#fic: halcyon (on and on and on) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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Hold Me Steady

Pairing: Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) x f!reader Warnings: Dry humping. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Billy has a close encounter with one of the hotel's maids after agreeing to help her decorate the employee sitting space for Christmas.

Author's note: Day one of the Smuffmas prompts - "hand holding and dry humping". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She struggles down the stairs into the employee sitting room, the beaten up, old cardboard box she carries hindering her view, meaning she has to pick her way carefully downwards, one step at a time.

Halfway down, a large set of hands grip the box from underneath, relieving her of her burden, and she’s met with the wide eyed curious stare of bellboy, Billy Taylor.

“I’ll take that for you,” he says, giving her one of his trademark tight lipped smiles, before walking it the rest of the way down for her.

“Thanks, Billy,” she tells him gratefully, sighing with relief. “You on break?”

“Yeah, got fifteen minutes left,” he responds, setting the box down next to a pile of stacked band equipment. “What’s in here then?”

“The foyer’s being decorated for Christmas,” she tells him, coming to stand beside him. “This stuff’s not good enough to go out, apparently. Can you believe Mr. Garland wants me to throw it away?!”

Billy crouches, tugging open the box, raising his eyebrows as he pulls out a length of threadbare silver tinsel. “I can, actually.”

She playfully swats him on the shoulder, taking the tinsel from him and weaving it through the iron bannister of the stairs. “Thought we could decorate the sitting room with it. Looks more festive already, don’t you think?”

Billy chuckles. “If it makes you ‘appy, then why not? Want some help?”

She smiles, feeling her skin heat up as he looks up at her from where he’s kneeling. “You’re on break, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s not work if I actually want to do it,” he says with a shrug.

They grin at each other, and he continues to rummage through the box, pulling out cracked baubles and torn paper stars, as she surveys the small under the stairs space that the staff have to relax in.

“It’s weird to think I won’t be here next Christmas,” Billy muses, as he hands her decorations out of the box.

She looks away, focusing on running the colourful streamers through her fingers, doing her best to ignore the twinge of sadness that plucks painfully at her heartstrings. “Oh, yeah, you’ll be drafted, won’t you? I expect you’ll miss your mum’s figgy pudding.”

“I’d sooner have trench foot than eat mum’s figgy pudding, ‘orrible stuff.”

They laugh, and she allows herself a brief moment to admire the way Billy’s cheeks dimple and his eyes sparkle when he’s happy, before returning her focus to the decorations.

Within five minutes, the old piano in the corner is decked out in ragged paper streamers, the staircase’s iron bannister is woven with tinsel that’s seen better days, and a fruit bowl in the centre of the table contains the battered remains of tree ornaments of varying shapes and colours - a fitting centerpiece for the dowdy little space.

She steps back, admiring their work, eyeing the empty alcove above the brown leather sofa that’s tucked away against the back wall.

“Would be nice if we could hang this last piece of tinsel up there,” she muses, “not sure how we’d reach though.”

Billy steps behind her, looking with keen interest at the space she’s referring to. “I think there’s a step ladder in the storage room, wait here.”

He disappears out the back and a few moments later returns with a rickety wooden folding step ladder. It wobbles precariously as he unfolds it, setting it down near the sofa.

She draws in a nervous breath, brow furrowing as she looks at it. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

He presses his lips into a tight line, tugging at the hem of his uniform jacket. “Er…probably best if you go up, less chance of you breaking it. I can hold it steady.”

She hesitates for a few seconds, looking at it with uncertainty.

The final piece of tinsel above the alcove really would look nice.

“Okay, but promise you won’t let me fall?”

“Cross my heart,” he says, signing a cross over the left side of his chest.

She giggles, stepping forward and begins to climb up the ladder. It wobbles as she moves, making her breath hitch, until she feels Billy grab either side of it, holding it still. She climbs the rest of the way, pinning the last of the tinsel to the wall, allowing it to bow slightly in the middle.

It’s not until her hands are free that she realises the view that Billy must have, and brushes a palm over her skirt, making sure her backside is covered. She sees Billy turn scarlet in her peripheral vision, averting his gaze, and her heart flutters at the sight.

“Here, look, we missed something,” she hears Billy say, as she slowly starts to climb back down. She turns slightly, seeing him holding up mistletoe - a dried, long dead bunch of it, tied together with twine.

Butterflies flutter in her stomach at the sight. “That’s mistletoe, Billy…” She breathes quietly.

“Yeah…” he replies, chest heaving as he stares up at her.

A moment of silence passes between them as they gaze into each other’s eyes, until she leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Billy gasps, turning pink all the way to his ears, quickly stepping back, and she squeals, toppling forward as the ladder wobbles beneath her.

He is quick to drop the mistletoe, grasping her hands, allowing her weight to push him back into a seated position on the sofa, to prevent her from falling.

They both breathe heavily as she straddles his lap, their hands still clasped together, staring at each other with wide eyes.

“You saved me,” she whispers, “but you dropped the mistletoe.”

“You…you can still kiss me…if you’d like to?” He says hopefully.

She lets go of his hand, leaning in and pressing her lips to his. It’s soft at first, until his arm moves to wrap itself around her waist, pressing her close to him.

The kiss deepens, Billy groaning in approval as her tongue slips against his, their combined breaths hot and heavy against each other. She can feel his rapidly growing hardness through his trousers and grinds herself against it, as his hand slips beneath her skirt, the press of his fingertips feather light against the hem of her knickers through her tights.

There is nothing but the sound of the shared sticky click of their saliva as their mouths move together, and the creak of the leather sofa cushions as their hips push wantonly against each other. Desire sizzles in her blood, causing her core to throb with every press of his clothed length against her.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down to the sitting room causes her to scramble from his lap, quickly smoothing down her maid’s uniform.

“Billy?” Calls out the voice of Feldman as he descends.

“Just on break, sir,” Billy calls back, standing and stealthily attempting to adjust himself.

“That ended ten minutes ago,” the older man says exasperatedly. “Come on, there are guests checking in upstairs with luggage that needs bringing to their rooms.”

Billy’s eyes dart around in panic, his cheeks flushing. “Sorry, sir, lost track of the time. Can I quickly go to the toilet first?”

Feldman sighs. “Make it quick.”

Billy nods, shooting her an apologetic look before walking quickly away.

