds are still evident even as the dim light fades into the velvet of night, but the flashes of red have been replaced by a smooth, rolling emerald light mixing with pinks and violets—an aurora caused by the gasses being released as the atmosphere cracks. Dustin. That little shit. He was right. It’s happening just as he had warned Steve it would. He wishes he could tell him.

He glances at you and sees your eyes fixed on the display above, your breathing faltering. Pulling you against him a little tighter, he quickens his pace.

"No, Steve. Stop," you say, planting your feet, "Just stop."

Your voice startles him. It feels like he hasn't heard it for so long. He lets you pull away and watches as you drop your duffle to the ground.

"Didn’t you see? They were eating each other?" Standing in the near darkness, you rub the ache from your arm.

"I know," he says in a calm voice.

"You know what that means.” The look on your face is one of resignment.

“Don't think about that right now, okay?” He steps closer, wanting to touch you, but runs a hand through his hair instead. “We need to get back to the cottage. We'll be safe there.”

“Safe?”

“I can protect you there.” He gestures in the direction of the woods. The little house is not far now. The disbelief in your voice is making him feel out of control. You’ve never doubted him, and he needs your faith now more than ever. “I'll close the shutters, and we'll move some furniture in front of the doors.”

“Steve,” your tone is feather-light, both hands land on his chest, one smoothing to his shoulder, “There are some things I want you to know-”

“No,” he cuts you off, pushing at your hands with no real force.

Circling his neck, you pull his head down until his forehead is pressed against yours. “You’ve been so brave and strong. I’m so grateful.”

"Stop. Don't talk like that." He straightens up and cups your jaw tilting you back to look into your eyes.

“You deserve to kn-”

“No, not yet. This isn’t the end. It can’t be.” He came to this place ready to die, but you made him take the risk and keep living. He’s not ready to give up and won’t let you either. “I need more time. I'm just figuring it out.”

“What is it?” you ask, gripping his wrist, “What are you figuring out?” The thick cover of clouds has thinned, no match for the colors dancing all around you. He can see their brightness gleaming in your eyes.

“That you're all I need.”

It's not a choice anymore when his lips press against yours. It's just something that is, like the rain or a season. It comes whether it's beckoned or not. He feels a little foolish that he was ever unsure when you kiss him back like you've been his from the start. Always so busy trying to be the hero he almost missed it when someone saved him in return.

Fingers wandering along your jaw, he swallows your sighs and your air, your want until he feels your hands wrapping around his waist, pulling him close, then he gives it right back. The world around you passes in a blur while tongues and swollen lips move languid and deep. This is where he lives now, in this kiss. All along, you've been his reward, and now that he's claimed you, he won't ever let go. He would've stayed here forever until your soft whisper between a series of broken-up kisses.

"Steve, take me home."

The cottage is quiet until you hear the first bang of the shutters being closed, followed by the slide of the bolt. After leaving the bags of food in the kitchen, you stand in the living room wiping your palms on the front of your jeans, counting each strike of the wood against the walls as Steve moves around the outside of the house, knowing that each one is bringing him closer to coming through the front door. Your fingers touch your kiss-stung lips, still feeling how his mouth pressed against yours, creating a loop of electricity, passing from him into you, making your heart glow like a bulb, lighting up every secret place inside you until you had nowhere left to hide the truth. You've completely fallen for him.

He walks inside, his eyes seeking out yours. A lock of hair falls over his brow as his lips turn upward, and he reaches for you. A hand on your waist, the other gripping your chin tilting your face to catch your bottom lip between his.

"Help me move this." He kisses you once more before motioning you to the other end of the heavy oak credenza. It scrapes and catches against the wood-planked floor, but you manage to wedge it up against the door.

The tension feels thicker than the fog rolling over the dry lake bed when you're finally closed in together. His flashlight clicks on, casting a dim beam in the direction of the bedroom. Eyes on each other, you wait to see who will be the first to crack—it's you. Taking his hand with a gentle pull, you lead him down the hall. The uneven floor creaks as you shuffle into the bedroom, letting go of his hand, you stop at the foot of the bed and wait. It's his turn now.

Your fingers fist the cuffs of your sweatshirt while he goes about his routine. Flashlight on top of the dresser. Bat leaning by the door. Knife and Barretta on the nightstand, and then his heavy backpack hits the floor, followed by his jacket and vest. He sneaks glances at you the entire time, checking for signs that you’ve changed your mind, but you’ve never been more sure.

“You left the flashlight on,” you remind him when he moves into your space. He has been like that since you met, always standing a little too close. This whole wide world all to yourselves, and he was never more than a few inches away.

“I want to see you,” he admits. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," comes out breathy as his thumb traces across your cheek. Remembering the way the water dripped down his chest in the cave has you hoping the batteries will last.

His head dips to capture your lips in a slow wet slide while his hands cradle your jaw, angling your head to take the kiss deeper. Dreamy minutes tick by, his attention never leaving your mouth. His controlled pace makes you feel needy and wanton. When you feel the sharp edge of his teeth against your lip, you know you aren't alone. Hands slide down your nape, across your shoulders, skimming down your sides. Fingers coming to rest in the hem of your sweatshirt.

"Can I take this off?"

You're so lightheaded it takes seconds to respond. Nodding your head and raising your arms toward the beamed ceiling. His hands grip the layers of material, riding you of them all at once instead of one at a time. The gold in his eyes turns molten as they pass over every curve and line he's uncovered. His knuckles turn white, fisting your shirt, and how he looks at you makes your knees a bit weak. Pulling your clothes from his hands, you let them fall to the floor.

"You're so goddamn pretty," he says, barely louder than a whisper.

"I know," you tease, earning you an easy smile and his hands on your waist, drawing you close. His head drops to your neck, chuckling against your skin, making your whole body break out in shivers.

"You're funny." His lips move on your skin before placing a wet kiss on a spot that has your toes curling inside your boots. "There were a couple of times I had to try really hard not to laugh.”

“I-I knew…you were holding out on me, Harrington,” you stammer as he moves to the spot below it.

“I wanted you to keep trying,” he says, adding gentle suction.

Whatever you were going to say comes out in a whine, but it was probably something like, please don't stop. He continues down to your collarbone, hands stroking up your back, releasing the catch on your bra. Letting the strap fall down your shoulders, you pull it out from between you as his mouth reaches the swell of your breast. Warm hands cup you as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

“Steve,” you beg when he switches to the other side, not knowing if you want him to stop or give you more. Tugging him up by the collar, you crash your lips into his, but he slows you down with the backs of his fingers along your cheeks and a kiss so gentle it makes you want to cry. He walks you backward until your butt hits the mattress, and he leans forward, laying you down carefully until you're leaning on your elbows. With another soft press of his mouth, Steve straightens and sighs, looking down at you spread out for him.

“I would never have stopped,” you say when he lifts your foot and presses it against his thigh to loosen your laces. He swallows hard, nodding in understanding before he goes back to removing your boots and socks. This feels so different. He's making it different, taking care of every part of you like he wants it all.

Your fingers find their way into the gaps of the knitted afghan you're lying on while you watch him take off his boots and shirt. A dark patch of hair starts at the center of his chest and fans out. Even in this dark place, his skin looks golden. This is really happening. A flutter of nerves mixes with tingles of arousal.

His knee hits the edge of the bed, and you inch back toward the center as he crawls over you, settling into the cradle of your thighs. Skin finally meeting skin, you each release identical sighs.

"I should have kissed you when we were in the cave," he says, lips ghosting a path along your cheek.

"It's okay." Your eyes are heavy-lidded as you run your hands over the dips in his spine, enjoying the feel of him. "You're kissing me now."

"I should have kissed you every day." He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth before pulling back and smoothing the hair at your temples. "I'm sorry I wasted so much time."

"Steve," you cradle his jaw, "You were worth the wait." Your whole life, you've been waiting for him, and the way he's kissing you now, you'd have waited even longer. Every kiss is a poem—pretty words printed on lips and tongues. Every touch is a story all its own.

He toys with the button on your jeans. Your zipper being lowered sounds like a needle dragging across a record. Moving onto his knees, he drags the denim down your legs, kissing each hip and your soaked panty-covered center before removing those too.

Kneeling to join him, your mouth finds the sharp line of his stubbled jaw. He groans, head tipping back, giving you better access to place soft, gentle bites along the column of his throat while your hands open his belt and pants. When you look down, the broad head of his cock is already pushing through the band of his boxers. Grabbing both layers, you ease them off his hips. He helps by pushing them the rest of the way down his legs, sending them to the floor with a kick.

Bared to each other in the yellow glow of the flashlight, you can feel the pages flipping by. Time is a luxury, but you won’t rush to the end. Laying down beside each other, you explore everything you've uncovered. In this moment, he’s yours. It feels decadent to touch him—a layer of softness over lean muscle. You’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.

