ratyts

[ratyts]

rockstar and their "curious couple and unruly son"

[ratyts]

Leon Kennedy would be the best person to have around during a zombie apocalypse. Obviously. But like a real apocalypse, like Dawn of the Dead or something. It starts while you're out running errands. Things are a little hectic at the pharmacy. And the supermarket, god, the parking lot is so full you just drive away. It isn't until you're stuck in gridlock traffic heading the highway when you realize something's wrong. You blink and everything's chaos, drivers abandoning their vehicles, sirens coming from every direction. You sat behind the wheel wide eyed and still. Before you knew it, you were being pulled out of your car. You struggled until you realized A) he was a cop and B) a loose eighteen-wheeler had been barreling right towards your car. He answered your dazed "What the fuck? Who are you?" as he pulled you to your feet and took your hand with a haphazardly spoken, "Leon. We need to move." It only took a second of you looking over your shoulder at people(?) attacking each other for you to look ahead and run as fast as you could. Leon dragged you along until you stumbled, letting yourself drop onto the grass as you tried to catch your breath. He was sweating too, clearly without a plan— not that you minded, you were still reeling from the threat of being squished in your car. He sat down next to you, leaning against a tree behind him. That was the first time the two of you really got to talk. You grimaced a little as he spoke, he was cute. Cuter than he should've been considering the circumstances. And you, well, it was hot out, you had just been running for your life— you were grateful for the dwindling composure you had left. As disheveled as you felt, however, Leon didn’t seem to mind. He barely even seemed to notice. You couldn’t have ran into a more polite man in the apocalypse.

masterlist + a/n: a zombie apocalypse au for a resident evil fic is crazy but I hope someone sees my vision. but I just did a midterm on dawn of the dead and regular re is not zombie enough. I feel inclined to make this a real one shot.

[ratyts]

Leon Kennedy would be so good at pool. And he'd look even better playing it. Whenever you guys played at a local bar together, he’d guide your shots (and sometimes even let you win). Not in a douchey 'old guy telling you how to play pool' kind of way. He’d be so earnest. Making sure you learned how to hold the cue comfortably and letting you practice as much as you wanted. Whenever he was correcting your stance or aim, he’d get way closer than he needed to. Leaning over you, his hands on your hips and warm breath hitting your ear. That's when the pet names would slip out, a honey or baby here and there. When you asked him about it he just grinned and said "But you are my baby," (ugh) and that "You really are as sweet as honey, though," (ugh). He’d make fun of you if you shivered, but only a little bit cause he really just did want to help you. Leon would only advise you on which shot to take if you asked, too. Really, he’d be such a sweetheart. If you already knew how to play pool, he wouldn’t go easy on you. He tried it once and learned his lesson very quickly, you sharked him out of twenty dollars and he’s still a little butthurt over it. But as much as Leon loved playing against you, he’d always rather play on your team. He loved duos. That’s when his real competitive side came out, because as silly as it was— winning with you was way more important than winning against you. He could take a couple losses, a couple shots to his pride, but if yours was at stake? Oh, he’d sooner throw his back out shooting than let your team lose.

masterlist + a/n: sigh when will a Leon lookalike walk into my local bar... also so thinking of 30+ Leon here, like death island Leon lining up a shot? hehehehehe. he's such a "baby" guy btw I'll die on this hill

[ratyts]

Leon Kennedy is the perfect work boyfriend. He’s the server who’s always up at the host stand, just to make sure you weren’t getting lonely all by yourself. He’d keep his section pre-bussed, his tables happy, food and drinks ran, and would still find time to bother you (affectionately). On a slow night he’d stand up by the door with you, occasionally stepping away to check in with his tables then coming back to talk to you. Whenever other servers bothered you, he’d step in, gently pushing you behind him and defending you. He always came to your rescue with customers too. If Leon was around, he absolutely refused to let anyone give you shit. Whenever you thanked him, he’d get a little smug— bragging that he was “in with the hosts” and how he “got the best tables” because of it, always with a wink. He made it his mission to fluster you, growing bolder with each accepted advance. Slipping in the occasional “Thanks, baby” and “How many at 42, sweetheart?” when he spoke to you, or pulling you into an embrace whenever one of you were leaving or coming into work. Eventually he’d goad you into grabbing a drink after work, as friends of course. Then he’d get your phone number, then he'd get you on your day off, and he’d never admit how floored he was when he saw you in casual clothes (as much as he loved the dress code approved outfit). And if you ever quit, oh, it would break his heart. He told you he was ride or die with his favorite coworkers, and begged you to never make him follow you to another restaurant. But it didn't really matter, if he kept up the hard work, he'd be seeing you more often off the clock than on it, anyway.

masterlist + a/n: his is the hardest copium i’ve ever posted hahhhhaahah i love my job.. full restaurant au fic coming soon... maybe

[ratyts]

» to the one who understood; shigaraki tomura x reader

synopsis: tomura shigaraki didn't let just anyone into his life. he had built a cage around the most broken parts of himself, yet he willingly watched you slip through the cracks in the walls he'd so carefully constructed—it was either go big or go home, and you went straight for the most vulnerable part tomura possessed—his heart.

tagging @shigarakislaughter because it would be criminal to not tag the head of the tomura shigaraki nation HEH <3 also congrats on your new job bby!! :D

Tomura Shigaraki wasn't a bad person. That didn't mean he was the best—but nobody is perfect. He knows this. So, he doesn't try to be. He's simply his authentic self around you. Tomura never really did think he could ever attract anyone. He's not exactly conventionally handsome, and his humor borderlines between something sinister and wildly crude. But he managed to charm you, somehow.

He'll blame it on your parents dropping you on your head too many times. He'll blame it on Musutafu's hot sun frying all your brain cells—you're truly so stupid for falling in love with him.

Out of all the people you could have been with in the world, you chose the suicidal maniac with ideologies and ways bigger than life itself. Really, him? Tomura doesn't get it.

He doesn't like the way your voice softens when you speak to him. How you even managed to figure out his dislike for loud noises is beyond him. But, you accommodate for Tomura in a way no one has before. He watched you fall in love with him—he watched you go through every stage, and he did nothing to stop it.

He couldn't because it was inevitable: the second your eyes met his, your pupils dilated like a flower in bloom.

You were a new recruit to the league when he first saw you, a wide eyed thing who smiled too much. Tomura hated how there was nothing to dislike about you—he'd glance your way and scoff sometimes, because why can't he find a reason to steer away from you? Something that ticks him off? He refused to accept the fact that maybe you really were just a good person.

Tomura doesn't let people in, it's not his thing. His mind and body are a fortress and no one is allowed entrance inside. It doesn't matter how you make his heart skip or how you soothe the ache in his chest, he'd prefer if you stayed far away from him.

But Tomura kept you at arm's length—torturing himself by keeping you so so close yet infinitely far. He'll let you sit inches away from touching him, but when he glances at you—he imagines a milky way between the two of your bodies, keeping him in line and allowing him to never stray far enough to hold your hand or bump his shoulder against yours.

Kurogiri told Tomura if he ever wanted to pursue someone like you, he wouldn't be against it. Maybe it would be good for Tomura, he suggested. A soul connection was what Tomura had always lacked—and his soulmate was right there—you were right there. But Tomura was stubborn.

Tomura's afraid you'll calm the rage in his heart. He looks at you and he wants to forget all his pain, all his fear, all his hurt—he wants to toss it all into the sea and start anew with you. But the feeling is fleeting, because he pushes it down the moment it blooms in his chest. Stomps on it until there's nothing left.

"Tomu?"

Tomura's eyes tear away from the monitor in front of him the moment he hears your voice. Subconsciously, Tomura straightens in his seat and regards you with a glare, one that was more affectionate than filled with its usual malice reserved for everyone else.

You grin at his silent invitations once he beckons you into his room with a careless hand, telling you to close the door as he spins his chair to face you. Tomura's posture is as if he's sitting in a throne rather than a gaming chair, and your lips twitch at the sight—he notices your barely contained smile and sighs

"What do you want?" he murmurs, turning back to his monitor before he gets back to work. At least, that's what he hopes you think—he's clicking on random things, trying to look like he's busy or occupied with something. But the folder he closes and re-opens over and over doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"I see you've cleaned your room!" You grin, crossing your legs as you sit down on the edge of his newly made bed. Tomura rolls his eyes, folding a fist under his chin as his eyes stayed glued to his monitor

"Only 'cause you wouldn't stop nagging me about it. You're really annoying, you know that?"

Your smile only widens, and the sight makes something in Tomura's stomach flip. He ignores you, glaring at the screen in front of him and praying to the universe his heart would stop beating so fast already.

"I'm proud of you, Tomu. I know you don't hear it often from me, but I really mean it. I think you care more about this kind of stuff then you let on." You say softly, and you can see Tomura's muscles tense for just a second before they go slack—a sign that his undoing was truly your praise.

There's a light pink dust coating his cheek. He stares at you silently, blinking and waiting for you to continue on with something like "Ha, just kidding!" —anything to go against what you'd just said. But you're so sincere it almost hurts. Tomura's eyes widen a fraction when you hop off his bed with ease, moving past him and towards the door to leave—you're talking about how you're going to go pick up some dinner for the two of you from the corner store, sending him a cheeky grin he knew far too well before you placed a chaste kiss onto his cheek

"See you later, Tomu!"

Tomura stares at the door for a full minute after it closes. Then, he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and slumps in his chair. For the first time in a while, Tomura cries. He cries because you're the kindest person he'd ever known.

Your son looks nothing like Tomura.

It's still Tomura's son, of course. But the boy grasping your hand right now has black hair, mused from the wind outside and wide brown eyes—sparkling with youth and joy. In his small hands is a card, and he holds it with vigor as he walks with you, chatting about his day at kindergarten today.

Of the pictures online, Tomura is depicted as a monster, with untamable white hair and the cruelest red eyes. That wasn't your Tomura, you had the pleasure of knowing the real one.