She puts a hand over her mouth, stifling an embarrassed giggle, knowing exactly what he intends to do.

“What have you two been doing down here then?” Feldman asks her, eyeing her suspiciously.

She clears her throat, smoothing her hands over her uniform once more, hoping her flustered appearance doesn’t give too much away. “Putting up decorations, Mr. Feldman. Looks great, doesn’t it?” She asks with a smile.

His eyes narrow, distaste apparent on his face as his eyes sweep the room, before looking back at her. “Yes, if you say so.”

She stoops, picking the mistletoe up off the floor and tucking it away in her apron pocket. She has a spring in her step as goes back upstairs.

That will definitely come in handy later.

#billy taylor x reader #ewan mitchell #billy taylor smut #billy taylor the halcyon #the halcyon billy taylor #billy taylor x you #billy taylor x y/n #billy taylor imagine #billy taylor fan fiction #billy taylor fanfiction #billy taylor fanfic #billy taylor fan fic #the halcyon #the halcyon fan fic #the halcyon fanfic #the halcyon fanfiction #the halcyon fan fiction

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rand0msmil3z · 1 month

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The first preview of Chasing Shadows, the sequel to Halcyon Days 🌸

If you haven't read Halcyon Days yet, you can find it below. Please mind the tags 💐

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fuckitwebhaal · 7 months

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guy who doesn't ship durgetash voice: "i'm writing another durgetash fic"

and here's an excerpt because i've drafted 3k words for the night and probably won't finish until tomorrow, and then i have commissioned work to do besides.

Halcyon stared at his reflection in the pools of blood mired on the floor. He was just as red. He tensed as he felt the hands of the priests caress his skin, their tongues lapping at the ichor on his cheeks. Their murmured whispers in his ear about his unholiness, the sweet tang of the blood, how his guiding hand bid it spill. Halcyon was more curious about how the pool at his feet rippled with every move.

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #fiwb writes #durgetash #oc: halcyon #enver gortash #the dark urge x enver gortash #goretash #bg3 spoilers #durge spoilers

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ddelline · 2 months

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wip wednesday (feat fresh fandom f*ckery)

blurb | "non-jjk wip posting? on the ddelline/aosc dash? straight to jail" - whoever reads this blog for jjk fic only, probably. sry if you are!!! I promise this =/= abandoning ship, I'm just dillying, dallying, dabbling. in mha. and bkdk. next to jjk that's where I've ended up putting my most obsessive behavior in the past few months; dipped my toe into the manga and emerged 4 months later as an unapologetic bakugō katsuki defender w early onset of bkdk brainrot. now if that interests you, there's wip fic to be had under the cut! if it doesn't, then rest assured that there'll be wip updates a-comin for 3 jjk projects in the near future, lol

premise | post-canon, pro hero setting; slow burn-ish getting together-premise; bkdk as roommates & established wonder duo-partners feat pro hero!shenanigans, sudden emotional realizations, domesticity, action, mixed media & more - also me attempting 2 write lighter, snarkier & dramedy-adjacent. evaluation pending, lmao. either way, wip writing under the cutttt

The sort of monumental, life-altering understanding that Katsuki’s experiencing, sadly, hadn’t hit him like a battering ram of iridescent, incandescent realization, topped off with cartoon hearts and biblical choirs, or whatever. The march towards death had begun with the most inane fucking single step, and here he is, feeling like an idiot, and feeling, like an idiot, every other hour since then.

Katsuki knows he’s not the most emotionally intelligent person on the block, and he knows that he’s hitting new and consistent deduction-lows when it comes to him-and-Izuku each and every day now. Still, if there’s the possibility of getting a refund on your personal emotional breakthroughs—he’d like one.

He’s ducking beneath hastily drawn police tape, sweat sticky and sooty, hours later, making a beeline towards where the concrete dust-matte green cap of Izuku’s head centers a cluster of reporters. They’ve caught him halfway to where a team of EMTs are waiting, long suffering, to attend to him. Katsuki resists the urge to facepalm.

“—stically, how would you analyze this recent string of public showdowns that you’ve had to deal with? Do you make anything of the increased number of hostile villain encounters you’ve had in the past weeks?”

Izuku scratches his scalp, upsetting a few errant curls. “Y’know, I wouldn’t think much of them, in the sense you’re probably thinking of them. It’s true there have been a few major ‘public showdowns’, as you say,” God bless him (curse him, actually) but he actually makes double quotations to go along. “There’s a common denominator here, what you’re talking about—it’s the arrests you’ve featured on the evening segment a few times. Right?”

Izuku’s suit is torn: a jagged ugly line bisects his hero garb and compression sleeve from mid-tricep to mid-forearm. It’s displaying an ugly gash frothing with blood. As the clump of broadcast-vultures chuckle in tandem he continues—seemingly ignorant of his injury and Katsuki’s impending arrival both—gesticulating animatedly, “Any hostile confrontations we experience whilst on patrol would technically categorize as ‘public showdowns’, but we’ve had—oh, Kacch—Dynamight!”

It’s a scene like any other, on a kind of-interchangeable end of patrol-day: they’ve just squashed an armed robbery-slash-hostage situation, had half a block rupture beneath them during the ensuing chase (neither of them are at fault, Katsuki’ll have their insurance carrier know) and are now stuck doing the obligatory clean-up-and-press-junket half hour. Izuku’s elbow is bleeding something fierce whilst he’s talking to reporters; he’s clasping both palms and twining his fingers, untwines them and raises both arms to gesticulate; lowers his hands and re-clasps his palms—all as he does when he’s faced with press and has to talk ad hoc for extended periods of time.

None of this is particularly out of the ordinary; despite it or in spite of, Katsuki doesn’t know—the amalgamation of the above turns out to be why, when three mic’d up reporters make a narrow path into the cluster for Katsuki to enter into the throng, his first instinct, his knee-jerk reaction, is to be angry.

Izuku clasps his far shoulder. Katsuki shrugs his hand off and ducks near his ear. “You’re injured.”

“Huh? I’m not?” says Izuku quizzically. He looks around and about himself. Katsuki clocks the second he notices his own elbow: the spasm of a lone muscle in his cheek, the embarrassed grit of his jaw—the if you squeal in front of the press you die-look he spears Katsuki with before turning back to the pack.