His hands slide over you, warming your skin, molding to each curve. Every inch of you is admired. When his fingers move between your legs, your vision gets hazy, stars bursting at the edges. He spreads slickness through your folds while his lips stay pressed against yours. The warm blanket of pleasure becomes hotter, heavier—you grip his forearm with a shaking hand.

“Don’t be scared,” he says against your lips, “Tonight is for us.”

“I’m not scared,” you reply, pulling him closer, you can’t think of any place safer than in his arms.

“Why are you trembling?” He asks, brows pulling together.

“Because I’ve never wanted anything this much.”

Your legs fall open as he positions himself between them, lining up with your entrance. No doubts that you both are ready. He's slow and gentle with his first push inside you. Your body stretches and takes, then stretches and takes some more. He's about halfway when you can't help but clench around him, and he thrusts forward with a moan. Your back arches involuntarily, feeling fuller than you've ever been before.

"Sorry." He nudges you with his nose.

"Don't apologize." You kiss wherever you can reach. "Do it again."

He chuckles, and his hips flex enough to have your breath catching, still getting used to his size.

"You feel so good." His eyes briefly close as your walls flutter around him, and he begins to move in slow, shallow strokes. "Like you're made for me, honey."

You're starting to think maybe you were. Maybe you were made for each other. He drops to his forearms, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours. His hand slides over your hip and down your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist so can bury himself deeper. He rocks into you with a steady pace, gazes locked, trading sighs, impossible to be any closer. The ache in your heart swells, spreading through you. A tear spills over your lash line, it's too much for you to contain.

"I love you," you whisper as he wipes it with his thumb. "I thought you should know."

His movements still. He stares down at you and swallows hard, trying to loosen the tightness in his throat. "Tell me again."

"I love you."

Taking your hand, he holds it against the center of his chest. His heart beats against your palm. He's been telling you this whole time. He smiles, and it feels brighter than the sun. Your hand stays pressed against the warm skin over his heart as his head dips, sealing his soft lips to yours.

His kiss is filled with words left unsaid and unrestrained desire. Your hips roll involuntarily, desperate for friction as you whimper into his mouth. He breaks away with a scrape of teeth and hungry eyes.

"I need you," he mumbles, lifting your hips to change the angle. His hand grips the back of your thigh, pushing it toward your chest, using it as leverage as he drives into you with smooth deep rolling thrusts. Jolts of white-hot pleasure bloom from your core and radiate to every cell when he finds that switch inside you. The one that has you crying out. The one that didn’t exist before him. You’re not surprised. He’s good at everything he does.

“That’s it, honey. I want to hear all those pretty noises.” His fingers tighten, pressing into the plush of your thigh as his hips snap forward. The smacks of skin on skin become the baseline for your harmony of moans and pleas. Your heels dig into his backside as your hips rise to meet his thrusts. The chill in the room does nothing to calm the heat between you or the sheen of sweat covering your bodies.

"Steve...I–"

Threads of love and pleasure weave together until they're a single silken cord pulling taunt inside you. He releases your thigh, working his hand between you, his thumb circling your slick clit.

"Please, baby. I want to feel you cum."

The rasp in his voice. The desperate look on his face. You're his, and there's nothing you'd deny him. The cord snaps with you crying out his name, pulsing around him, fingers digging into the muscles that cap his shoulders. Euphoria crests in big surges that go on and on as he thrusts lose their tempo. He groans as warmth starts to fill you, painting your walls white with his release.

He eases onto you, and you take his weight cradling him to your chest.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," you whisper, maybe too low for him to hear, your hands smooth over his back while your legs wrap tightly around him. He kisses along your temple before taking your face in his hands.

"I don't regret a single decision that led me to you."

For an instant, you live a lifetime that could have been in each other's eyes. Then his head lowers, and your eyes close. Tender kisses turn hot, and he’s hard inside you. Distant howls echo through the dead trees while strange winds rattle the shutter of the cottage, but both go unnoticed as you claim the night as yours. Each time he has you, the need for each other only grows. After your bodies have given each other everything there is to give, sleep steals you away a few hours before the light changes.

He's still holding you when the vibrations send the bedside lamp crashing to the floor. Wisps of smoke curl in the air when you wake up in the hazy room with a burning throat and begin coughing. Steve grabs your arm and pulls you from the bed. He braces one arm against the door frame and holds you against his chest with the other. The tremors increase. The sounds of falling things and breaking dishes mix with the rumbling of the earth. A crack forms at the bottom of the far wall and runs diagonally toward the ceiling. A scream rips from your dry throat when the window explodes into a shower of glass, and smoke pours into the room.

“We’ve gotta get out now,” Steve yells when the quake abruptly stops. “Get dressed and grab what you can.”

Grabbing your crumpled jeans from the floor, you slide them over your hips and shove your feet into your boots. Your sweatshirt sticks out from under the bed, and when you kneel to grab it, the black metal handle of the Baretta catches your eye. Steve has finished dressing and is grabbing his pack and bat when you finish pulling the sweatshirt over your head.

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand for you to take. He leads you into the living room, where half the ceiling has collapsed, spoiling any chance of you moving the heavy credenza that blocks the front door.

“The window,” you cry, backtracking into the bedroom with Steve right behind you. He lifts you through the broken frame but is left with no choice other than to grip the window frame to climb out. Jagged glass slicing his hand in the process.

“Your hand.” Your fingers circle his wrist, trying to assess the damage.

“It’s alright,” he says, pulling a bandana from his pocket and squeezing it into his fist,“We have to go.” His injured hand goes around your shoulder, turning you away from the cottage. Blood flows through the gaps of his fingers, dripping onto your sweatshirt as he keeps you tucked into his side.

The dense, acrid smoke makes finding your way through the trees hard. Smoldering twigs and vines rain down all around you, igniting piles of dry leaves on the forest floor. Your mouth opens with a gasp when your eyes turn skyward to see the treetops blazing and the billows of rolling red and orange flames that have replaced the dark clouds, completely consuming the atmosphere. The smoke thins as you make it out of the woods and into the open center of the dry lake.

Hot tears pour from your eyes, leaving streaks of soot down your face, and you can't stop coughing, trying to clear your distressed lungs. The quarter-full canteen from Steve’s pack is pressed into your hands.

“Drink it,” he rasps, coughing and spitting the black from his lungs.

Twisting the top, you gulp it, careful to drink only half. He shakes his head when you hold it out to him, but you take his hand and wrap it around the bottle, not giving him a choice. With an annoyed look, he finishes the water.

“What do we do?” you ask, panicked, watching his head turn back and forth, trying to decide the best course of action. The smoke and fog make it hard to see more than fifty feet in any direction. He looks down at your alarmed face, the sorrow in his eyes giving you his answer.

No. It can't be over. Pressing the heels of your hands to your forehead, you wrack your brain for any answer.

"The cave," you grasp his arms, pleading.

"Is it deep enough?" He asks, the doubt written on his face.

"I-I don't know." You shake your head with fresh tears filling your eyes.

His face hardens in determination. "Let's go."

Hands locked together, you race through the tangle of vines covering the limestone bed toward the other side of the lake, where the cave is tucked into the side of a hill just beyond the edge of the woods. Glancing back over your shoulder, you can see a wall of flames has crashed like a wave engulfing the houses and the little cottage cutting you off from the way back to town. The smoke thickens as the wind picks up, shortening your field of vision and slowing you down.

"Almost there," Steve reassures as you do your best to keep up with his long strides.

You doubt your ears when you first hear it, thinking it's just a tree snapping and the roar of the fire. It's the high pitch chittering that has terror creeping up your spine. Its outline becomes visible through the smoke. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Petal mouth in full bloom. Your body freezes in place. Your grip on Steve’s hand tightens like a vice.

“Stay behind me,” he tells you, shaking his hand from your clasp as the monster comes into full view. It limps forward, smoke rising from charred skin covering half its body, its damaged clawed limb hanging loosely at its side—sticky strings of saliva drip from its rows of teeth.

Steve waves a hand behind him, motioning for you to stay back while he steps forward with caution. He plants his feet, twirling the bat before catching it with his other hand, holding it up high over his shoulder. His fingers open and close around the handle to adjust his grip. A low growl vibrates the flaps of its open mouth as the thing keeps moving forward.

“We don’t have to do this,” Steve says in a low, calm voice, “You’re already hurt. Just let us walk on by.”

You’re astonished when the monster stops, like maybe it understood him, and for a heartbeat, you think it may have listened.

It charges forward with a deafening roar, claw swiping at Steve's head. Missing when Steve drops into a low batter’s crouch, swinging his bat and connecting with the burned half of its abdomen. It shrieks when the nails tear through its flesh. Black blood pouring from the wound. Steve gives it no time to recover. Hitting it again and again, driving the thing back. It howls, disappearing into the smoke.