"I really hope dad likes my card. Ma, did you know I got to use my new markers in class today? Kenji even said they're the coolest markers ever! They draw so well!"

Your son's smile reminds you of a certain someone. You'd only seen the subdued look of genuine happiness in Tomura's eyes—he could never be truly happy after all he'd been through. Your son's emotions were more fleshed out—he is what Tomura never could be. Happy.

"That's nice, Tenko. I'm glad you liked those markers. How about this, we have a drawing competition with those very same ones after we're done visiting your father, okay?" You smile, gently pinching his cheek as he nods enthusiastically with a toothy grin. His eyes catch sight of something behind you—and he's off running a second later.

"Careful!" you laugh, following his excited footsteps as he finds the familiar headstone with the name Tenko Shimura engraved neatly on the top. Carefully, you pick up the old bouquet you'd left last week on his grave and replace it with the new one you and your son had picked up this morning.

Tenko launches into a full story about his newest comic after carefully placing his card down onto the grass, curling up against his father's headstone—giggling and smiling wistfully as he tells him all about his day.

Naming your son after Tomura was oddly fulfilling.

Your son is everything Tomura could have been if love had found him sooner—he could’ve been happy. The world was cruel, but it also gave you Tomura. It allowed you to love him, even if you came too late. Even if he was too far gone. And even after all that happened, Tomura didn't leave you all by yourself.

While Tomura's eyes are different from Tenko's—they both had the same enamoured gleam in them whenever they looked at you.

Tenko falls asleep by sunset, and you take your time talking to Tomura. You tell him about your new job, you tell him how Tenko found one of his old video games in your attic and has been playing it nonstop, and you tell him you miss him.

"—a fucking lot. I can't believe you're gone, Tomu. I see you every night in my dreams."

You glance down at the little boy in your arms, running a soothing hand through his hair to confirm he's asleep before smiling sadly.

"I almost followed right behind you. I would have—I woke up in a hospital with no idea that you were gone. Then, they told me I had this little miracle blooming in my stomach and gosh—it was almost like i could hear your laughter ringing in my head." You whisper, remembering the day Tomura died. It was night now, but your town was luckily safe enough for you and your son to go out and visit the nearby graveyard. Though there may be no body laying beneath, the headstone is enough for you to feel closer to Tomura.

You tip your head towards the sky, resting your cheek against the side of his grave. There was a night, you can't remember when—when Tomura confessed he liked your smile.

So, that's what you do. You smile towards the stars and picture Tomura hanging amongst them in the sky—watching you forever. Tomura liked to call you a treasure sometimes. Something good in a world that's rotten.

"You're special to me. So, please don't miss me too much if this all goes wrong. I'd hate to see you sad."

Your fingertips quickly press against your eyes, and you slump against his grave with a whimper. You allow yourself to cry only because your son isn't awake to see it. You cry because you'll have to mourn Tomura for longer than you've known him.

It hurts. That night when you go to bed is the same as all the previous ones. You dream of Tomura and his gentle smile. The only thing that lulls you to sleep is the prospect that maybe, just maybe—he's finally at peace.

[ratyts]

american wedding & pyrite by frank ocean remind me of leon sm (pls tell me you see the vision)

ugh YES google docs hates to see me and a frank ocean song coming. american wedding always makes me think about leon, every time I hear that mrs dot kennedy line I giggle LOL

pyrite is new to me though (you just put me on thank you bc omg… your vision) it reminds me of him and ada sighhh but i think i can cook up something miserable with this one..

[ratyts]

Hiii! i read your fic and zoo wee mama- ^^ your writing is so yummy and cuteee!! and since you're taking requests, I was wondering if I could request a leon x reader fic, where leon's a court jester? no pressure! proceed as you wish with it :) love your work, have a great day!

a heavy veil

(leon x gn!reader)  masterlist

a/n: thank you so much for saying that and leaving this request!!! i always think of leon as a knight but you totally just enlightened me.. as a result i’ve accidentally written my longest fic ever. i’m imagining him in this kind of outfit. 

warnings: vaguely medieval and historically inaccurate, leon keeps tabs on you (affectionately), reader and leon are a little sad, fluff, right person impossible circumstances, i'm tired and this is long sorry 4 any typos

word count: 5.1k (sorry LMAO)

The corridor leading out of your wing of the castle was dark, the air stale. You passed by a tall, weather stained window. Looking past the heavy curtains, you saw a sliver of light coming through the storm clouds. You kept walking, it would be snuffed out when the rain came anyway. The court always whispered rumors of your wing, it was why you so desperately avoided gatherings. As innocent as you may have been in the matter, you couldn’t hide your gloomy disposition. It was only natural considering your circumstances, only a saint could be bubbly living in such a state. You were no saint, so they called you cursed. You were no puppet, so you evoked fear and not sympathy.

You stopped feet away from a fork in the hallway, there were hushed voices coming from the path to your left. A whisper of your name met your ear, and your eyes widened. Bending down and peeking an ear past the wall, you squinted. The figures were still obscured by shadows, the only light coming from your direction. The voices seemed to get louder with each second, whoever it was was approaching where you stood. A spike of fear ran down your spine, you looked back where you came, then forward again. There wasn’t time to return without being noticed, nor could you continue on without being seen. You scolded yourself quietly, before standing and shuffling over to the window as soundlessly as you could and hiding yourself in the curtains. It was your half brother– the first and most beloved prince’s birthday banquet, and as always, you were expected to attend. You were dressed for it, primped to the highest degree, but it didn’t matter. You stood with your back against the wall, keeping your breath steady as footsteps approached and the voices were finally distinguishable.

“I can’t take you any further than this, I must return to the banquet,” the first voice spoke, high and nasal. You recognized it as a voice which had admonished you many times over the years– the chancellor, your father’s most trusted advisor. He, unlike most of your blood relatives, did not ignore you. With every encounter he made his disdain for you known. Your brows pinched together, scowling behind the curtain, of course he wouldn't allow you peace on this day.

The second voice laughed, and you wondered who would be so brazen towards the king’s advisor. “My, Lord Chancellor,” the man spoke, his voice was rich and deep but his words held an airiness to them, “return to his majesty’s side at once!” Footsteps, presumably his, echoed throughout the otherwise silent corridor, moving away from the chancellor and towards your hiding spot. You wanted to fold into yourself.

“Do as I ordered, Fool,” a frown heard in the chancellor’s tone, he was not amused. It was a sound you were intimately familiar with, “Find that bastard child at once.”

The man hummed, “Yes, yes, there’s no need to express your doubt, Chancellor. We shall return to the banquet once I’ve drowned the wing in persuasion.” You shivered, his voice reaching closer and closer. At the end of his sentence you held your breath, feeling a terrifying proximity just behind the curtain.

The chancellor huffed, storming away. Neither of you moved until his footsteps faded into silence, and neither of you moved for what felt like minutes after that. The man cleared his throat and you could hear the ruffles of his clothing brushing against each other as he shuffled around.

“Now,” he began, his voice still playful, “it’s just the two of us now, isn’t it.”

You froze, eyes wide and expression placating as if he could see your face. Another moment of silence passed. 

“I’m talking to you, your highness,” he spoke slowly, quietly, but you could hear him loud and clear. You flinched, he must’ve been inches away from your face, only blocked by the thick fabric hanging from the ceiling. 

“...Don’t call me that,” you spoke, your words sounding meeker than you intended. 

He pulled the curtain back to see you with your eyes squeezed shut. He said your name and your eyes snapped open, landing right on his face. He wore an amused expression, teetering on smug. You recognized him immediately, with his ensemble it would be impossible not to. The court fool, you didn’t know his name, but his face wasn’t easy to forget. He gave a slight bow, although it felt as disingenuous as his use of your title. His cap hid most of his hair, but a few dull blonde tufts feathered around his face, hanging in front of his eye and he leaned down to match your height. Your eyes travelled from his strong jawline, to his pink lips, to his chilling blue eyes. He chuckled, a relaxed smile stretching out across his face. Heat rose to your face and you sighed, looking down in resignation. You stepped out of the shadow his broad shoulders had cast upon you, steadying yourself.

“You win, jester,” you murmur, keeping your eyes trained on your feet. He rose to his full height, watching your movements with a teasing tilt to his head. Minutes passed in silence and you grew antsy, nerves melding into frustration. He didn’t take his eyes off you once, the playfulness washed out of his face.

“Jester, your highness?” He spoke, finally, drawing out his last two words, as if he wanted to hurt you. “How formal.” His voice was flat. You looked up, slowly, dropping your own facade when you saw his calm expression.

“Your name, then?” 

“Leon,” he gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. You didn't return it.

“I see, Leon,” you began, letting his name rest heavy on your tongue for a moment. “I will not resist, no need to charm me.”

His smile widened, playful disposition returning. “How boring,” he sighed, a glint in his eyes betraying an emotion you couldn’t place. He began to walk down the corridor at a leisurely pace, looking over his shoulder to watch you follow behind him. “I’ve always known you to be strong willed,” he said your name pointedly, “why the change of heart?”

You scoff, crossing your arms and scowling at his back. “You don’t know me, and yet you make such claims and insist I call you by your name.”

He pauses at that, face still out of view. “I know you,” he said, barely loud enough to hear, the humor left his voice again.

By the time you caught up and were able to see his face, he appeared as calm and amused as ever. The two of you walked in silence, each of you glancing at the other– but never at the same time. You passed the hidden portraits on dark walls, heels clicking with each step. The walk slowed to a stop as you reached the tall doors which separated your wing of the castle from the others. Your face fell, never liking to venture past the doors. It was a self imposed exile, you liked to tell yourself. The fact that it was unofficial was true, but you had lived the same way since you were a child. It hadn’t been a choice then. Leon knew this, or rather he remembered it, but said nothing. As many liberties he had in his speech, he couldn’t take them with you. A cowardice he felt nowhere else in his left kept him from speaking to you for years. Until now. He looked over at you, fighting off a grimace at your discomfort. He exhaled slowly through his nose, unfortunately he was no gentleman. He was a fool.