Izuku continues, bleeding but thoughtful: “What was I saying? Oh, yeah—I couldn’t talk about the ‘public showdowns’, as you say, without mentioning that any and all hostile confrontations we face on patrol belong to the same statistic. Really, they’re the same as they’ve always been—I wouldn’t say anything’s decreased or increased since a few years. Right?” He squares Katsuki with an inquisitive look.

Katsuki fights the urge to bare his teeth; he sucks down a deep breath, counts to five, and indulges his vulture-friendly maniac of a hero partner. “Because I’m not fucking lame I’m not gonna echo Pinky and say: ‘Another day, another slay.’” A few errant chuckles from the crowd; yeah, Katsuki’s a fucking comedian. “With that said, yeah, what Deku said—I dunno who was on site two days ago, DHN? JNN? JHT? I see all of you nodding, whatever; doesn’t matter—you’re drawing conjecture based on what you see. Shit happens when you’re not here, too.” Katsuki eyeballs the keeper of the JHT mic. “That doesn’t mean shit is happening. Not sure what the point of this is, but not everything’s a damn story—so I’m gonna take Hero Deku—” Katsuki snags Izuku by the collar, “—and go somewhere not where you lot are. He’s bleeding and you’re not. That’s not the end of the world either, in case that’s the doomsday headline you wanna draw up. That’s all. Scatter, fuckers!”

Izuku pouts when Katsuki drags him backwards through the clamoring throng of reporters. “We could’ve done a few more questions.”

Katsuki thinks: I knew I was fine dying for this asshole years ago.

Katsuki says: “We could’ve. We aren’t, though. Fuckface, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

Izuku glances down at himself. “It’s not that bad.”

“No? Tell that to the medteam, who’ll be the ones to explain to the public why unfortunately, due to erroneous judgment on the patient’s part, Pro Hero Deku lost mobility in his left arm a scant four years into his illustrious Symbol of Hope-era.” Katsuki squares him with a thin glare. “Also—tell that to your mom, who wants to put you on a direct flight to an isolated Siberian bunker where you can’t hurt yourself—she’s got a point.”

Izuku eyeballs him. “Kacchan,” he intones, “You’re overly dramatic sometimes.”

“Izuku,” Katsuki mocks, “You’re overly self-sacrificial all the time. Shut up and go see the EMTs.”

The march towards death had begun with the most inane fucking single step, and here he is, feeling, like an idiot, thinking: I knew I was fine dying for this asshole before I knew I was in dumb fucking love with him.

Well, go figure.

#help!!!!#posting for a new fandom is fkn terrifying lmao #this isn't even ao3 post-ready #still #shaking a lil in my boots #wip wednesday #fic: halcyon (on and on and on)#fandom: mha #fandom: my hero academia #fic #my writing #bkdk #bakudeku #work: fic

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jaguarys · 1 month

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The first few weeks, the new one moves on autopilot.

Halcyon has seen it before. He's used to it, the ways in which their body moves while their brain is still waking up.

This one hadn't been dead for long. It made it easier, he was sure, to readjust.

He hadn't grown attached, not in the way Galatée had. He was all too used to following a lead their mother had set for them, only to abandon it once the timeline had changed too much, once it was no longer deemed important. Their mother's interest was like the sun and just as all-consuming, but as soon as it was pulled away it wouldn't return. And it had been centuries, after all. People didn't live that long, and points of interest didn't either.

Galatée was pleased to finally see results. She was glad to have another, or at least in the selfish ways they both were for company other than each other.

Halcyon couldn't quite say. In some small ways, he did find himself drawn to the newcomer.

They'd followed him so long. Halcyon was well past feeling in any small way guilty for interfering, pulling strings here and there to make sure this person was there, that person said that. If it led to Mother's goals, if it helped her, it was worth it.

And even still... Danaël was theirs. Perhaps he had not known them, but they knew him. It was a small reward, after all this, for him to know them.

Slowly, the newcomer woke. Slowly, he started to take it in.

Halcyon had been in their mother's service for so long, now, these thousands of years. He didn't remember what it had been like, to wake. He could hardly remember his death, after so much time.

He doesn’t know when he realized. When the fog cleared from his head enough to realize he didn’t quite know why this was so important, why Mother was so important, why he was following her at all.

The fog comes and goes. There are moments when it recedes, when it really and truly disappears and he hates it all. He had earned his death; he was, in the end, angry it had been taken from him.

Mother was an all-consuming force. She was their sun. They rotated around her like moons around a planet. Hiding anything from her, even just his own thoughts, felt blasphemous.

But he did. In some small corner of his mind, he hid the truth: that he still had thoughts at all.

He didn’t remember who he’d been. He wasn’t sure if any vestige, any tidbit of personality, any memory belonged to the man who’d died, or if like clay he’d been reshaped by his mother’s hands.

Suns can’t always shine. And so, slowly, over the centuries, he shaped his own clay and scraped together pieces of his mind.

He forgot much, after thousands of years. He always remembered Galatée, always remembered the thrill at having another. It was easier once she joined, pulled out of her grave same as he was his. Not just because Mother’s attention was divided—though that counted for plenty.

It took nearly a hundred years for her to pull out of her fugue. It took even longer for the two of them to realize they were the same.

Fighting their own brains was difficult enough, the compulsion to submit, follow, love. Mother was as much themselves as they were, pouring into each nerve and orifice and pulsing in their blood. There was hardly any space for each other, but they carved it out of themselves.

It was exchanged near silently, hideous, blasphemous words whispered against cold, undead skin. Lips pressed to cheeks in moments stolen between missions. Promises their minds were, in some small way, their own and each other’s as much as they were Mother’s. Promises her love was not all-consuming.

Slowly, in their orbits, they circled one another as much as their sun.

Galatée never gave up hope they would find a way out. She never said as such—that was much too far. But he knew, much as anything real they knew was silent.

Maybe that was why she took such a shine to Danaël. Maybe she hoped if he was the answer to Mother, he could be the answer to them, too.

He’d had thousands of years to hope, and he wasn’t the type for it, anyways. He didn’t dare. He didn’t dare think Danaëlwas the answer to anything at all.

Asgaroth was always different from the rest. That does not mean Halcyon didn't love him, much as he loved Galatée, much as he would come to love Danaël.