Your pulse is drumming in your ears as everything goes quiet. Steve stands there, elbow up, ready to swing. Trees pop and crackle as the fire spreads through the woods. Your eyes strain, trying to see into the smoke, but there's nothing. Adrenaline starts to dissipate, and Steve's arm comes down slowly. He glances over his shoulder, giving you a smug smile, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

It pounces from the fog, screeching. Backhanding Steve, sending him flying. He hits the ground hard, rolling, trying to get to his feet, but the monster is already too close, on all fours, ready to strike.

"No!" you scream, drawing its attention. Reaching back, your hand closes over the grip of the Barretta tucked into your jeans. The thing looks at you, and you fire. The bullet punches through the burnt skin of its shoulder. With an ear-splitting scream, it gallops toward you. Your finger squeezes the trigger in rapid succession. Unloading the clip. Missing more than you hit. Its claw rips through your forearm, knocking the gun from your hand. Clutching your arm, you fall backward onto your butt, trying to inch away.

It knows it has you now. Dropping to all fours, it slowly crawls over you, drooling onto your clothes. It blows its wet breath into your face as it chitters. Your stomach rolls at the stench, and your eyes flutter close as it rears back to strike.

Wetness splatters your face. The axe head is logged halfway into the back of the monster's thick neck. With a gurgle, the thing falls to its side. With your good arm and feet, you scurry backward away from it. Blood runs down the side of Steve's face from where the skin is split open on his forehead. Breathing hard, he stomps his boot onto the shoulder of the creature. There's a wet sucking sound as he pulls the axe from its neck. He grunts, bringing it down over and over until the monster's head is separated from its body.

The axe clangs when it hits the ground. Steve wipes the blood from his eyes with the back of his hands. It’s too much, you want to be brave for him, but you can’t hold back the tears.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he says in a soft voice helping you to your feet, “Don’t cry.” He wraps his blood-soaked bandana around your arm and pulls you into his chest. “You’re alright.”

Your hands wrap around his waist, dipping under his shirt so you can feel his smooth skin under your fingers while he rubs reassuring circles up and down your back as your teardrops darken the leather of his jacket.

"Aren't you glad you taught me to shoot?" you ask, sniffing into his shoulder, smiling when you feel his chest vibrating with laughter.

"I guess it came in handy after all," he says with his lips kissing along your temple.

"You saved me, Steve."

"I didn't–"

"You did."

"I didn't, but I wish I had."

"Look at me." He cradles your jaw to tip your head back, and the small motion leaves you dizzy. As you stand in each other's embrace, the haze and smoke have thickened.

“You’re beautiful.” His thumb rubs along your cheek, and you laugh, knowing you're covered with soot and gore. “You are, and you deserve to know.”

“Thank you,” you say, knowing why he’s telling you. While you fought off the monster, the blaze swept through the woods, leaving walls of fire surrounding the lake. The vines covering the bed have started to catch. Soon the flames on the ground will flare higher, joining the fiery sky. The planet will heat and explode. The two of you will become bright lights in the cosmos. Constellations. Star dust. Souls forever wandering the galaxies.

"I love you," he tells you with tears in his eyes, "I do. I love you."

"I love you too." Your throat burns with the effort to speak.

"Close your eyes."

Your eyes close as his head dips and his soft lips press against yours. His hand slides to the back of your neck and you cling to him. Trading breaths, tongues dancing.

This kiss is a thousand words.

This kiss is goodbye.

The heat is at your back and through your closed eyes the light gets brighter. His grip on you tightens before the kiss breaks and you hear him calling out your name. When you look for him, it's too bright to see, like you're staring into the sun. His hands slip as he's pulled away from you, sliding over your shoulders and arms until you're connected by just your fingertips.

"No. El." His voice comes from far away. Echoing down a tunnel. "Not without her."

"Steve," you scream as his fingers slip away. "Steve!" But you're alone with the howl of the wind and the taste of smoke in your mouth. Your hands come up to shield your face as the light gets brighter, and then there's nothing.

Part 3 Here

AN: So what do you think is in store for these two? Are they going to make it? Thanks to everyone who took the time to comment & reblog Part 1. Writing this fic has been challenging, so the comments meant a lot. But even if you're shy and don't like to comment but still took the time to read I'm still very grateful. My asks are always open, (Anon or Not) Do me a soild and reblog if you liked it. 💋 -Jelly

Another big thanks to @myeuphoricmindset for letting me adapt her concept.

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfiction #if tomorrow never comes

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imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese · 2 months ago

Text

Destinytober24: Day 23 - Perfection

Dinner for three.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Very good. Now, focus on the interstitial aspects of the crystalline structure. Feel how you can weaken or strengthen the bonds through the nature of its geometric arrangement. You are seeking to locate and place pressure on the liminal spaces between the bonds. This will enable you to reinforce the foundation or shatter it."

"I see now. Yes. It is not the edges but the inner composition."

"Precisely. Now, try to win… if you can."

Eris Morn and Ikora Rey floated a few feet apart from each other in the middle of Ikora's living room inside of the Warlock Vanguard's apartments within the Tower. Their hands were outstretched. Between them, a sphere of Stasis was simultaneously forming and being dissipated as each one attempted to gently undo the work of the other's manipulation of the entropic forces they had manifested between them.

It was an exercise that the Drifter and Eris had practiced together on Europa, taught to them by Elsie Bray. Eris was now using it to teach Ikora some of the finer points of Stasis wielding.

Ikora's living room was half library, half dining area, with three of its four walls covered in immaculately arranged bookshelves.

The two women hovered in the air over a large woven rug with an intricate pattern. The rug covered one half of the floor. The other half of the floor was hardwood, a luxury few in the Last City could afford. In the middle of that half of the room, a beautifully carved dining table was set for three, with a lit candelabra in the centre, fine china, and long stemmed wine glasses.

Through an archway there was a loud sizzling sound and the occasional clatter of pans and cooking. The Drifter had taken over Ikora's kitchen for the evening.

Ikora's half of the Stasis sphere seemed to be overtaking Eris' but the Warlock had known Eris long enough to assume her three-eyed friend would not lose so easily.

"Alright, alright, alright," the Drifter stepped out of the kitchen, his hands covered in oven mitts with beautiful purple embroidery on them.

"Oooh! You're doing the take over the world thing! That's fun." He walked over to where Ikora was floating and looked up at the sphere.

"Uh oh, Ray-ray. You're about to lose."

"Am I?" Ikora asked idly.

"Uh… yup. You're too focused on the outside. Ya left your middle undefended. She can just…"

Ikora's eyes narrowed. Three cracks appeared across her side of the structure. The Warlock concentrated, trying to knit them together.

"…do that. Now you're screwed. Ya can't recover from that."

The corner of Eris' lip quirked as one third of the sphere shattered, causing a chain reaction which reduced the rest of the structure to small shards. The shards fell down onto the carpet where they glittered prettily like glass beads in the light as they slowly began to dissipate.

"Eris is a very aggressive player," the Drifter explained. "Ya can't over extend or she'll get right in there. And she's super fast too. As soon as ya start goin' in for the kill, that's when she springs, like a steel trap. Gotta go heavy on the defense with Three-Eyes or she'll pop ya right open just like that."

"I see." Ikora slowly descended to the floor.

"You are giving away all my secrets, Rat." Eris said as she, too, began floating toward the floor.

"Ya beat the pants offa me enough times before I figured that one out. She needs every advantage she can get. Speakin' of, can I interest you two badasses in fortifyin' yourselves for your next battle with dinner?"

"Yes," Eris answered immediately, walking toward the table. "We've been smelling it for the past hour."

"Sit yourselves down and I'll bring it right out."

Ikora sat at the head of the table with Eris to her side. The Drifter was back quickly, carrying the only kitchen implement he insisted upon bringing with him to Ikora's apartment: His cast iron frying pan. A loud hissing was coming from the pan, along with considerable smoke.

The rogue Lightbearer pulled out tongs he'd shoved handle-first into a pocket and placed a sizzling steak on each plate. Then he circled back to each plate in turn, drizzling the hot liquid from the pan onto the meat and placing several crisped herbs on top of each portion.

Eris's eyes dimmed slightly as she inhaled deeply, leaning over her plate.

"Now don't touch it for six minutes."

"What?" Eris's eyes flared bright again. "Why?"

"Because the meat needs to nap first."

"That is ridiculous."

"Trust me on this one. It's gotta take a little nap on your plate before ya cut into it or it won't be as good."

"Surely this is simply for dramatics."

Ikora sat back in her chair and watched them bicker with a bemused smile.

"No. It's not for dramatics. If it was for dramatics I'd be telling you somethin' like…"

He held the empty pan out and waved the tongs over it with a flourish as he spoke while deliberately looking off to the side with his eyes closed.