“Your eyes will not open the door for you,” he says, moving in front of you so you’re forced to meet his gaze. You laughed, so softly Leon questioned whether he had imagined it

“Look at you, Sir Jester, doing your job.” You gave him a close lipped smile, stepping forward and pushing open the doors. The bright light that came flowing through the opening stung your eyes, the perfumed air burning the inside of your nostrils. You raised a hand to shield your eyes. Somehow the rest of the castle always felt like this. Your quarters were dark, cold and stony. Everywhere you weren’t felt like summer year round, how they weren’t plagued by thunder every night you didn’t know.

Leon followed you as you walked past the doorway, preparing yourself to reach the next set of doors– this time to the ballroom. He was grateful. You seldom ventured this far into the castle anymore, so he seldom saw you. He loved watching you. Even when he felt powerless, able to do nothing to ease your discomfort. In his lower moments, he sometimes thought he’d rather see you unhappy than to not see you at all. In his better moments, he thought the opposite. The majority of the time, however, he thought you were unhappy in the castle regardless. He often thought of taking you away, but he always came to the same unfortunate conclusion. You would never agree to run away with a man you didn’t know. He may have known you for years, but you didn’t know him. Yet.

Two guards stood on either side of the shut doors of the ballroom. The sounds of an ongoing party, although muffled, still echoed throughout the otherwise silent hall. The guards bowed at your approach and you exhaled sharply. Leon could see you biting at the inside of your cheek from the corner of his eye. He held out his arm to you, “Shall we?” You nodded, loosely holding onto his bicep. The guards open the doors, stepping back for the two of you to enter.

The ballroom was packed with members of the nobility and surrounding gentry, dancing and chattering around. You let go of Leon’s arm, moving to tightly grasp your own hands as you looked around. Arriving late had served you well. Hardly anyone had noticed your presence, and those who had, spoke in such hushed whispers you could ignore them. Standing next to the King’s throne was the chancellor, you met his gaze as he leaned down to whisper something in your father’s ear. At this, your father’s eyes shifted towards you, passivity brushed along his features. He nodded then looked away. You let out a breath you didn’t remember taking in. Leon watched the tension leave your body at the acknowledgement. 

You turned back towards him, speaking in a hushed tone, “Thank you for your escort, Leon.” You turned to move away and his fingers twitched, his instinct urging him to stop you, keep you close. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead he watched your form disappear into the sea of bodies, keeping your head down all the while.

Leon shook his head, nodding slightly each time he was greeted passing through the crowd. He reached the steps to the throne, bowing lowly once the king’s attention shifted to him. He gestured towards Leon, urging him to come forward. Leon obliged, carefully walking up the staircase, bowing again at the top, then standing beside the chancellor. His eyes raked over the crowd, passing over suit after gown until he found you.

You stood with your back to the wall, tempted to hide in the curtain to your right. You decided against it, returning to your observations. The chancellor must have hated you today even more than he did yesterday, you thought. Why else were you here? Was it your father insisting on embarrassing you? Was it one of your half siblings, wishing to show you how powerless you were? You huffed. Now that you had shown yourself, it was only a matter of time before you found your opportunity to escape.

The crowd parted for the prince and his betrothed as they stood in the middle of the ballroom floor. The band changed their tune and you swallowed, glancing to the balcony doors beside you. Their dance began, and in the first moment you had all night without a pair of eyes on you, you slipped out the doors. 

The doors shut swiftly behind you. You rushed to the balcony railing, staying out of sight. The rain had stopped some time ago, and the air was still fresh. The sounds of the castle grounds center you and you shut your eyes, relishing in the solitude. You lean on the railing, letting the wind hit your face. It’s chilling, so cold it almost hurts. When you inhale, the cold air passing through your nose to your lungs sends a shiver down your spine. You feel good again.

A whisper of your name breaks the trace. You yelp, spinning around to find Leon’s face far too close to your own. He laughs, straightening his posture and backing away once he has your attention.

“If you keep up with your disappearing act, I’ll soon be ousted from the castle,” he smiled, moving to lean against the railing at your side. “Are you jealous of my cap?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, letting your heart calm itself with a deep inhale. Your eyes snapped to him, “With those footsteps, you might be better suited as an assassin.”

“Indeed,” he mused, looking to the courtyard, his expression becoming something pensive.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Thunder rumbled in the sky and you cringed, you would have to return soon. Minutes passed and Leon didn’t move.

“Shouldn’t you return?”

He shrugged, “There’s no need.”

You squinted at his answer, “Why did you follow me out here?”

He shrugged again, this time tilting his head towards you with raised brows and a half smile. “Now that we’ve finally spoken, I’ve become interested in your reluctance to engage with the court.”

“Isn’t the reason obvious?” You scoffed, “They hate me.” You turned around to face the doors to the ballroom, the glass panes shielded by ornate curtains on the other side. “The only reason I’m kept in the castle is to keep my meager sum of royal blood safe.”

He keeps his head facing forward, now opposite your gaze. “I wonder what it is,” he began, “whether they hate what they cannot control, or what they cannot understand.” You said nothing. “It’s both, is it not?” He turned his head towards you, meeting your side profile. Your face was relaxed, a sense of acceptance washing over your features. 

You shrugged, a wry smile playing upon your lips, “How optimistic.” Another wave of thunder rolled through the sky. You looked up, moving away from the balcony. A raindrop fell onto your cheek and you sighed. “I’ll return first,” you looked over your shoulder, nodding at Leon. “I’m grateful for your company.”

You left him there at that. As the rain cascaded down, he blinked, shaking his head. How he had only observed you for so long, he didn’t know. He followed suit a moment later, slipping back into the party as if nothing had happened. 

The next night, you sat alone in your chambers. You flipped through a novel you had read a hundred times before, leaning back in your chair with a sigh. You thought of the court jester again– Leon. How he spoke to you. How few people throughout the years had treated you like that, like you were more than the king’s illegitimate child. You shook the thought out of your head. There was no point in dwelling on an interaction so small.

You heard a soft knocking on your door, three short sounds of knuckles hitting wood. You stood, brows furrowed, unsure who would be knocking so late at night. You hesitated, almost deciding against answering the knock at all. Walking over to the door, you adjust your night clothes. You twist the handle, cracking the door just enough to see who it was on the other side.

Your eyes widened. It was the court jester. Wearing a tunic and slacks, work boots. Most importantly, however, he was without his cap. Leon, you corrected yourself, not the jester. Leon was the man standing at your door after dark.

He smiled, a hand resting on the doorframe. Stifling a laugh at your clear shock. “May I?” He asked, pressing forward.

You let him push his way into the room, his hands gentle as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you with an open mouth frozen by the shut door. Your eyes followed him move throughout your room.

“What are you doing?”

Leon looked up, your discarded book in his hand, “Reading.”

You shook your head, stomping over to him, snatching the book out of his hands. “No,” you threw it onto your desk, “What are you doing here?”

He chuckled, sitting down on the chaise in the middle of your room. He made himself comfortable quickly, his sharp gaze moving from your cluttered desk and creaking bookshelf to the untouched fireplace he sat facing. “I happened to be passing by and thought I’d check on you.”

You scowled, trailing behind him then standing in front of where he sat, “Impossible. No one comes here.”

He ignored you, sprawling out on the cushions like he had done it a million times before. You sighed in resignation, sitting on the other end of the chaise. 

His expression was unreadable for a moment. He smiled, “And you never leave, is that right?”

You shrugged, having nothing to say. 

He sighed loudly, making a show of it, “You might be the saddest royal I’ve ever known, and I’ve known many.”

“And your life is so fulfilling?”

He nods, lips upturned. “Oh, of course.” “I'm beloved by many, you know.”

“Are you now?” You tilted your head, half in disbelief and half mocking. “By who?”

“Just last week an old woman in town tried to marry me off to her granddaughter. I barely escaped with my life.”

You broke out into an unexpected laughter, failing to hide it from him. Leon grinned like he won something. 

That was how it started. After that, he visited again and again, until it became a habit. You gave up ignoring him quickly, finding the effort futile. Some days he came only for minutes, going over the court’s idle gossip as you worked on an equally as idle project. Other’s he’d come bearing gifts, spending hours with you talking about everything and nothing. The small trinkets and books from the larger castle library he’d bring you became things you looked forward to. 

Bribery, you called it. The first time it happened, you were hesitant. “I don’t want anyone coming to me looking for this.”

“I took one with a boring title, no one will miss it.”

You couldn’t hide the small smile that painted your lips, “Really? Why did you think I’d like it, then?”

He shrugged, twisting around one of the trinkets he’d brought, “I watch you more than you realize.”

Your breath hitched and you blinked, shaking your head. He would always say such words casually, even after you heard it before, you wondered how long it would be before they wouldn’t phase you anymore. Weeks passed that way, and his visits somehow evolved into an expectation, a necessity. 

On days when you hadn’t seen him by nightfall, you couldn’t keep your eyes from constantly shifting to the door. When you were missing his presence more than you'd ever care to admit, you would even open the door even so often– just to make sure you hadn’t missed him knocking. You couldn’t believe it yourself, how the court jester, a beloved toy of your father, had become your closest confidante. Your only confidante, for that matter. 

One evening, as he lounges on your couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, you finally ask, “Leon?”

He hums, a questioning tone to his voice, tilting his head back to acknowledge you.

“Why do you keep coming here?” 

Leon doesn’t answer right away, putting his legs up on the cushions to get a better look at you. His gaze flickers to you, then away towards the fireplace before he exhales in a low whistle. 

“Why do you let me?”

You shut your mouth, pursing your lips. You didn’t have an answer either.

