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withered-blossoms · 6 months

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(Withered Blossoms)

WEAK (Genshin Ajax fic)

A/N: hi it's me, the creator of the ever-cursed SHREBEK. I'm not sorry for traumatising yall, but I hope this Ajax fanfic will reduce the damage ^~^ anyways, it's been years since I last wrote, so my writing skills are a little rusty, apologies for that. Also, do ignore any typos or errors, though I yall point it out I'll edit it. That being said, I hope yall enjoy :D

@astaroth-demon-go-brrr came up with the idea for the fanfic and I decided to write it for her, so Asta, I hope you enjoy it 6w6

꧁༺Main Page | Angst Masterlist | Fluff Masterlist༻꧂

It’s… cold.

Very much so that it’s freezing him right up to his very core. He never expected that he’d one day ever feel the merciless chill gnawing away at his bones, his nerves, his senses, seeing how he DID grow up in the blizzards and was technically built for it. But this? This was worse than any snowstorm that had ever engulfed his house; this one swallowed his very being as if he were but mere prey, nothing but sustenance for a larger living and that it was all he was worth.

Right. Of course. Whoever said his life mattered?

He is a Harbinger, a pawn at the mercy of the almighty Tsaritsa, albeit a higher-ranked one. A little card soldier who heeds her every beck and call, who carries out her commands flawlessly and brings her plans to reality at each dismissive flick of her deceptively delicate wrist, who should have no thoughts but to do his job and thus have some value or risk being discarded. After all, that’s what string puppets do— to move, sway, attack, it’s all up to the puppeteer. The dolls, or weapon in his case, should not have other wills, or any at all.

And now, his worth was being questioned, balanced on one end of a scale that was threatening —fated, even— to tip towards the empty side.

He was aware of the ruckus he stirred up in the other nation, albeit not of his own will, but that did not matter. And her 11th harbinger was now suffering from the consequences of enlarging the distance between her and her goal.

Childe knew, more clearly than others did, that regarding his upfront attitude towards his enemies and those standing in his way, the Tsaritsa had always turned a blind eye, choosing to ignore it so long as it did not harm her benefits. She cared not for the process, so the subjective never mattered to Her Majesty, for her chilly sights were set on nothing but the results. But now, when that very same publicity and attention Tartaglia gained for himself reared its head and turned around to bite not just him, but also Her Majesty, she did not favour nor tolerate it. Not when the gnosis was now harder to attain and plans having to be postponed. Thus, she had to make the perpetrator reap what he sowed.

With his bangs covering his eyes and how he knelt before the Tsaritsa, one would easily mistake this display of submission and devotion for fear and defeat, resignation even. Their minds would change though, the moment they see the thrill and seemingly manic excitement in his eyes that he suppresses, now alive with that spark that he gets whenever he battles. It took all the finely-honed weapon of war had in himself to stop his shoulders from betraying his emotions; to keep his true emotions under wraps. Cleverly drawing the curtains and hiding the window to his soul from the piercing gaze of the Cryo Archon, he opts to fool the bystanders instead. Wasn’t he so generous to let those wishing and praying for his fall witness their dreams materialise? It would be most amusing to see how long those fools can laugh for IF he makes it out alive after all.

Despite how cunning he could be when needed, Ajax would not lie. His ruler had a strong domineering aura that struck fear into the blood pump residing in her subordinates’ chests, including his. However, right this instant, where he was most likely half a foot through Death’s door and into his own coffin, the adrenaline pumping through his veins had erased most of what little fear he felt, leaving behind the sensation of being alive that he’s always craved. To be this close to dying at the hands of one of the strongest people he’d ever met, one he fervently wished to fight one day and had sworn loyalty to much less, lit up his nerves and brought him a thrill he never thought he’d ever experience. No, this was so much more exhilarating than merely defeating strong foes with the weapon he’s weakest with, for their strength could and can never hold a candle to the God’s.

And right now, the very same diving being was holding him on trial.

As always, he feared not death. One who is in his shoes and has personally experienced what his eyes had displayed on his retina would not either, this was a given. But, if he were to lose his life right here and now, Celestia knows what his family would suffer under the hands of their “caretakers”. He couldn’t allow that; his precious siblings —especially Teucer, Tonia and Anthon— were not trained to handle them like he. They would not last even a second in this exquisite masquerade ball, and he would rather they not have the blessing or fortune to enjoy a feast at Swan Goose Gate.