"Do ya feel the eerie movements of the dead animal's life force skitterin' around as I do… in the delirium between death and life, it broods upon yer plate… Knowin' you are about to consume it into yer vicious hungry maws… devourin' its flesh to take its power and infuse it inta yer own. Ooooh Oooohhhh!" He shivered in an exaggerated manner.

Ikora burst out laughing.

Eris stiffened. "I do not sound like that."

"Well now I didn't say ya did. I was just showin' what it would be if I was bein' dramatic, Moondust. Not everything's about you."

Eris turned to Ikora. "Do I sound like that?"

Ikora covered her mouth with her hand. "Sometimes a little bit."

Eris glared up at the Drifter. He spread his arms out wide and leaned across the table, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Six minutes," he insisted. "You! Ghost!"

A single tone came from Eris' pocket.

"Time that."

The tone came again.

"Now don't cheat, Three-Eyes." He pointed at her with the tongs. "I'll be right back."

"I am not the one who cheats," she called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Ikora laughed again.

As promised the Drifter returned almost immediately, carrying one of Ikora's pans filled with buttery golden mushrooms. He placed a heap of them on top of the steak on each plate before making two more trips to the kitchen. The Drifter brought back long green beans in some sort of sauce and small roasted potatoes tossed with herbs, placing them around the steaks on each plate with the tongs. On his third trip he returned with an opened bottle of red wine.

"It smells so good." Eris murmured as the Drifter sat, picking up Ikora's glass and filling it half way with wine.

Then he stopped. He tilted his head before lifting the glass up and down in his hand, feeling its weight, and then holding it up to examine it carefully near the candle flames.

"Ooooh."

He placed the wine bottle down and reached out with his other hand to lightly flick the side of the glass. It made a pleasant chiming sound.

"You hear that?" he asked Eris.

"Yes," Eris looked across the table at him, confused.

"This is actual crystal." he said. He looked over at Ikora, clearly impressed.

"Yes, it is." Ikora said warmly.

"I do not understand," Eris regarded him, perplexed at his behaviour. "What is the difference?"

"Well, it's thinner," the Drifter explained as he finished pouring wine into Ikora's glass and reached out for Eris'. "More delicate, but also heavier, and the sound."

He flicked Eris' glass, It was empty and made a higher pitched sound.

"I heard. Does it have a… different chemical composition from glass?"

"Yeah. Lead maybe? I can't remember."

"Lead, yes." Ikora confirmed.

"This stuff hasn't been made in a very, very long time." He filled Eris' glass with wine and handed it to her. "This is old-old. Rare. I knew Vanguard would be high-class, but damn."

"It was a gift," Ikora explained. "I do not use them often. Eris said you were excited to cook something special for us. It seemed appropriate to bring out the fancy glasses."

"I wish I'd brought a fancier wine." He filled his own glass and placed the bottle on the table, holding the glass up to the light and looking at it. "Damn!"

The Drifter's ghost emitted its single tone from Eris' pocket.

The Drifter placed his wine glass down on the table and held up both his hands to show Eris and Ikora that they were empty. He wriggled his fingers and snapped both his hands with an exaggerated movement that flicked his wrists to the sides. A fork and knife materialized seemingly out of nowhere.

"Show time," the Drifter announced and began cutting into the meat on his plate.

Ikora raised one amused eyebrow and mentally reminded herself to count the fancy glasses after the Drifter had left. He wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't. It would upset Eris and he would not do that. But still… it was him…

Eris picked up her cutlery and eagerly cut off a piece of steak, putting it into her mouth. Her eyes dimmed as she chewed. Her usual slightly frowning expression began to shift, the corners of her lips lifting involuntarily into a smile as the Drifter watched her from his side of the table, a mixture of pride and delight on his face.

"Iss… so good." Eris mumbled through her mouthful of steak.

One of the system's most notorious criminals looked almost bashful as his eyes turned toward the Vanguard spymaster, seeking her approval of the meal.

Ikora finished chewing the small bite of steak she had sliced for herself and took a sip of wine. The Drifter licked his lips.

"It is. It is very good." Ikora confirmed and smiled at him.

The Drifter's face was downright gleeful as he grinned and took a bite of his own. "Oh yeah," he said out of the side of his mouth while he chewed it slowly. "This right here? This is what perfection tastes like. This. Right here. Right now." He swallowed and sipped his wine before repeatedly skewering mushroom slices on his fork until they formed a small frilly mouthful which he proceeded to devour.

"I am inclined to agree," Ikora said warmly and continued slicing her food into small pieces, taking polite and careful bites, her elbows off the table.

The Drifter reached his left arm out along the table and Eris did the same with her right, idly sliding her fingers into his hand in an automatic way that made it clear they did this all the time.

Ikora watched them as she sipped her wine, seeing the genuine adoration on the Drifter's face as he seemed to have difficulty looking away from Eris for any length of time. Meanwhile Eris moved with a comfortable ease that Ikora had not seen her display in a very, very long time. The Warlock felt like a weight was lifting off of her the more she watched them.

Eris was happy. She was sitting at Ikora's dinner table in civilian clothes. The top half of her face was still bandaged, albeit with a nicer cloth than she wore on the Moon. Her three Hive eyes still dripped ichor down her cheeks in endless tears, but Ikora saw parts of the Eris she had known centuries ago returning beneath them.

"This is one of them perfect moments you were talkin' about, Moondust," the Drifter said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, almost reverent, as he chewed his steak.

"Hmmm…?"

"This, right now. Good food. Good friends. Fancy as fuck wine glasses."

Both Eris and Ikora smirked at the honesty in his crudeness.

"This one of those times we file away in our brains and keep. Somethin' special to hold onto when shit gets bad. A good memory for when things are makin' it so you can't remember what feelin' good feels like. This is one of those times you keep in your back pocket and hold close so you can remind yourself that good things do actually happen sometimes. That they did actually happen to you. That it's possible they can happen to you again."

Eris squeezed his hand. "Yes. It is."

She reached out with her left hand and opened it in front of Ikora. Ikora placed her own well manicured fingers between Eris' calloused ones, noting how cool her skin was to the touch, how firmly Eris gripped her hand, and how contented the sigh was that left Eris' lips.

There was movement out of the corner of her eye and Ikora looked away from Eris in surprise to see the Drifter's open hand tentatively reached out toward her. He did not make eye contact with her and continued to look at Eris. He was holding his breath.

Ikora raised an eyebrow but took the criminal's hand in hers as well, feeling the warmth coming from him. It was, she realized, the first time she and the Drifter had ever physically touched each other. Ikora watched as a small, almost shy smile overtook his face.

The three of them sat like that together, simply feeling the moment in quiet appreciation. They did not stay that way for long, but it felt significant. Purposeful. A deliberate choice to share in a silent communion. There was weight to it and all three of them felt it. It felt right.

And then the Drifter gave both Eris and Ikora's hands a quick squeeze before once more picking up his fork and knife to continue eating. His eyes sparkled in delight as though he had just unexpectedly won a priceless treasure at a game of chance. Perhaps he had.

Ikora continued to hold Eris's hand, delighting in the small genuinely happy smile on her face.

The Warlock Vanguard reached out with her free hand and raised her wine glass.

"To perfect moments."

Three crystal glasses clinked together in the middle of the table, each with different levels of wine, causing them to ring out with three separate but pleasingly harmonized tones.

"Hey! That's like… downright musical," the Drifter said with a grin.

"You had to have done this on purpose. There's no way for it to have harmonized that precisely. You poured the wine."

"No!" he laughed. "I didn't do anything. Trust. It just happened like that."

"It's true," Ikora said. "I have been sipping mine. It was unintentional, but… beautiful."

"Yeah! I guess.. I guess sometimes things just… work out." The Drifter's voice trailed off as he spoke, as though he was surprising himself with what was coming out of his own mouth.

"Yes," Ikora smiled. "Sometimes they do."

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

#destinytober24 #destinytober #destinytober 2024 #destiny 2 #moonrat #the drifter #eris morn #ikora rey #drifteris #friendship #ao3 #fanfiction #writing #perfection #imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese #cs member writing

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lifblogs · 5 months ago

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First Times

Neurodivergent Tech Week: After Dark Prompt: First Times @neurodivergent-tech-week

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Tech/Phee Word Count: 7529 (don't ask me how that happened) Summary: Phee pulls Tech away after watching the sunset on Pabu with him, and their intimate moment turns into him losing his virginity (not that he thinks much of the concept). WARNINGS: Extreme Sexual Content READ ON AO3

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Tech asked, as he raced along with Phee, hand in hand.

“It’ll be fine. Your family’s safe. They’re having a good time.”

He supposed that was true.