The two of you don't speak about your relationship again after that day. Your bond remained unspoken, although it became more intense each day. It felt imbalanced, you barely knew anything about Leon. Regardless of how hard you tried, how vulnerable you were, how fundamentally you understood him. You didn’t know him. The first thing you learned about his past was an accident. He had been wearing casual clothing, off duty that night. A tunic and slacks with no suspenders. By that point, you had long since given up discouraging his antics. When you were feeling well enough, you would even goad him on. That night, you had asked him to do something silly, a handstand perhaps. He obliged, flipping himself upside down with an ease you found wholly impressive. His back had been turned to you while he walked around on his hands, and his shirt had slid down to gather at his shoulders. Your laughter faltered. His bare skin was covered in scars. Some knife wounds, others from the sword, and the rest you were sure. When you became silent, he turned upright and sighed. It was the most serious you’d seen him yet. He told you he was once a mercenary and nothing else. You dropped it. That night you learned Leon was a man who had survived many hardships. He was a man who bore his wounds in silence– or laughter, really. The way he looked at you, genuinely, without his fool’s cap, made you believe he was a man never allowed to want, much less to have.

You wondered what would happen when your usefulness finally ran out. When your father weds you away on a whim, or the chancellor decides he can’t tolerate the idea of your presence a moment longer. What will happen to your jester? Nothing, you imagined. That was the wrong question, what you truly worried about was what would happen to you without him.

Between his visits, Leon begins to coax you past your quarters. At first, you walk loops around the corridors of the west wing– he says he’d like to stretch his legs. Then, he gets you out of the wing. You resist, but when he asks you late one night, late enough that no one would be awake to catch you roaming around the halls, you agree. After that, it was the gardens, then the connected forest, then his ultimate goal. He wanted to take you into town.

It was a coincidence, he insisted. A poor one in your opinion, a perfect one in his. The day he levied the idea, he truthfully had forgotten there was a festival in town. He was glad he had, because you’d never have agreed if you knew, and he was getting worse at lying to you by the day. Before you ventured past the castle walls, Leon dressed you up in a servant’s borrowed clothes, nodding to himself in approval at the disguise. He parted with his jester’s uniform for the day as well, sneaking you out through the servant’s entrance. You, somewhat cynically, remarked even if the two of you had gone through the grand, gold-adorned gates, they wouldn’t have stopped you. Not for lack of caring— your father’s advisors seemed to genuinely fear you making use of the pesky royal blood that ran through you. But for lack of noticing, especially in the servant’s outfit. Few members of the gentry and nobility knew your face, and the same went for most of those who lived and worked in the castle. 

You didn’t know how long the walk into town was, but Leon insisted it would be too far for you. He rallied you onto a horse, seated (somewhat embarrassingly) in front of him. You had never ridden a horse, and hung on for dear life the entire ride. About halfway through the distance, you looked behind you then forward, Leon was right. The horse was bad, but having you, who only recently started venturing past the same four walls, walk such a distance? He would’ve had to carry you after the first mile. You told him this and he only laughed into your ear, the sound was soft and his breath warm in your skin. You shivered, almost going to most away when the horse made a small jump— reminding you of your fear. You couldn’t see it, but behind you Leon had the same grin on his face as he did that first night he forced his way into your life. To have you holding onto him like your life was at stake (it was, according to you) was another win in a series of you being extraordinarily receptive to his advances. He was certain you didn’t necessarily read his actions as he meant them, but it didn’t matter. He would have you eventually.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you grimaced, sitting on the horse alone as he tied it to a post.

“Like what?” He grinned, turning away from you to finish the knot.

“Like you’re going to leave me here.” The horse shook its mane, huffing, and you gripped onto the reins  hard you were sure to leave an indent in your palms. “You must help me down,” you tried to keep your voice as steady and commanding as possible, but you betrayed yourself. The horse was a majestic beast, as you told Leon, one you did not and had no intention of understanding.

He chuckled, standing and reaching out to you. You took his hand, gingerly swinging your leg over the body of the horse, returning to the ground with a relieved sigh.

“What a gentleman,” you grumbled, dusting yourself off with a comical force. Leon patted you on the back, his hand settling between your shoulder blades. 

Even from where the two of you stood, the sounds of the townsfolk celebrating could be heard. The sun was setting as you walked down the road into town. The town square illuminated by lanterns hung from every surface, filled with market stands and ordinary people gathering around. It's like no banquet you'd ever experienced. It was the first time you had been amongst so many people without feeling entirely stifled. Whether it was truly because of them, or just the anonymity, you didn’t know. You looked at Leon with an expression so honest he felt a pang in his chest. Holding onto the hem of his sleeve, you advanced.

Leon flourishes in this environment. He drags you from stall to stall, navigating through the crowd with a hand on you at all times. He was as charming as ever, and possibly the most honest he had ever been. In those moments you could pretend you lead an ordinary life, with an ordinary family. With your hand in his, you could even pretend you were a couple. Your face was flushed, a grin etched into your face. You let it feel real. 

The festival ended too quickly. You begged Leon to stay longer, but the signs of exhaustion couldn’t be hidden from your face. He placed a hand on your cheek, stroking his thumb over your skin as he promised to bring you to the next one. His whispered “And each festival after that,” was not lost on you either. He helped you back onto the horse, this time with much less struggle from you and the animal. He followed suit and you set off. The journey back is silent, the sounds of hooves hitting the dirt road filling the air around you. You clung to the feeling of freedom you had on the ride back to the castle. You tried to burn it into your skull, closing your eyes and leaning back into Leon’s chest. The cold corridors you’ve walked back and forth and back again your whole life were waiting. But so was Leon. You exhaled, brows coming together. The castle looms in the distance.

The horse slows to a walk before stopping completely. The stables look harrowing at this time of night, and as Leon helps you down you’re reminded of the warm lights of the festival. He returns the horse to its stall, locking the stable doors back up. You stare at him, in the same spot as he left you minutes ago. 

He said your name, not as a question but as a statement. You didn’t move.

“I trust you, Leon.”

He seems taken aback at your words. His face twisted into something you hadn’t seen before. Fear. Like he knew what you truly meant, what you truly wanted to say. You watched his chest rise and fall in silence. Your gaze faltered as he moved towards you, the fear wiped from his face, replaced by something new, something worse. 

“You’re important.” He said, as if it answered anything. As if it was the truest and most obvious thing in the world. “You’re very important, so don't be silly.” His voice was low, like it was during one of his random spouts of chilling intensity. It frightened you, at first. But like all of him, you grew to appreciate it.

You nodded your head, saying nothing as you turned around and began walking. The door from which he had led you out to the stables earlier was only feet away. You stopped, closing your eyes. In this moment, and perhaps only this moment, you couldn’t be dishonest. 

“So are you,” you began, voice coming out quieter than you intended. You moved to face him again, eyes widening when you saw your proximity had changed. He had followed behind you. “Come back with me.”

Silence, then a barely perceptible nod. He moved first but you quickly met him in the middle. You looked into his eyes, they were dark. Shadows cast over the blue, making his expression even more sullen than it had been moments ago. His eyes flickered between your lips and your eyes. He took your hand in his and shook his head, the corners of his lips upturning.

“Of course, your highness,” his voice was playful again, and the moment was over. You smiled too, walking through the dark with a firm hold on his hand. As the door to the servant’s entrance creaked, and the warmth you felt earlier faded into the darkness you were used to, you let your smile widen even further. You didn’t flinch at the cold, stale air of the castle. Your worries didn’t matter then. That was enough honesty for one night.

[ratyts]

if there are any songs that remind you of leon, please send them my way! i need inspiration badly!!! ......also taking requests btw ☺️☺️☺️ teehee

[ratyts]

would it be weird

(leon x gn!reader)

masterlist

continuation of this from leon’s perspective. leon escapes the friendzone. also its 4am sorry for any typos i need to post this now!!!

warnings: friends to lovers, romantic tension, resolved romantic tension

word count: 2.5k

Leon blinked. His arms loosened around you, slipping down your torso. His breath stilled, lips pressed tightly together. What was it you'd said to him? He was your… best friend? Right. He could get on board with that. You were definitely his best friend as much as he was yours. His best friend whose skin was brushing against his lips, seated on his lap, holding onto him like a lifeline. His best friend who he could hardly stand to keep his hands off of, who would pick up his calls at all odd hours of the night, who consumed just about every one of his waking thoughts. He let the silence linger too long after you spoke. Leon couldn’t admit it now that his plan had failed, but thirty seconds ago, he thought he’d finally found the perfect time to casually confess his love for you. He would have to reconvene with himself later. 

Leon had never really had a best friend before you. He had no frame of reference for how it was supposed to feel. He knew he felt differently, more intensely, about you than he did his other friends. He also knew that your relationship was different from every romantic relationship he’d had in the past. But that was a given, because you weren’t his partner and you weren’t just a normal friend. You were everything to him. There wasn’t an appropriate category for you in his mind, your relationship was liminal, but he at the very least knew “best friend” wasn’t enough. The thought of only being that to you– forever, it made his heart clench. Even more so when you whispered it right into his ear like a love confession. Worst birthday gift ever.

He chuckled, refocusing himself in the moment, “I know, you’re my best friend too.” Your breath seemed to tremble at his response, and he wondered if you also knew that wasn’t enough. 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment longer before he pulled away, looking up at you with a wry smile. Past the twitch in his eye he could feel brewing, Leon could see some humor in his situation. He was in the friendzone. At the rate he was going, he’d find himself in the “you’re like a brother to me” zone before he knew it. He’d done it to himself, really. It had taken him far too long to admit to himself that he loved you as a friend, and by the time he was ready to say that, he already loved you much more and in a much different way. You weren’t to blame, he decided. Leon had marched his way into the friendzone, and it was his responsibility to claw his way out. 

That night ended as peacefully and normally as it could’ve, considering the occasional twitch of Leon’s eye and his sudden insistence to leave you alone even less than usual. He’d coaxed you into his bed (even though you always shared the bed when you came over), and latched onto you as he slept (he was always a wild sleeper), and was very proud of himself in the morning. 

In a moment of retrospection the next morning, as he watched you dig through his cupboards, completely disheveled and barely awake, he realized he had been subconsciously acting on his feelings for a long time. He thought back to the time you walked in on him changing. How it was the reddest his face had ever been, and how he embarrassingly made an effort to wear more tank tops around you– and sometimes skip the shirt completely, in the aftermath. You seemed pretty unaffected at the time, laughing it off much easier than Leon did. 