Maybe some part of him always knew Asgaroth was not real. He never truly knew, not logically, not as such. But his instincts knew.

Halcyon never spoke with Asgaroth in the ways he did with Galatée. He never trusted him in the same ways. He never bared his matching soul.

He never spoke the truth.

Maybe he knew. Maybe he just wanted to pretend he didn’t. It was much easier to love someone who wasn’t there than admit they weren’t.

It takes nearly a year until Halcyon is sure Danaëlis really, truly awake.

It’s new. It’s exciting. It’s been centuries since they’ve had another. No matter that skin is cold, clammy, undead. No matter the eyes are only just starting to feel like they belong to a real person. No matter Mother’s hold is stronger on their newest. He still belongs to them.

He hadn’t realized, the way that lack had grated. It had been the same, with Galatée, with Asgaroth. He never really notices how much he hates the absence until it's gone, like a leftover sort of pain, like an old wound.

The Dynaméis are limbs of a body, Mother's hands. They're parts of an entity. Their minds are facets of her own.

Halcyon stretches into Danaël like exploring a newly healed limb.

And he’s different. From the very beginning, he’s different. Or so Galatée says, anyways. Halcyon thinks it may just be confirmation bias and more of that damned hope.

At the corners of Halcyon's mind, he feels shiny, smooth, like the gold of their weapons and the glow of the halos above their heads.

He feels like surfacing after a dive, like suddenly clear vision after thousands of years. He feels like seaglass. He feels like polished marble.

Mother's influence feels even more stifling in comparison, newly suffocating in ways it already was before.

And maybe they grow too bold. Soon after they're sure he's fully there, Galatée starts pressing.

At first, it’s ignored. For nearly too long, nearly long enough that Halcyon’s almost convinced her to give it up before she catches Mother’s attention.

And then it's there. Then, Halcyon feels it, the subtle brush across his mind, Danaël's cold and gentle hand.

Danaël is theirs, much as anything can be theirs and not Mother's. Slowly, thought by thought, they steal him away.

They tell Danaël, in stops and starts and whispers shared between them in every hidden moment, about it all. About Mother’s hands woven in the tapestry of his life.

It is, of course, hard. Their minds are not meant to accept anything against her. None of them want to remember the truth.

And so they repeat it. Over and over. Through hands in hands, through interlocked fingers, through whispers murmured in the night, they repeat it.

Touch is theirs. Touch belongs to them. Even when their thoughts are stolen, when their hands are stolen, when their lives and deaths are stolen. And they give it.

Then comes the exodus.

As they get closer, Halcyon feels the tendrils curl tighter and tighter, feels Mother’s influence creep in even more. He feels his mind slipping away from him, devotion, love, obedience replacing any rational thought.

Halcyon is under no naïveté that it's anything than the last pieces sliding into the puzzle. He wishes they had any puzzle at all. He wishes they weren't pieces on Mother's game of chess. He wishes he wasn't merely a pawn cast off the board as soon as he was no longer of use.

He wishes, paradoxically, that they’d had more time. He wishes it weren’t nearing the end, now that it is.

#DYNAMÉIS FIC COME GET YOUR DYNAMÉIS FIC #did you want 1.5k words of halcyon musing and my hcs on kalandre's influence? no? too bad #type: fanfic #fandom: les légendaires #les légendaires #les legendaires #halcyon les légendaires #dynaméis les légendaires #galatée les légendaires #kalandre les légendaires #asgaroth les légendaires #danaël les légendaires #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic

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jewishcissiekj · 8 months

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Thinking about how Asajj should adopt Merrin (Jedi: video game series). Or Deathstick (Star Wars: Uprising, Disney/current SW Comics). both work tbh. Unrelated, here's her being feral in Halcyon Legacy

Star Wars - The Halcyon Legacy #1 | Star Wars - The Halcyon Legacy #3

+Bonus Banshee from #3 (because it's stunning here I just can't explain it)

#daily asajj thought of the day #only watched a bunch of merrin scenes and stuff from fallen order but I love her already #and i'm obsessed with deathstick even tho she's colored as human so often in the comics which drives me crazy #both are survivors of the dathomir/nightsister massacre who were children during it btw #deathstick had a mom but eh irrelevant #sw #star wars #asajj ventress #ventress #the halcyon legacy #she looks better in the comic then I remembered #i kinda like the fit n stuff actually #the banshee looks amazing tho #shoutout to asajj for naming both her ships the banshee apperantely #the Ginivex-class fanblade starfighter is my fav tho just look at it!#need to make a collection of pics of it #star wars comics #oh btw had different asajj thoughts today but they went into my wip fic #my sister was betaing/editing it and we talked about it #so that was fun #oh and thought about my short story with like 3 chapters about her I am planning to write at some point #that ties her history together nicely i think #something that goes more to her journey with the jedi yn]know #getting her lightsaber #asking ky to tell her stories about the jedi #him telling her about my oc cuz we know nothing about ky #then she goes and kills said oc's padawan #it's cool #good night

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bluebeary-jay · 1 year

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If you’re comfortable with it, if you could write a fic where a bad guy hurts reader in front of Joel and he goes feral, I would be eternally grateful.

I'm sorry it took me this long buuuut it's ready and I really hope you'll like it!! 🥰 (I'm posting it in a few minutes)

And thank you so much for requesting! 💕

#i dont know how people can write so many fics so fast #i started working on this one immediately after i finished halcyon days and it took me SO LONG ugh #im nervous bc ive never written anything like this before and i really hope you guys will like it <3 #asks from lovely people

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flickersprout · 29 days

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It's Halcyon time! Chapter two baybee :) Tommy is here!

"Do you want a pretzel?"

#flicker writes #halcyon fic #dsmp fic #c!tubbo #c!tommy #dsmp tubbo #dsmp tommy #clingy duo

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averyblair · 1 year

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Halcyon

Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: England, America

Ship: AmericaxEngland

Tags and warnings: Human AU, post-apocalyptic, minor injury mention, minor infection

Word count: 1030

"Though Arthur had the fever, it was Alfred who was feverish, paranoia fuelling a frantic dash around the room."

In a ruined world, Alfred and Arthur take shelter in a motel.

Read below the cut or >here< on AO3.

