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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 9 days

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I was going to post a different au idea tonight, but this idea caught me in a death-grip and would not let me go, so enjoy!

Note: You can find the translations for the old English at the end!

EDIT: You can find a continuation of this au here!

In this au, Merlin dies at Camlann instead of Arthur, and his magic was diffused into the king and kingdom he so loved upon his death, making everyone in Camelot immortal. After a few centuries of thriving though, Merlin's magic starts to fade, and everyone falls into an almost comatose state. It keeps them all alive and protected the kingdom from intruders, but it could not keep them awake. However, the people of Camelot did not worry about this. Both the druids and the dragon had proclaimed that Merlin would return to the world of the living again one day. So, they were content to sleep peacefully and await the day of their friend's return. Slowly, the earth rose up to swallow Camelot, and the sleeping kingdom was buried underneath the earth.

Fast forward to modern day, and Merlin's been reincarnated without any of his memories or his magic. He winds up as an archeologist, and eventually is sent out to a promising dig site on the border between England and Wales. There, his team unearths a window into an old fortress. Their sonar equipment has revealed a full castle underneath their feet, and they have everything prepped for a preliminary excavation! They've already found coins and a few blades on the site, dating back to the 6th century!

Now, stories of the "immortal kingdom of Camelot" and its undying and legendary king Arthur were commonplace, and Merlin quite enjoyed those stories as a child. However, historians doubted if Camelot was ever a real kingdom at all, and no one past the age of six believed in an immortal kingdom! Merlin, deep down, was hoping that the dig site was indeed the historical kingdom Camelot itself, as much of the kingdom's history had been lost and buried under ridiculous myths about magic and dragons.

However, the issue is that the window that they discovered is pretty small. Merlin, as the skinniest out of all of them, would probably be the only one who could fit through it. Excitedly, Merlin puts on his safety harness and hard hat and descends through the window and into the castle.

Merlin explores for a bit, constantly telling the team on the surface all about the amazingly preserved artifacts in the castle. There's tapestries, suits of armor, furniture, even clothing still in wardrobes all in perfect condition! The entire team is besides themselves with excitement! They've just made the most important discovery of their careers!

Merlin spends a few more days exploring the castle by himself. Eventually, he comes to a rather impressive and ornately decorated door and decides to find out what's behind it. It must be something pretty important to warrant such an impressive door! Perhaps the throne room?

As he opens the door though, he lets out a loud gasp, shocked by two things in the room. First, the large round table in the middle of the room. He knew that he was near the supposed site of the lost kingdom of Camelot, but this confirmed it! All of the legends spoke about king Arthur's round table, and here it was before him, confirming the legends!

However, Merlin's elation was dashed by the second thing he noticed: bodies. There were bodies occupying the seats around the table, all of them slumped over or slouching in their seats with their eyes closed, but they were not skeletal remains that should have been there, seeing as how no one had set foot in those room for hundreds of years. No, these people looked like they had only been there for a day, with no signs of decay on them.

As Merlin's fear began to rise, he tried to reason with himself. Maybe this kingdom had surprisingly advanced embalming techniques and had unusual burial rituals? What other explanation could there possibly be?

As Merlin reported the bodies to his colleagues on the surface, they warned him to be careful is something didn't feel right, which it certainly didn't. Something about these bodies creeped Merlin out in a way that no other human remains had ever done. However, Merlin's unease lessened somewhat as he described the bodies to his colleagues, his excitement at such a well-preserved find started eclipsing his fear.

There were in total five male bodies and one female body, with four of the male bodies being clad in chainmail, surcoats, trousers, and long bright red capes with an insignia of a golden dragon sown into it. The other male body was similarly clad in chainmail and a cape, but wore a golden crown on his head. Lastly, the lone female body, who was sitting to the left of the crowned male body, was a dark-skinned woman wearing an ornate and richly decorated dress along with a small silver crown on her head.

Merlin's heart stuttered in his chest as he came to the natural conclusion of these observations: he had just found the perfectly-preserved bodies of a king, queen, and four knights. Forget making his career, Merlin was going to be put in the history books for this discovery! Quickly, he called his colleagues (who had finally found a way to safely widen the entrance at the window) to follow the line of his harness and join him in the room he had just found. They needed to see this!

Finally turning away from the bodies, Merlin let his gaze wander around the room. He takes note of the impressively high ceilings for the time period, the repetition of the dragon crest on decorations around the room, and the designs carved into the wood of the round table. However, one of the most intriguing elements of the room, was the lone empty chair sitting next to the king.

The fact that there was only one empty chair was strange enough, but there were a few even stranger elements to the chair. The chair was directly to the right of the king, presumably reserved for the king's right hand, his chief advisor. Why would such an important figure be missing here? Another puzzling feature of the chair was the scrap of red cloth that was tied around one of the arms of the chair.

Stepping closer to examine the little piece of cloth, he could see at first glance that the cloth was old, battered, and made with cheap material, unlike the richer cloth that made up the knights' and kings' capes. What was this random piece of cloth doing tied around the arm of this chair, which presumedly belonged to a powerful figure in the kingdom?

A sudden piercing shriek caused Merlin to jump into the air. He looked up and across the table, relieved to see that it was just four of his colleagues who had just entered the room. They must've been freaked out by the well-preserved bodies too! Merlin certainly couldn't blame them for such a reaction.

Merlin chuckled a bit and spoke to his frightened coworkers. "Well, what did I tell you? This is going to shock the world! We've just made the discovery of a lifetime!"

However, his colleagues were only getting paler by the second, not even looking at him, instead looking... past him? Merlin frowned a bit and turned to look over his left shoulder, at the body of the king, which was where his coworkers were staring. What could possibly...

His eyes were open. His eyes were definitely not open before.

As soon as his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, Merlin let out a panicked shriek and flung himself backwards, away from the king who he swore was dead just a second ago what the fuck was happening?!

Unfortunately, Merlin desperate attempt to get away from the maybe-undead king sent him sprawling to the ground, having tripped over the empty chair, and his shriek had jolted his colleagues into action. The four of them ran forwards and grabbed ahold of Merlin, dragging him back towards the entrance to the room while never taking their eyes off of the maybe-undead king.

As they made their way back to the entrance though, something truly horrifying happened. The king moved. He blinked and moved his neck to track their movements.

Oh god, that thing was awake and aware that they were here! They needed to get out of there!

Together, the group turned and ran as quickly as they could back towards the entrance. Horrifyingly, as soon as they were out of sight of the king, they could hear the screeching sound of a chair sliding against the stone floor. Each one of them could feel their hearts pounding with fear as they all realized at once: the king, whatever he was, was going to chase after them.

They nearly all have heart attacks when they hear a voice roaring after them, "Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin!"

After a tense few minutes of running with the terrifying echo of boots chasing after them ringing in their ears, they finally reached the hallway connecting to their window entrance. They could see the light outside! They were almost free!

Fear gripped all of their chests, however, when a group of what should have been corpses blocked their path, cutting them off from the sight of the daylight. For a second, Merlin thought about making a break for it and attempts to run through them, but then the probably-undead knights unsheathed their swords (which were still somehow sharp and pristine after 1500 years, this was getting ridiculous!)

The group quickly turned around, hoping to run back and perhaps find another path towards their freedom, only to have their hopes dashed by the sight of the undead king storming towards them with his sword (why was it golden?) unsheathed and rage in his eyes.

Looking between them, the closest thing that they had to a weapon were a couple hard hats. They were doomed, and they could see their death marching towards them.

Getting closer, the king furiously shouted at them again with unfamiliar words. "Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis!"

The group of five archeologists are shaking in their boots at this point, fearing for their lives. Each of them had reached the only logical conclusion about their ludicrous and possibly deadly situation: they must have woken the king and his knights from their eternal rest, and they were now angry at the archeologists for disturbing their final resting place.

As the knights close in on them and grab ahold of each of them, they're all prepared for the worst. As the king barks commands at the knights, all of the archeologists are prepared to be meet with some horrible death.

"Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð."

At the king's commands, the knights nodded, and while Merlin was led down the hallway to the right, the others were led back down the dark hallway from which they had fled. Merlin tried to call out to his colleagues and to shove his way out of the knight's grip, but the knight responded by picking Merlin up and slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, eliminating Merlin's ability to fight back.

Merlin tried to calm his mind and to avoid thoughts of what horrible fate would be in store for him at his destination. His treacherous mind spun up terrible theories as to why he had been separated from his group, each one more horrifying than the last.

Finally, the knight seemed to have arrived at his destination. As the knight pushed the door open, Merlin tried to brace himself for what horrible instruments of torture were surely inside.

However, there were no torture instruments at all. There were only sheets of paper strewn about, some herb bundles here and there, lots of little vials and pots scattered around, and an old man slowly walking towards them.

The old man blinked in what looked like surprise, followed by tears seeming to brim in his eyes. What the hell was going on?! The man spoke softly, "Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr."

The knight deposited Merlin gently on a nearby small bed and gave him some sort of smirk before speaking to him in a surprisingly gentle, almost teasing, voice, "Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele."

When Merlin could do nothing but stare at the knight, more bewildered than he's ever been in his life, the knight seemed to take offense to his inaction and began tugging at the bottom of Merlin's shirt, trying to pull it over his head. After a brief struggle, the knight emerged victorious, holding Merlin's shirt in his hands and grinning like a loon. Why on earth had the knight wanted his shirt of all things? What was he about to be subjected to?!

After a tense few minutes, the old man pottered over to where Merlin was sitting, bringing a small bag along with him. The man then began looking over Merlin's torso, paying particular attention to a certain to a spot underneath Merlin's ribs, prodding it repeatedly.

Merlin was quite uncomfortable being examined like this, but with an undead knight in the room still armed with a sword, there wasn't much Merlin could do to without risking getting stabbed. Well, at least the old man wasn't hurting him, so he supposed that he could look on the bright side and be grateful for that.

Eventually, the old man seemed satisfied with his examination of Merlin and addressed the knight again. "Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge."

The knight nodded at the old man, looking pleased at whatever he had just been told. Then, the old man turned to him and handed him the small bag. "Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian."

Merlin gently took the bag from the old man and tentatively opened it and pulled out its contents. Inside the bag were a scratchy red tunic, a pair of old trousers, a brown jacket, a thin leather belt, and a scrap of blue cloth. Merlin looked up at the knight and the old man, unsure of what to make of these clothes.

The knight just rolled his eyes, snatched the tunic out of Merlin's hands, and started pulling the tunic over Merlin's head. Did they... did they want Merlin to put on the clothes? That seemed like the correct answer, as they looked happy when Merlin complied and put on the tunic, and they pushed Merlin towards a small room in the back of the chambers with the clothing still in his hands.

Alright, Merlin thought to himself, he would change clothes in this odd little broom closet if that kept him from being stabbed.

(And he did not acknowledge the part of his mind that swore that he knew this room, that this room was his. That was ridiculous, he had never seen this place before in his life!)

After putting on the trousers, belt, and jacket, all Merlin was left with was the scrap of blue cloth. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? Should he keep it in his pocket or something?

However, it seemed like his hands moved before his mind had a chance to catch up, as his hands, seemingly of their own accord, wrapped the blue cloth around his neck a couple time before typing it in the front. Huh, that was strange. Merlin normally didn't wear scarves, why did he know that this piece of cloth was a scarf?

It was... strange. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, namely not getting killed by undead medieval knights. After taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin opened the door and stepped back out into the main room, where the old man and the knight were waiting for him.

They both smiled at the sight of him, and the knight quickly slung an arm over Merlin's shoulders, said what was presumably a goodbye to the old man, and started leading Merlin back out they way they came.

At this point, Merlin started struggling again. If he could just escape from this knight, he could get back to the surface and gather a rescue team to save the others! But the knight's grip of him was tight, and after a certain amount of Merlin's struggling, the knight just sighed and threw Merlin over his shoulder again. Damn it!

Merlin tried to reference places that he had already seen as the knight dragged him deeper into the castle. An escape route would be essential if he was going to make it out of here alive. However, Merlin's hope was quickly running dry as he was carried further and further away from the only exit to this godforsaken castle and further away from any area that he had explored so far.

What's worse was that, as they went, Merlin could see more and more undead (maybe undead? what else could they be?) people throughout the castle. And it wasn't just knights either: there were guards, servants, and even what looked like noblemen and noblewomen running around the castle. What made all of this truly eerie for Merlin though, is that all of them would stop and stare as soon as they saw him. Even though he was dressed like one of them, they could still somehow tell that he was an outsider, not one of their number.

After what felt like an eternity, the knight finally stopped in front of a large door and put Merlin down. Merlin's dread skyrocketed as the guards opened the doors and the knight dragged him inside.

The room itself was richly decorated, with a dining table, a study, and a plush canopy bed. If looked like a room fit for... a king.

Oh no.

As if summoned by Merlin's thoughts, the king rounded a corner and appeared before them, thankfully looking less angry than before, but still sending Merlin's fear into overdrive. Merlin jumped at the sound of doors slamming shut behind him, leaving him trapped with the king.

Merlin was sure that he was shaking terribly, but he managed force his joint to work and took a step backwards as the king began to approach him. Merlin continued to back away from the king until his back met the cold, unyielding wood of the door. Slowly, the king stepped towards Merlin, his eyes never leaving Merlin's form.

In what was entirely too short of a time period in Merlin's opinion, the king had closed the distance between them and was within an arm's reach of Merlin. Merlin's eyes desperately darted around for a weapon, anything he could possibly use the defend himself with, but there was nothing that he could reach.

As the king took one last step closer to Merlin, Merlin closed his eyes and braced himself for pain, even death. However, to his shock, no pain came. Instead, the felt the king's warm hands on his shoulders, and without warning, he was roughly pulled into a hug. What the actual fuck?!

Through the king's ragged breathing, he could hear more of those unfamiliar words, this time spoken tenderly.

"Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon?"

TRANSLATIONS:

Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin! = Catch them! They're trying to take Merlin!

Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis! = How dare you try to take him from me! I have waited over a thousand years for this moment, and you've attempted to steal him from me! You must pay for this!

Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð. = Take the intruders to the dungeon cells, we can deal with them later. Gwaine, take Merlin to his chambers and have Gaius look over him. And be gentle, he must have just come back from Avalon and could still be in pain from his wounds! Report back to me with Gaius's findings when he's done.

Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr. = Is it really him? Oh, my boy, you've returned to us! Here, Sir Gwaine, set him down on the cot and have him take his shirt off so I can see if his wound is still there.

Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele. = You heard the man, Merlin! Off with your shirt now. I know you can be shy about it, but this time it's pretty important.

Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge. = Well, he seems to be in perfect health! You can tell Arthur that I am pleased to report that I could find no sign of his previous injury.

Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian. = My boy, I am so deeply glad to see you again. You have been dearly missed! Here, we've saved some of your clothes for you! I'm sure that you'll feel better wearing something familiar again.

Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon = Oh Merlin, where have you been?

Well, I hope you guys liked this au! What I originally planned to be a short little prompt turned into this beast of a post! I probably won't be able to post on Friday (since I'm planning on adding a new chapter to my fic on ao3 on Friday or Saturday), so hopefully this will tide you all over until the weekend!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

(And please let me know if you'd like a continuation of this au!)

EDIT: You can find a continuation of this au here!

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin au #protective arthur #merthur #merlin prompts

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n0tamused · 2 months

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A/N: This is based off of this post I saw on tiktok theorizing that BootHill must've died a brutal death for only his head to remain.

Content: angst, scramble drabble, she/her, female reader, BootHill needs comfort and he gets it, BootHill written prior to his release

“-Hey, hey, BootHill, breathe, my love-” Warm and cautious hands cup the cheeks of her loved one who sat shaking on the very corner of her bed. Hair messy and some fallen in small clumps from the struggle with his artificial body. “Shh, you’re with me.. there’s no one around, just me” she tries to soothe him again, worry rising like a bubble in her throat at her partner’s distress.

BootHill’s eyes flickered between red and gray, jumping around the room but once they were on her, they looked at something past her, through her. Even with half of his human body gone he wasn’t spared of the terrible memories and dreams. Every once in a while they’d come back to haunt him and drag him through all the suffering once again. Like once wasn’t enough. And in his scared stupor he didn’t rise from the bed before tugging his own hair and trashing the bed, even managing to hit her in the pure state of his delirium in attempts to pull off the ropes he felt in his nightmare.

Ragged breaths fan across her hands and she has to call out to him a few more times until she finally gets a response that he’s finally lucid. “Huh-? Huh..what?” He stumbles, hoping to summon strength to feel again, with his hands, Metal wraps itself around her wrist, squeezing then lessening its grip before squeezing again. “It’s okay.. it was just a dream.. See? Just breathe, come on.. do it with me”

Worry is etched deep between her brows and her frown in the dim light of the bedroom, but she manages to calm him down. But with each twitch of his body she regrets the lack of things she could do. She would’ve intertwined their fingers together, would’ve hugged him until he realized he was being held - but what use of it was it when he physically couldn’t feel touch? It was like explaining colors to a blind man. She might as well cry with BootHill.

But she has to stay strong, and patient above all else. She needs to be his rock at this moment. “Come.. let’s rest some more. We can just lay down for now” she leads him to lay down after her, moving his head despite his confused and pained grunt, setting his ear to her chest. Her hands go to his hair and she holds him there, just like that. And she feels his weight fall onto her, no longer resisting. The thump of her heart draws him in until it becomes the center of his world. He sees darkness before his eyes, but hears the light of the heart kept away from him, safe behind her ribs.

It was an anxious thump, fastened with fear and lack of air, before easing into a smoother rhythm. BootHill didn’t realize he was shedding tears until her gentle fingers brushed over the edge of his eyes, prompting them to close. “ ‘m sorry..” he muttered, swallowing a breath before he nuzzles his head against her chest, shuffling so his artificial body followed the long lost habit of his past self in the form of hugging. Mechanical arms practically trap her under him, and she only hugs his head closer. This is the least she could do..

Hearing him cry into her chest broke her heart, feeling how her shirt became damp, and hearing him murmuring apologies for every tear that fell tested her strength too. He felt broken and lost, in hatred of the fate he was forced into and the suffering he had to endure, and he couldn’t give up, for that would mean betraying you. He just had to keep moving.

BootHill can’t betray the only person left that he loves, and that loves him in return.

#-better an arrow than you #angst #BootHill #Boothill honkai star rail #Boothill x reader #Boothill x you #boothill x female reader #boothill x y/n #boothill x afab reader #female reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x female reader #boothill angst #boothill imagine #hsr boothill

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billyloomiswhore4 · 1 year

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Dark Habits | Billy and Stu x Reader

Warnings: petnames, (babe by stu, and baby by billy) Smut, consensual but not very safe, cheating, knife play, consensual cutting of the reader by the boys, fear play, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving). P in V, pussy slapping

anonymous asked:

I really liked your POV from the last ask, and I got inspired with a smut request from it if you're interested

Reader is Billy and Stu's childhood friend. She was there when they started having this sick fascination with gore and death and even "hardcore" interest when puberty hit them, making her end up being their "friends with benefits ", she isn't aware of their plan so when they got Tatum and Sydney as girlfriends she expected them to stop thier secret relationship but they still came back to her even though she knows it's bad to cheat, but they come back to her not only because they are obsessed with her and love her but also because she is the only woman who can handle thier Dark sexual habits, the fear with billy and the inflicting pain with stu.

a/n: im still struggling to figure out whats wrong with me but i felt bad for not posting, so i found this is my drafts and rushed to finish it up so im sorry if the end sucks its also not edited to again im sorry.

You’ve been their friend since before you can remember. You were there for everything. When their obsession with horror movies grew stronger. When your play fights got a little too rough, and they seemed to enjoy your fighting a little too much.

The first instance you could remember was when you were eleven years old. Billy and Stu were twelve. You had found a movie in your older siblings room. You can’t remember the title now but what you do remember was when it started, and got right off into the murder. It was intense, it looked a little too real but stu still complained about how blood wasn’t really that color. He’d been hunting plenty of times with his dad, when he was home, and knew what blood and insides looked like.

Billy though, was a different story. He seemed entranced, and even licked his lips at a close up of the victims face as she was being murdered.

Stu was ecstatic that he found a good movie that he hadn’t seen. They both loved it, maybe a little too much and that’s probably why the memory stuck with you.

The memories only got more and more intense from that one. The next instance was when you were fourteen. You were in the living room of Stu’s house, Billy sitting on the couch, and you and Stu were wrestling on the floor. He eventually got you down, your hands pinned above your head. He was squeezing your wrists a little too tight, and you winced. He grinned at this, and squeezed tighter.

“Ow Stu that hurts,” You whined, attempting to kick him off you. Billy’s attention was now on you and Stu, and Stu’s grin only widened. When he squeezed even tighter, fear flashed across your face. Billy had a frown on his face, but his eyes shone with something you’d never seen before.

“Stu, seriously that hurts.” You were serious now, and he quickly snapped out of it, letting you go and helping you up off the ground.

That moment you knew something was off about your best friends. It freaked you out a bit, the way Stu smiled at your pained sounds and Billy’s eyes when he realized you were afraid.

That wasn’t the last incident. But as you grew older, and learned more about your sexual desires, you realized you weren’t like other people. When watching movies with Stu and Billy, you often found yourself watching intently as the killer would tease their victim with the knife, dragging it across their chest or arm just to see them squirm. You wondered what it would feel like, what it would be like to be so afraid and at someone's mercy.

You let it slip before you could even think.

“I wonder what that would be like.” You immediately grew red. Both Stu and Billy looked at you, staring intently.

“Wanna try it?” Stu asked all of the sudden. Billy smacked him on the shoulder.

“You can’t just ask that, fuckrag.” Billy seemed a bit angry at Stu for suggesting it.

“I mean..” You trailed off, eyes pointing towards the screen in front of you.

“Wait, you’d actually want to?” Billy was shocked. And you tried to subtly rub your thighs together. Stu’s hand suddenly met your thigh, and you jumped, not expecting him to notice your minuscule movements.

“I think she wants it, Billy.” Stu’s cheshire grin was wider than you’d ever seen it before, and his eyes met Billy’s. They exchanged looks and it was all history.

That night changed your life. You’d laid down in Stu’s bed, and he brandished a pocket knife from his pocket. He trailed it from your collarbone and down to your thigh. You tried to hide how hot the cold metal against your skin made you feel. When he cut your shirt off, you’d gasped. Billy stared at your face, watching your eyes change from fear, to excitement to fear again. God did he enjoy it.

That started something between the three of you. You were in a sort of “friends with benefits” situation, though you never really clarified anything. It was heaven while it lasted, but soon Billy got with Sidney, and Stu started dating Tatum. You assumed the situationship was over, but how wrong you were.

–

You're sitting on your bed, it must be around midnight. There’s a tapping against your window. You don’t normally lock it, because before Sidney and Tatum, they liked to sneak in through your window. It added a certain fear into the situation, you never knew when they planned to bust into your room and take you as they pleased.

When they started dating the girls, you started locking it, worried that anyone could take advantage of your unlocked window. You assume the tapping sound was just the wind, but it got quicker in succession. So you stand, and walk to the window, looking out. You’re met with a disheveled looking Stu, and a frustrated looking Billy. You unlock and slide open the window.

“What are you guys doing here!” You whisper-yell at them, your arm resting against the healing marks underneath your clothes. Stu shoves you aside and makes his way into your room, Billy follows.

“We wanted to see you, duh.” Stu grins at you and Billy smirks with a look you know all too well.

“No, no,” You pause, watching them. “You’re with Sidney and Tatum. We can’t.” You insist.

Billy puts a frustrated hand through his hair, and you look at him, realizing that he’s hard in his jeans.

“There’s this whole thing…” Stu trails off.

“What, Stu?”

“Well- I was with Tatum. And we were gettin- y’know.” He makes a gesture that tells you that they were fucking.

You raise an eyebrow, your chest tightening at the thought of him and Tatum together. “When- uh. We were doing it, all I could think about was you, and how you look underneath me with my knife to your chest.” Stu’s hands make contact with your throat, his thumb resting right on your pulse point. Your heart beats faster at his confession, and you're sure he can feel it.

“Oh,” Your eyes flutter closed, and you take a sharp inhale of breath.

“We want you, Baby,” Billy’s voice is pleading. “Just forget about the girls, just for tonight.”

“You’re the only one who understands us, who will take everything we give you and thank us for it.” Stu stops to take a deep breath. “We love you, more than anything..or anyone”

You give in allowing Stu’s lips to connect with your own. Billy moves, removing his shirt as Stu backs you up towards the bed. The back of your knees connect with it, and Stu pushes you to fall onto the softness. He gets out of the way, allowing Billy to crawl in between your legs.

HIs lips meet yours and his tongue swipes across your bottom lip. You don’t open, you know how much he likes it when you resist. His hand comes to your jaw, pressing his fingers in between the joints and your mouth opens. He slips his tongue inside, wrestling yours.

You don’t even notice as Stu pulls off his shirt, and pulls out the pocket knife he knows to keep in his pocket when he’s coming to see you.

Billy’s lips leave yours to grip the hem of your shirt and pull it up and over your head.The bandages across your hip come off next. Billy moves to pull off your pants and Stu straddles your thighs, pressing the knife against the skin of your other non-marked hip.

You hiss when he presses down, the knife cutting the skin of your hip. He groans when blood bubbles up to the surface, and he uses his thumb to smear it across the skin. He makes another one, quick but thin and leans down to lick it softly. Billy’s lips meet your neck, sucking harshly against the soft, supple skin.

Billy moves away from your neck and switches places with Stu. He quickly makes work of pulling down your underwear. Billy throws your legs over his shoulders and dives in, eating you out like it’s his last meal. He laps at your clit, his pointer finger going to your hole, and pushing inside you.

Suddenly, Stu is pressing the knife against your neck, and you quake in fear. Your thighs shake with stimulation as Billy looks at you through his lashes from between your thighs.

Stu shushes you when you open your mouth to speak, and trails the knife from your throat down between your breasts. He continues moving the knife down, and then he makes a particularly deep cut across your stomach.

It shocks you, he’s never done that before. Always in one spot so it’s easier to hide, and never that deep so it doesn’t scar as badly. This time, he’s trying to mark you, claim you as his. Because even if he has Tatum, he still wants you.

Billy stops completely, making you whine at the loss. He shimmies out of his pants and boxers, leaving him completely bare in front of you. He crawls between your legs, sitting back on his heels and pulling you against him. Your legs go over his hips, your cunt pressing against his hard cock.

Stu pulls off his pants and boxers as well, grabbing his cock and pressing it to your lips. You open up, allowing him to slip it in your mouth.

“Good girl..” he groans as his dick is wrapped in the warmth of your mouth. Billy gets jealous, as you’re staring into Stu’s eyes, seemingly forgetting about him. So he slams into you, making you moan around Stu’s cock.

“F-fuck,” Stu stutters, moaning as you work your tongue around him.

Billy pushes into you with quick, hard thrusts. You whine in pain as Stu’s fingers wrap in your hair, and he pulls on it, hard. Billy’s fingers slip down to play with your clit, before he pulls out completely, laying a quick smack against your cunt and then slipping back inside you. You moan in pain and pleasure, the sound vibrating against Stu’s cock.

He groans softly, shallowly thrusting into your mouth. He pulls out, with a pop sound. He strokes himself in front of your face for a moment, and then pushes back into your mouth.

Billy twitches inside you, rubbing your clit with his thumb. He thrust into you even harder, while you hollow your cheeks around Stu’s cock. Stu quickly falls apart, twitching inside your mouth and then releasing his spend. He grips your jaw, pulling out while Billy continues.

Stu pries open your jaw, and looks at the white substance as it trickles down your chin. He pushes your jaw shut.

“Swallow.” You obey, and then open your mouth to show him.

Billy falls apart quickly after, pulling out and cumming on your pussy.

They both fall on seperate sides of you, laying there. They pull you into their arms, and Stu closes his eyes.

Billy laughs, watching how quickly Stu falls back into the same old routine.