He thought back to a time even before that, the time he’d held you– really held you, for the first time. His memory of the night was blurred, he must have had one drink too many, but he remembered how it ended. It was the only time he’d cried in front of you, the only time he’d cried in front of anyone in the better part of ten years. It wasn’t over anything in particular, but you didn't ask. You just slid closer to him, wordlessly wrapping an arm around his back. Neither of you moved for a minute, then Leon raised his head and his teary eyes met yours. He wasn’t sure which one of you moved first, but before the next tear rolled down his cheek, the two of you had connected like a puzzle piece. Thinking back on it, he thought he should've known by then that you were always going to be the most important person in his life.

In his kitchen, you whipped around, empty handed. “Where’s all the food?”

“Top left,” Leon gestured towards the cabinet, the corners of his lips upturning as you returned to your search. He abandoned his position by the entrance, slowly moving closer to you. It would be so easy, so normal to close the distance. He wanted to kiss you.

“Pancake mix?” You said, stretching your arm out to grab the box, “When was the last time you went to the store?”

“A while ago,” he chuckled, walking up behind you, his chest inches from your back. “Wanna go with me?” 

Your head turned towards him, eyes widening slightly (because of his proximity, he hoped), “Uh, yeah.” You elbowed him, creating some space between the two of you, “You- you go get ready.”

He nodded, turning around to do as you said, wondering if he could’ve grabbed you. What would’ve happened if he had leaned in a little closer. He brushed it off. Leon couldn’t even disobey an offhand remark you made.

You were always so collected. It was wishful thinking, assuming you had ever been remotely flustered by him, he thought. Leon hopped around his room, slipping on a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt he hadn’t sweat through during the night. He could be stoic, broody even, that much Leon could admit– at least to himself. He wasn’t affectionate, he wasn’t emotional, never vulnerable. Except with you. Around you, Leon was embarrassingly honest, in his mind, at least.

He passed you as he left his bedroom, you grumbling something about needing ten minutes to get ready and that he should “make some coffee or something.” He looked over his shoulder as you shuffled away, shutting the door behind you. Again, he took your suggestion. Moving on autopilot, Leon emptied his bag of coffee grounds into the machine and flipped the on switch. The machine grumbled, shaking on the countertop as the coffee streamed into the pot. His gaze drifted towards the clock, then his bedroom door, then back to the pot. He sighed, pulling two mugs out of the cabinet– both gifts from you– as the stream became drips then finally stopped. He poured your cup first.

“Hey.” He jumped, coffee spilling onto the countertop as he spun around to see you standing only inches away from him. 

“Jesus,” Leon said with an exhale, setting the pot down then running a hand over his face. 

“Weren’t you just bragging about your super fine tuned reflexes?” Your expression was mocking, lovingly mocking, as you looked up at him. You bent sideways, glancing at the coffee dripping from the countertop to the floor then back at him with a raised brow. “You’re jumpy today.”

He rolled his eyes, painfully aware of your proximity, “I have no rebuttal.” He lifted a hand to pinch your cheek, wiping the smugness off your face, “You win, let’s go.”

He stared at your face in the moments before you pushed his hand away. Leon’s ability to read your expressions was nowhere near consistent. He could read you like a book anytime you weren't looking at him. The second you directed a look at him, it was his best (or worse, really) guess. He squinted, eyes following the back of your head as you stalked to the front door, slipping some shoes on. 

Leon sometimes thought he was a horrible friend to you. He was constantly crossing lines, pushing boundaries, going a bit further than rationality should’ve allowed. Usually, you didn’t push back. In fact, you almost always accepted anything he had to offer with willing and open arms. Except a confession. He hoped that one had been an accidental misstep.

You shuffled alongside Leon, bundled up in one of his sweaters, wincing each time a burst of chilling wind hit your face. It took him about thirty seconds to goad a reluctant yes out of you to walk the few blocks with him to the grocery store rather than drive. Leon looped an arm around you once you were outside, spinning you around to walk on his other side, away from the curb. He said something about the wind, but kept his arm around your shoulder even after you had been repositioned. It was his pesky desire to be as close as possible, to protect you from, what? The empty neighborhood street? That much he couldn’t even rationalize to himself.

Leon liked to position himself as your protector. Although you had never needed his help before, he was half sure that was because of his preemptive protective measures. There’s a fine line between possessiveness and protectiveness, he had come to learn. Leon toed it frequently. He didn’t think of possession in the usual sense– despite the places his jealousy would occasionally lead him. You weren’t an object, not something to be owned. You weren’t a doll either, you didn’t need him, not in that sense at least. But, to a certain extent, he couldn’t help it. As the two of you walked side by side, he could barely take his eyes off you to look in front of him. He tripped once in the produce aisle and somehow flat tired you twice in the deli then once in canned goods, but he couldn’t stop. 

You pulled him backwards by the collar of his sweater, stopping him at the checkout line. His eyes snapped back to you, refocusing on the task at hand. He gave a lazy smile and a shrug in response to your furrowed brow. 

“You okay?” You asked, releasing his collar, looking for an answer in his expression. He blinked, nodding, likely too obviously hoping you wouldn’t find one. You were quiet for a beat before relaxing your face, wordlessly nudging him towards the cashier.  

The walk home was colder. The bag dug into the palm of Leon’s hand, and even though you kept asking if you could carry it, Leon insisted. He kept close, your shoulders brushing with every step, even as the weight of the bag threw off his rhythmic steps. You glanced over at him every few seconds, checking for silent communication. Leon was still thinking about his failed confession. Wondering how much longer he had before someone else swept you up and away. How much longer he could hold onto you like you were his. His eye twitched again. 

By the time the two of you got back inside, he was sure his face was flushed entirely red. He kept his eyes on you as he dropped the bag in the kitchen, doubting how much of the redness was from the cold.

“Finally,” you shivered, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the couch. You rubbed your hands together, looking over your shoulder to see Leon standing feet away, hesitating. Before your confusion could grow, he quickly followed your suit, settling down next to you. You turned away, satisfied, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels. Leon was sitting close enough that his knee brushed against yours, his hand brushed against the side of your thigh. He looked at you with a pensive expression, eyes continuously flickering back down to your lips. He wasn’t sure when it started, but it felt familiar, like he’d been staring all day. He swallowed, hard. Then before he could think, his lips parted.

“I want to kiss you,” he blinked, eyes wide as if his words surprised himself. Leon kept his voice steady, betrayed only by the blush on his cheeks. 

You were silent for a moment before you paused your ministrations on the remote and turned your head towards him, brows furrowed, “Huh?” 

“You heard me.”

“No-” You blinked, shaking your head, losing the remote in the crevice of his couch, “No, what? Say it again.”

He sighed, embarrassment creeping up and the looming fear of rejection hanging above his head, “Remember when I said I love you? Last night?” 

You nod, your face painted with confusion and something else Leon couldn’t decipher. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat, shifting to rest his arm along the top of the couch, “I… Damn it. Can I kiss you or not?”

Your mouth fell open, then shut quickly. Processing for a moment, you begin a slow nod, your eyes boring into his, “...You can kiss me.”

Leon freezes, and you don’t move either. He’s not sure who leaned in first, but a moment later your faces are inches apart and his half lidded eyes snap open as he sees yours flutter shut. He inhales sharply and grabs the back of your neck, bringing your lips together. You recoiled, pulling away as quickly as it had happened, a hand shooting up to cover your mouth and Leon swears the cloud of rejection is floating above him again.

“Holy shit,” you said, your words muffled by your hand.

Leon nods, hesitantly, heart threatening to beat out of his chest, “Yeah.”

“You love me?” You swallow, voice small.

He nods again, certain his cool facade has melted into something pathetic and desperate by now. He moves to release his hold on your nape and your hand grabs his forearms before he can, keeping him in place. In a less than graceful maneuver, you use his hand to pull you closer. Then, inches apart again, you raise your hands to cup his cheeks and lean in. By the time Leon realizes you haven’t slapped him and stormed out, you’ve already peppered kisses across every inch of his face you could reach. 

Oh, God, he thinks. He’s so stupid.

His hands regain purpose, and he pulls you in with a new force, pressing his mouth against yours without hesitation. Leon’s free hand found itself at your waist, pulling you in until you were chest to chest. Your arms wrapped around his neck, falling on top of him. You gasped, and he took advantage of the opening, deepening the kiss, holding onto you like you were the last tether he had to earth. A shiver ran down his spine as you pulled away, chest heaving, eyes locked onto his. He placed a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth then pulled you back down into an embrace, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. He couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off his face, so he just chuckled and held onto you tighter.

“Leon,” you began, breath hot on his skin, “I feel so stupid.”

He laughed a little harder, feeling your smile against his neck, “You have no idea.”

[ratyts]

i miss you, come here

(leon x gn!reader)

masterlist

a/n: yeah every time i hear love me not i think about him

warnings: briefly mentioned height difference, nightmares, poor communication, on the fluffier side of angst

word count: 1.3k

Your eyes shoot open with a gasp. Heart pounding deep in your chest as your vision focused on the ceiling fan swiveling at a low setting, the blades reflecting the soft moonlight peeking in past the curtains. Disoriented, you wipe a clammy hand on the comforter then raise it to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. Alarm coursed through your veins, pulsing with every heartbeat. You sat up and slowly shimmied your legs out of the covers, being careful not to wake Leon. You slid off the bed, letting his arm around your waist softly thump onto the mattress as you rose to your feet. Over your shoulder, you glanced down at him. Your gaze traveled up from his slightly parted lips to his fluttering eyelashes, back down to his hand which had held you throughout the night. His fingers twitched, as if even unconsciously he would notice your absence. The alarm clock blinked bright red numbers at you as you turned away to grab a zip up hoodie off the floor, haphazardly wrapping the fabric around you before stepping out onto the small balcony connected to your bedroom. The door slid shut behind you silently, and you perched halfway onto a stool that hadn’t moved since you before moved in. 