So no, dying is not an option. He would not go down without a fight; he refuses to. As much as he respects the one on the throne, he will not just let his life be taken away like that, not when his siblings are still in the hands on those claiming to care for them on his behalf. Being dense was not his forte; he knew crystal clear wheat that “care-taking” entailed and that it was but a pretty decoration to cover up the dark depths lurking underneath. With that in mind, he had already made preparations to deal with the icicle that would no doubt pierce his heart with razor-sharp precision. But as always, a certain someone stayed true to the role he once playfully gave them, sticking to their title as the one unpredictable factor in his life.

The small breeze from their speed volunteered to serve as a brief warning about the warm droplets hitting his rosy cheeks just a second later.

The light falling upon that person’s form softly illuminated their silhouette, their back facing him, and in that one moment he thought that he had died and gone to the wrong place. It did not make sense; the lack of pain from having his heart pierced aside, he should not be seeing an ethereal angel considering the sheer amount of blood staining his hands. But then why was this angel bleeding from their back? Do angels bleed? Surely their blood was not red in colour….?

He did not know if it was the blinding contrast between the dark red liquid and the pristine white floors of the icy palace tiles that finally brought him back to Earth, but his brain finally registered that the one shielding him from the blinding glare of the lights was not a supernatural servant of God. Instead, it was someone more mortal and more realistic. It was….you.

You, who had been assigned as his little assistant and who he eventually became close friends with. You, who had cleaned up each and every one of his messes, albeit with a few complaints here and there that he never took to heart and that you never meant. You, who he watched play with his siblings in the snow and graced him with such a heartwarming sight. You, who he had secretly cherished and thanked the gods for, despite never once believing in their existence nor divination. You, who had been watching from the sidelines, brimming with worry.

…And you, who now took the verdict for him.

He finally believed those who once shared that time will seemingly slow down as a life-changing event occurred before their eyes. They were not kidding; because if they were, then why was gravity working so slowly on your weakened form? Why were his arms so slow in reaching to cushion your fall? Time had not come to a standstill nor even slowed, yet those blue orbs resting in their sockets chose to deceive him so. He could only thank his reflexes for still being able to soften your landing, as discreetly as he had to do it.

He should be happy; elated even, that you are finally in his arms. So why did it all feel so wrong? His dreams of holding you and trapping you in his warm embrace should not be realised this way, not when you replaced him at Death’s door. There should have been a fireplace in front of the two of you and a blanket around your shoulders as he shared his warmth with you and fought off the cold threatening to make you shiver. There should not be more blood coating his hands —yours, no less— nor should you be smiling up at him in such a comforting manner.

The ringing in his ears was annoying, even more so when accompanied by an underlying buzzing. He couldn’t care less though, it wasn’t important. Because for the first time in his life, he did not know how to react, unable to register nor comprehend the scene before him. But his body, conditioned to react quickly, froze his expression into that of a neutral one so as to hide his shock. The manic spark of life in those blue orbs had died the moment you fell from the grace he swore you personify, replaced by those dull, dead ones that had never once fell upon your form. But how could they shine or brim with life again, when the source of light was now falling through his fingertips like sand?

If only he had been more careful, more diligent. If only he had been more discreet. If only he had learnt he ways of puppeteering as his fellow Harbingers had. If only he had mastered being behind the scenes instead of being the odd one out. If only if only if only—

No, that was wrong. There were no ifs. He should have been stronger, faster, smarter, more flawless in the execution of his mission, you would not have suffered such a fate. He could not even weep for the bright future you so willingly gave up for him, for the one he had held dear and subsequently lost, for your tragic demise. He could not even try to save you, to try and reduce the amount of blood flowing from your wound, to at the very least share his body heat with you so that you would not leave in the cold.

And yet he could not, not when the Tsaritsa was watching along with the other Harbingers, eyes searching for any more cracks in that cold, indifferent mask of his. This way, they could dig their blood-stained fingers into every nook and cranny in an attempt to witness and dissect every vulnerability he had to offer.

He knew, and so he would not allow them to. For within these glorious palace walls, a thinly-veiled masquerade ball is held. Weaknesses have no place in such dangerous settings, much less those who are full of them. With how experienced you are, he knew you were well aware of that. Otherwise, your digits, now curled up into your palms in a hidden display of self-control, would have long reached for his face and wiped away the tears that he had stopped from falling. In a soft voice, you would have coaxed him out of the bad habit of repressing and hiding his true emotions and teased him. Yet the last thing you left behind for him was six words that you mouthed, that he had and will never hear(d) flowing from your lips again.