#billy loomis smut #scream 1996 smut #scream 1996 x reader #billy loomis x reader #billy x stu x reader #stu macher smut #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x female reader #billy loomis fanfiction #slashers x you

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prodkatsu · 9 months

Text

youtuber ⨾ suna

youtuber!suna who roasts people on his channel, reacts to various things, gives his review on many topics and sometimes shows the mundane things in his life.

youtuber!suna who is a well known content creator and has almost 2 million subscribers.

youtuber!suna has a big fanbase because boys admire him for his attitude and think he's cool while girls love him because he's pretty and well spoken.

fans of youtuber!suna go batshit when they get to know their favourite youtuber is in a relationship. they calm down when they see how happy suna is in his relationship and how nice you are.

youtuber!suna likes to keep his private life aside but he loves it when you support him from behind the camera or accidentally appear on the video.

youtuber!suna keeps the shots of you mindless coming into the room he's recording and asking him about dinner.

youtuber!suna never publicly talks about you but during livestreams on instagram if people ask him about you he'll reply to them.

youtuber!suna makes you sit by the camera where people can't see anything except your shoulder or your legs that are draped over suna's lap while he caresses them.

youtuber!suna who is sharing his views on a topic and he would ask you about your opinion and would listen to them intently.

people know what you look like because of your various accidental and sometimes intentional appearances on youtuber!suna videos.

youtuber!suna would make you watch certain videos with him so you two can react together and cringe and laugh at them.

after gaining a lot of fans youtuber!suna gets more comfortable in showing his relationship and asks you to do more frequent appearances if you're comfortable.

youtuber!suna now lets you take over his youtube channel for a day. you vlog your daily life with him and how you roast the man who loves to roast people.

fans of youtuber!suna makes cute edits of the interactions between you, how he treats you with utmost respect and love, how your eyes light up whenever you're talking to him, the heated gazes and soft kisses before you leave him alone to do the rest of the video. everyone loves you two because you two are just the prettiest and perfect couple out there.

youtuber!suna now talks more freely about his relationship with you and tells everyone how you have been with him since highschool. he shares your memories with his fans and tell them how you've always been his number one fan.

years into the gig youtuber!suna posts a video of him proposing to you. you saying yes to him and him crying while hugging you.

youtuber!suna becoming a household name around the world and everyone is happy for how he has grown. now a father to a twin with a lovely wife who loves him a lot and he loves her too with the same passion as day one.

#— prodkatsu 𔓘 #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintaro headcanons #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #suna fluff #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios

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houserautha · 2 months

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These Destined Ends

Part 7

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: depictions of killing/death, a blood oath, oral sex f receiving, fingering, edging, dirty talk, p in v, no protection, breeding/pregnancy kink, creampie kind of

A/N: I hear wedding bells🎉 This took me a hot second to write up and edit, but it's also a little bit longer than I usually post. I hope you enjoy💕

Sleep evades you. The day of your wedding slips in uninvited, a wash of sunlight to chase away the shadows from your room. The bed is empty. Feyd-Rautha hasn’t returned or, at least, hasn’t visited you since.

You convince yourself that you don’t care.

But still your thoughts stray traitorously to him — where he is, what he’s doing, what he’s thinking and if it’s of you.

You stare out at the Grand Arena. It’s more or less attached to the Harkonnen fortress and, to your understanding, typically reserved for political rallies. It’s the only place large enough to host a wedding where the entire planet is invited, though, plus the added benefits of its close proximity.

A platform has been erected and already citizens are filing into their stadium-style seats despite the early hour. They will wait all day to sit front row at the marriage between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. A historic event, you realize with detached clarity. To be remembered for generations to come.

This does nothing to quell your roiling stomach.

You turn at the sound of your bedroom doors opening, hope lifting stupidly in your chest. Because it is not Feyd-Rautha who enters, but Lady Jessica.

She looks more radiant than ever, though you suspect this partially has to do with the time apart that you’ve spent.

“Mother?”

Perhaps your lack of rest has warped your vision.

Jessica smiles softly, confirming both your deepest fear and most shameful want. “Daughter.”

For the first time in your life, you run to her. She embraces you, cradling your face into her neck. She smells like home and the memory of Caladan has you blinking back tears. “Why are you here?”

“Did you really think we would miss your wedding?” Jessica brushes your hair back. “They are treating you well? You haven’t responded to any of our correspondences.”

“They are treating me well,” you tell her. You can’t help but think of Feyd-Rautha’s lips on your skin, between your legs, but quickly dismiss it. “And I haven’t received any correspondences.”

“Mm, as I suspected. Your father thought that you might be too busy to write but I knew better.”

“He’s here, too?”

“Of course.” Your mother presses something cold and metallic into your palm, curls your fingers around it. “I wanted to give you this.”

You frown. After closer inspection, you realize that it’s a necklace. Simple, elegant, with a thin silver chain and delicate pendant. “What is this?”

“I wore it when I first met your father. Although we are not married, our relationship has obviously grown past that of an arranged partnership. I can only hope you find similar happiness.” She pauses then, examining you. “I know you are aware that your birth was…orchestrated. But that does not change our love for you. You are our greatest treasure, Y/N.”

Your mood falters, slipping from between your fingers and shattering on the ground like glass. “This is a fertility necklace.”

“Yes,” Jessica says, dipping her chin.

You have the overwhelming sense to grind the necklace under your heel. The tears in your eyes now belong there for an entirely different reason.

“I thought you came here today to support me but instead you’re just carrying out your Bene Gesserit schemes,” you hiss. A dry laugh rattles in your throat. “I’m such a fool! You don’t care for me. You only care about what I can provide. My whole life, everything has been for them. Everything.”

Jessica’s jaw clenches. “That’s not true.”

Aggravated, you spin on her, teeth bared. “Then tell me you came here today of your volition.”

Jessica holds your gaze but does not reply.

“I knew it,” you all but snarl at her.

“I thought these past few months would’ve opened your eyes to your potential, the importance of your duty,” Jessica snarls back, matching your viciousness. “But still you are blind to the truth. You blatantly refuse to accept a plan that has been in effect for centuries. Ten thousand years of deliberate planning and you act as if you are here as punishment. You are living proof of the Bene Gesserit’s power, Y/N.”

Chest heaving, you shutter your raging emotions. “Leave me.”

“That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“I speak to you not as a daughter,” you retort, “but as the na-Baroness of House Harkonnen. And seeing that you are nothing but a concubine to the Duke, I demand that you leave.”

You know that with The Voice, Jessica could force you to bend to her will, to do any inexplicable amount of things. But she does not. She stands there, wavering, before striding back from which she came from without another word.

You hide the fertility necklace in the pot of a synthetic plant, and no one is the wiser when they come to prepare you. For the servants this is a joyous occasion and you do not want to dampen their enthusiasm. You mask your growing unease, laughing and joking with the girls as they recreate you into the image of na-Baroness.

“You look stunning,” Asha tells you privately. There’s quite some time before the ceremony starts, and she’s pulled you into a quiet corner of the room. “The na-Baron isn’t going to know what to do with himself.”

Oh, you very much doubt that. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Your wedding dress is a subtle combination of both Atreides and Harkonnen culture, a blend of elegance and functionality.

The dress itself is made from a lightweight, flexible material that mimics the look of metallic plates. Featuring overlapping panels that creates a segmented, scale-like effect, the bodice gives the illusion of Harkonnen armor. But the skirt, full and flowing, is entirely Atreides — layers of fabric cascading to the floor. Small, metallic accents line the hem that shimmer with your every step.

And, completing the look, a headpiece that forms a sort of M over your forehead and down your cheeks, adorn with jewels.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Have you seen him today? The na-Baron.”

“No, I haven’t. Why?”

“No reason.”

Asha’s mouth quirks teasingly. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” you say, too quickly, “well, yes. But not because of him, because of the ceremony. This will be my first time in front of Giedi Prime.”

“They will adore you,” Asha says. She waves a hand flippantly. “And if not, then your husband will have their heads.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s comforting.”

“Of course it is.” She squeezes your hand.

Your moment with Asha passes as you’re both pulled back into the revelries — spice-laden champagne, food that looks suspiciously like harvested organs, and the pounding, ear-splitting music that’s popular among the Harkonnens. By the time you’re called for the ceremony, your mood has lifted significantly, almost enough to make you forget that you’re the reason for celebration. It’s a sobering reminder.

Your heart threatens to burst from your chest. From inside the walls of the fortress, the roar of the crowd crests and falls like a tidal wave sent to sweep you away. The corridor is alive with mumbled conversation. A procession will precede you to the altar — noblemen and the likes, your parents, who you avoid — along with your betrothed, who is nowhere in sight. The gathered members of your bridal party shift and part, panic seizing you with white-knuckled fingers as the Baron maneuvers toward you.

He greets you with a saying repeated to you many times that day, one that after several iterations you’ve come to understand means, “May your death be swift in battle”.

How it relates to marriage, you are too nervous to inquire about.

“What a wonderful day,” he muses in a rasping lilt. “It would be a pity for someone to ruin it.”

“Indeed,” you reply, eyes narrowing.

“You understand the importance of the ceremony, don’t you?” You don’t respond, sensing that he will tell you nevertheless. “This is just one more step for Feyd-Rautha toward taking my place as Baron. How the ceremony goes will influence his standing with his people.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Of course this was just another political move. What did he think you would do, riot in the middle of the ceremony? You retort, “I understand.”

“Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

The chill that brushes down your spine, seeping into your bones, is deterred by the sudden clash of a gong. War drums erupt in tumultuous exalt. The very sound of them resonates deep within you, invoking a primal response of adrenaline, as if your body is preparing you for battle.

Which, you suppose is fitting.

And who else to be summoned by the promise of war then Feyd-Rautha.

He enters the room as he always does, commanding the attention of everyone in it. The effect is only amplified today, though, in his polished ceremonial armor and resolute intensity, a heady combination of brutality and valiancy.

Gazing at him us purifying fire, searing you from the inside out, and you take your time charting the unholy beauty of his face, gazing back at you with terrifying reverence.

In that moment, you possess no past or future — there is only him. An eternal now.

And then he steps past you and into the black sun, exultant, thrusting the knife above his head.

A championing cheer follows, impossibly louder than the thunder of the drums. Feyd-Rautha lingers and something in your chest expands at the sight of him dwelling in their approval, their admiration, somehow transcendent of any humanity he manages to have.

He truly is a god.

From your secretive position, you peer at him as he strides down the aisle to the platform where the officiant is waiting for him. At the top of the stairs, he turns and faces his people. In an act that surprises you, everyone who isn’t already on their feet rises, and in sync pound their fists to their chests. One two three.

Their utter devotion to him is staggering.

Feyd-Rautha raises his chin, simultaneously moved and expectant of this. He then takes his place at the altar.

Which means it’s your turn.

You loathe having to follow such a devastating display of power and love. There’s no telling how Giedi Prime will react to you, after all, considering that you are technically the enemy. Asha’s words come to you, emboldening you, and you lift your gaze. You will not falter.

A shushed quiet falls over the arena as you stride out, then enormous applause. You can only imagine what you look like to them, your people, but the only one who matters looks upon you with such unwavering devoutness that it nearly brings you to your knees. As you climb the steps to the altar, Feyd-Rautha’s hands clench into fists, a gesture you interpret as a sign of restraint.

Oh, if only he could touch you with those hands.

The officiant, a representative of the Imperium, begins to recite the traditional Harkonnen wedding script. A translator repeats the words to you, but you let the harsh language wash over you as you focus instead on the row of guests at the base of the altar. Your parents — looking fiercely protective, Leto smiling somewhat reluctantly; Jessica maintaining her cool demeanor — the Baron, emotionless, and beside him Rabban.

Did he wish it was him on the stage?

He catches you staring and flashes you a sickening smile. You look pointedly away, a fist forming in your stomach.

The beginning of the ceremony is tediously long and drenched in tradition, most of which you don’t understand even with the translator’s help. Marriage is not generally a romantic affair for Harkonnens, and the proof can be found in their strangely clinical rites. Again it’s impressed upon you that you are preparing for battle, one in which you would reside besides the most fearsome of its participants.

A pause on the officiant’s part draws you back to the present. You know what comes next, and the thought repulses you — Harkonnens of the Imperial House do not get married with the weight of enemies on their shoulders, pursuing a clean slate of sorts. You watch as a row of prisoners are led before the altar, hooded and bound and forced to their knees by a Harkonnen guard. You shiver despite the insurmountable heat.

You are familiar with war, with combat, the knife-thin edge upon which each fight balances. Life or death. But you can hardly stomach the idea of executing a helpless opponent, even if they are an enemy of your House.

Your throat thickens as Feyd-Rautha is bestowed a ceremonial blade.

Each hood of the prisoner is removed except for one, a man at the end who wavers to stay upright. Feyd-Rautha ignores this man, starting at the opposite end. His grin is apparent as he slashes through the throats of the prisoners, the blade his brush and the bodies his canvas, painting them both with ink-colored blood.

When Feyd-Rautha makes it to the still-hooded man, he pauses, shoulders heaving with the exertion of his wicked precision. Rivulets of blood stream down his armor. He says something unintelligible to the man, then removes his hood.

Your blood runs cold as you recognize him.

Ze’ev.

Now that you know who it is, you inspect him closer. There’s hardly any traces of the man you briefly knew. He is emaciated, bones lining his scarred flesh, clearly beaten within an inch of his life. After your encounter with Feyd-Rautha, you know that Harkonnens heal quickly, and the scars on his body indicate to you that he had been torn open again and again.

Feyd-Rautha turns. When he approaches you, his face is full of such naked adoration that it causes you to take a step back. He offers you the bloodied blade.

“For you,” he rasps.

You whisper fiercely, “What are you doing?”

“He is a gift, for you. On the day of our wedding.”

Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to refuse him. But to do so would be to decline your husband, shame him in front of his people — bile rises in your throat as you accept the blade, your fingers wrapping around the handle.

You breeze past him, refusing to meet his eye.

Ze’ev trembles as you advance on him. Though from his delicate condition or fear, you can’t be sure. His lips form a sneer. “You won’t do it.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” you say dryly. “I thought you were dead.”

“I should be. Your husband certainly brought me to the brink of it and back, telling me that he was saving me. For you.” Ze’ev spits at your feet then, a dark and bloody glob.

On Arrakis, this would’ve been a sign of respect.

But this wasn’t Arrakis.

You raise your arm in an upward swing, then across your body with exuberance, his blood hissing as it splatters the ground. Splatters you.

The crowd applauds your demonstration, and the sound of their approval echoes in your ears as you take the stage once more, the prisoners’ bodies carted away quickly. You feel numb. Bewildered.

But also deliciously righteous.

You face the man who put you in this position, who put the blade in your hand as a gift without considering the consequences. And he smiles because he knows — he knows that you are delighted, that the freckles of drying blood elicit an indisputable, terrifying delirium in you.

He coaxed this from you, what was better left in the dark.

And you don’t know if you should thank him.