The harsh wind swept over your skin, you could feel your limbs steady themselves, feel the color return to your face as you inhaled air so cold it was almost painful. Your eyelids shut and opened with great resistance as the adrenaline faded away. The cold from the concrete settled into the skin of your soles, a tingling numbness forming in your toes. You folded over, stretching down to hold your calves with your equally as chilled hands. Letting your eyes flutter shut, the lingering sounds of the city embraced you, pulling you back. 

You didn’t remember what the dream was about, or if there had been a dream at all. Your cheek brushed against your knee as you tapped your fingers to nothing in particular, hoping it would somehow trigger a revelation. Hoping it would explain why even when Leon was finally, finally back, you weren’t sleeping through the night. Even with his skin against yours, his arms around you, the hole in your mind filled by his presence. It didn’t. Infuriating as it was, you missed him even when he was right in front of you. You loved him so much it hurt, all the time. Your fingers stilled, all the tapping did was make you melodramatic. 

The balcony door slid open, ending with a thud that shocked you back upright. You shivered as the breeze hit your torso again, twisting your head around. Leon stood at the door, sleep lingering in his eyes and brows furrowed, staring at you. He murmured your name and stepped forward, eyes widening slightly as the cold hit his bare skin. You laughed quietly, the sound pushed away with the wind as you shook your head, a shiver racking through your body as you stood. The two steps from the stool to where Leon stood ruined your calibration to the cold, you took another step closer letting his warmth radiate onto your skin. You put your hands on his arms, trying to turn him around, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“What are you doing out here?” He asked, arm snaking around your waist, pulling you into his chest. His other hand pulled your head down into his shoulder, his hold tight like sheer pressure could scare the chill off your skin. 

“Nothing,” you began, voice muffled, “It was too hot in there.”

He scoffed, keeping his hands on you but giving enough room for your legs to move as he led you back inside, shutting the door behind him. “Then you turn the fan on, come on.” He slid the zip up off you, letting it pool at your feet as he dragged you back towards the bed, gently pushing you down before walking away to turn the fan up.

“I’m okay, seriously,” you lift yourself up, resting your weight on your forearms to get a better look at Leon standing across the room. His expression was hard to make out from that distance, but you could guess what look he had on his face. This wasn’t a new occurrence. Leon had only been back for three days and each of those nights you’d slipped out of bed and found yourself in another room. He didn’t go after you the first night, asking if it had actually happened or if he’d dreamt it the next morning. You could never lie to Leon, so you admitted it. Saying you had just taken a long trip to the bathroom. A half truth, so he half bought it. The next night he caught you before you got out of bed, pulling you into a sleepy embrace and asking what was wrong in a voice so sweet you almost wanted to cry. You didn’t respond, just holding him a little tighter as you willed yourself back to sleep. He was concerned. The next morning you apologized for waking him, and the look he gave you in response made you want to apologize again. He told you he didn’t want you to apologize, that it wasn’t why he brought it up. Eventually you stopped him, you rarely slept through the night anyway. You weren’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before, given how he was at your apartment more than his own, but you were happy to spare him the worry. 

Leon sighed, slowly walking closer then stopping only feet away from the foot of the bed. You tilted your head with his movements, tracking his face until the light hit it enough to see his expression. Your breath hitched. He looked like he could cry. You scrambled up onto your knees, shuffling to the edge of the bed and gesturing for him to come closer. He did, his effort to lessen his frown was made clear (and somewhat heart-wrenching) as he tilted his head downwards to get a better look at you. The moment he was close enough you wrapped your arms around him, patting gently at his back. He held your face in two strong hands, as if you were the one that needed to be comforted. 

“I promise, I’m fine.” You let your nails take against his skin, “I’ll wake you up next time, okay?” That was enough to placate him, for a moment at least. Leon was always hypersensitive to your emotions. Once he recognized them he took ownership over them. Your pain was his pain— even though he loathed to share his pain with you. You thought it was because he felt guilty. Guilt for your vaguely defined relationship, for his absence, for every horrible thing in the world he had no control over. You knew he blamed himself for things that weren’t his fault. Leon was just like that, especially with you, he was too good.

He nodded, squeezing your face between his hands, a tired smile grazing his lips. He must’ve wanted to lighten the mood. It worked. You smiled, flopping backwards onto the bed, patting the space next to you. Leon chuckled, laying down next to you. You reached out to him, curling into his side, this time your arm stretches out across his torso. He kisses the top of your skull, moving his hand around to caress the nape of your neck. He whispered something you didn’t hear and you pulled your head back to meet his gaze. He just smiled softly and looked back at you with the most lovesick eyes you’d ever seen on him. You wondered what he was seeing. 

Leon didn’t give you a chance to ask. In a swift and gentle movement, and without taking his eyes off you, he pulled you as close as you could’ve been. Laying partially on top of him, your chin rested in the crook of his neck. His slow and steady breath beside your ear, his strong heartbeat beneath your fingertips. He placed a chaste kiss under your ear and you let your eyes flutter shut. After a moment, he whispered something again, quieter this time. You didn’t catch it, but it didn’t matter. You just held onto him a little tighter.

[ratyts]

Hi! I loved your Leon fic so much! It was so natural and beautiful to read!

But one question: why the ending?😭 Ahahahah I was so surprised and shocked hahahah

omg thank you so much for saying that :,) I'm really glad you enjoyed reading it!!

and lol I can't escape my angsty tendencies even when I start to write something lighthearted and funny! but I also want to write a part 2 eventually, and I'm just better at writing the build up to a relationship than the actual relationship hahaha

[ratyts]

heart patterned boxers

(leon x gn!reader)

masterlist

continued here; my love for leon kennedy dragged me out of my two year long hiatus

warnings: will they won’t they dynamic, implied friends to lovers, romantic tension 

word count: 1.9k

It was a gag gift. They were meant to be, anyway. You had picked them up at a department store on the way to meet him, a last minute birthday gift that ran you 20 bucks and some change. The box they came in had been neatly wrapped up, courtesy of the (what was it, Macy’s?) cashier. All you had to do was scribble “HBD Leon” on the paper and tie a ribbon you found in your car's center console around the box and into a bow– bunny ears style. You doubted your gift for a moment, at a pensive red light, but it was funny. He would definitely think it was funny. Besides a 3-pack of heart boxers, what else could you have gotten your notoriously difficult to shop for friend Leon? 

Leon had a tendency of being– at all times– endearingly, painfully, genuine. You had, at times, called him dense, but he was just honest. With you, he was usually too honest for his own good. It was for that reason that you felt a twinge of anxiety walking up to his unit with the boxers in hand. Your conclusion on the gift was ping-ponging between strangely intimate and just hilarious faster than your mind could keep up. The idea had partly come from impulse, as you’d tortured yourself deciding what to get him until the last minute, and partly from an unfortunate “seeing your dear (sexy) friend approximately three fourths naked” incident a few months prior. It was an accident. A very, very awkward accident. For weeks after, your mind was haunted by the image of Leon Scott Kennedy, in all of his statuesque glory, hunched over as he pulled jeans over his Batman boxers. You accepted his abashed “they were a gift” excuse, but secretly never stopped believing he was just a fan of novelty boxers. As you rang his doorbell, you wondered if the boxers would fit and what it would say about you if you had somehow, miraculously bought the right size, then you willed yourself to act normal before the door opened. 

He opened the door after a moment, a slight smile on his lips as he pulled you into a hug. You relaxed enough for appearances in his embrace, and by the time the two of you parted, you were able to greet him casually. It was Leon, you reminded yourself. “Friends, friends, friends” circling through your thoughts like a mantra as if saying it enough times would make you stop thinking about his goddamn boxers. You trailed behind him, losing your shoes, coat, and nerves by the time you reached his living room. It was just Leon. 

The two of you maneuvered around before ending up in the familiar position of him standing, leaning on the counter next to where you sat on the oddly placed barstool in his kitchen. Between laughter and drinks, he eventually asked about the present you had placed not so subtly in front of him. No longer feeling shame, you pushed it towards him with a simple “Happy Birthday, Lee,” and a slightly tipsy smile. Leon chuckled, making a show of undoing the bow and wrapping paper as if they were the most precious things in the world. After he took 30 seconds to slide his fingernail through a piece of tape, you reached over to rip it open yourself but he caught your wrist before you could. With a disapproving glance, he shook his head, going back to his task with a looser (but for some reason, still there) hold on your wrist. It was nothing out of the ordinary for Leon to have sort of casual contact with you. You never would’ve imagined having such a relationship with him when the two of you first met, but eventually you could barely do anything without standing shoulder to shoulder or sitting knee to knee with him. Your thoughts kept moving to it every time your eyes glanced over his fingers around your wrist. It wasn’t anything special, but it felt different than the way he normally touched you. You remembered the Batman boxers and let out a breath, refocusing as he pulled away the last bit of wrapping paper.

Leon was more often than not straight faced. It was only after years of friendship that you began to recognize the small changes which differentiated one emotion from another. You could never verbalize it or give any reasonable explanation for your theories on Leon’s micro expressions, but you were almost always right. This time, your eyes reached his face a second too late. By the time you tear your gaze away from his hand, he’d let go and broken out into his deep, contagious laughter. You followed after, and the two of you kept at it until the laughter devolved into infrequent giggles. Your face felt hot, and you could see the red on his ears through his hair. That time, you didn’t bother reading into his reaction. He liked it. Any more thought and you’d drive yourself up a wall, so you reminded yourself– “friends, friends, friends,” and only lingered a moment too long when he leaned over to hug you in thanks after you’d both calmed down.

After that, you forgot about the boxers, Batman and heart-patterned alike, along with your (in hindsight) irrational fear of giving them to Leon. You didn't forget, however, the way Leon was glued to your side the rest of the night. Even more than normal. Nor did you miss the way he continued to stick to you like that every time you met after. But after long enough, acting like you were conjoined at the hip became the new normal and the way it used to be left your thoughts too. 