“I love you, please live on.”

The bare minimum was what he was unable to provide for you, and so he paid the price. It was not a cheap one either, since he had to kneel there watching you suck in and let out your last breath, mustering the barest hint of a smile with your remaining strength and slightly curling your fingers around his before going limp, all the while having to hide his sorrow and feelings.

All because he was too weak.

…It truly was unfortunate that the heavens had a taste for much crueler endings.

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lepusrufus · 3 years

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Some (slightly angsty) vamp fam being wholesome and loving each other bc we need it

Now keep in mind I’m in no way a writer but i wanted to write a teeny lil fic based around this sketch (the alternative was a short comic which i do not have the time for lol) so enjoy the angst and fluff under the cut

The frigid wind was howling outside, crashing against the towers of the Dimitrescu castle. Yet they stood tall and proud as they have for centuries now, the thick stone walls protecting its inhabitants from the winter cold.

On the inside, the halls were filled with echoes of heels running across the polished floors, accompanied by the giggles and laughter of the three daughters of the house. Cassandra was in the lead, a comically large hat held in her gloved hands, followed by Bela and, lagging behind, their youngest sister Daniela. She deliberately stayed behind to -jokingly of course- mock their pursuer’s efforts to catch up. Each time she turned to yell a “we cannot be captured” or “give up and we may spare your hat” a small sigh escaped their mother’s lips.

“Come now, daughters. You know as well as I do that I must get ready for tonight’s meeting.”

Alcina made no efforts to quicken her pace though, she knew that her mischievous daughters would not run too far ahead. After all, where is the fun in having so much distance between you and your pursuer that you can’t even see and make fun of them. At least that’s what Daniela always said.

Despite her air of tiredness, Alcina couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips at the sound of her beloved daughters’ giggles. They may be up to no good occasionally, but they knew better than to cause their mother embarrassment, especially when it came to Mother Miranda. The meeting was still distant. For now she could afford to spend some time with them.

The trio rounded a corner, the first two quickly slipping out of sight while Daniela lingered there and turned towards her mother.

“Fine, we’ll give you the hat back,” she shouted and, for a second Alcina looked at her daughter hopefully, until she held her chin between two fingers in an exaggerated pensive expression. “If we can get a pet lycan!"

Alcina grimaced at the mere thought of one of Heisenberg’s beasts coming even close to her castle. Her clean castle.

"Never."

"Good luck then!"

Daniela spun on her heels to follow her sisters, but lost her balance for a moment, slamming an elbow against the window placed right behind her for support. She had a tendency to get a little clumsy when excited, though it never became a problem bigger than a couple insignificant vases getting broken or an accidental -according to her- shove against her sisters. That is, until today.

The latch on the old window rattled from the combined force of Daniela’s hit and the wind outside that has been pushing against it all day long. This was the final hit that it needed to give out. The window opened forcefully, letting in a cold burst of winter air from outside that howled through the hallway. Daniela got knocked to the ground, more due to the pain caused by the chilly air than from its force, and instinctively tried to crawl away from the window while shielding herself from the cold as best as she could. The pain, however, became quickly unbearable and an agonized scream that bordered on a guttural grow pierced the howling of the wind.

"Mom!” Daniela called out desperately, now balling up in the fetal position.

Her mother however was not far, having witnessed the whole ordeal and now rushing towards her with heavy steps from the other side of the hall. Even the other two, hearing Daniela’s scream, dropped their game and came back for their sister.

“Dani- "

Bela had to quickly grab Cassandra’s shoulder to stop her at a safe distance. As much as it pained her to see her younger sister writhing in pain on the floor, she knew that all three of them being in that state would get impossible for their mother to handle. And Alcina indeed handled it. She was at her youngest’s side in mere seconds, forcefully shutting the damned window with just enough self control so as to not shatter it, and then knelt down to Daniela’s shivering form. She gently scooped her up in her arms, holding her close to her body and almost wincing at how badly she was shaking.

Alcina spared only a glance towards the elder daughters "Go around. Meet me in my chambers,” came her booming voice and, although she wasn’t mad at them, they couldn’t help the shiver that ran down their spines.

“Yes mother,” they replied in unison and the next second a swarm of insects had replaced their bodies.

The journey to Alcina’s chambers was little more than a quick blur of hallways and heavy booming footsteps. She shoved the door open, crouching to enter and made a beeline for the pile of blankets neatly placed on the bed. Daniela was lowered down on one of the thicker covers so that her mother could wrap her up in a better attempt at warming her up. She then was promptly picked back up, now cocooned in the soft blanket, and Alcina went to sit on the couch placed right in front of the fireplace while tightly holding her daughter in her arms.