(I really want to write a proper USUK apocalypse AU one day (I think high stakes are good for their dynamic) but I have too many other fics to complete, so this is just one little scene.)

---

Before the motel door had even shut behind them, he had found the bed - stiff old sheets in a hideous beige, a lumpy spring mattress, and a splintering frame that creaked dangerously, threatening to collapse under the shock of his sudden appearance.

It was the most comfortable Arthur had been in months and he felt his body loosen, the burden of the chase lifting as he relaxed into the dusty comforter, closing his eyes to crumbling plaster and black mould.

Still, when no-one joined him after several minutes, he cracked an eye open and propped himself up on his elbow.

“Al?”

“I’ll be with you in a minute, Artie. Just rest up for a bit.”

Though Arthur had the fever, it was Alfred who was feverish, paranoia fuelling a frantic dash around the room. Whilst Arthur had lounged, he had rearranged the furniture, chairs and cabinets now barricading the door, the latch apparently not trusted to hold steady.

“Calm down love, we lost them miles back.”

“Yeah, but there’s always others. New place just means new problems,” Alfred muttered distractedly, closing the thin curtains and examining them thoroughly, checking for any gaps or tears that might expose their occupancy. “All good! All right, let’s see what we’ve got for you.”

He was at Arthur’s side in an instant, ready to tip out the small leather satchel that held their most essential supplies. Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm, sparing him the effort.

“Tylenol, love. Expired Tylenol. That’s all we’ve got.”

“Shit. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I was taking stock last night.”

“Okay. Fuck… okay. Well you should take some anyway. It might help the fever. Fuck. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine, Al. I’m on the mend, see,” Arthur held out his leg, trousers rolled to his knee. “We’ve come back from worse.”

Alfred, squeamish in a way that Arthur found endearing, took a reluctant glance at the wound. A deep stab from an attacker’s worn screwdriver, it had been gnarly in the first days, quickly infecting and leaving Arthur weak. Now it was still a little red, and perhaps too warm to the touch, but it was healing. Miraculous, when all they’d had to treat it was soap, water and time.

“Yeah, okay. That’s not so bad. It’s looking better.”

“Told you,” Arthur leant up for a kiss, but he stilled upon hearing a distant clatter, hand frozen around Alfred’s neck as he glanced back at the door.

After a moment of silence, he was about to laugh off his nerves, ready to accuse a passing animal or some loose trimming in the wind, when there was another bang. A loud crack followed, then, a little closer, violent rattling.

“Someone’s checking the doors,” he hissed to a startled Alfred.

“Looking for us?” Alfred whispered back.

Arthur shook his head.

“No. I don’t think so. We were careful. No-one could have seen us.”

The assailant grew closer. Arthur could hear their footsteps now, and there was a loud crack as a near-by door was forced open. Somewhere close enough that they could hear drawers opening and the magnetic click of a bathroom cabinet. Still at the bedside, Alfred ducked, and Arthur slipped off the mattress to join him.

“Under the bed,” Alfred gave his shoulder an urgent push, forcing him low onto the carpet. As Arthur sucked in his stomach and squeezed beneath the low bed frame, he distantly remembered a version of himself that would have been disgusted by the crusty fibres beneath his fingertips.

It was too tight a fit for Alfred, who was taller, and somehow still muscular despite his meagre diet.

“Bathroom,” Arthur whispered to him, “behind the shower curtain.”

“No. I need to be here if they get in. You’re not in fighting condition.”

Arthur grunted in frustration, ready to argue, but the spirit left him when he heard a clatter to his right.

It was their door now. From the ground, he could see the wooden base trembling as someone gave it a few solid shoves, and then something heavier, perhaps a large boot or some makeshift battering ram. Arthur flinched at every crash, but the door held.

The assailant moved along, to the next door, and then the next. Probably a rogue scavenger. Probably alone. Probably hoping to get lucky and find a room that hadn’t been pillaged yet. Toothpaste, shampoo, detergent. It was all valuable now.

Still, the noises were several doors away before Arthur could relax, and he squeezed out from under the bed, letting Alfred help him back onto the mattress.

“Okay. It was nothing. We’re okay.”

Arthur was not sure if Alfred was trying to console him, or if he was talking to himself. He smiled anyway, and took Alfred’s hand.

“Of course we are.”

“You should get some sleep. I’ll stay awake for a bit and keep an ear out for more trouble.”

Arthur felt like he’d been doing an awful lot of the sleeping lately, but chose not to disagree whilst the other was on edge. Alfred could be a hard man to argue with when he was feeling paranoid.

“Alright, but you’d better wake me if you get tired.”

“Right. Sure.”

“I mean it. We need to find food tomorrow. It’ll be dangerous if you’re walking around half asleep.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’ll wake you up in a few hours and we can switch.”

“Good,” Arthur pressed a kiss to Alfred’s cheek, settling himself under the covers. It had been a long time now since he had slept under a blanket that could be considered clean - perhaps stale from lack of attention, but not grimy and unwashed - and he enjoyed the way it felt across his shoulders. Under real sheets and in a real bed, he could almost pretend he was in the past, when life was normal and his biggest worries were college assignments and job interviews.

A hand pressed itself to his forehead - not so hot today as it was yesterday - and then began threading itself through his hair. Arthur closed his eyes, settled into the pillow, and let the peace of the night pull him under.

#usuk #americaxengland #HWS England #HWS America #Hetalia #Hetalia Fanfiction #fanfiction #Halcyon #i finally wrote another fic this year #even though it's sort of just one scene from a bigger AU i'll never write #i'm feeling nice enough to actually make them both good guys #but not nice enough to let live in peace #so i've put them in another apocalypse

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 3 months

Note

How did you start your blog… tips please?

I just started by posting one of my fics and letting it go from there - there wasn't much to it until a few requests were sent my way and I had to adjust. I suggest that you make a request form (if you plan on taking requests) and set up some rules for your blog before you post. From then on it's just consistency and having fun!

#halcyone answers #i'm bad with tips lol #i just kinda popped back into the cod fandom in the middle of the hype and threw some fics into the void

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

Text

Body Electric

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader x Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) Warnings: Angst, mentions of PTSD and familial death, (consensual) infidelity, voyeurism, smut. Word count: ~3.9k

Summary: Tom's been sullen since returning from the Navy, and when his sister, Lois, moves from Longsight to London it heralds the end of the honeymoon period of his and his wife's marriage. Deciding a trip to the capital is just what they need to reignite the flame, Tom's wife gets much more than she bargains for when they check into The Halcyon, and she flirts with the handsome young bell boy to make her husband jealous.