It wasn’t until a few days after his birthday the next year when Leon drunkenly, and God you hoped inadvertently, reminded you of his last birthday gift. That year things had remained just about the same between the two of you. Leon had become a bit rougher, more brooding, and you more wistful. You might’ve held onto him a little tighter, tugged him towards you a little harder, let your gaze linger longer than you should’ve, but that was to be expected. On his birthday that year it all came to a head. 

You and Leon did not drink well together. Or maybe that was the problem, you drank too well together. It wasn’t often that the two of you really went out, usually sticking to a boring drink or two before heading back to whoever’s apartment, but when you did, what a catastrophic pairing it was. Half the time you barely remembered the embarrassing things drunk you said around him, the other half you made a practice of cornering the memories to the deepest corners of your brain. It worked, for the most part, since he never brought it up and you pinched yourself anytime one of those instances started to surface. On special occasions, like birthdays, you and Leon were a force to be reckoned with– although it was usually just you two together. That night, after Leon had opened his gift (a thoughtfully chosen card with twenty bucks in it, you were really in a rush that year) and a couple hours passed, lazing around in his living room, you were starting to get tired. Leon shifted slightly away from you, leaning down to grab a blanket from underneath his coffee table. Your eyes, betraying you, slunk down the expanse of his back. From the ends of his hair all the way down to the waistband of his boxers poking out from his jeans. Your eyes widened and you blinked in an attempt to focus, but in the second you allowed yourself to look, he had already straightened back up, unfolding the blanket and moving to spread it across the two of you. You had only seen a glimpse, but you swore you had seen an embarrassingly familiar pattern on the half inch or so of fabric you'd been privy to. Normally you’d let it go, maybe chuckle quietly to yourself later. That night, however, your hand jerked towards him and pulled at his belt loop like it belonged to you. You froze first, regaining your sense a millisecond too late, but he quickly followed. His face was flushed already, and the nearly imperceptible expression of confusion (or was it shock?) you read between the lines along his forehead certainly didn’t help. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” 

He blinked, mouth opening and shutting again before a wide smile broke out on his face. “What? You think I’d throw away a gift from you?”

You groaned, folding over until your head met your knees, finger still tugging at his waistband. You could feel the vibrations from his poor attempt at stifling a laugh and shook your head, pulling harder as if it would ease your embarrassment. Leon brought his hand to the back of your head, saying your name with a gentle intimacy that only made you groan louder, as if sheer volume could drown out the warmth in his voice. He only laughed harder. Despite the mocking, his touch was so soft you couldn't help but relax into it. When you didn’t give up, petulantly, even with all his gentle goading, he huffed, hooking his hands under your armpits to pull you back up and lacking coordination, nearly on top of him. Your face was hot, and it only grew worse at how unaffected Leon seemed by the ordeal. In a less than graceful movement, you released his belt loop and shimmied his hands down from where he had hoisted you up. You furrowed your brows in an attempt to mask your embarrassment, an effort that was wasted on Leon, who had let his hands slide down your torso to settle on your hips. 

Leon had grabbed you like that before, in more casual, sober settings. He’d tug you along by your waist, or usher you in the right direction with a hand along the side of your ribcage. You had been dangerously close to him more times than you could remember, and usually you didn't let it get to your head. This time, you were too flustered to consider any other options. When his laughter died down, and your heart reduced from a disconcerting rate, you began to turn away from him. You lifted up off your seat, reaching for the remote, but Leon tightened his hold on your hips and pulled you back down with a renewed force and even less coordination. You landed right on his lap, and looking at his expression, he was more shocked than you were. 

The room was silent for a moment, the two of you staring at each other, wide eyed. Without turning away from him, you clicked on the TV, letting the sounds of whatever old B-movie was on that night fill the room. You steadied yourself and smiled, (friends, remember) leaning forwards to pull Leon into the most oddly positioned embrace of your life. 

He said your name, voice muffled as his face rested in the crook of your neck, “I love you.” You swallowed, suddenly conscious of how tightly you held onto him and where your hands were and just about everything you’d ever said to the man. But you shut your eyes and leaned further into him.

“I love you too, Leon,” you murmured, blinking at the feeling of his hair against your cheek. Your eyes drifted back down to his waistband, that stupid fabric, “You’re my best friend.”

[ratyts]

ORGAN THIEF

synopsis. you tell yourself caleb was never yours to have, so you let zayne get close. until caleb decides he doesn’t like to share. warnings. jealousy. mentions of violence. angst. pairings. caleb x reader (x zayne) word count. 7k. an. felt like crying tbh. might edit later.

when you were young, there was no such thing as distance between you and caleb.

you were always together, moving through life side by side, never questioning it. there were scraped knees from racing down the street, grass stains from summers spent lying in the backyard, and lazy afternoons where he let you steal food from his plate without complaint. nights meant whispered conversations under blanket forts, his voice always the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

you grew up together, side by side, pulling each other out of the awkwardness of childhood, shedding timidity like second skin.

caleb and y/n, y/n and caleb.

here’s y/n.

here’s caleb.

here's a bond that no one else quite understands.

your love for caleb hasn’t changed, but it’s grown into something you didn’t understand. can’t understand. not yet.

but caleb has grown. taller, sharper, still careless with his hair, but just as hopeless at tying his tie in the morning. there’s a natural ease to him now, a quiet confidence that draws people in without effort. he doesn’t just enter a room, he shifts the atmosphere, commanding attention without needing to say a word.

you hear the way the girls in the hallways whisper about him, their voices hushed but excited, their eyes lighting up when he so much as glances in their direction. he’s the kind of person people gravitate toward, like planets drawn to the pull of the sun.

kind. athletic. smart. golden.

the one who remembers names, who helps the new kid find their classes, who scores the winning shot and shrugs like it was never in question.

when caleb talks to people, he makes them feel important, like they’re the only one in the room, like whatever they’re saying is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. he finds beauty in everything, in everyone, and in return, people can’t help but see the same in him. they admire him, look up to him, want to be close to him.

but they also fear him.

they don’t realize it at first. not until they get too close to you.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

the way conversations with guys ended abruptly, how some hesitated before sitting next to you, or how your lab partner, who had been openly flirting with you just the day before, suddenly kept his distance. his easy confidence had dulled overnight, his laughter forced, his eyes avoiding yours.

maybe it was just a coincidence, a strange pattern you convinced yourself wasn’t worth questioning. but then it started happening more often. the brief glances, the quiet goodbyes, the way some of caleb’s teammates barely acknowledged you despite knowing exactly who you were.

still, you never questioned it. because, in the end, it never really bothered you.

caleb had always been like that.

like how he insisted you wear his jersey at his games. the first time, he tossed it at you casually, like it was an afterthought. ‘now they’ll all know exactly who you’re watching.’

you rolled your eyes but pulled it on anyway, ignoring how it smelled faintly of his cologne and sweat. after that, it became a habit. if you ever showed up without it, he’d pull it from his bag and toss it over. no words, no discussion.

or how he always left his jacket with you when you were cold. it didn’t matter if you insisted you were fine. if he caught you rubbing your arms or tucking your hands into your sleeves, his jacket would be around your shoulders before you could protest. warm, a little too big, and never once did he ask for it back.

if you returned it to his room later, he’d only shrug like he hadn’t expected it back in the first place.

and then there were the small things. how he always found a way to sit next to you, even when his friends were at another table. how he would drop by your class between periods, casually placing a snack on your desk before walking off without a word. he never explained why, and you never asked.

maybe you should have questioned it more.

but the thing that stood out the most was that caleb never introduced you as his sister.

it would’ve been the easiest thing to say. it would have explained the connection, the way you were always around each other, how naturally you fit into his life. but he never said it. not once.

until people noticed.

one day, after a game, one of his teammates finally asked.

‘so, she’s your sister, huh?’ the guy grinned, nudging caleb in the ribs.

caleb didn’t respond immediately, just looked at him, unreadable.

the guy smirked, pushing further. ‘should i start calling you brother-in-law, then?’

you expected caleb to laugh it off, maybe roll his eyes or shove the guy off like he usually would. but he didn’t. his response was smooth, controlled, and too even.

‘she’s off-limits.’

there was no room for argument.

his teammate hesitated, raising his hands in mock surrender before forcing out a laugh. ‘damn, man. didn’t know it was like that.’

you didn’t think much of it.

not until a few days later, when that same teammate got injured at practice.

a bad fall, they said.

a collision that left him with a bruised eye and a limp that lasted over a week.

accidents happen all the time in sports. it was easy to write it off as bad luck.

but when you glanced at caleb, standing on the sidelines, unbothered, indifferent with bruises along his knuckles, you felt something shift in your stomach.

maybe you should have been mad. maybe you should have confronted him, called him out, demanded an explanation.

not because it was unfair.

not because it was wrong.

but because you liked it too much.

you liked the way caleb made it impossible for anyone else to get too close. the way his hand lingered at the small of your back when he guided you through a crowded hallway. the way he always waited for you after school, even when you had nothing planned.

the way he looked at you sometimes. like there was something simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken and dangerous and impossible.

and that was the problem.

because he wasn’t yours.

because he was supposed to be your best friend.your family. the one person you shouldn’t want.

you understood now. the love you had for him has grown to fill the spaces you didn’t have when you were a child. it’s grown into longing and desire and jealousy, something so fucking powerful and essential that there isn’t a piece of you that doesn’t love him.

so you did the only thing you could think of.

you avoided him.

at first, caleb let it slide, pretending not to notice the way you pulled away. he let you ignore him in the hallways, let you skip out on lunches, let you slip past him at home without so much as a glance. maybe he thought you just needed space, that whatever was wrong would work itself out on its own.

but after a few weeks, the cracks started to show. he stopped lingering after class, stopped waiting for you outside your door, stopped trying to pull you back into his orbit. the easy confidence he carried dulled, his smirks a little less sharp, his presence not as loud. he wasn’t himself, and he knew it.

then, one day, he cornered you after the last period.

the hallway had mostly emptied, students filtering out in groups, their voices fading into the distance. but caleb wasn’t moving. he stood in front of you, arms crossed, blocking your path, his amethyst eyes sharp and unwavering.