Contrary to popular belief, Alcina’s body was quite warm to the touch, unlike her daughters’ cold skin. On chilly winter nights it was common occurrence for the girls to come to her, demanding cuddles with the excuse that their rooms felt too cold. She always complied, gladly allowing all three of them to huddle around her like kittens for a bit of extra warmth.

Which is exactly what Daniela was doing right now, her small body almost glued to her mother’s chest and her head shoved in the crook of Alcina’s neck. One hand was covering her face, muffling the sound of sobs, while the other was damn near clawing at her shoulder trying to hold the blanket tightly around herself. It pained Alcina deeply to see her in such a sorry state. Her hands were tightly holding her daughter and she bent down to kiss the top of her head, whispering gentle words of encouragement.

A slight buzzing sound reached her ears as Bela and Cassandra entered the room, their expressions riddled with worry. Bela wordlessly approached the fireplace, it’s flames dying down from not being fed in a while, and added a couple logs that quickly ignited, casting a warm light on the room and its current inhabitants. Cassandra on the other hand was standing a couple feet away from her mother, not knowing what to do. The hat was still in her hands, her grip tightening further with each muffled sob that could be heard from Daniela. It took a few moments for Alcina to notice her, but when she did, she called her to sit by their side with a slight motion of her head. Cassandra was happy to oblige, quickly sitting down by her mother and helping her with keeping Daniela wrapped in the soft blanket. Bela joined them too after taking care of the fire. She knelt in front of Daniela and started to slowly rub her shoulder hoping to bring some comfort while her other hand went to Cassandra’s.

They sat like that until sobs turned into soft sniffles and until those died down too. Daniela stopped shivering and was instead just enjoying the warmth of her mother’s embrace, recovering from the whole ordeal. Until she let out a sigh, still not budging however.

“Well that sucked major ass."

Cassandra couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped her lips at the sight of Alcina fighting the urge to reprimand her youngest for her choice of words. When she looked at Bela, she saw the same struggle to keep a straight face. The very air in the room seemed lighter, no longer carrying the very real possibility of one of them dying.

"No more heels for you. From now on you can only wear flats,” Bela said teasingly, finally allowing her shoulders to relax.

“You’re only mad I’m taller than you,” came Daniela’s reply, who had turned around in her mother’s arms to give her sister a light shove.

Bela gasped, indignated, and went for a rebuttal, but was promptly interrupted by Cassandra’s sudden burst of laughter. She buried her face in her hands, muffling the sound, and leaned against her mother.

Alcina finally managed to let out a sigh of relief, her grip on Daniela loosening, and she leaned back against the soft cushions of the sofa. She closed her eyes, just reveling in the sound of her daughters giggling and throwing light teases at each other as if the last half an hour or so did not happen. These girls were really able to bounce back from anything.

But that was still a close call. She was already making plans to have someone come to the castle and repair any old window with a faulty lock so that such an accident would not repeat itself. It wasn’t unusual for things in a castle to get old and less effective as they once were, but Alcina couldn’t help blaming herself for not properly upkeeping her home. Her and her daughters’ home.

A shift from the three girls pulled her back from her thoughts. Bela got up to sit by her side, now all of them huddled around her and giggling at whatever joke Daniela just made.

She could have a maid call the repairman later. Right now she just wanted to enjoy the quality time with her daughters, in the safety of her warm room. Not that the girls seemed to have any plans of letting her get up anyways.

#we al need some fluff okay #hope yall enjoy this have mercy of my writing skills #lady dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #my art #fanfic

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mrsbhandari · 4 years

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Clash

A/N: HERE IT IS!! MY FIGHTING OLIVER TENSION FIC!! I hope yall enjoy and I also hope that yall know: getting asks and requests brightens my day EVERY SINGLE TIME it happens!! I never mind writing fics for yall or talking to yall or saying yall five times in every sentence. u know how it is. the pirates get ye, I get yall. thems the rules.

words: 2k

warnings: HEAVY SMUT like jfc idk how I can live with myself fklsjdfkj, language, swords

Summary: A training session with Oliver gets heated.

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“You’re sure you can handle this, Eden?” Oliver took a sword off the wall and tossed it to his new sparring partner, who caught it easily by the hilt. “Training can get...intense.” His smoldering gaze turned to her, making his implication obvious.