The officiant switches to the common tongue. “The time has come to bind these lives together in the sight of their people. As na-Baron and na-Baroness, they pledge their loyalty and protection to one another, their flesh and blood now shared in duty and alliance.”

A second blade is brought out on a satin cushion.

“na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baroness Y/N, to uphold her honor and safeguard her well-being, as your duty demands?”

“I swear.”

“na-Baroness Y/N, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, to uphold his honor and safeguard his well-being, as your duty demands?”

You dip your chin. “I swear.”

“Then, as symbol of your shared duty and alliance, I ask you to exchange your blood.”

Feyd-Rautha takes the blade and, with surprising gentleness, turns your palm over and kisses it before gliding the tip of the blade over it. Your blood wells, bright red.

You take his own hand — large, scarred and calloused — and repeat the action.

Before he can heal, the officiant wraps a white cloth around your now joined hands, red blood mingling with black.

“You are my body, an extension of myself,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

You tense. This isn’t part of the ceremony.

Feyd-Rautha, one hand still clasped in yours, uses the other to beat his chest. One two three. You watch as the crowd responds in kind: the same gesture, reverberating throughout Giedi Prime.

It’s incredibly intoxicating, to be the focus of such a powerful gesture. You let it wash over your skin and infiltrate your bloodstream, alter something inside you, rearranging your very cells into what it takes to be a fearless ruler. You would do anything to garner such a response again.

The officiant waits until the last thump can be heard before he declares, “May your bond be as unbreakable as the strongest fortress. United by duty and alliance, I present to you — the na-Baron and na-Baroness!”

Having spent so much time dreading the ceremony, you never stopped to think about what would happen after it. Currently you sit atop the dais in the throne room, accepting an endless line of Harkonnens who want to congratulate you on your feat of an arranged marriage. Your palm that the blade cut stings with every hand you shake.

After what seems like a small eternity, it’s time for you to join the nobles at the reception. Memories of the last time you sat at the table trickle in through your exhaustion — which you promptly shove away.

The feast passes in a blur. You don’t have the appetite for any of it, but hopefully do a convincing job of moving your food around on your plate.

And then: it’s time for your first dance.

Reluctantly you let Feyd-Rautha sweep you into the center of the room, the usual security you feel in his presence succumbing to your own fears. He holds you tight against him. His tone is clipped, political, plush lips on the shell of your ear, “You had never killed before.”

Ah, your first words as husband and wife.

“No I had never killed before,” you snap at him. “Not everyone goes around just slaughtering whoever they feel like.”

Feyd-Rautha is a surprisingly agile dancer, though you figure that it isn’t all that removed from fighting. “I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“Perhaps, but you did.” Your throat thickens. “What I did is irreversible.”

“You told me you wanted him to pay for what he did.”

“I-I did. I just didn’t think —”

“If you let someone who crosses you live, then others will try,” Feyd-Rautha says, incensed. “You must strangle the serpent while it’s a hatchling, for once it grows, it will seek you out while you lay in your bed and slip around your neck.”

You can’t suppress your shudder. What a lovely metaphor. Apparently Giedi Prime has loads of fun phrases alluding to death.

“You could’ve told me,” you mutter in lieu of a response.

“It was a gift.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. Was that all it was? Another part of your game?

“Most people give jewelry as gifts,” you retort.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips twitch. “I am not most people.”

“I know.” To prove your point, you coast your fingers over his side where the dagger went in.

He pulls you tighter against him. “I would have you right here in front of everyone if you’d let me.”

You can’t help but smirk. “I know.”

He opens his mouth to continue but he’s interrupted — by Rabban, nonetheless. “na-Baron, I request a dance with my sister in-law.”

Feyd-Rautha’s grip on you tightens. “No.”

“Yes,” you say, loosening his fingers from around your waist. “It won’t be long.”

Feyd-Rautha stares after you unhappily as his brother leads you away. Other couples have now taken to the floor in an elaborate dance that you don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, seeing that Rabban just drags you after him for each step.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says finally.

“You suppose?”

“If it was up to me, Feyd-Rautha would be the one extending his congratulations.” Rabban’s small, dark eyes examine you. “Though the Bene Gesserits have chosen well for a Harkonnen bride. You are a formidable force.”

“Thank you,” you reply, sensing more.

“There are…things…in order that will happen because you will not submit to me,” Rabban says.

Your jaw sets. “Like what?”

“You’ve made your choice.” There’s a twinge of pity in his voice. Not for him. For you? “I thought I should forewarn you.”

“Rabban, what are you talking about? You never said anything about —”

“The day of the Crucible. I told you my wishes and you denied me them.”

“You said nothing that would warrant a warning. I thought you just envious of your brother for obtaining something else that you can’t have.”

“Envious? No. More deserving? Perhaps.”

Behind Rabban, a soldier materializes from the crowd. Sardaukar. You stiffen — it hadn’t come to your attention that anyone from the Imperium had attended your wedding.

“Excuse my interruption,” the soldier says. “I wanted to congratulate you on your union on behalf of the Emperor. He extends his deepest apologies that he isn’t t able to be here himself.”

You nod curtly.

The soldier’s gaze slides to Rabban. “May I have a word with you?”

Begrudgingly, Rabban releases you with a final look. You watch his retreating form, mind reeling with confusion. What did the Sardaukar want with Rabban? And why did the soldier look so familiar to you? Idly, you wonder if the violent nature of the Sardaukar soldiers remind you of the Harkonnens.

No, that isn’t it. That soldier had been here before, at the dinner a few weeks before. He had been the one to call the Baron away, you recall. But he had been dressed as a Harkonnen soldier then, not a soldier of the Imperial army.

The revelation creeps over you uneasily.

Before you can give it much thought, however, someone whisks you away into the next dance. A protest forms on your tongue before you realize it’s Asha — cheeks pink and beaming at you.

“Asha!” You can’t help but laugh, partly out of relief. “I thought you were another terrible admirer.”

“I am an admirer,” she says, “though I would hardly consider myself terrible.”

“Terrible for taking so long to get to me.”

“My apologies, but the na-Baroness is in high demand.” You settle into a comfortable rhythm as the music plays and Asha leads you in the unfamiliar dance. After some time, she grows uncharacteristically serious. “I know your feelings for the na-Baron are…complicated…but your ceremony was beautiful.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

“The way he saluted you…” Asha trails off, waving her hand as if to ward off tears. This reaction spurns your curiosity.

Trying not to sound too interested, you ask, “What does it even mean?”

A slightly dreamy expression crosses Asha’s face. “Generally it’s reserved for military generals as a sign of respect, something that soldiers do to show their loyalty.”

“So when he did it to me…?”

“He was signaling that he sees you as someone superior to himself, someone to respect. That he is your willing soldier.” Asha grins. “Everyone has been talking about it.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can think to say. “Should I have done it back?”

Asha shakes her head. “Definitely not. It would’ve been an insult to him. His judgement. You did the right thing.”

You’re not sure what the right thing was, but you let the subject go. It lingers in your mind, however, to the point that you over-analyze the moment during the ceremony, replaying Feyd-Rautha’s expression as he saluted you.

You want to confront him about it, but apparently your first dance is all you will see of your new husband on the eve of your wedding. Even trying to catch his eye is impossible as you are both continuously pulled in different directions.

“Is this a bad time?”

At first you bristle, afraid that you’ve been caught sneaking away from the festivities. You have no idea of the time but it has to be well into the morning now, and you just wanted a moment to collect your thoughts. The spot you’ve chosen in a darken alcove gave you a perfect vantage point of Feyd-Rautha, infuriatingly charming as he speaks to a pair of nobles out of earshot.

You tear your gaze from him.

“Father!” You run into the arms of Leto, Duke of Arrakis, who ambles down the hall to you. It’s reflective of your greeting with Jessica this morning, but he inspires only warmth and fond memories. The brush of his beard across your cheek fills you with longing. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“I apologize for not going this morning to visit you. Your mother insisted she go alone.” A frown tugs on his handsome features but disappears as quick as it appeared. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. It’s as if you are a child again, the light of your father’s attention basking you in a sunny glow.

“I…” Leto pauses, deliberates. Your father is usually not someone to be lost for words. “I wish I had done something to prevent this.”

You touch his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

“I blame myself, it’s true. What kind of father willingly hands his daughter over to that…monster?”

“You had no choice. Neither of us did.”

“Listen, Y/N, your mother regrets how your conversation went this morning. She has only wanted the best for you,” he adds softly.

His words prick at you, and suddenly the warmth of his light diminishes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Her intentions can be…muddled by her Bene Gesserit training. But that doesn’t change the love she feels for you.”

“Her love.” You chuckle bitterly. “All that she loves is what others can do to forward the Bene Gesserit agenda. You. Me. Don’t you realize?”

Leto’s expression softens. “Just come with me. She’s waiting for us. She wants to try again.”

Anger seizes you with white-knuckles and stifling heat, blooming in your chest. “I’ve given her too many opportunities to make things right. You just told me that you wish you could’ve prevented this. She could’ve prevented this. I do not wish to speak another word to someone who has orchestrated my entire life since conception.”

Perhaps you can blame the time that you’ve spent apart, the exhaustive events the day has presented you, but there is a side to Leto that you have forgotten — his frightening, unwavering loyalty to Jessica. A loyalty that not even you, his daughter, can temper.

His voice is that of a diplomat, detached and commanding as he says, “You will not speak of your mother in such a way.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but jumping to the defense of your mother cuts you deeper than any knife can. You swallow your disappointment.

“You’re fooled by her just like everyone else.”

Leto’s mouth tightens into an angry slash. “You are not the daughter I remember.”

“No.” You tilt your chin. “She is gone.”

“Then I have no business with you.”

Your tongue rolls in your cheek, over your teeth, carefully selecting your next words. “So be it. I won’t inconvenience you with my company.”

You can’t stand to witness his expression, or let him see the grimace of pain that graces yours, so you turn from him before either happens. You go, not back towards the party, but away — you can’t be here any longer. It feels as if your bones are trying to flee from your skeleton, your skin suddenly stretched too tightly.

Truthfully you have no destination in mind but your feet carry you to the one place that you know will guarantee silence.

Feyd-Rautha’s strategy room.

In the dark your fingers find the seam of the door and you ease it open, slinking inside. For the first time since this morning, you’re alone, and there’s no auditory assault of voices or music.

Back against the wall, you slide down to the ground and pull your knees to your chest. You will tears to your eyes but there are none to summon, lost to the icy numbness claiming you. Any other feeling is cast adrift.

Could it have only been three months ago that you were on Arrakis, sparring with Gurney?

You no longer recognize yourself.

The closest identifying factor is when the door open and Feyd-Rautha appears. There’s a resemblance there, a call of darkness in him that something within you answers. Your mouth twists in distaste. How did he find you?

“Go away.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“I don’t care. This is my strategy room, and I can come and go as I please.” Cast in shadows, you can barely make out his face, but the scorch of his gaze is telling of his scrutiny. “Get up off the floor.”

“No.”

“Get up or I’ll make you.”

You weigh his words. Then you reluctantly rise to your feet, unable to look at him.

“This…attitude is unbecoming of you.”

“You’re a prick,” you fire back.

“A na-Baroness, brooding alone — and on the floor, nonetheless, like a common stray. I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

“Or what?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “I will have to remind you who you are.”

Heat flickers in your belly, a weak flame. “And what is that? A whore, a womb? I am nothing but what others have made me to be.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs.

He actually laughs.

The sound of which is so unnatural, so unnerving, that your muscles tense like they’re anticipating a fight. You flush with shame — anger — and raise your hand to strike him but Feyd-Rautha catches your wrist. His words lilt with ill-timed amusement.

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

You struggle to wrest yourself from his grasp, but the effort is futile. “Let go of me.”

“No. Never.”

Feyd-Rautha’s lips crash into yours. He steers your back to the wall, colliding with your spine. He swallows your cry of pain with his mouth, slanting it over yours, hands bracketing either side of your face. His fingers delve into your hair, pads of his thumbs pressing against your cheeks. The weak flame inside you ignites into a raging inferno.

He kisses you with a fierce, concentrated energy, as if his sole purpose is to bruise your mouth with his own. His tongue flickers across your bottom lip, behind your teeth. You moan at the same time Feyd-Rautha chooses to coast his hands down your sides and your head lolls back, neck bared.

He grabs onto you as his mouth flies to your exposed throat, hands greedily clutching at your waist. Feyd-Rautha presses a series of kisses that turn swiftly into nibbles, bites. He sucks and licks at your neck, no doubt creating a necklace of love marks, eagerly staking his claim on the sensitive skin. Each bite and lick winds you closer and closer to an orgasm, the idea of his lips marking you wickedly delightful.

Feyd-Rautha moves his hands to your ass, to the underside of your thighs, and hikes you up. Without thinking, you lock your legs around him. The action brings his hardened length nudging against your center and you whimper, grinding into him, desperate for friction.

“I want you so fucking bad,” you pant. “Please.”

He hums against your neck. “What did you say you were — a whore?” His hips roll with yours, the memory of him inside you inciting a moan from your lips. “The na-Baron doesn’t bother fucking whores.”

“Please,” you say again.

In response, Feyd-Rautha bites down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You wince even as pleasure floods over you. “Beg all you want but I won’t fuck a whore.”

You fail to conjure a response as he pins you to the wall with his hips, your arms thrown around his neck, and effectively loosens his hands in order to hoist your dress up. Your flesh pimples as it’s exposed to the cool air of the strategy room.

Feyd-Rautha’s hands skim over you, brush over your center. You whimper, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me who you are,” he rasps.

Feyd-Rautha teases your clit through your panties, drawing lazy circles with his fingers. You buck your hips in an effort to gain reprieve but he denies you this.

Your voice pitches nearly into a whine. “I-I don’t know.”

And you don’t — not after the sequence of your day, not with Feyd-Rautha unraveling you with his his hands and his mouth. You are infinitesimal, insignificant, clay waiting to be shaped in his capable touch.

“Then I will remind you,” Feyd-Rautha says. He pushes your panties to the side, ghosting his digits over your entrance so that you writhe in desperation. “You are my wife, the na-Baroness of the House Harkonnen. You will raze cities to the ground and bring men to their knees. I will fuck you often and fill you with my seed, keep you pregnant so that you bear my children. You are not nothing, you are magnificent.”

His words are punctuated by his short, breathy pants, fingers pressing to your cunt without giving you any of the pleasure that you seek.