Author's note: For @adragonprinceswhore and @mefools. This is not a crack fic. I have warped canon (I mean, I had to get these two to exist in the same AU anyway), so Billy didn't die when he was drafted, and has gone back to his old job at The Halcyon. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Dappled sunlight plays upon Tom’s sharp features, the occasional shadow of a tree or building passing across his face as the train speeds through the British countryside. He’d look beautiful, bathed in golden hues, were it not for the pensive expression he wears, and the faintest of dark circles that linger beneath his eyes.

She can’t remember the last time he looked genuinely happy - perhaps it was their wedding day?

Her and Tom had met in secondary school, and she’d thought he was an idiot to begin with; handsome, but always mucking around in lessons, never able to take anything seriously. It wasn’t until they’d both left that they’d become an item. She’d go to the weekly dances at the Pavillion, and every week he would ask her out. The first three times she had said no, not wanting to get mixed up with a known troublemaker. On the fourth occasion she’d relented, simply in the hopes that if she said yes he’d leave her alone. But she’d found she enjoyed his company, he made her laugh effortlessly, and when his blue eyes gazed into hers it made her feel like the only girl in the world that mattered. When he had kissed her it had stolen all the air from her lungs, and from that point on she was smitten with Tom Bennett.

The night before he shipped out for the first time, she had thought he meant to slam the bed’s headboard through the brickwork of the wall with the force with which he took her. However, she had smiled to herself when she’d felt the pleasant ache between her thighs the next day.

“Something to remember me by,” he’d told her with a wink and that trademark smirk of his.

Something to remember indeed.

She’d barely recognised him when he’d returned. He was thin, tired, didn’t laugh as freely, and learning that his father had passed when the Bennett family home was shelled had darkened his mood further. He hadn’t stayed long, enough to argue with his sister, Lois, and enough to find his way between her thighs once more and make her swear to him that she’d marry him when he came back.

Of course she had said yes, there was no one in the world she could imagine wanting to marry more than Tom. But with how things are between them these days she is left wondering if he’d married her because he loved her, or because she was the one thing left in Longsight that he could anchor himself to.

They’d married quickly when Tom was discharged for the final time, the war at its end. It had been an intimate affair, and despite the toll his service to his country had taken on him, Tom still gazed into her eyes on their wedding night and made her feel like the only girl in the world that mattered.

But then Lois had announced she was taking Vera and moving to London - her and Connie had found a place they could share. A fresh start. She had hinted at wanting to move away from Longsight before, and Tom had dismissed it, insisting that the family must stay together.

He was furious when she’d chosen to go anyway, refusing to be part of the send off party for her at the train station.

“This is where mum and dad are buried, how can she do this?!” He’d raged.

“They’re just headstones, Tommy,” she had tried to reassure him, “memories go everywhere with you.”

“You wouldn’t fucking understand,” he’d seethed back at her, “you’ve still got both your parents, what have I got?!”

“You’ve got me, you’ll always have me,” she’d said quietly.

He’d fallen silent at that, bowing his head and averting his gaze. It made her chest ache to see him that way.

It’s been close to a month since they were last intimate, and she has done her best to be patient and understanding. His time in the Navy has put him through a horrendous ordeal, coupled with losing Douglas, and his sister moving away, so she doesn’t pressure him.

However, she misses her husband. She feels that he is abandoning her each time he retreats into himself, going somewhere she can’t follow. Like two ships in the night, they pass each other by, laying in the same bed physically but emotionally never further apart.

When a letter arrives from Lois, letting them know she’s settled and would love for them to visit, she jumps at the opportunity. She has some money put aside from her job at the factory, and her and Tom never got to have a honeymoon, this would be the perfect way for them to rekindle the romance in their marriage.

She is shocked, yet thrilled, when Tom actually agrees to it, and the pair of them arrange a week’s worth of leave from their respective jobs, arranging to stay in a hotel rather than impose themselves upon Lois’ hospitality. There’d be plenty for them to do while they’re there, and she can’t wait to see the sights of Piccadilly Circus and Carnaby Street, she’s never been to London before.

Tom has stared silently out of the window the entire train ride from Manchester, though she knows better than to believe he’s taking in the scenery. It’s merely so he doesn’t have to make conversation. She can live with that, she is certain that once they’ve had their romantic week away that he’ll be much more talkative on the journey back.

Everything will be fine once we’re checked into The Halcyon.

It is early evening by the time they arrive, and Euston station is a crowded rush of people when they step onto the platform. She is fearful of it for a moment, never having seen so many people all in one place at once, until Tom takes her by the hand, guiding her through the crowds towards the taxi rank. Her heart soars at the gesture, a hopeful smile tugging at her lips over his protectiveness. Perhaps he is not lost to her after all.

She stares in wide eyed wonder out of the window of the black cab as it drives through the streets of London. It is similar to Manchester in its greyness and vastness, they both have all the trappings of big city living, however, the heart of London beats to an entirely different rhythm than that of Manchester’s. The capital seems harsher, more relentless than the northern locale that she calls home. She wonders if perhaps this is the right place to try to rekindle the spark in hers and Tom’s marriage after all.

That is until they step into the foyer of The Halcyon. Her heels click against the black and white tiles of the foyer, her mouth agape as she takes in the opulence of the huge pillars, the palm trees that flank either side of the entrance, and the yellow and orange hues of the stained glass panel in the ceiling. How could they not reignite their passion when they were going to live like royalty for a week?

“Billy!” The dark haired woman manning reception calls around the corner, once they’ve checked in. “Come and help Mr and Mrs. Bennett with their bags.”

A tall, lean young man, who can’t be any older than twenty, rounds the corner. He’s handsome, with bright blue eyes, and mousy hair that’s slicked back beneath the cap of his black and grey bellboy uniform.

He gives her a tight lipped smile, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looks at her and she can’t help the way she preens at his flustered state.

Still got it.

“Second floor, Billy,” the receptionist tells him as he leans down to grab their suitcases, “room twenty six.”

Billy nods. “Right this way, please, Mr and Mrs. Bennett,” he says, directing them towards the lifts.