“You forget I’ve learned the basics. I held off against your men, remember?” Raising an eyebrow, she swung the blade around with obvious practiced skill, getting used to the weight and natural movement quickly. He smiled fondly, but there was just a hint of arrogance touching his lips. The sword whooshed close to his ear, making him jolt away and drop his look. “Scared, Lieutenant?” After joining his crew, she was still desperate to prove that she deserved to be there, that she wasn’t a pirate spy. Oliver always regarded her coolly and cautiously, but figured the best way to test loyalty was to give her a weapon and see to it that she didn’t kill him (on purpose, at least).

“More nervous. You’re dangerous, you know.” He widened his stance, preparing to begin, and she modeled her foot placement after his.

“I know.” Giving a brief wink, they began the classic dance of battle, always moving and waiting for the other to strike first. As they looked at each other, there was a palpable tension stretching across the wide circle they created, connecting them like a taut string just begging to be broken by the swing of a sharp blade. Oliver was the first to attack, showing mercy on his partner with an easily blocked slash. To her, the sound of their swords clashing together in midair was jolting, but she did well to hide it and brush his blade off hers; he had gotten used to the sound over the years and showed no hints of anxiety, making him seem like a robot designed for fighting.

“Don’t go easy on me,” she commanded, sending a glare across the circle they’d created once again, shifting feet and hard breaths the only sounds in the small room they were using for training. She wasn’t sure about Oliver, but her hard breaths were coming more from how she would rather be exercising another way, involving a lot more sweat and a lot less clothes. The thought fleetingly took her focus, but she shook her head to wipe her mind; the split second was enough for him to catch her off guard.

He lunged forward, but his eyes gave his next move away: a swipe from the right, easily parried as she stepped over and let him fall a little too far forward with too much momentum for him to easily regain his balance. She took advantage of his vulnerability and hit the hilt of her blade into the small of his back, sending him to the floor with a grunt. That grunt definitely didn’t help the mental images already running through her mind, so she elected to back away, letting him scramble to his feet.

Oliver was sweating, and she found herself preoccupied by the droplets running down his skin. His hair was in a ponytail when they started, but the strands were messy now and sticking to his flesh in crazy patterns that decorated his temples and cheeks. Running a hand through it, he noticed her distracted state and yet again moved forward, lightning on his feet as he quickly disarmed her and grabbed her sword. Unable to defend herself, he walked her back with a sword at her neck until her back hit the wall.

The blade was cold, but he pressed the flat of it to her skin so as to give the illusion of threat. Eden didn’t really care. Her eyes drifted from part to part of his face, studying the way his breath came out, the way his fingers twitched as if holding back, the way he pressed his body far closer to hers than he needed to. He was tall and could barely resist the way her face looked as she had to tilt her head back to see him; her lips were parted slightly and she bit the bottom one, already plump and red and tempting. He could feel his pants growing tighter, a physical representation of the siren’s effect on his body, making his thoughts run every which way, following a constantly changing current. He realized he had been leaning down this entire time, target locked on those kissable lips that made him lose his mind, before he thought more of the consequences. He changed his path at the last second, head landing next to hers with his forehead against the wall.

“You’re dead.” Before he could think, she ripped the swords out of his hands and tossed them to the floor. “Wha--?” She landed a steel foot on his boot, drawing out a yelp that quickly morphed into a gasp as she jolted her knee into his stomach, knocking any air out. She pushed him off, sticking a foot out behind his when he stepped back to send him to the ground once again. Falling to her knees, she straddled his hips and pinned his wrists, leaning low to whisper in his ear.

“You’re dead.”

Unable to take it anymore, Oliver turned his head and kissed her, pouring every second of torturous want that he’d lived through into it. His hands curled into fists, but she continued to hold them to the ground, unwilling to relinquish her control. For a minute, he thought they were just going to stay like this: her on top of him and kissing him like she needed his lips and tongue to live. Then, her hips were grinding down into his and her teeth were sinking into his bottom lip and her lips were moving down his jaw and he was losing his breath at the overwhelming sensations of and and and.

“Eden...” he gasped, letting out a shuddering groan when her teeth grazed his earlobe.

“Lieutenant.” He was fully hard now and he knew she could feel through his trousers, but she continued teasing him with little nips and random grinding that kept him on his toes. The worst pain he was feeling was in his wrists as her nails dug in, tattooing crescents that he was sure to run his fingers over when this was all over. “Tell me what you want, Oliver.” He whimpered, drowning in the feeling of Eden everywhere on him. A swift bite to his collarbone pulled him out of his daze just enough to answer.