“Now — tell me who you are.”

“I-I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife.”

A wail looses from you as Feyd-Rautha plunges his fingers inside you, relieved from your aching by his careful ministrations. Each pump of his hand brings his palm to your sex, quick and authoritative. A hand that had killed six men today, saluted you, bled with you, and the severity of the situation has your walls clenching around him — he is Feyd-Rautha, and he is fucking you with his fingers, littering your body with bites and kisses and mumbled, appreciative praises.

It’s not surprising that this drives you to orgasm with record speed, to alleviating the pressure building between your legs —

Feyd-Rautha removes his fingers, depriving you of your release. You almost howl in frustration.

“Close,” he says. “But I’m not convinced.”

“No, please —”

“You can cum once you’ve convinced me that you remember who you are. Until then — your pleasure will be withheld.”

Again, he punishes you with his fingers, splitting you open as he inserts them. Your back bows.

“Now,” he pants, “tell. Me. Again.”

“I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife,” you repeat, mustering as much conviction as you can. You would tell him anything if it meant cumming on his fingers.

Harder, faster, wrist snapping: “And?”

“And…I am magnificent.”

Feyd-Rautha’s satisfaction is evident even in the dark, judging only by the pulse of his fingers, the breathy laugh fanning into your neck. He removes his fingers again, though, to your chagrin, trading positions for one that allows him to see your face. “Oh, you are,” he purrs. “And I bet you taste even better.”

You hitch your legs around his shoulders at his prompting. Feyd-Rautha sinking to his knees while applying enough weight to keep you trapped against the wall. You suppress another whimper. Your thighs are nearly flush with your chest as Feyd-Rautha dips his head to greet your cunt, driving you higher up the wall and forcing you to grab onto his armor for support.

You can’t see him with the skirt of your dress in the way, but you feel his mouth hovering your entrance.

Feyd-Rautha presses a kiss to you. He flicks his tongue over your clit, then licks a stripe up your center back to it, lapping eagerly between your thighs. His mouth works in tandem with his tongue, his teeth, treating you to the same nipping and sucking that he administered to your neck. Your hips buck to meet his every stroke.

And then, there it is again, your orgasm fighting for completion, raking claws of molten lava through your belly, your pelvis.

From between your legs, Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Convince me and I’ll let you cum.”

You swallow down a cry of protest. If you don’t get your release, you might actually implode. You do your best to summon his words from before, “I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife. And I am magnificent.”

“And how will I fuck you?”

Your teeth grind as you recall, “Often.”

“Why?”

“To-To keep me pregnant,” you stammer out. You rarely allow yourself to imagine your body in such a state, afraid of what it will invoke, but you do now: belly swollen with Feyd-Rautha’s child, breasts full, a physical manifestation of the vigorous fucking he regularly bestows.

And just like that, like the snapping of a rubberband, he returns his mouth to your cunt and laps at you until you finally, finally, reach your orgasm. Feyd-Rautha holds you steady as the prolonged release cleaves you in half, shuddering against his mouth, your vision swimming with stars. Tears wet your cheeks with your relief.

You sag into him, and he effortlessly lifts you back to your feet, still trapping you to the wall, one hand lazily skimming your hip.

“Do not, ever again, think so lowly of yourself. Do you understand?”

Your head bobbles stupidly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He brushes hair back from your face, runs his finger along the scattering of angry welts he’s left on your neck. “Now, my jewel, how do you want me to fuck you?”

You commit him to memory, this renegade angel, a contrast of darkness and your own personal deliverance. “I’ll let you choose.”

Without missing a beat, Feyd-Rautha carries you to the strategy table and lays you flat on your back, maneuvering to grab your ankles, one in each hand and spreading you wide. He takes his straining cock from his pants and strokes it as he admires you. “Mm, my beautiful wife, so eager for me to fuck her.”

He traces your entrance with his fingers, then notches his cock there, sliding the tip of it between your slick folds. You ache to take him but with your ankles in his grip, he keeps you firmly in place. Like a silly, wanton thing, you try desperately to grind against him as he drags himself, up and down, teasing you.

“Please, Feyd,” you beg, “please fuck me.”

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Feyd. Please.”

The ridges and crests of the strategy table bite into your back as he drives into you. The ecstasy of finally having him inside you is almost too much to bear — hips snapping, groans rumbling through his chest. He is inspired like this, immersed in the feel of your walls clamping down on his cock, pupils blown, plush lips parted with each panting breath.

If you only you could bottle up this moment, savor the way you both rise to meet the other like waves upon the shores of Caladan.

He pounds into you in a borderline frenzy, each near-violent thrust surging your orgasm higher.

Then Feyd-Rautha releases your ankles, your legs returning around his waist, and he captures your wrists instead, holding them over your head. The angle allows him to press himself to you, spearing you deeper, winding your desire tighter and tighter.

“My wife,” he rasps, “my jewel. Look at me.”

You meet his gaze. Feyd-Rautha smirks, pleased with himself, with you, and thrusts into you with swift finality. Your orgasm peaks and suddenly you’re shuddering and convulsing beneath him, pleasure wrought from every fiber of your being.

Distantly, you feel your cunt draw out Feyd-Rautha’s own orgasm, hips rolling against you as he spills himself inside you. He collapses on top of you, both of you panting, greedily drinking in lungfuls of air. Ostensibly, he recovers first and peels himself from you, tucking his cock back into his pants.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him breathlessly, thighs quivering as you stand, the wrinkled skirt of your dress cascading back to the ground.

“I suppose no one will question whether or not we’ve consummated our marriage,” he says.

Your cheeks burn. “Does it matter?”

“It’s typical for someone to watch to confirm,” he tells you, lifting a shoulder. “I said that it would be obvious enough.”

You gasp and swat his chest. “You didn’t.”

“The alternative was some noble peeking in on our fucking. Would you have preferred that? I do know you like to watch.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” you admit.

“Precisely.”

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes flicker over your face, and you can only guess what he sees there — you’re coated in a thin sheen of sweat and, undoubtedly, love marks, hair tangled and headpiece askew.

You shy away from him. “Do we have to go back to the reception?”

“No,” he nearly snorts, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing. “I fully intend on taking you to my bed and fucking you until you’re a mewling, quivering mess.”

Your cunt, still full with his cum, dripping with it down your thighs, clenches in anticipation.

“Then what are we still doing here?”

Part 8

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strnilolo · 6 months

Text

clumsy girl

summary: matt’s girlfriend is rather clumsy.

warnings: cursing, use of y/n, kisses kinda, jokes about death, idk what else. lowercase intentional

an: i kinda don’t like this one guys. BUT this won the vote so ask and you shall receive.

an2: i do have some requests guys and im very sorry that i haven’t gotten to them, its just hard for me to get motivated unless i have a really good idea for a fic and can play it out in my head. but i will be working on requests i promise.

|navigation|

you and matt are sat on the couch together, aimlessly scrolling through your phones. matt leans his head on your shoulder before giggling slightly, sitting upright next to you.

“look at this video, isn’t this funny?” matt moves his phone in front of you, scrolling to restart the video.

you watch as different clips cut across the screen, laughing lightly to yourself. the video had been a compilation of matt saving you from falling, hitting your head, hurting yourself, etc.

“you’re so clumsy, huh? always need me to save you” matt smirks at your annoyed expression.

“i am not that clumsy, matthew, you’ve probably tripped and fallen more times than me” you roll your eyes as you sit back against your teasing boyfriend.

“well.. what about that one time at dinner, or the time you almost tripped up the stairs?”

matt went on and on about the different times he was your ‘knight in shining armor.’

two months ago

“okay guys now we’re going to be decorating the cupcakes and our lovely mother is going to be trying them and rating them 1-10” you listened patiently as nick loudly addressed the camera, informing the viewers of our next step.

“oh shit” your tube of icing dropped onto the floor right as the clip began rolling. you quickly bend to the side to grab the tube as matt reached his hand to cover the corner of the table, protecting your head from bashing into it. sitting up, you thank matt for his help before continuing to decorate your cupcake.

currently

“oh my god, i actually do remember that. people were making edits for weeks” the two of you laughed at the fond memory, before matt began to speak again.

“do you remember the time you almost fell down the stairs during our house tour?”

“oh please don’t remind me” groaning at the embarrassing image in your head.

several months earlier

“okay so now y/n is going to lead us upstairs to the room we share” matt followed behind you, talking to the camera as the vlog went on.

“oh fuck!” you grip onto the railing, feeling yourself slip on the wooden staircase.

“jesus y/n-” you feel matt’s hand on your back, steadying you on the stairs before he releases his grip, allowing you to continue up.

“you have got to be more careful, you could’ve killed us all” nick laughs from behind matt, dramatically grasping onto the rail.

“whatever, thanks matt” you smile at the boy, playfully rolling your eyes.

“okay guys so we made it upstairs, barely, now to show you where i sleep” matt faces the camera towards you as the four of you continue to vlog a tour of your shared living space.

currently

“jesus, that was embarrassing” you cover your face with your hands in attempt to hide your blush.

“no it wasn’t, you just don’t want the world to see that you’d die without me” matt pulls your hands from your face, playfully placing kisses around your forehead and cheeks.

“i guess i would die without you, huh?”

“a very painfully and stupid death, yes” the two of you laugh at the memories, enjoying the little amount of quality time you’re able to get.

| likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated|

| 🏷️ @strniolosworld @bananabread-nana @abbie13sworld @mxqdii |

ps i do not consent to my work being stolen, translated, or posted on any other website without my permission

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ma1dita · 2 months

Text

to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: we’re so back trouble!verse ;) sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty

(posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind. This was your reality.

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred.

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet.

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship.

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to? Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm.

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs.

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure.

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely.

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress. To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds.

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same.

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your…Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too.

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his.

“Get them.”

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied.

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart.

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it. You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away?

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda.

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin.

For a moment, it feels like you.

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce.

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this.

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement.

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 4 months

Text

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings.

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles.

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms.

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks.

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests

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tojisbbg · 5 months

Text

𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚

❝and i know that i've been the worst, but i love you better.❞

♡ toji fushiguro ♡

a/n: need him to fill all of my holes asap! 🥰 also, two posts in one day?!

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: ex!toji fushiguro x fem!reader, age gap!! (reader is 23 and toji is 31), smutty smut (lolol), not edited.

---

it's the middle of december, the air was crispy cold outside and despite begging your landlord to put the heater on blast in your apartment; your king-sized bed always felt like an ice plate.

of course, the size of the bed was intended to be shared with another human being. your boyfriend— well, now ex-boyfriend; toji. however, the breakup between you both was sudden, ending a little bit before thanksgiving.

this was the first time in three years that you've gone back to your parent's house for the holidays without toji. it was dreadful, having to distance yourself from nosy relatives who were bombarding you with questions about where your boyfriend was.

not having the energy or heart within you to explain the whole story, you gave them the excuse that he was working on thanksgiving. it was the most believable excuse you could come up with, as your boyfriend was quite much older than you, by eight years to be precise.

of course, your parents were strictly against your relationship at first, but, just as how toji was able to charm himself into your heart, it didn't take much longer until your parents would give in and melt. toji was mature, charming and he knew how to handle you.

you both loved to spend the holidays together, not to mention that his birthday overlapped during new years. now, you're only looking forward to forgetting the vast memories of him, which continue to haunt you this rough winter season.

you were trying to find the perfect position to fall asleep in, but, your room was so cold that it made it hard for you to concentrate on sleep. it was snowing outside, and the landlord clearly didn't give a single flying fuck about your comfort.

after a few minutes of fighting with yourself, you finally could feel your eyes grow heavy with sleep. it wouldn't be long until you could hear your bedroom door crack open, eyebrows pinching in confusion.

you couldn't tell if you were hallucinating or almost about to get kidnapped or murdered in the comforts of your own house.

your heart began to thump in your chest, feeling scared minute by minute as you could hear the heavy footsteps of the figure approach your bed. you regretted everything, you wanted toji by your side to protect you from whatever monster stood in front of your body, to hold you tight in his arms to keep you warm like every year because he knew that you get cold easily.

you missed toji.

suddenly, the blanket tucked under your back and butt got lifted before there was a dip in the bed behind you. a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist, followed by the familiar scent of the cologne and body wash that is engraved into your brain.

"toji?" you mustered up the courage to call out the name you prayed to god for. he shoved his face in the crook of your neck, and just by feeling the rough skin of his lip scar on your flesh, you knew that it was him.

"it's just me, i'm here." he mumbled into your skin before pressing a tender kiss on your shoulder.

"why are you here?" you sighed, not even bothering to tell him to stop his ministrations of kissing your nape and rubbing his hands on your hips.

"had a feeling that you were cold." toji answered in a gruff voice before yawning.

"you know we can't-"

"go to sleep, y/n. we'll talk about it tomorrow." he cut you off before scooping your body closer to his. if it weren't for the fact that this was by far the warmest you've felt in your own bed within these past two weeks, maybe you would've screamed at him before kicking him out.

---

you were grateful to whoever proposed the idea that college student should get long breaks for christmas. it was still pretty early in the morning, maybe around six in the morning? you were warm and tucked away into toji's chest the entire night as you both peacefully slumbered.

you stirred awake when you felt disconnected from his touch, forcing an eye open to see that toji turned to face the other way; leaving you could and abandoned. you whined in annoyance, scooting over to him as you tugged on his shirt. toji, who was snoring in deep sleep, groaned from the gentle shakes.

"hm?" he hummed, eyes still closed, but he was half-awake now.

"cold." you briefly said, making him let out a deep sigh.

"come here." toji replied with a groggy voice as he opened his arms to invite you into his embrace once again. you snuggled closer to him as he hugged you tight.

yet, it seemed like that wasn't enough.

you kept fidgeting in his arms, continuing to either tighten your hold on his large and beefy figure and rolling more into him until you finally rolled on top of him. you were literally holding onto him like a koala.

"jesus, i'm not going anywhere, you brat." toji groaned, feeling your weight on his body. you sat up, now straddling his waist, letting out an annoyed huff. toji decided to watch you pout through his half-lidded eyes.

suddenly, you began to take off your shirt and the hello kitty printed pajama pants you wore, roughly throwing them on them floor. toji's eyes widened as you were now sitting on top of him, half-naked.

you gave him a small glare before pointing at his t-shirt and sweats.