Tech felt all bubbly in his chest, his stomach. Maybe from the sweet white wine they made on Pabu, or maybe from the woman whose hand he was holding.

They’d watched the sunset together, had watched the island light up, its calm beauty something that settled deeply in Tech’s chest. Maybe that feeling was comfort, stability. Pabu offered a lot.

Omega was off with Lyana, getting a chance to be a child for once, and the others were talking with Shep. When Phee had whispered her intentions into Tech’s ear he’d blushed profusely, but hadn’t hesitated in taking her hand so she could lead him to her home.

The concept of her having a home was amusing to him. He’d just always imagined she lived on her ship like he did.

They passed flowers he didn’t know the names of, the pink and red hues darkening into purple and lavender with the dusk.

Not sure what he was expecting, Tech paused when he saw flowers in all sorts of warm colors arrayed outside a small house built from the stone of the island.

“Well, this is me,” she said.

Tech wasn’t sure he understood the phrase, but elected to ignore it.

He blushed for some reason as Phee led him inside, and past the glowing lanterns.

There was a small living room and kitchen side by side, the furniture carved of dark wood, and then doors on the other end, probably a refresher and a bedroom. The lights turned on, and Tech wondered if Phee would sit him down on one of the plush couches, or if…

She led him right past them.

“You know, I’ve never done this before,” he said, alluding to what she’d whispered to him.

Her words had created a fire in his gut, and he was lucky he hadn’t gotten hard right then and there.

Now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to, palms starting to sweat from nerves.

And then there was that other problem…

“I’ll go easy on you. This time.” She turned and winked at him.

Tech’s stomach flipped over as he followed Phee to the bedroom.

He hadn’t been sure of what he had been expecting of her room, maybe something sparse, but it was richly decorated. The mauve bedspread was embroidered in gold, the designs circular and twisting. And a deeper red thread had been used to create flowers across the expanse of the bedspread. A woven rug in cream, rose, and orange as vivid as a sunset was under the bed, the area larger so it took up much of the room. The bureau across from the door was carved of dark wood, and had a mirror above it. It was cluttered with all kinds of treasures, and Tech wanted to hear all about them later. To his right, before the bed, was a window, with white lace curtains, a chest carved of the same wood as the bureau under it. The colors added so much life to the cream walls, which were also decorated with various treasures.

Phee relaxed as he took all this in, taking off her jacket, and her boots, and taking a seat on the bed. Tech stood in the doorway, a bit nervous.

“What’s wrong, Brown Eyes?”

“I, uh… I have this problem,” he said.

He’d never told anyone about it, had never needed to, but during his ventures of exploring his own body since he’d broken his leg a few months ago he had noticed he couldn’t always become erect. It was an incredibly inconsistent and frustrating problem to have, and he didn’t want it to ruin tonight.

He sighed, sitting on the soft bed next to Phee, but he didn’t look at her, fiddling with his fingers.

“I broke my leg a few months ago,” he explained, taking her hand, and placing it where his femur had been crushed, and broken clean through. “I suppose it was close enough to my pelvic floor muscles, to ah, cause some issues.”

Then he realized what he had done, that he had had Phee touch him in such a sensitive place, and oh, it was sensitive. He swallowed roughly as she ran her hand over his leg, her touch unfamiliar, but tantalizing. He had a vague thought of that hand touching him in other places.

Tech finally lifted up his head to try and meet her gaze.

“You think I care?” she asked. “If you can’t get it up that’s fine. I like you for you, not because of the amazing cock I’m sure you have.” He gave a nervous laugh, and she bit her bottom lip, fingers clutching at his thigh now. Tech felt something tighten low in his gut. “Though, I wouldn’t mind your cock right about now.”

It seemed awkward hearing her speak this way, at least to some degree, but he couldn’t help but shift against her touch, mind zeroing in on the body part she spoke of.

“And if I can’t get it up?”

She shrugged. “We can do whatever you want to do. You have a mouth, don’t you?”

He frowned, confused. Until Phee took her hand from his thigh, and cupped his jaw, kissing him.

Ah, that’s what she meant.

And then Tech belatedly realized he was having his first kiss, just barely had time to take in the heat, the texture of her, her hot breath against him.

By the time he tried to focus on it it was too late, and Phee was pulling away. He sat there with wide eyes.

“Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

She tried to remove her hand from his face, and started shifting away. Tech took her hand, putting it back to his jaw, holding it there.

“No, it’s not that. I…” Wow, could he stop blushing? “That was my first kiss.”

“How was it?”

“I was distracted.”

Phee laughed, a warm sound that filled Tech’s chest.

She came closer again, their thighs touching, and her warmth seemed to go right through him, right to his cock.

“Want to try again?”

“Yes, please.”

“So polite,” Phee commented, leaning in.

Tech leaned in too, and fell into the kiss, now holding Phee’s face in his hands. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted of fruit and wine, but also her, a taste he couldn’t quantify. His heart was racing, seemingly wanting to come out of his chest. And her smell surrounded him, all warm spice and tropical fruit.

Tech couldn’t help the small groan he let out as he moved his lips against hers, tasting, learning the feel of them.

Phee opened her mouth, surprising Tech somewhat, but he went with it, with what his body was telling him it wanted, and he opened his own mouth, trying to drink her up, their hot breaths mingling together in an intertwining dance.

She moaned, a sound that seemed to shoot into Tech’s mouth, down his throat, and all the way through his torso to his cock.

He jumped when he felt her tongue in his mouth, and she pulled away to laugh. Tech found himself laughing too, even as he wanted more, even as his mouth burned deliciously everywhere it had met hers.

“Sorry,” he managed to get out.

“I guess you wouldn’t know the finer details of making out, would you, Brown Eyes?”

“I’ve read about it, and thought about it, but never had a practical application for it.”

“Now you’re making it all technical.”

“Isn’t it?”

Phee’s hand once again caressed where he had broken his leg, body leaning into him to reach, and he breathed her in, wanted to pull her closer. Her hand ghosted across his groin, Tech’s hips involuntarily pushing up into her hand. And, oh! His eyes fluttered closed, a sharp, throaty sound leaving him. He blushed even more, surprised at his reaction. Still, he was trying to compartmentalize and also focus on the conversation.

“Does that feel technical to you?” she asked, voice low.

A pleased rumble started up in his chest. Her hand pulled away a little, and he found himself panting. Still, he said, “Well, actually—”

She grabbed him then, feeling him through his pants, and her other hand grabbed his chin. She kissed him as he groaned. Tech pushed up and up, and he was surprised to find that the anxiety resting along his lower back and stomach was receding, heated thoughts replacing it. He wanted Phee’s touch everywhere, along his legs, his back (clawing him up as he heard some partners did), his neck, his face, his ass, and of course, on his cock. And not like this, but with his clothes off.

Phee’s hand on his chin was rough, callused, and he enjoyed the scrape of them against his skin. They were smaller than his hands—something else he liked—but strong. A fire was building in his gut, a fire he hoped could be fulfilled rather than those dissatisfying times during attempted masturbation where he would hunger, and hunger, and yet nothing would happen.

Tech haltingly reached a hand to the side of her neck, and he realized he wanted to feel her skin against his fingers. Wearing gloves had been standard while in the GAR, and it was something they had all stuck to afterwards (they were highly useful, after all), and Tech also wore them because sometimes the sensations against his fingers were too much, they hurt. But he wanted to try, wondering if she would hurt. He didn’t think she would.

With this realization, he pulled away, and Phee leaned in, wanting more. A thrill shot down his spine when it hit him that he was the object of her desire, he was somebody someone could think “dirty” thoughts about. (Why do they call them that, anyway? What’s dirty about sexual intercourse? It’s natural, and—) Tech stopped his mind, realizing it had taken a thought and was running and running. He had to unspool the thought, bring it back to the center, to what he’d been thinking before. He pressed his head against Phee’s forehead to give himself some time.

He was panting like he’d run a whole kilometer with droids at his back.

“One moment,” he was finally able to say, pulling back. Tech started taking his gloves off, and Phee stopped him with a hand on his knuckles, the caress like fire in him, shooting through his limbs, filling his whole body with need.

“Leave the gloves on?” she asked.

Tech debated this with himself, and quickly came to a conclusion.

“How about a compromise?” he offered. “One glove off?”

“All right, Brown Eyes,” she said, her voice soft, meant just for him. “But keep the glove on with whatever hand you’re planning to finger me with. And oh, your blush is so cute!”

He ducked his head, and she let him have that moment.

Tech considered the problem. He could dual wield, so would this be like that?

No, perhaps not.

He was right-handed, so he took off the glove on his left hand.

He reached for her tentatively. “Can I feel you?” he asked.

“That depends. Which part?”

“All of you,” he amended.