“More,” he groaned. She hummed, loosening her grip on his wrists. They shot up to her breasts, lightly squeezing them over her thin linen shirt, sighing at the pretty sounds falling from her pretty lips. His fingertips meandered down to her hips where he gripped the skin revealed between her shirt and pants, tugging her body down to gain the barest hint of friction, moaning loudly once he acquired it and felt his vision go fuzzy. Then she was kissing him again and the world was tilting around him and he felt like he was falling, lost in Eden. He was adrift, unanchored, loose.

It was the most exhilarating thing he had felt in a long time.

The cold air of the room bit into his skin when he looked down to find his chest exposed. She had unbuttoned and threw his shirt open, sitting back to admire the broad plans and sharp lines of muscles, honed by years of training and exercise to ensure he was in the best shape for the Navy. Eden’s eyes were hungry, predatory while they bounced from his abs to his collarbone to his face, flushed and wanting. It was then that Oliver recognized just how powerful she was in this position, and he flipped her to even the score.

“Getting bold now, are we?” she taunted, tapping at his resolve to see how thick the boundary was.

“You shouldn’t get to have all the fun. Plus,” He ran a fingertip from the valley of her breasts to the waistband of her pants, “you look so beautiful like this.” It was her turn to blush as she tried covering her face, but he imitated her by pulling and pinning her wrists to the floor above her. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.” He attached his lips to her neck, listening for the breathy moans she released while straining her arms, aching to get her hands on him.

“Oliver, please,” she whispered, flexing her hands underneath his grip.

“Tell me what you want, Eden,” he said, recalling her own words from minutes before.

“I want to touch you, Oliver. I want you to make me scream your name so loud that the Poseidon’s Revenge can hear. Please.” Her unwavering confidence took him by surprise and he loosened his grip, groaning when she used her newfound freedom to tug sharply on his hair, now fully out of the ponytail. His hips bucked at the rough treatment. “You like that? You’re a naughty lieutenant, sir.”

His eyes darkened and he climbed back off her to sit up on his knees. His hands returned to her hips, pinching lightly before moving to her thighs and forcefully tugging her hips to meet his. Wrapping her legs around his waist, they were closer than ever, and he almost couldn’t stand it.

“Undress,” he commanded, throwing his shirt off, pushing his own pants down, and fishing his cock out. She returned to her position completely naked, trembling with excitement. His hands drifted to her breasts once again, pinching and rolling her nipples between his fingers. “Good girl.” His deep voice only made her wetter for him, feeling her juices run down her thighs. “So ready for me, yeah?”

She could do nothing but nod, and he decided to let it go because he was just so desperate to feel her heat wrapped around him, to feel her shake beneath his touch at her peak, to feel her writhe under his touch as he sank himself into her and made her climax. His hands remained on her thighs when he thrusted into her entrance, letting a groan escape his throat. He was drowned out by her animalistic scream, her nails digging into the floor beneath them and leaving small scratches in the grain.

“So perfect for me,” he murmured, swallowing her moan and thrusting roughly into her. He set a cutthroat pace that left him close with just a few movements, but he wanted to hold out for her. For all his dominance and arrogance, his only desire was to pleasure her.

Well, he also wanted her to claw at his back until he bled.

His hands found themselves under her flexed shoulder blades and her arched back, pulling her up until they were pressed chest-to-chest once again. Eden’s fingernails raked his skin, most likely leaving deep scratches to heal in a week or so. It wasn’t a matter to him; Oliver knew that he was going to have new ones to replace these before that.

“Lieutenant…” she gasped, pressing her face into his neck, but he took one hand and pushed her out so he could see her, leaving one arm wrapped around her so he could hold her up.

“I want to watch you, Eden.” His tender tone and sexy words sent her over the edge, shaking in his arms as he continued to fuck into her, following her into orgasm. Their moans mixed into a sensual harmony, pure bliss washing over the couple on the floor of the training room. They both barely caught their breaths, making it harder for themselves by kissing lazily, Oliver still buried inside her.

“How’s that for training?”

Oliver let out a laugh, holding her closer and ignoring the sticky sweat covering them and the cum dribbling out of her. His response was another kiss to take the place of a promise for more.

#distant shores oliver #oliver distant shores #oliver x mc #Oliver #distant shores #distant shores choices #choices distant shores #choices #playchoices distant shores #playchoices #fanfic #fiction #fanfiction #ns*fw text #n*sfw

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