"off. now." you demanded, getting off of toji as you watched him sit up with his bed messy hair. he obliged to your command, not finding the energy to argue back with you or ask any questions this early in the morning.

the man just wanted to go back to sleep.

so, toji did as you said, taking off all his clothes until he was left only in his boxers. you took a minute to soak in the sight of his godly sculpted body as he slipped back into the covers.

without any hesitation, you threw yourself on top of him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. it took everything in you to not moan out in bliss as the skin to skin touch between you two immediately transmitted his body warmth to you.

toji's body was perfect for hugging during any season, especially winter time. he was like a giant and beefy teddy bear to cuddle with, his body being a natural furnace.

without thinking, you rubbed your body onto his, unknowingly grinding on his crotch. toji's breath hitched, feeling his cock harden even more than before when he saw your half-naked glory after two weeks.

"feels so warm, toji." you mumbled, pressing yourself into him as your face was buried into the crook of his neck. toji ran his fingers on the back of your thighs, while his other hand rested on top of your ass.

"yeah? i could make you feel even warmer." he smirked, bucking his hips a little up to make you feel his erection. you gasped, feeling his cock throb below your pussy, the thin fabric of your panties and his boxers not providing much of a barrier.

"t-toji.." you stammered, cheeks growing warmer against the flesh of his chest. his skin smelled like bare vanilla with a mix of cologne, it was almost intoxicating.

"shh... let me please you, sweetheart." toji softly whispered, a strong arm curling against your waist while he turned to his side, gently laying you on the bed. you were now facing the wall with toji behind you, his hands sneaking up back before unclasping your bra.

with one swift motion, your bra joined the rest of the heap of clothes scattered on the floor. toji's hand found its way to your tits, groping them as you let out a whimper.

"haven't seen these pretty tits in so long. can i give them a little kiss, darling?" he sweetly asked, your mind fogged up with nothing but the thought of toji. nonetheless, you nodded your head as you leaned a little back.

toji lifted his head before leaning forwards to give each of your nipples a kiss. the contact of his soft lips and your sensitive hard buds was enough to drive you off the edge. but, knowing toji, he's one playful man.

without a warning, he latched his mouth onto your tits. his warm tongue swirled around your swollen bud as he suckled on your nipple.

"mhmm... toji." you moaned, your hands stroking his hair as he sucked and kissed the flesh of your tits until it left purplish hickeys on your skin.

with one final kiss on the valley between your tits, he went back to his original position. toji relaxed behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist. he noticed how you were trying to discretely rub your thighs together to create some kind of friction that would grant you the relief your aching pussy needed.

"need something, y/n?" toji teased, but you were too stubborn to give in. toji's fingers were freely roaming all over your body, from dancing on your spine to rubbing your hips and ass.

"n-no." you stammered, desperately wishing for him to plunge his fingers or cock inside your cunt right now. toji's fingers played with the waistband of your panties.

"hm? you sure? seems like you need something... or rather, this sweet little pussy of yours need something from me, no?" he spoke in a husky voice, the tips of his fingers gently rubbing your pussy on top of your panties. your breath hitched, feeling him press on your clothed clit before tracing the outline of your slit. there was a visible wet patch created from your slick, making toji smirk.

"so wet for me. you missed me, didn't you?" toji asked, but you were too focused on his movements. the lack of response made him a little upset, so he gently pinched the plush flesh of your thigh to get your attention.

"oww!" you winced in pain, looking over your shoulder to throw him a glare.

"i asked you a question, baby. don't ya know it's rude to not answer your boyfriend?" he snickered, making you roll your eyes at his justification.

"ex-boyfriend." you corrected him, making him scoff.

"oh, is that so? so you'd let your ex-boyfriend play with this pretty pussy of yours, hm? slut yourself out for him? talk to me, sweetheart." toji's hand slipped inside your panties, his middle finger sinking into your wet folds. your eyes rolled back as he rubbed your sopping wet pussy at a pleasurable pace, the words in your throat getting stuck.

"f-fuck." you moaned out, feeling toji draw circles on your throbbing clit. you swallowed harshly, as toji began to rub your clit at a pretty face pace before slowing down and sliding his fingers down to your pulsating hole.

toji shoved two of his fingers inside without a warning, making a whimper escape your lips. he was unforgiving, scissoring his long and thick digits in and out of your hole at a cruel rhythm; stretching your hole.

"nghh~ feels so good!" you panted like a bitch in heat, feeling the familiar knot forming in your lower stomach. toji felt your walls clamping on his fingers, a small smirk etching on his lips as he added onto your pleasure by rubbing your clit with his thumb.

your eyes rolled back, shutting your thighs around his wrists as a shaky hand came down to halt his movements.

"t-too much." you squealed, vision becoming blurry as you couldn't even form coherent sentences.

"you could take it, baby." toji encouraged, prying your legs open with his free hand as he gave you the most jaw dropping orgasm just from simple foreplay.

you saw white, creaming on his fingers as you let out a guttural moan.

"that's it, there you go, pretty." he cooed, helping your calm down from your orgasm as you tried to snap back into reality.

"holy shit." you breathed out, now laying on your back as you turned your head to face toji and look at him through half-lidded eyes.

you took note of the details that were already carved inside your brain of the man who owned your heart and soul. his beautiful ebony locks that always seemed dishevealed yet so soft to your touch; smelling like your shampoo because he's too lazy to get his own. his sharp grey eyes that always tease you. the supple fat of his cheek that he swore he'd get rid off but always rethinks his decision every time you pinch or bite them. his plump lips that kiss you stupid even if they're a little chapped sometimes because he's a little forgetful.

and of course, your favorite feature, the scar on the corner of his lip that you love to kiss because it's unique to him.

this was the man that you were so madly in love with, toji fushiguro. you fought wars to be with him, to get approval from your strict family, because he was an older man. but, not once have you ever regretted your decision.

to which, you were now thinking, was the reason that caused you both to break up even worth it?

"missed you." a shy glimmer graced your eyes as you mumbled those two words, catching toji's attention. he gave you a boyish smile, grazing his thumb along your bottom lip.

"yeah?" toji huskily chuckled, making you nod as you lifted yourself up before climbing on top of him. your disheaveled hair curtained his face as you leaned down to finally press your lips on him. the kiss was needy and messy, feeling toji push your head further towards him, his tongue sucking and biting your bottom lip.

you let out a whimper, opening your mouth to grant the wet muscle permission to explore the caverns of your mouth. you unintentionally began to grind your hips on his hard bulge, the wet patch on your cotton panties now dampening the front of his boxers.

toji let out a gruff groan, his hand going down to caress the supple fatty flesh of your ass before giving it a small spank, making you jolt.

you gave a tender kiss on the side of his mouth where his scar was before kissing along the outline of his sharp jaw. your wet kisses moved down to his neck as you sucked purplish bruises on his skin, all while he was groping your ass and thighs.

your mouth was practically drooling at the thought of having your boyfri— ex-boyfriend's cock inside your mouth again. you eagerly tugged down his boxers, his hard dick springing out and slapping his lower stomach.

toji was so incredibly manly, his body was gorgeous; as if the greek gods themselves scultped him. it was no use of denying the fact that you loved beefy men who could crush you in seconds with their body weight. toji was fit, his pecs were defined yet so soft; his toned abs and muscular biceps— don't forget those killer thighs and back muscles as well.

the cute happy trail leading down to the monsterous rod in his pants, which you clearly missed so dearly. you watched how his cock throbbed, the two twin veins that ran on the side of his shaft were a little swollen and his tip was red and angry from neglect; drooling with his sticky precum.

you wrapped your fingers around his cock, stroking it slowly before thumbing his tip, spreading the bead of his precum as toji groaned.

his thumb came down to brush against your lips before intruding to part them. he bit his lips, the pads of his finger feeling the wet muscle in your mouth. you licked a stripe up his shaft, starting from the base until the tip.

"fuck you're so pretty, sweetheart." a grunt left his lips, and before you knew it, the mushroom head of his cock was right in front of your lips. he rubbed the tip on your lips, the wet feeling of his precum smearing on them. you slightly opening your mouth, slowly licking the tip as you got a taste of him.

you wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking on it like candy before deepthroating as much of his cock as your mouth could take. it was almost impossible to suck and fuck the entire length of toji's dick because he was a good eight inches at least.

but, nonetheless, you tried your best to take as much in and let your hands do what was left out.

not giving you much time, toji grabbed the sides of your head before slamming his hips up into your mouth as his patience was running thin, making you gag. it seemed that all the self-control that he maintained so well all this time has completely vanished by now.

his moves were animalistic, starved and desparate.

toji began to thrust into your mouth, feeling the flesh of your cheek welcome his cock. your tongue dragged up and down his shaft, sucking in the shear length of his cock whenever he was forcing it down your throat. the twin veins grazing against the walls of your throat and against the surface of your tongue.

"you're gonna feel me exactly here." he commented with a smirk, his hand coming to your neck to slightly squeeze the area he was speaking about. he grabbed your hand before placing it on that place, then he took a hold of both sides of your cheeks.

with one long and deep thrust, he kept his word and you felt the bulge on your throat where his cock was lodged in. tears welled in your eyes, your throat burned both from the friction of his dick and the lack of oxygen.

but toji just wanted to see how long you'd last before tapping out. of course, he has no intention in killing you, but he wants to test your limits.

he continued to rut his hips, drool trickling down his cock as you choked and gagged, trying so hard to control those reflexes. but to toji, it felt like heaven because every time the muscles in your mouth and throat contracted, it hugged his cock in such a welcoming way.

"so close." he moaned out, eyes rolling back as his dick twitched inside the wet hole of your mouth that he ruthlessly fucked. you tried to breath through your nose, but it was getting a little difficult.

you felt the rush of warm liquid fill your mouth before sliding down your throat, opening your screwed shut eyes to glance up at toji. on the other hand, his eyes were closed tightly, breathing becoming erratic as he groaned in pleasure.

you tapped his thighs aggresively, wanting him to pull out before you lose your senses. he listened, taking his cock out of your mouth as you sat on your knees completely breathless. you coughed a couple of times, holding your throat as you rubbed it from the aching pain you felt.

your eyes were red and cheeks were stained with the tears that stained your rosy cheeks, eyelashes wet from it as well. you lifted your head to face him, seeing how flushed his face was as sweat coated his forehead. your eyes trailed south, seeing his cock dripping with your saliva and his cum.

"fucking asshole, you almost killed me." you said in between your breaths, glaring at him and he chuckled. leaning closer to your trembling body as he sat up, toji gently kissed your earlobe, making you shudder.

"had to make sure my little princess wasn't going around sucking other people's dick. i trained your throat pretty well, huh? but now i gotta check if this little cunt of yours has been loyal too." toji snickered, turning your body around in the position of reverse cowgirl.

you yelped once you felt him hook his forearms on the back of your knees, before pushing it up until it was besides your chest. your legs were now spread wide open as toji put you in a full nelson, his cock rubbing between your wet folds, nudging your clit as some points.

"put it in, baby." toji encouraged, pressing soft kisses to your temple. your hand went down to grab the shaft of his cock, giving it a few pumps before rubbing it on your sopping wet pussy to lubricate it. as his tip got caught in your hole, you gently and slowly began to enter the inches of his monster cock.

"ngh~ fuck, it's so big." you winced in pain, forgetting how painful the stretch of toji's cock was. it didn't matter how many times he fucked you dumb on his dick, your pussy would always be too tight for his thick meat.

"but you took it like a good girl, didn't you?" he praised, planting his feet on the bed before thrusting up into you. you moaned loudly, feeling his cock rubbing your wet walls so deliciously. the squealching sound of your pussy was pornographic.

"this pussy is mine— fuck, none of those stupid college boys could ever fuck you like i could. you're mine and only mine." toji moaned, his thrusts getting faster as his balls smacked against your ass, your hand coming down to rub your clit.

"hnghh, only yours. please! ahh~ feels so good." you were delirious, eyes rolling back from pleasure as you began to see white. your thighs were shaking as toji's thrusts began to get sloppy.

his cock twitched inside your hole, a ring of white cream already forming at the base of his dick from how much your pussy leaked on him, coating his balls in a shear white gloss.

the sticky shlick shlick sound echoed through the four walls of your shared room. tears pricked your eyes as you could feel the huge wave of your orgasm coming at you as your stomach began to tighten.

toji could sense that you're getting close, your walls clamping down on him as the tip of his dick kissed your cervix with each thrust. you turned your head to side, catching his lips in a messy and saliva filled kiss.

you both moaned into each other's mouth, cries of pleasure leaving your lips as you gushed on his cock.

"f-fuck, it's too much!" you mewled, feeling overstimulated as toji fucked you thrugh your orgasm.

"you could take it, gonna breed this pussy. maybe i'll fuck a baby into you, yeah?" toji panted and you were so cock drunk that you mindlessly nodded your head.

"yes, yes, please— fuck, give me a baby." you whimpered, and your voice was so sultry that toji came so hard inside your cunt. the thick and sticky ropes of his cum coated your walls as you shuddered from the warm feeling of being filled up with his cum.

his cock slid out, your hole being creampied to the brim as both of your cum began to gush out of your cunt. you rolled off of him, now laying besides toji as you both tried to catch your breath.

"i love you, y/n." toji confessed, turning his head to the side to look at you. that soft and lovesick expression painted on his flushed face made your heart jump.

you gave him a gentle smile, scooting closer to him before wrapping your arms and legs around him, pressing a tender kiss on his lips.

"i love you too, toji. i'm sorry for everything, i was just so angry and frustrated because it felt like forever that we've spent time together. i-i.... i got insecure and thought that you found someone better than me." your face dropped in sadness, a lump forming in your throat as you tried your best to not break into tears. toji frowned upon hearing your words before stroking your cheek.

"and why the hell would you ever think that?" he questioned and you shrugged.

"i know i'm a little immature sometimes, but i really do love you. i just don't want you to get tired of me and find a woman you're age who's more mature. you know how badly people talked about us before and still do." you sighed, making toji scoff.

"fuck those people, you're mine and i'm yours. no one could ever change that, got that princess? those few weeks i got a little busy because i was working long hours to book a flight to venice for us to spend christmas together." toji smiled, making your eyes widen in shock.

"no way." you gasped, but he grinned and nodded his head, making you squeal in excitement.

"we leave next week." he informed, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. you hummed in response and hugged him tight.