Phee gave him a grin that made him picture exactly what the earlier mention of fingering implied. He had a rough idea about it, and his right hand curled into a fist, resting against the comforter, before drawing closer to her thigh. He gripped it tight.

Phee undressed her top half faster than Tech could comprehend, and he felt rude staring at her, but she had exposed herself just for him.

“Like what you see?” she asked.

He nodded, reaching out to her, starting to feel her from her collarbones, and then down, hand swooping around to fondle her right breast. Her dark nipples were hard, and a quick search in his mind from various sources (ninety-five percent of them probably not reputable, especially since Crosshair hardly counted) told him that she was turned on.

That was enough to make him hungry—at least in his mind. Her skin was soft against his fingers, but not quite at his palm. Not thinking about if this was rude or not, he moved her breast to get a better look. There was a dark scar there, but it was a neat one, a fine line.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“Oh, that.” She leaned back, and he took this as an invitation to use both hands to feel along her body. Phee was all lean, taut muscle, and he had a sudden urge to have her crushed against him. “A job went south. Some idiot stabbed me with a kitchen knife.”

“It looks like it healed remarkably well.”

“Is that all you’re looking at?”

To answer her question he flicked her nipples with his thumbs, playing with them.

“Mm, I like that.”

Phee shifted on the bed, giving Tech better access to her torso, but she seemed a bit uncomfortable.

“Should we change positions?”

Phee laughed. “I would hardly call this a position. Yet.”

She leaned forward, Tech involuntarily flexing his grip on her, and a thrill shot through him from the harsh breath she let out.

She almost kissed him, and a desperate, breathy sound left him from it.

“I’m getting you out of those clothes first.”

Despite how slow some of this had been Phee was not gentle about getting him undressed.

Tech enjoyed her hurried, desperate state, barely able to comprehend that he was bare from the waist up in front of a half-naked woman, then barely able to comprehend that he was fully nude before her.

He had discussed with his brothers if any of them would immediately go from first kiss to first kriff, and Tech had not expected to be the one to do so, but here he was.

Tech gripped his knees hard, trying to keep his hands to himself as Phee stood before him, shimmying out of her pants.

Even the way she moved gave him a tantalizing feast. He loved the way he saw her abdominal muscles flex, the slight tightening of each hip as she went from one side to the other, the sway of her pert breasts. The way her abdomen moved begged him to look lower, lower. He wasn’t immediately turned on by what he saw, but he was intensely curious.

Without thinking, he reached for her, and she pulled back, grinning.

Tech leaned forward, reaching again, and she twirled away from him.

He ground his teeth together, and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Playing around.”

“Stop it.”

“Make me.”

Tech let out a huff, and stood, intensely aware of his nudity, bare skin almost cold, and aware of their height difference, muscle size, sexual dimorphisms, everything.

Tech tried wrapping his arms around her, tugging her towards him, but she twisted away, dancing out of reach, and in front of the bed now. Tech went after her, and this time he didn’t play around. He grabbed her in a chokehold (though was careful to not actually choke her, just restrain), and pulled her back against his body. She gasped, and tried to get out of his grip. It was no use.

“May I?’ he murmured in her ear, both of them breathing hard. She was warm against him, her curves and muscles beyond enticing.

“Touch me?” she clarified.

“Yes.”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

She was holding onto his arm, and his other hand ran down her body, exploring her. Her stomach almost receded at his touch as her breaths grew heavier. Tech reached lower, his gloved hand exploring the heat in between her legs. And oh, she was wet too.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

He blushed, and laughed, resting his chin against her head.

“No,” he admitted. “But I have an idea as to how this works.”

“Stop getting technical.”

“As if I’m to blame for human female genitalia being complicated.”

“It’s not— Okay, yes it is.”

Feeling the moment was slightly lost, Tech leaned in and kissed her neck, the arm that had trapped her now over her chest, his hand kneading her breast.

Tech realized he was doomed. One kiss to her neck and he realized he wanted to kiss her everywhere, including the parts he was confused about.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered. “Show me what to do.”

Tech licked at her shoulder, surprised his brain had even told him to do that, so he was blushing again. Or perhaps he’d never stopped.

He released Phee, and she playfully shoved him. “Look at you getting all commanding. I like it.”

And Tech liked his current view of her ass. He ran a hand down her back, touch gentle, and then cupped one cheek. He started kneading, quite liking how she felt beneath his hands.

“What was that about me getting on the bed?”

He pulled back. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Phee winked at him, and Tech watched, feeling dehydrated and like only she could save him as she got on the bed, crawling on hands and knees to the headboard (giving him a perfect view of her glistening sex), and then she laid down and rolled onto her back.

Tech knelt on the bed with her.

He spread her legs, and a moan left her. Though she complained, “I was going to do that.”

“I just want to make sure I have a good view.”

“Why? You taking notes?”

Mental notes, yes.

He laughed with her.

Phee spread her legs more, knees bent. He noticed her pelvis shift, and he felt slight pressure in between his legs.

Phee helpfully explained the basic anatomy, and it was easily observable as well.

Tech leaned in, taking hold of her right leg, and kissing just above her knee, wanting his mouth on her, all over her.

He kissed his way to her inner thigh, which clenched and relaxed, clenched and relaxed beneath his touch. Her other leg moved against the bed, and he thought her pelvis was tilting again.

Phee’s hands clenched the comforter, but then slowly moved to his head, his face. She thumbed his ears—a rather pleasant sensation.

“Brown Eyes, you’re killing me,” she groaned, right as he licked a line up her inner thigh, stopping just before her sex.

Curious, Tech spread her legs more, and ran his gloved fingers through her folds, his fingers seeming quite large in relation to this part of her body. His gut clenched. Phee’s breath hitched, her pelvis tilting forwards, into him. Her fingers curved on his head. Suddenly the fact that she was wet and ready for him, wanting him to touch her, to penetrate her, took hold, and he thought it was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced, just knowing she wanted him.

Tech didn’t hesitate as he leaned in—putting his weight on his elbows—grabbed her ass and pulled her towards him. He easily identified her clit, and his tongue found it in seconds.

Phee cried out, body undulating. He quite liked her clit, and remembered something he’d read about it once, that all the nerve endings that were in a penis were stuffed into this little, powerful part of her body. He could scarcely imagine it, and was slightly envious.

By the time he was alternating between sucking and licking, and was slowly inserting a finger into her wet heat, he realized there was an aching pressure in between his legs. Tech grinned, tongue tapping her clit.

Phee must have felt the grin, because through her breathy moans, she managed to ask, “What is it?”

Tech pulled back, but kept his mouth close enough that his breaths would touched her heated flesh.

“It would appear my pelvic floor is being generous tonight.”

Phee’s legs started closing a little, and Tech pulled his finger the few centimeters out of her, and tried to hold her in place. He noticed her toes curling.

“You’re hard, aren’t you?”

Tech pushed up and glanced down, though the heavy ache told him well enough.

“Very.”

“Want me to—?”

She didn’t get to finish her question because with a firm no, Tech was back to tasting her. Curious, he truly did taste her, tongue playing at her wet opening, and running up to her clit. Phee was breathing hard as he sucked on her clit again, and started putting a finger in her. Her walls seemed to flutter around him. Once that seeming-large finger was all the way in he wondered if he could fit another. Surely he could if she could fit a cock in her.

Tech had never quite experienced jealousy before, but the heat of it stung his chest, up through his throat, and into his cheeks, for a mere moment as he imagined her past lovers getting to see her like this. Yet at the same time, his hips were undulating against the air at the thought of a cock in her, plunging in and out, or Phee riding it hard.

He growled, which made her let out a squeal (certainly not a sound he had expected from her), and then pulled out to put another finger in her.

He started pumping them in and out, glove getting absolutely soaked in her juices.

She grabbed his hand at one of the thrusts in, and begged, “Add another finger, then keep them in, curl them up against me.”

“As you wish,” he managed to say, chin wet from her.

He looked up at her, eyes meeting, and the intensity of it, the strangeness of it had him looking elsewhere, admiring her hardened body, scars and all.

Tech did as she said and was rewarded with a grunt, and then her hips were moving.

Oh, he couldn’t have that.

Tech put his forearm against her over her hips, knowing he could use all his strength to hold her down if he wished. And he did use it, fighting to keep her in place.

Her thighs trembled around him.

Tech did want to kriff her with his cock, he really did, but he also wanted this more than anything at the moment.

Her body wanted him, and he just wanted to cherish that. She was hot and wet against him, the scent of it all a heady one he wanted to drink up for every moment of his life.

He worked her harder, and she cried out, but said nothing against it. Tech squirmed, yet he didn’t attend to himself. He licked her with quick, gentle laps of his tongue now, and her thighs closed around him, hips fighting him hard.

She didn’t tell him to stop, and Tech assumed this was some kind of reaction to the intense pleasure.