She can feel the bellboy’s gaze upon her in the tight confines of the elevator and smiles to herself. At least someone was appreciative of her.

He takes his leave, bidding them both a good evening once their luggage is deposited outside of their room door, and her and Tom are left alone once more.

Tom whistles low as they enter, flicking on the lights, and she feels pride swell in her chest that he’s impressed by the lavish surroundings. A shiver of excitement runs through her as her eyes move over the crisp white pillows and crimson duvet that adorn the bed, thinking that this might be where they’ll finally make love for the first time in a month.

It’s a beautiful room; lace curtains hang in the windows, ornate floral wallpaper decorates the walls, there’s a writing desk by the window, and a yellow velvet armchair is placed off to one side by the bed.

Turning back towards Tom, she steps towards him, sliding her hands up his chest, over his jacket. She smiles demurely up at him, her voice a soft purr. “So, Mr. Bennett, what shall we do now?”

“It’s been a long journey, love,” he tells her, taking one of her hands and brushing his lips against her knuckles. “Let’s just get some rest, yeah?”

“Oh…okay,” she nods, stepping back and looking away. She feels like she might cry, as disappointment weighs heavily upon her chest. This is not how she imagined their first night here would go at all.

As she lays in the darkness, listening to the strange sounds of the city, motor cars and loud voices, all seeping in through the closed window, she can’t seem to fall asleep. She turns her face towards Tom, who lays facing away from her, wondering if he’s awake too.

“Tommy?” She whispers.

“Yeah?” He whispers back.

She pauses a moment, and when she speaks again she’s unable to disguise the tremble of emotion in her voice. “Do…do you still love me?”

He rolls to face her then, and the devastation of what she’s implying is evident in the arch of his eyebrows and parting of his lips, illuminated by the light of the streetlamp that pours in through the lace curtains. She feels a lump in her throat, regretting having asked.

“Course I do,” he says earnestly, tugging her towards him, and she buries her face in his chest. He presses his lips to the crown of her head, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’ve been letting you down.”

They stay like that for the rest of the night.

The next morning they sit in the hotel’s dining room for breakfast. Tom idly smokes a cigarette, a full English in front of him, while she butters her toast.

“Gonna go and see Lois today,” he tells her, taking a swig from his tea cup.

“I thought we’d arranged to visit her on Sunday?” She asks, frowning in confusion as she sets her knife down on her plate.

“We are,” Tom says, blowing smoke out through his nostrils - a gesture she has long since learned is a sign of irritation on his part. “But I’m gonna go see her today - alone.”

You’re going to start an argument, and then come back in a bad mood.

She sighs, folding her hands in her lap. “And what am I supposed to do?”

Tom shrugs. “Go to Carnaby Street, or whatever it was you were saying you wanted to do while we’re here.”

“Tommy, we’re supposed to do those things together, and I don’t wanna walk around London on my own!”

He nods, stubbing his cigarette out on the yolk of his fried egg, causing her to wrinkle her nose in disgust. He had barely touched his food, he never does anymore.

“Alright, look, I’m only gonna be gone a couple of hours, then we can do whatever you want. Why don’t you order some drinks for when I get back, and we can start our holiday properly?”

“You promise?” She asks with a small smile.

“Cross my heart,” he says, taking a final swig of his tea. He stands from the table and presses a kiss to her temple.

“And promise you won’t be horrible to Lois?”

“I’m not promising anything for that mardy cow,” he says, giving her a wink, before walking off.

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

Fuck’s sake, Tommy.

She goes back up to the room once she’s finished her breakfast, and takes a long, hot soak in the bath. Almost two hours have passed by the time she has her make-up finished and her hair curled. Dressed in lingerie and a satin robe, she is still deciding on an outfit when she realises Tom will be back soon and she hasn’t ordered their drinks.

Calling down to the hotel’s switchboard from the phone on the desk, she asks for a glass of white wine and a whisky to be sent up to the room. Ordinarily, Tom is a lager drinker, but she decides he deserves a treat as they’re on holiday.

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at the door and the bellboy from yesterday stands on the other side, holding a tray with the drinks they’d ordered.

She smiles warmly, watching him blush as he bows his head and enters the room, setting the tray down on a nearby table.

“Thank you…Billy, wasn’t it?” She asks, cocking her head.

He presses his lips together in a tight smile, glancing at her before looking shyly away again. It’s clear her state of undress is having an effect on him. “Yes, Mrs. Bennett,” he says, clearing his throat and straightening, clasping his hands behind his back. “Will that be all?”

Excitement flutters in her lower belly. It’s been a long time since a man has reacted to her so bashfully, and she’s enjoying it. She isn’t ready to let Billy slip away just yet.

“No need to be so formal, sweetheart,” she coos, “you can call me by my first name.”

He shuffles from foot to foot, huffing a nervous laugh. “Sorry, Mrs…sorry…”

“How old are you, Billy?” She asks, stepping towards him.

“I’m twenty-one.”

Seven years my junior. Not as bad as I’d thought.

“Did you serve, Billy?”

“Yes,” he says with a proud smile. “I manned the anti aircraft guns at the barracks for three years.”

The sound of a key in the lock draws both their attention towards the door, as Tom walks through it. Just as she’d anticipated, his expression is sour. He’s argued with Lois.

“I’ll leave you both to it,” Billy says, with a polite nod of his head.

She knows how this will play out. Billy will leave, and Tom will allow his bad mood to ruin their day, either by refusing to leave their hotel room, or simply sulking his way around London when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Opting to use the current situation to her advantage, she decides to be tactical, and give her husband a reminder of what he’s missing out on. If he sees another man flirting with his wife, perhaps it will snap him out of this.

“No need to be in such a hurry, Billy, we were just getting to know each other. Or do you have somewhere you need to be?”

Billy eyes Tom carefully as he walks past the both of them, taking the whisky from the tray on the desk and sipping from it.

“Well, my shift finishes in ten minutes,” he says distractedly, “so I s’pose I could–”

“Perfect,” she cuts him off, taking his arm and guiding him to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

Tom remains silent, taking a seat in the armchair and placing his glass on the table next to it. His jaw is set, gaze dark. He only ever looks like this when he’s sparring for a fight, but if this is what it takes, then so be it.