"ugh, i missed my teddy bear so much... spent so many lonely nights sleeping alone." you complained, and toji rubbed your back in a comforting manner.

"my poor baby, how could i make it up to you?" he cooed.

"let me put my hello kitty stickers on your dick." you gave him a cheeky smile, making him narrow his eyes.

"naughty girl." toji snickered, his hand going down in a sly manner to grab his cock and without warning, he entered it inside your already swollen hole once again.

your breath hitched, feeling your boyfriend latch his mouth onto your nipple.

"my pretty princess." he mumbled, giving you a small wink before licking your nipple playfully.

toji couldn't wait to give you your surprise in venice, the small box resting nicely in his coat pocket.

---

BONUS:

"tojiiiii~ toji! look!!" you ran from the hotel bathroom to the bed where your fiance laid down. his sharp grey eyes peered up at you in curiosity as you showed him your phone, the diamond on your ring finger shimmering under the hotel lighting.

"what am i looking at?" toji cocked an eyebrow, watching a girl having her face squished by a guy's bicep.

"i want you to do that to me." you gave him an innocent look, and toji smirked at your request. he laid his arm flat on the bed and ushered you to rest your face.

you did so and as toji flexed his arm, your cheeks got squished and forced your lips into a pout. toji chuckled at the adorable sight of you and leaned his head down to press a tender kiss on your pouted lips.

"gonna marry you and make you mine forever."

704 notes · View notes

fillinforlater · 8 months

Text

Two Selfies and a GIF

Male Reader x Naoi Rei

Length: 2341 words

Tags: lovers on vacation, teasing and tempting, public sex, blowjob, overstimulation, face fuck, gagging, standing sex, anal, sweat, body appreciation, anal creampie, thrill of maybe getting caught

TW: sex in a public space, also barely any editing

Inspiration: an ask from quite some time ago

(A/N: I hope this fic makes you say Holy Moly. @writerpeach because he wanted another Rei piece lol)

“Another sunny day! <3 Hope to see you all soon~”

You jump from your bed. Most of the time, you have no clue where the feeling of deja vu comes from, but this one is still palpable. A year ago, you were on vacation with Rei on some warm, small island nation, blessed with endless sunshine and she sent a similar selfie with a similar caption. Her hair was still brown back then, if your memory serves you right.

Unlike last time however, you can’t dig straight into her cute pussy. Rei is not on the bed beside you, although that’s where she took the picture. In fact, she’s not even in the hotel room anymore. You check the washroom a final time before looking back down on your phone.

“Where are you?”

“By~ the~ pool~”

The phone has yet to disappear in the pockets of your shorts when you’ve already stormed out of the empty hotel room and towards the elevators. Alright, she said something about going to the pool, you remember, but you didn’t even notice that she took the selfie earlier. Hopefully this won’t end in a chase of never ending teases because you missed the moment she was horny and right next to you.

You jump out of the elevator and across the lobby, both staff and visitors confused by your hurried, hectic behavior given the calm, vacation atmosphere. Your urgent need to feel your girlfriend's body, to see that face, adorned by beautiful blonde hair, with thick lips and a lewd glint in her eyes, it’s easily overtaking your desire of being perceived as normal.

“By the pool isn’t accurate enough,” you puff and pant while your eyes go over the many, many pools and parasols and people. It seems Rei isn’t in the water or on one of the loungers, so you once again reach for your phone—just to be greeted by a couple of private messages.

“Still need you to fill these cheeks~ or did you mean my other cheeks?!”

The wink, the tongue bite, the v-pose. She can never post this picture or else all those horny fanboys would blow infinite loads to it (not like they aren’t already doing it; don’t kid yourself). It’s sexy, tempting, only meant for you. You know what she wants, what she needs, what you promised her, yet she continues to play with you.

Until suddenly, another message. A third selfie? Even better.

“I hope you remember where this is~”

The changing booths by the pool. The unmistakable brown walls and baby blue curtains. Rei has complained about their design choice on the day of your arrival, now she’s there doing tik-tok-instagram-dance-challenge-thingys, flaunting what you’ve been craving. Needless to say you sprint there as fast as possible, disregarding all the warning signs about slipper tiles or blissfully ignorant tourists.

You’re on your way to bliss, and nothing will stop you.

Rei sticks out among the few people in the area. Her tall figure, her blonde hair, not a second later and you get a hold on her shoulders and drag her into the next booth. The Japanese girl doesn’t even seem fazed.

“There you are,” she sultrily says, eyes on yours through the mirror wall. Good heavens, you forgot about that thing. It’s going to be so much fun. With a single swoop you close the curtain and take a closer look at Rei’s fuckable body through the mirror.

“You look to good not to fuck,” you groan and pinch her cheeks, looking at her duckface, mesmerized by how plump her lips are, how good they will feel. Rei winks again and your hand is already past the waistband of your shorts. “Get on your knees, now.”

Rei’s smile is horny when she pulls down your shorts while getting on eye level with your cock, which jumps free and barely, sadly misses her face with the removal of your briefs. Rei spits in her hand and pumps you, focused on every inch of your hot rod. Suddenly, before any annoyance can urge you to do it yourself, she puts you on her lips. A heavy push that sends you back against the wall later, you're inside her and have to bite a lip to not groan out every profanity known to mankind.

Feel her tongue swirl around your cockhead while an expression of determination forms on her face. You can see that she is already planning ahead on how to make this the best head she’s ever given you. Rei has an amazing bitch face, but it also fills you with thread. You have to surrender to her mouth, her lips, her tongue—now her hands that grab your hips and then—

“Oh, fuck, ouh fuck!”

Rei slams her head back and forth, your cock going in and out almost fully with every single repetition, while she gags and slobbers on every centimeter she forces into herself. A bizarre thing, face fucking herself on you, for your pleasure, yet you are about to wince for mercy. Rei’s mouth is perfect, but it’s all too fast, without warning she grinds the top, then the back of her tongue on your sensitive slit. You leak, you hiss, you struggle to stand or think.

“Re-Rei, t-too much, fuck.”

Rei pops you free from her lips, but they look eager to go back to it and apply even more pressure on your cock. She firmly holds the base of your dick and glares at you.

“Then do it yourself, pussy. Fill my cheeks already.”

It’s like she’s given you the controller to a video game back; though this is vastly superior than anything you have ever played. You pull at her hair, force her to cry out before flailing backwards against the opposite wall of the booth. This time you lay your cock on her lips on your own merit.

“I’ll make you take that back.”

Pry her slutty mouth open, hope she is ready for impact and make her entire body convulse when you slam your pelvis into her face. The feeling of her tight, gagging throat is a lot different when you're in control, not better, not worse, though you like that Rei can take your roughness so well.

You close your eyes and begin to thrust, rarely giving her time to breathe, never giving yourself time to rest. The generously wet expedition into Rei's throat both feels like finding something new and being at home. A familiar warm feeling and alien sounds, your girlfriend's deepthroats are one of a kind.

Rei is opportunistic, her tongue now out of her mouth, receiving hits by your balls as you continue to fuck her face. It's one of those days apparently, when she is for some damn reason completely enamored with your sac. Maybe she likes the hisses that escape your lips because of the extra stimulation, maybe she is just impatient and wants what's inside of them.

When her already generously big and round cheeks are the biggest and roundest, you finally pull out and let her cough out the pool of saliva, two smaller pools underneath her eyes are also letting loose. You smack her purple-blue lips with your stiff length.

"I thought you could take it," you laugh at a set of coughs by Rei.

"I, hng, thought you'd fill my cheeks.

"Loser."

"Okay, get up."

Cheeky grin on her lips, Rei pushes herself off the ground and you push up something of your own, her tight crop top. You struggle to get the white fabric over her bountiful tits, but she is quick to help you by stretching out her arms high in the air. After a couple of tugs, you see the two massive melons bounce freely—or not. Two laughably tiny patches of silk, connected to each other and Rei’s neck form a bikini that is definitely too sexy for this pool, for any pool.

“You really wanted to go out there wearing this?” you question, a finger already hooked in one of the patches.

“No, that’s why I’m still here~”

“Then it’s confiscated.”

A single pull and the bikini top falls off as if spider webs held it together. Now they are free, Rei’s magnificent melons, round like her cheeks, soft like her thighs, the nipples stiff like you. Before you give them a squeeze however, you surprise your girlfriend by roughly yanking up her skirt to above her hips. Rei yelps and loses her balance, but one of her hands finds safety on the mirror, mirror on the wall.

“Very unlike you to not go straight for my chest,” Rei teases, her voice still stable though her stand becomes a lot less stable when you get behind her and plant her firmly in front of the mirror. Now she needs both hands to not fall over with how you manhandle her light yet astoundingly thick frame.

“They will get enough appreciation later.” Put emphasis on these words by nibbling her ear. She trembles in excitement.”I want to hear you say it again.”

“Say what again?” Rei once more teases, as you hook a finger into the flimsy excuse of a thong she’d call a stylish bikini, ready to reveal both her aroused entrances. “Oh, that.

“I need you to fill my ass cheeks with your sticky load, pretty please.”

So fake, so lewd, yet so incomparably preposterous. The moment her bikini bottom falls down her long legs, Rei presses her bottom against your cock and it takes barely any effort for you to get it inside her. Talking about bottom, you're close to bottoming out, but Rei’s cute yet also growling cry has you scrambling to find something to gag her. You’re still in public, she can’t be that loud. All you find is the pathetic bikini, which you shove into her pretty little mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you good, but keep it down,” you groan into her ear and give in to the risky, yet irresistible desire to plow her ass. Rei is trying her best, munching and soaking the green in her mouth rather than screaming out your name. You’ll buy her a new, better bikini after this anyways. If she’d ran around in that thing for more than a minute, then you’d need to fuck her the rest of your vacation and that would be—wait, would you even mind that?

You’d do it like this all day long, her wrists in your grasp, her body slightly tilted towards the mirror while you watch her tits bounce with every thrust into her tight back entrance. Rei is at your mercy, only upright because you want to. Each inch you pull out has her scrambling for footing, but you gladly give them back to her, into her, to the point where exactly this has her knees buckling.

“Fuck you’re so… suffocating,” you mumble, the heat from your crotch spread up to your head long ago. The same goes for Rei: a hand on her freely jumping tits confirms it. Her eyes roll into the back of her head when you roll a nipple in between two lazy fingers. It’s not much, but you swear it made her even tighter and less stable.

You lift a leg of hers, feel the sweaty meat of her full thigh make your hand sink deep. It reminds you of a pillow, a comfortable bed—now a waterbed because her orgasm is wet. Rei surrenders her beautiful back onto your chest, eyes closed, mouth ready to voice her pleasure but she has to keep it shut. Outside are people, laughing, gossiping, going about their lives. And in here, you recklessly pound in the still sensitive Rei.

It’s incredible how she still relaxes around you, how easy it is to fill her with a girthy cock. Honest to God, it has you tripping, forward, against the cold mirror. Rei spits out her bikini-gag when her hard nubs touch the reflective surface. You’d stop her ensuing moans from escaping her mouth, but you have to hold onto her thigh and breast. There are just not enough hands to touch every perfect part of her body—and her lips are definitely on that list.

Your orgasm is nigh, hence why you thrust frantically, the claps of a nye pelvis on nye ass now also louder than any background noise if someone is close enough. You can already hear the murmurs from behind the curtains. Someone whispers about hearing weird sounds—you have to bust before you get busted.

Rei’s fishnet-covered foot crawls up a wall. Fucking is now easier, so you put in the final gear and reach for her hips to to smash her back into you. Everything is too loud, too lewd; Rei’s expression, your expression, your combined groans, all the sweaty and love juice trailing down your legs—

The connection of your cock in her ass as if explodes on the final thrust you can muster up. Rei’s anal cavity is stretched and now stuffed to the fullest to the point where pulling out will cause a mess of cataclysmic proportions. You have to stay inside her for longer, plug up the cum filled hole as it sluttily clenches around your sensitive cock.

“Fuck, that was perfect,” Rei groans, her body limp between you and the mirror. You look at her and smile for a second. That round face, adorable, makes for great selfies and family pictures. Mere moments ago, it was drooling and moaning uncontrollably. The duality of Rei.

“Yeah, but how the fuck do we clean this up?” you ask, hands mindlessly on your girlfriend's chest.

“I don’t know, I haven't planned for this scenario. I thought you’d fuck my face and I could swallow it all and then you could fill my ass in the hotel room.”

“Well, we can still do that, but we now need to get out of here.” You try to think for a second before your eyes fall on the fallen bikini thong on the floor. You stop massaging Rei’s breasts and instead reach for her pussy, wet and flushed. “By the way, what was your goal with that ‘bikini’?”

“O-oh, you really don’t like it?”

“It’s just that I wouldn’t be able to help myself but fuck you if you wore that. It’s way too revealing. I don’t want anyone seeing the pussy I fuck and the ass I fill and the tits I fondle—”

“So you want no one seeing me?” Rei moans softly when you rub her clit.

“Yes, cause I love you so fucking much, Rei.”

“Ts, looooser~”

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader insert #ive smut #rei smut #naoi rei smut

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animasola86 · 5 months

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Spicy Oneshots Recommendations

A list of smutty oneshots I recommend you to read while I'm on my holiday break! (Links go to their respective tumblr posts, unless stated otherwise! Please also check out their other works, I would link all of them but the list would never end!)

Fair warning: There's spice below, read at your own risk (but do yourself a favor and do read those amazing oneshots)!

For the Seb lovers:

(f!mc/reader edition)

The Mess by @sunnyrealist

Tethered by @morelikeravenbore

Memory Lane by @cuffmeinblack

Fever In The Morning by @happyaccidentsonly

The Solution by @applinsandoranges

Free Use by @writeslikeanaria

Dolled Up / Scribner's desk by @frenziedfireworks

Where we belong by @just-another-fanfiction-writer

I'm going to fucking ruin you / Louder, I want them to hear you / "Shut your mouth!" - "Make me!" by @little-emerald-snake

It’s my thigh or nothing by @slytherinsallows

Fissured Composure by @anto-pops

When it rains / A different kind of key by @sebastianswallows

Five Minutes by @sebswebs

Slytherin Green by @thenerdykneazle

My Sleep Remedy by @festivalsofmargot

💚💛

(m!mc/reader edition)

Hufflesmut / Risky Business / Locker Room by @terminallybrainrot / @parselmouthedmelinae

Perfect Places by @remus-levioso

Slythersmut (unnamed oneshot) by @remus-levioso

💚❤️

For the Seb + Garreth sandwich lovers:

(f!mc/reader edition)

where there's smoke, there's firewhiskey (AO3) by @shadowtriovibes

Let's take turns (AO3) by @blueraineshadows

Dare-aoke Night (AO3) by @pheexblack

❤️

For the Garreth lovers:

A Halloween party... and after (AO3) by @amberlide

I could have listed so many more, but for now these are all I could think of (and find in my favs and reading lists, and there are still so many that I haven't read yet, I'm so sorry! I shall use my break to read all the fics I saved for later!).