Her walls were tightening around his fingers, and he felt his balls lift at that, his cock throbbing.

Tech groaned against her body, barely coming up for air.

She fought him hard now, moaning on each quickened breath, Tech moaning with her.

And then she experienced what he assumed was an orgasm. Her walls tightened so much they nearly pushed his fingers out, and then she was contracting around him.

Tech paused, and she grabbed his head, bringing him back to her.

Oh, so she wanted to be worked through her orgasm.

Tech’s heavy balls lifted again, the sensation a painful, yearning ache. He let out a long moan against her, working her hard through her orgasm.

Phee’s body started to relax, and he stilled his ministrations.

Her body went limp, and he watched her chest rise and fall in quick, deep breaths. There was a slight glisten of sweat on her skin.

“Wow,” she exclaimed.

Tech licked her again experimentally, and she jolted.

He pulled back, though she groaned, and twisted her hips when his fingers left her.

“I feel so empty now,” she complained.

“I can fix that,” he panted, licking her delicious, heady taste from his lips.

He realized his glove was covered in her now. Maybe Phee sensed his unsurety about it, because she gently took his hand and had his fingers pressing against his mouth.

“Open.”

Tech was glad she’d spoken because otherwise he would have been confused without the blunt communication he needed most of the time.

Tech shivered, and leaned in, practically humping the bed in his need as Phee put his soaked, gloved fingers in his mouth. He didn’t mind tasting more of her, and realized this was maybe for show, for her mental enjoyment.

Tech gazed at her as he sucked his fingers, at least managing to look at her eyebrows so she’d have the sense he was looking into her dark, fiery eyes.

He started to feel hot, in the wrong way, like it was uncomfortably boiling in his blood and was burning under skin that was suddenly cold, clammy. He pulled his fingers from his mouth, and they were shaking. He lifted himself up to kneel on the bed, the heat in his limbs reaching his stomach, making him feel sick.

Perhaps he was realizing that next he’d have to perform, that he’d have to stay erect for her, maybe even finish for her. He wanted to do it so badly, but now all he was thinking of were the times where he couldn’t get erect or went flaccid halfway through or never came.

His balls ached as his cock softened—apparently they hadn’t quite gotten the memo that their services were not required, not if he couldn’t stay erect.

Phee sat up, and then got on her knees, holding his face, hands caressing. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I was… I was erect,” he got out. “But I no longer seem to be.”

She pulled him close, and Tech half-heartedly put a hand on her back.

“You’re shaking,” she said.

“I know.”

Phee pulled back, giving him a gentle smile of all things. “Remember what I said? We do as much as you want to, and as much as you can. You don’t need to be erect, all right? It’s okay.”

“How is it okay?” he asked. “I could feel and taste how your body wants me. I know it does, deep inside somehow”—perhaps natural pheromones, his mind interjected, always on the move—”and now I can’t provide for that need.”

“Stop,” she told him.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not here in this room with me just to fulfill my needs, all right? We’re just trying to have some fun. That’s all. If it’s not fun anymore, we can try something else.”

Tech nodded, but the anxiety gripped him, and somehow gripped his cock. He was hungry for Phee, could feel it burning in his gut, but that was where the hunger ended and the anxiety began.

He had worried about this as he’d gotten closer with Phee, had masturbated—or tried to—more than usual just to see if he could get his cock to work correctly.

It was no use.

Shame bloomed in his chest like a drop of blood in water.

“Here, why don’t you lie down?”

Phee gripped his arms, caressed his side, his back, as she got him to lie down on his back. He worried she was going to try getting him erect, that he would fail, and fail.

He blinked back tears, of all things.

Phee did caress his thigh, but the left one, where he’d broken it. He was surprised touch wasn’t too much just yet.

He pulled off his glove, tossing it to the floor, and let out a huge, disappointed sigh.

Phee laid down next to him on her side, legs wrapping around his left one in a gentle intimacy that dissipated some of the tight anxiety.

Phee kissed him, and she pulled his leg closer towards her core. Anxiety that she wanted more left his legs trembling slightly, or it felt like they were deep inside. His limbs were weak and watery.

His balls ached, and ached. He squeezed his eyes shut against it, and pulled away from the kiss.

“Do you want to go back to your family?” she asked.

Tech opened his eyes, glancing at hers for a quick moment before studying the angular planes of her face.

“No. No. I find that I quite enjoy your company.”

She laughed, rubbing her wetness against his thigh. “I would hope so. I’m all over your face.”

Tech did crack a grin at that.

And then he frowned in thought.

“Wait, are you humping me?”

“A girl’s gotta get off somehow.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Fire burned in his body, yet it didn’t reach his cock which was taken over by anxiety.

He flexed his thigh for her, and she let out what might have been a deep purr.

“Besides,” she groaned, “I’ve been having dirty thoughts about these thighs for weeks.”

Tech blushed.

Phee grinned and pulled him in for another kiss.

This one was slow, gentle, but deep, their mouths open for each other, drinking each other up. This kiss had him believing they could be one with each other, even just for this moment.

Some pressure made itself known in his cock (he hoped).

They moaned into each other, and Tech accidently licked Phee’s face up to her nose when she pulled back, which had her laughing. She still rode his thigh, hands now grabbing at her own breasts as she did so, which Tech found quite fascinating.

He was going to be thinking about that for many rotations, possibly even into weeks.

“Do you want my cock in you?” he breathed.

“Eventually.”

“Tonight?”

“Not if you can’t do it.”

She squirmed, movements growing desperate, and Tech pulled her hands aside to touch her breasts himself, pinching and pulling at her nipples in a way that had her chest arching towards him.

She was biting her bottom lip, moaning.

She rode his thigh hard, and Tech found he was breathless from it. The sensations of her hot, wet sex against him went up into his balls and cock. He thought maybe his cock was starting to respond.

Perhaps the trick was focusing on her, and being in the moment. If he thought of the future and what he felt he needed to do for her then he just couldn’t do it. But like this, fondling her, watching her squirm, even just his thighs being good enough for her.

He wanted her, wanted her badly. He loved the shape of her body, the way it moved, her dark skin, the various scars littering that skin. He was intrigued by her soft, plush hair, and, if he was being honest, the thought of kriffing the bold pirate and getting her to come undone was a delicious one.

He was hardening again, aaaaand, nope. No, he wasn’t. Phee was shuddering against him, clenching his leg in a death grip that he was sure he’d never be able to get out of if he had to.

Phee, moaning, kissed him, and Tech let her explore his mouth, leaving him breathless, heart racing. He reached around with one hand, grabbing her ass, pulling her tightly against his thigh. Her mouth grew desperate, lips sucking, as if she could pull his breaths into her and keep them there.

In moments, Phee seemed to reach her end again, biting his lips, tongue jabbing into his mouth hard, hips working in a wild rhythm. She held his biceps tightly, nails digging in, and Tech cherished the sensation, grunting.

He pulled her more tightly against him, the hand on her ass tightening.

His balls lifted as he felt her muscles in between her legs moving against his thigh. He still kept his thigh flexed, even as it started to ache a little.

Phee pulled hard on his bottom lip, biting, and Tech felt like he was fully erect again.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity, he pulled her legs from his thighs, fighting her hard to do it.

She pulled back, growling at him, but Tech worried voicing his idea would have him losing his courage.

“Trust me,” he breathed.

He moved Phee so she was straddling him, and she caught on fast, holding him down, her soaking wet sex rubbing against the underside of his cock.

Tech threw his head back, barely able to breathe at the molten sensations running deep in him. His cock twitched.

Not wanting to think too hard about this, he let Phee have control. She pulled back to stroke him, spreading her wetness, and she ran her thumb over his slit. Tech held onto her calves, hard. More wetness joined hers, probably precum. It was enough to have his hips bucking upwards, and he let out low groans.

“There we go,” Phee coaxed, voice low and throaty, yet sure, even in her wild need.

He almost whimpered when she wrapped a hand around him, being so, so gentle as she pumped him. But knowing her she wouldn’t stay gentle for long. Phee was like a wildfire, or the fierce winds of a storm, the waves crashing against the beach.

This wild, wild woman then lifted herself up and positioned him at her entrance.

She started sinking onto him without preamble, and Tech was sure he was going to cum just from this, her walls tightly hugging his cock, and for a moment, he felt as if he was consumed by all of her.

Tech breathlessly watched her lower herself on him. Knowing he was in her, and that she wanted him in more, wanted him deep, was enough to keep him hard.

He kept disappearing into her, centimeter after centimeter.

“Oh my— Kriff!” Tech exclaimed. “Ungh!”

She was resting on him now, his cock fully in her. She rolled her hips, and his jolted upwards. They both cried out.

“You’re doing good, Brown Eyes. You’re doing so well.”

He felt his body melting into the bed at the sound of her voice, her words.