“Do you have a sweetheart, Billy?” She asks softly, fingernails grazing his thigh, causing him to flush bright red.

“Er…well…” he removes his cap, keeping his gaze fixed on it as he turns it round in his hands. “There was a maid that worked here…Kate, her name was. I fancied her…really fancied her, but she moved back to Ireland to be with her family when the worst of the bombing hit.”

“Oh, you poor love,” she soothes, giving his hand a squeeze. “I expect a handsome lad like you has girls queuing up.”

The click of Tom’s lighter pulls their focus back to him, and he exhales a plume of smoke, staring intently at them both. “Do you fancy my wife?” He asks Billy, with a steely gaze.

Billy swallows thickly, eyes widening in panic as he opens and closes his mouth.

“It’s okay, Billy,” she says gently, “you don’t need to be shy.”

“Well…I hope you don’t mind me saying, Mrs…sorry…but I think you’re beautiful.”

This time it’s her turn to feel embarrassed, and she averts her gaze as she feels her skin grow warm.

“Yeah, she is beautiful isn’t she? Would you like to kiss her?” Tom asks, lifting his glass and taking a deep drink from it, his eyes never leaving Billy.

Her head snaps up, looking at her husband with wide eyed shock.

Why is he asking that?!

“Tommy…” she says hesitantly, an edge of warning in her tone.

“It’s fine, love,” he takes another drag of his cigarette, settling further into the armchair, observing the both of them. “Go on, kiss her.”

Returning her attention to Billy, he’s shuffled closer, looking at her questioningly.

“Is…is this okay?” He whispers, leaning in.

She nods, closing the gap and her lips meet his. He is hesitant at first. His kisses are not as forceful as Tom’s, his lips are softer. As she reaches up to cup his cheek, he seems to grow more confident, applying more pressure, a quiet hum of approval rumbling in his throat. It makes her core throb to be desired like this.

When they finally part for air, she is breathless and flustered. She looks straight to Tom. He sits, watching them casually, fingers wrapped around his glass in one hand, propped on the arm of the chair, his cigarette burning low between his forefingers in the other.

“Do you wanna touch her?” He asks Billy, a low, darkened edge to his voice.

“Yeah…yeah, I do,” Billy answers, sounding more poised than he had just moments before.

“Go on then,” Tom instructs, “brush your thumb over her nipple, she likes that.”

She gasps softly as Billy leans in again, capturing her lips with his own once more. A quiet moan escapes her as she feels his hand tentatively slip into the opening of her robe, his thumb swiping gently over the lace of her brassiere.

He is not as self assured as Tom, Billy’s touch is featherlight by comparison, but it’s been so long since someone has paid this kind of attention to her that she responds to it just the same. She arches against Billy, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she hears his cap drop to the carpet with a soft thud.

“You can fuck her, if you want to,” Tom rasps, and she glances over at him, as Billy’s desperate kisses move down her neck. His blue eyes are still dark, she’s no longer able to tell if it’s from anger or arousal, the two states look much the same when he wears them.

There’s a part of her mind that’s screaming at her that this is wrong, that they should stop. However, if this is what it takes to get Tom to notice her again, then she’ll do it, and selfishly she’s enjoying how it feels.

Billy pushes her back, and she goes willingly. “Are you sure this is okay?” He whispers, his voice betraying his nerves.

She nods, untying and opening her robe, to reveal the lacy lingerie set she wears beneath.

Billy draws in a sharp inhale, before hurriedly unfastening his belt and unzipping his trousers with shaky hands.

He freezes, looking at Tom. “I…I don’t have a sheath.”

“Don’t need one,” Tom replies nonchalantly, crushing his cigarette butt out in the ashtray. “Best not keep her waiting.”

She pulls the gusset of her knickers to one side as Billy hovers over her. She can feel she’s soaked already. Billy is not quite as girthy as Tom, but still an impressive size that causes her breath to catch in her throat as he starts to press inside.

Tom chuckles quietly from where he sits. “She’s tight, isn’t she? Tightest little pussy I’ve ever had. Go careful.”

His words cause her to ache with want, and she moans wantonly as Billy bottoms out with a grunt. He’s gentle, much more so than Tom would be, slowly withdrawing before pushing back in, a dusting of pink prominent across his cheekbones.

“You won’t break her,” Tom tells him, “can just imagine how wet and warm she feels. Fuck her harder, and wrap one of her legs around you. She goes mad for that.”

She cries out, white hot sparks of pleasure swirling in her gut as Billy does as he’s told, the shallow pants of his breath puffing hotly against the side of her face.

Turning her head, she looks at her husband and he smirks, eyes raking over the scene before him as Billy continues to rut into her.

“T–Tommy…” she moans.

With each push of Billy’s hips into hers, she can feel her climax building, she’s right on the precipice, but it seems Billy is too. He tenses, a groan escaping him.

“Don’t you dare come inside her,” snaps Tom.

As if on cue, Billy pulls out, making her whine at the loss, coating her thighs in his hot spend as his jaw slackens and his brow furrows.

Before she’s had a chance to recover, Tom is rising from his seat towards the bed. “You can go now,” he tells Billy.

Still struggling to catch his breath, Billy nods, clambering off of her and fastening his trousers and belt back up. He stoops to pick up his cap, before hurrying towards the door, followed by Tom.

She lays there, dumbfounded and breathless, through glassy eyes she watches Tom hand Billy a bank note. “You’ll not tell anyone about this, d’you understand?”

“Y–yes, sir.”

She hears the door click closed, and Tom walks back over to the bed. His pupils are blown wide with lust and it sends a shiver through her.

“Enjoy yourself, love?” He asks, grabbing her thighs and tugging her towards the edge of the mattress, making her squeal.

“Are you angry with me?” She asks quietly, feeling shame bloom heavily within her chest.

“No,” he says distractedly, attention focused on her core. His thumb swipes through the stickiness that’s been left on her thigh, spreading it slowly over her skin. “No, I’m not angry.”

“You’ve been so absent lately,” she says sadly, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just wanted your attention.”

He straightens, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve been neglecting you, and that’s my fault. But don’t worry, I won’t anymore. Now–”

She clenches around nothing as his hands move to his belt, and she hears the metallic clink of it opening. “Now you have my full attention, and I’m gonna make sure you get all of it.”

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