So: Please check out their other works as well!

And while we're at it: if you have recommendations, please feel free to leave a comment and share it with us! Thank you!

#hogwarts legacy smut #sebastian sallow smut #garreth weasley smut #smut recs #smut recommendation #fanfic recommendation #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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Gold Dust

Pairing: Modern Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Public use of an app based sex toy, smut. Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: Aemond's office Christmas party is the last thing either of them want to attend, however, he comes up with an idea to make it fun for both of them.

Author's note: Can be read as an addition of this series, but also works as a standalone. Day seven of the Smuffmas prompts - "sharing a drink and toys". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Aemond edit in first picture is by @kyloremus.

It’s been six blissful months since her and Aemond moved in together. Having decided his own lofty high rise flat no longer felt like home - in truth, it never had - he’d offered a swap with Mysaria, and she’d leapt at the offer.

Aemond’s flat was paid for outright, so there’d be no expenses incurred on her part, beyond standard bills and utilities. She suited the space, adding a touch of glamour to the modern matte black and chrome surroundings. Her jaw had dropped when he’d handed her the deeds, his grandfather’s law firm already having handled the necessary paperwork and transfer of ownership. Aemond didn’t want rent, he simply wanted to live with the woman he loved. The simple act of Mysaria giving them a space to be by themselves was payment enough in his mind.

The security of the smaller, more homely feeling flat which she now shared with him had been trickier to negotiate. The landlord had snubbed Aemond’s initial offer to buy it from him, insisting he’d make more in rental payments from it than he would if he sold it. Some moderate pressure applied by the legal team of Otto Hightower, and an offer well above its current market value had soon seen to that, so now they were homeowners of a place that was theirs.

Mysaria’s old room had been turned into a home office, a space where either her or Aemond could work from home if and when they wanted to, aside from that they had made no further changes. The cosy little space was where they had shared their fondest memories, and every aspect of their relationship was woven into it.

She shrugs off her coat, hanging it up by the front door, and sighs in relief as the warmth of the central heating prickles her skin. She stoops to ruffle Vhagar behind the ears, a reward for the elderly doberman having reluctantly left her bed to greet her, before walking through to the living room. The blankets on the sofa are exactly as she’d left them the previous evening, and she eagerly retreats back into her nest, snatching up the TV remote from the coffee table.

“Good day?” Aemond asks, propping himself against the door frame as he emerges from the home office, the faintest smirk of amusement playing upon his lips as he looks at her.

She regards him with a warm smile, her features softening instantly despite how tired and irritated she feels. “Horrid, thanks for asking. Do we have any wine left?”

“There’ll be wine at the party, I expect,” he says, moving to sit next to her and brushing a chaste kiss against her temple.

“What?”

He narrows his eye at her, drawing back to look at her carefully. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

She groans as realisation dawns upon her. “Shit, your office Christmas party. Do we really have to go?”

He sighs, nodding and interlocks his fingers with hers. “Ordinarily, I’d give it a miss, you know I loathe parties, but my grandfather has called in more than a few favours for me this year. I owe him this.”

An hour later, and she steps out of the bedroom, hair and make-up finished and a slinky silk dress hugging her curves.

“Beautful,” Aemond breathes quietly, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.

She smiles bashfully, feeling her skin heat up beneath the weight of his compliment as he pulls away, and watches with curiosity as he moves past her to rummage around on the top shelf of their wardrobe.

“What are you doing?”

“Your outfit’s missing something,” he tells her, pulling down the Lovehoney box, a glint in his eye as he turns to her.

“Aemond, no!”

The app controlled egg vibrator had been a drunken purchase on her behalf, that she’d regretted the moment it had arrived. Upon discovering it, Aemond’s reaction had been much more enthusiastic, kneeling between her spread legs and watching in fascination as she’d whimpered and writhed as he’d played with the settings using the app on his phone.

It had been fun at the time, but she’d considered it impractical and tucked it away, hoping he’d forgotten about it. It’s clear now that he hasn’t.

“Oh come now, darling, it’ll make the evening much more fun for both of us. Consider it an early Christmas gift to me.”

It doesn’t take much persuading, and soon she is sitting in the back of a black cab next to him, her coat pulled tight around her against the chilly December air, made colder still by a distinct lack of knickers, which Aemond had insisted she leave behind.

She is acutely aware of the feeling of the egg enveloped snugly inside of her, its presence, though discreet, making her feel as though she brandishes a scarlet letter that their taxi driver must be aware of.

“No!” She mouths desperately at Aemond as he pulls his phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over the app.

He flashes her the briefest of grins, tapping once on the screen. A mild singular buzz reverberates through her, causing her to clasp a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal. Aemond eyes her carefully, poking at the inside of his cheek with his tongue before pocketing his phone once more.

Tonight was going to be interesting.

They step into the office, already bustling with people, chatter and light classical music fill the opulent space which is decked out in rich, mahogany furnishings and forest green upholstery, ever the indication that the Hightowers come from old money.

“There they are!” Aegon greets them loudly with a grin, arms spread and half drunk flutes of champagne clutched by the stem between each of his fingers. His shoulder length blonde hair is tousled, and his white shirt is open by three buttons.

“How long have you been here?” She asks, taking in his bedraggled appearance.

“‘Bout twenty minutes,” he slurs around a mouthful of vol-au-vent.

Otto steps up behind him, placing a ring clad hand upon his shoulder. “I tell you where you might like it, Aegon, on the terrace; outside.”

She watches with amusement as the older man leads him away.

“I’d better give him a hand,” Aemond mutters quietly, the warmth of his palm leaving her lower back as he moves to follow. He nods towards his older sister. “Good to see you, Hel.”

She smiles warmly at Hel leaning in as the two peck each other’s cheeks. “How are you doing?” She asks fondly.

“Starving!” Helaena complains, pulling her sheer turquoise wrap tighter around herself and waving away a tray of canapés that’s being offered around by a member of serving staff. “Not a single vegan option here, everything’s either got salmon in it or is slathered in cream cheese.”

“You could always sneak off to grab something?” She offers sympathetically.

“Aeg said there’s a kebab shop over the road. I might see if he’ll grab me a falafel wrap later. Anyway,” she continues, snatching up two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handing one to her. “How are you?!”

“Yeah, really good!” She grins. “Aemond mentioned we might fly to New York for New Year’s, go and see Daeron. I’ve not met him yet and I– oh!”

She bows her head, biting back the quiet moan that tries to escape her, as the egg inside her vibrates incessantly. Her head snaps up, making eye contact with Aemond, who stands in a corner with his phone out, a sly smile upon his face.

Bastard.

“You alright?” Helaena asks, eyebrows pinched together in concern.

“Mhm…just...champagne bubbles…they go right up my nose!” She feigns a laugh, embarrassment making her skin feel hot.

Ever the dutiful girlfriend, she does her rounds of the office, speaking to colleagues and family members alike, though every interaction is thwarted by sudden and persistent vibrations between her legs.

After an hour of polite chit chat with Alicent, Criston, Otto and several other party guests, she leans back against the wall next to Aemond’s office door, needing a breather from socialising, but also feeling lightheaded from the intermittent throbbing in her core.

The door swings slowly open and Aemond steps out, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand.

“Having fun?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmm,” she narrows her eyes, “you clearly are. What’s that you’ve got?”

“Laphroaig,” he tells her, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Thirty six year old The Wall Peat, to be precise. Grandfather would never offer this around to the guests. Lucky for me I know he keeps it stashed in his bottom desk drawer.”

“Lucky indeed,” she purrs up at him.

He grabs her hand, pulling her into his office and closes the door behind them, before backing her up against the desk, until she perches on the edge.

“Let me see,” he whispers, pushing her dress up above her hips.

His free hand applies gentle pressure to her knee, spreading her legs, and she watches the bob of his throat as he swallows thickly, taking in the sight of the arousal that coats her centre.

“Fuck,” he mutters darkly. “The idea of you walking around making innocent small talk while you’re soaked is driving me mad.”

She giggles, clenching around the egg that’s nestled within her as she sees his gaze darken. Aemond pulls out his phone again, changing the setting to a constant vibrate, before setting it down on the desk behind her.

Mewling helplessly, shockwaves of pleasure ripple through her as Aemond’s thumb swipes against her sodden folds, spreading her open to watch intently.

He takes a sip from his glass, and she gasps as he grabs her forcefully by the hair at the back of her head, crushing her lips against his and letting the whisky pass from his mouth to hers. She moans quietly, the intensity of the burn of the liquid that slips down her throat and the throbbing ache between her legs making her feel dizzy.

She is devastatingly close, can feel the pressure building to boiling point, and she whines, pressing her face into the crook of Aemond’s neck, fingertips rumpling the fabric of his black button down shirt as she grasps his biceps for purchase. “Fuck, Aemond, I–”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, let go,” he coos.

She bites down on the juncture of his neck to muffle her pleasured cry, earning her a startled grunt from Aemond. Her body spasms around the toy, climaxing with a force that makes her toes curl inside of her high heels, before going limp against his chest.

He settles his glass down and strokes her hair before pulling back. His long, dexterous fingers wrap around the cord of egg, and despite how gentle he is as he tugs it free, she still hisses with overstimulation as it leaves her body. The sudden feeling of emptiness is alien to her after having spent most of the evening with it inside of her.

“Can…can we go home now?” She asks tiredly, as he wraps the toy in tissue and deposits it on the desk.

“Hmmm, not just yet,” Aemond tells her, taking her hand and guiding it to palm over the erection that strains against the confines of his suit trousers. “I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

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vivalabunbun · 1 year

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Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret.

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error.

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy.

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head.

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes.

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better.

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench.

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door.

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward.

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes.

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.”

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?”

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests.

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing.

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined.

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance.

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room.

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall.

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past.

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally.

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer.

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said.

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago.

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room.

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument.

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes.

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’.

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame.

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice.

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off.

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents.

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water.

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard.

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore.

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays.

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget.

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes.

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month.

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display.

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now.

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read.

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers.

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening.

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison.

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room.

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied.

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you.

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really.

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense.

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak.

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again.

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble?

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open.

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped.

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue.

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence.

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue.

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it.

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun.

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him.

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away.

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair.

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next.

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature.

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time.

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him.

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name.

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him.

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista.

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood.

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts.

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb.

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys.

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight.

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you.

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air.

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight.

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple.

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson.

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified.

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you.

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now.

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated.

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this.

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him.

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand.

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense.

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation.

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week.

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy.

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all.

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead.

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised.

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences.

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on.

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text.

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies.

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break.

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern.

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance.

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness.

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before.

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness.

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago.

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet.

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano.

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery.

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward.

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration.

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??”

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.”

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face.

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling.

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer.

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano.

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano.

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes.

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?”

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture.

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face.

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon.

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths.

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer.

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response.

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind.

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock.

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination.

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume.

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble.

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read.

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity.

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight.

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him.

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library.

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response.

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision.

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks.

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch.

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.”

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply.

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter?

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity.

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass.

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression.

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?”

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner.

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs.

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts.

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended.

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him.

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle.

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down.

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip.

His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine.

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing.

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you.

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him.

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes?

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him.

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer.

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.” Came his flat reply.

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted.

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in.

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk.

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet.

“Is that a piece by Debussy?”

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?”

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight.

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them.

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back.

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind.

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system.

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them.

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way.

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything.

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house.

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face.

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.”

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face.

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands.

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion.

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you.

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.”

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice.

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor.

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous.

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch.

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you?

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight.

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself.

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries.

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely?

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started.

Another miscalculation on his part.

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note:

“Don’t Bother Me”.

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back?

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side.

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings.

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers.

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you.

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet.

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue.

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself.

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!”

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom.

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind.

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well.

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.”

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all.

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle.

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette.

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora.

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie.

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand.

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he.

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up.

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times?

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex.

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.”

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs.

“I have a reason to seek you.”

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle.

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply.

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity.

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it.

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion.

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face.

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more.

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return.

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges.

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend.

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed.

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized.

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off.

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display.

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet.

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor.

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.”

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed.

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks.

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth.

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch.

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it.

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face.

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym.

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is.

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow.

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities.

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision.

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment.

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is.

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts.

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands.

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed.

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame.

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts.

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time.

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents.

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together.

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her.

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you.

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller.

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan.

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff.

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his.

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand.

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued.

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look.

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face.

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had.

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry.

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now.

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her.

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face.

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo.

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls.

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things.

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again.

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing.

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him.

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses.

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts.

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis.

Acceptance, the last stage of grief.

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it.

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind.

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths.

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you.

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own.

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away?

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211.

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival.

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air.

“Number 211.”

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano.

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss.

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands.

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical.

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight.

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round.

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.”

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams.

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void.

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands?

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain.

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders.

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words.

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain.

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards.

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear.

“Come, I’ll drive you home.”

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’.

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan.

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes.

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down.

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly.

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him.

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move.

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message.

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee.

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt.

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head.

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them.

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn.

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders.

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request.

“Ah! Ah! AH!”

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed.

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm.

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest.

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face.

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions.

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle.

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member.

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within.

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet.

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead.

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again.

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings.

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything.

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish.

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air.

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow.

It was a grand piano.

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well.

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step.

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand.

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid.

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted.

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano.

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you.

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests.

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook?

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by.

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor.

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house.

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day.

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart.

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears.

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry.

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.”

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky.

“… Of course.” You let go of him.

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again.

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses.

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago.

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change.

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat.

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly.

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile.

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it.

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature.

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

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