Tech squeezed her hips, and then ran his hands up, up, along her ribs, and back down again. He eyed where they were connected, wondering if there were some way to stimulate her clit through this.

“How—how does it feel to have me in you?” he asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“I don’t think you realize how big you are.”

“Oh?”

He raised an eyebrow, and Phee gave him a wicked grin that would be stamped into his mind, haunting him in the moments where he would be trying to fall asleep.

“Let’s just say I don’t usually ache from this.”

Tech started trying to lift her up, and pull out of her at that, but he only managed to bounce her on him, hands almost slipping from her body.

“What the hell was that?” she gasped.

Oh no.

He started softening in her, and she whined, rolling her hips.

“I want you, ache and all. Besides, it can be fun when it hurts a little.”

She eyed him pointedly.

“Phee, I don’t believe I’ve seen that look before. What does it mean?”

“Well, I think I’m gonna kriff you till you can’t take it anymore. And maybe next time I’ll have some surprises for you.”

Oh, he liked both those ideas.

Phee started bouncing on him, stealing his breath as he let out a choked grunt. Tech was simply amazed that her body could do this, that his could. Sure, perhaps being inside another person was quite an odd idea, but for the moment it was all he wanted.

He figured out her rhythm, and thrusted up into her. They were all sweat, and hot breaths, and desperate moans, their skin slapping together.

Phee leaned forward, taking his hands, and pressing them up by his head, intertwining their fingers.

Her lips hovered just in front of his, sharing his very air like the two of them were all that existed in the galaxy, like they could meld together, and ride their pleasure into bursting starlight.

Tech kissed her, thrusting particularly hard with this one, but now she was rolling her hips, and oh, she contracted her walls (he had had no idea that having control of that was possible, and it was so enticing to know she could intentionally use those muscles). Tech all but growled against her mouth in surprise, biting her lip. She pressed against him harder, pressed him into the bed, and he wanted to touch her with his hands, yet cherished the intertwining of their fingers, feeling comforted by it.

He pulled back, tilting his head back. Phee licked a line of sweat along his throat, and a guttural moan left him. He panted and gasped as she licked and kissed at his neck.

“I am so glad you cover your neck,” she said.

“Oh?”

He winced at the burning ache in his cock, feeling it grow and grow till he could barely stand it.

She started sucking hard against his skin, turning him into a moaning mess. He squeezed her hands hard, and she squeezed back, letting him know she could handle it, acknowledging him, being there for him through this intense pleasure.

The sucking would certainly leave marks, so he saw her point.

The pleasure really was a bit difficult to withstand, to come to terms with, and he felt comforted holding her hands, comforted having her pressed against him. He couldn’t imagine doing this alone, making it through this pleasure from her without having her to hold onto.

Phee rode him till he was giving sloppy thrusts. At that point she stilled, letting him go at her like he needed to, pace quickening, hips going harder, harder…

“I’m gonna—”

“I know.”

She kissed him, squeezing his hands in acknowledgement.

Tech’s thrusts that had him burning and aching, and aching grew sloppier, speed increasing.

Then he gave one really hard thrust, not entirely sure why, but trusting his body, and his balls lifted, a sensation pulsing throughout his entire body, all of him a bright, aching fire.

His cock throbbed, emptying into her, and Tech tossed his head back, pushing up into her, everything too intense for him to even get his voice out beyond low choked gasps and strangled cries.

Heated thoughts filled his brain, imagining tasting Phee again, perhaps adding another finger to his ministrations, sucking on her fingers, entering her from behind, Phee sucking his cock while he fingered her, Tech biting her, sucking on her, Phee biting him, skin on skin, and sweat, and heat, and soft moans.

Phee contracted around him, and he reached for her mouth with his, letting out a desperate moan. She grunted into him, and Tech was sure he was going to sob, realizing he was having one of his moments where he felt everything much more intensely. He wasn’t overstimulated yet though, and found riding this edge left him feeling high.

His orgasm ended, his mind blown. Phee released his hands, running her hands down his arms, nerves still sensitive enough that he closed his eyes, and drank in the sensations, blood rushing in his ears. He was gasping, catching his breath. Free from her hold, Tech cupped her jaw, and kissed her, even as his body was starting to relax, to come down from its high.

The kiss was slow, and a bit sloppy. When Tech pulled back a string of saliva was connecting them for a bit. It broke, landing on his chest.

Phee got off of him, and gave his cock a quick stroke once it was free from her body. She cuddled up against his side as if she hadn’t just broken his mind a bit.

He jolted, and gasped from her touch. That had hurt. Why did he almost want more? Perhaps another time.

Tech twisted his head, glancing at Phee, seeing how she was doing. And she was doing the same for him.

“You did it, Brown Eyes! And don’t worry, there’s plenty we can do without you needing to be hard.”

“Oh? Like what?”

She took his hand, pressing it up against her where he was sure she looked irritated and swollen at this point. He wondered how she was still wet. So, so wet. He wanted to drown in it.

“I didn’t quite finish.”

“In that case—”

Tech pulled her close, and she lifted a leg up, resting it at his hip. He dipped three fingers inside. He almost moaned from the idea of working her to another orgasm. He liked doing this without his glove, truly experiencing her wetness and soft walls. To him, there was something more intimate about it, getting to touch her, feel her, learn her, and know her.

Her moan was deep, and needy.

Tech’s fingers soon started to feel strange inside her, her walls becoming a texture he couldn’t stand.

He pulled his fingers out, explaining, “I’m sorry. It—the texture’s too much.”

She quirked a brow, despite how she was panting and had just been writhing a moment ago. “Texture, huh?”

He nodded.

She ran a thumb over his bottom lip, making his breath catch.

“Well, what’s this pretty mouth doing not licking my pussy, then? I’m sure it misses it.”

Tech didn’t catch on at first to how she was referring to him, but he managed to realize it quick enough that the moment wasn’t ruined.

“It does,” he said.

“Get down there and get to work.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Phee groaned.

“Oh, don’t say things like that.”

“Of course.”

As Phee opened up her legs and started to lick her, running his tongue and lips all over her, she gasped out, “I didn’t mean that literally.”

He pulled back, juices dripping from his face.

“Right. My apologies. Ma’am.”

He winked at her, and Phee gave him a light slap on the shoulder, laughing… until he went back to work, turning her laugh into a rough cry as she came.

Tech kissed his way up her body, and their lips met lazily. After caressing her face he took his place beside her again. Phee pulled him close.

“Damn,” she exclaimed. “If I knew you could kriff like this I would’ve shown you Pabu sooner.”

“I for one believe this is perfect timing.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If you’d done this earlier we wouldn’t have broken off from Cid yet. This is just right for us, and for Omega. She can be safe here.”

Phee gave a gentle smile that Tech felt like a blooming flower in his chest.

“Yeah, she can.”

They laid there in silence, and Tech started considering many things. They would need water, and would have to clean up, and would have to at least change the comforter and maybe even the pillowcases, and he had to clean his gloves, and they needed to not have their clothes strewn all over the floor.

Tech got up to get to work, bringing Phee some water as he drank his.

He swore he could feel her eyes on his ass as he cleaned up.

“Damn, Kamino sure did make me a fine man.”

“I do not believe I was made with this intention.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty sexy.”

Tech wasn’t always sure what to do with compliments, but he was able to say, completely straight-faced, “Of course I am.”

Phee leaned over and spanked him, and he gave a little yelp that had her laughing mischievously.

“I suppose you meet the qualifications of the definition for sexy,” he told her. “I, um, I quite enjoyed your body.”

“Good. Not surprised,” she joked, “but good.”

Curious, Tech turned to her as he was folding up her pants, “Phee, how do you have control over your vaginal walls?”

“Back to technicalities, huh?”

He pushed his goggles up his nose. “Yes.”

“Tech, how do you think women give birth?”

“Birth isn’t really something I’ve thought about given the whole clone thing. That, and being male.”

“Right. Well, they’re muscles. It’s kind of all about the mind-body connection. So, I’m assuming you liked when I contracted them.”

“Very much so.”

“How do you feel not being a virgin anymore?”

Ah, he’d forgotten about that concept for the moment.

He sat on the bed, and leaned back and tilted his head to her. “I do not believe much has changed,” he said. “I simply participated in an activity.”

She slapped his shoulder again. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I kriff you till you’re senseless, and that’s what you say?”

“Virginity is a social construct, one I have never taken the time to understand.”

“Huh, you know, I haven’t seen it that way.”

“Then again, most things are social constructs. I don’t understand many of them.”

Phee stroked his chin. “That’s okay. I like you just the way you are.”

“Even when you hear I’m going to grab my datapad and take notes on this?”

“You’re kidding.”

“You wish.”

Tech captured her lips, wondering how his life, for just a moment, could be so perfect.

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