‘you’re avoiding me.’

it wasn’t a question.

your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. ‘i’m not.’

his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. ‘bullshit.’

you exhaled slowly, willing your voice to stay steady. ‘i’ve just been busy.’

he scoffed, shaking his head. ‘right. too busy to come out of your room? too busy to even lok at me? we live in the same house, y/n. you don’t just disappear on me.’

you swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. caleb ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, frustration radiating off of him.

‘so you win. whatever it is i did, i’m sorry. now will you please fucking forgive me and put us both out of our misery?’

the words hit harder than you expected. he thought this was about him. he thought he had done something wrong. and worst of all, he looked miserable. bruises under his eyes, the tell–tale signs of too little sleep. heartbreak seeping through the sunshine boy's skin and weaving its way through his veins and making rivers.

the weight of it crashed into you all at once, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. before you could stop it, your vision blurred.

caleb’s face shifted the moment he saw the tears, his frustration dissolving into something softer.

his shoulders relaxed, his hands twitching at his sides before he finally reached for you, pulling you in without hesitation. his warmth wrapped around you, solid and steady, his breath slow against your hair. his fingers found their way to your hip, his lips pressing lightly against your forehead, his presence sinking into you in a way that felt painfully familiar.

and you didn’t resist.

because despite everything, despite the space you had tried to put between you, despite how complicated things had become, caleb still felt safe.

so you pressed into his touch, letting yourself breathe him in, letting yourself forget, just for a moment, that you had ever tried to let him go.

friends, friends, friends.

he held you close, his voice rough with emotion. ‘i’m sorry, pipsqueak,’ he muttered against your hair. ‘whatever i did or said, i’m sorry, okay?’

you didn’t answer.

you couldn’t.

because the truth was—

you were the one who needed to apologize.

because this was never about him.

it was about you.

and the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you could never, ever stop wanting him.

too much, too much. you wanted caleb too much, want too much always, but you are not together and you had to accept that.

caleb’s pinky locked into yours. you weren’t sure if it’s another apology or a source of comfort you need in your state, or just plain habit, but he’s touching you (friends, friends, friends) and that’s all you really need to know.

because despite everything, caleb still felt like home.

but home didn’t last.

caleb starts staying out late.

at first, it’s nothing. just a few nights out, a way to kill time.

you hear about it through his teammates, offhand mentions from gran when she asks if he’s home yet. It doesn’t bother you.

caleb has always been social, always had people orbiting around him, always found ways to fill the spaces in his life.

but then it becomes a habit. the late nights turn into early mornings, his weekends disappear into parties, and soon enough, it feels like he’s never home. he moves through the house like a ghost, slipping in while everyone else is asleep and leaving before anyone notices.

and you notice.

you notice the way he comes back smelling like perfume that isn’t his, how his lips are redder than before, how his amethyst eyes seem heavier, dimmer, weighed down by something you don’t recognize. you see the kiss stains on his neck, the scratches down his back, the way he barely looks at himself in the mirror anymore.

you wish they hurt. you wish you left them there.

you don’t avoid him, not entirely, but you don’t talk to him the same way. your words are clipped, your tone indifferent. you stop waiting for him after school, stop lingering in doorways to say goodnight, stop reaching for him first.

when he nudges your shoulder, slings an arm around you, tugs on your sleeve like he always does, you pull away before he can get too close.

and caleb notices.

at first, he brushes it off, shrugs like it doesn’t matter. he teases you the way he always does, pokes and prods, waiting for you to roll your eyes and shove him back. but the space between you keeps growing, stretching into something neither of you know how to name.

he stays out later. comes home smelling stronger, marked up worse, his voice hoarse in the mornings like he’s been screaming into the night. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction.

but you don’t give him one.

and for the first time in your life, caleb stops trying.

the sky was falling weeks later when the door of your own room opens. blinking sleepily, you leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. he swayed against the wall, there is purple and green pressed all over his skin.

it’s caleb, whose lips are swollen again.

it’s late. too late.

the smell of beer clings to him, mixed with something sweeter. something that isn’t his.

his hoodie is loose, his hair messy, his steps uneven as he leans against your doorframe, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they land on you.

‘you mad at me, pipsqueak?’ his voice is lower than usual, playful, teasing, but there’s something behind it. something that isn’t entirely a joke.

your lamp lit up the dark bruise on his neck in a ghastly light. you could still see the fingertips, could feel the ghost of them pressing into his skin. friends.

your hand goes white–knuckled, gripping into the sheets. ‘go to bed, caleb.’

‘i am in bed,’ he mutters, like it’s obvious. like it’s true.

you exhale, shaking your head. ‘you’re drunk.’

‘and?’ he counters, stepping into your space, his smirk faltering just slightly. ‘you say that like it changes anything.’

you don’t answer.

because maybe it doesn’t.

he peeled off his hoodie without a word. there are red fingernail marks on the ridge of his spine and bruises on his hips, signs from the girl with perfume you smelled on him last night, the girl who gets to touch caleb in the places you can’t.

he watches you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure something out. and then, finally—

‘i don’t get it.’ his voice is quieter now, more serious. ‘what did i do?’

you settled back against the bed. ‘nothing.’

‘bullshit.’ he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. ‘you’ve barely looked at me in weeks, y/n. you don’t wait for me anymore. you barely talk to me. and every time i try to touch you, you act like it makes you sick.’ his jaw clenches. ‘so tell me. what the hell did i do?’

you should lie. you should push him away. you should say something sharp, something final, something that makes him leave.

but you don’t.

and caleb, drunk and tired and hurting, sees right through you.

when he reached your fingers, he thread them between your own, collecting all the pieces of your conscience and disappearing without a trace, all remnants of your soul in hand.

his expression shifts, something softer flickering across his face. and then—

his fingers graze your cheek, barely there, like he’s testing the distance between you. the touch is slow, hesitant, deliberate. like he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s never been the type to stop himself when it comes to you.

his hand moves to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with practiced ease, like it’s something second nature, like he’s done it so many times before that he doesn’t even have to think about it.

his thumb lingers, brushing over your cheek, tracing the frustration etched into your skin. it’s warm, careful, almost apologetic. like he’s trying to smooth out the anger, the hurt, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

then, softer than you’ve ever heard him, he murmurs, ‘how can i sleep if my favorite girl is mad at me?’

and when you look at him, really look at him, your breath stumbles in your chest. he knew how to do it. how to make you feel like the sun rises in your veins only for you.

because caleb doesn’t just sound tired. he looks it.

the dim light casts hollows into his features, emphasizing the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. his eyes, usually sharp and full of mischief, are duller now, heavier, shadowed by something that feels dangerously close to regret. there’s no cocky grin, no teasing glint.

just quiet, aching exhaustion.

for the first time, caleb looks small. like the saddest man on earth, like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t know how to fix.

you couldn't help but think of the amount of stars that had fallen with every step he took with a frown.

and it wrecks you.

you wanted to hold him, but you knew you’ll be left with burned fingertips and calloused heart.

because he smells like beer and someone else’s perfume. because there are scratches on his back that weren’t made by your hands. because he has no right to touch you this softly after spending his nights with people who don’t know him the way you do.

because no matter how much you wish you didn’t care. you do.

and so, despite everything, despite the weight pressing against your ribs, despite knowing you shouldn’t. out control, out of control, out of—

you kiss him.

for a tense, breathless second, he didn’t move.

his body stiff, frozen, caught somewhere between hesitation and something else entirely.

and then, you felt it.

his hands sliding up, fingers threading into your hair, gripping tight.

and then he was kissing you back.

it’s desperate, reckless, a collision of everything you’ve been holding back. his lips taste like beer, and you don’t care. your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.

and for a second. just a second. he kisses you back.

his lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

a quiet moan escaped you, swallowed by the heat of him, by the way his hands moved down, gripping, pulling, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

then, he tore himself away from you, stepping back so fast it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. the warmth of his mouth, his hands, his presence, gone in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the sharp contrast of cold in his absence.

your eyes snapped open, breath uneven, pulse hammering as you stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. caleb stood right in front of you, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his disheveled hair messier than before, his lips still swollen from the kiss. his amethyst eyes were dark, unreadable, but something about them made your stomach twist.

because he knew.

he knew what this kiss meant. he knew what you felt, what you had been too afraid to say. he knew you had shattered whatever fragile barrier had been keeping this moment at bay. he knew.

and yet, he smiled.

not the kind that comforted, not the kind that softened his sharp edges. this one was different. it was hollow, something cold curling at the edges, something sharp enough to cut through you with ease.

‘had enough practice?’

his voice was light, almost amused, as if the kiss had been nothing at all, as if it hadn’t just unraveled you completely. you could only stare, frozen in place, his words slicing through you before you even had the chance to process them.

and you took it for what it was, a dagger to the heart.

then, with careful, deliberate movements, he stepped back, putting more space between you, widening a distance that already felt impossible to cross. his hand raked through his hair, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no real amusement in it.

‘if you just wanted to get your first kiss over with, you could’ve told me.’ the words were effortless, thrown out like they meant nothing, but there was something in the way his voice faltered at the end that made your stomach drop. his gaze flickered over you for a second, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite anything at all. ‘guess now you’re ready for the real thing with whoever you actually want.’

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

it didn’t matter. caleb didn’t wait for a response. he exhaled sharply, his eyes lingering for a beat too long before he turned away. there was no hesitation in his steps, no second glance, nothing to suggest that this moment had shaken him the way it had shaken you.

and then, just like that, he was gone.

he doesn't think, doesn't wait, doesn't want.

he just leaves.

disappearing into the dark, leaving you standing there, cold, alone, and regretting everything.

and maybe that was the moment you lost him.

y/n and caleb, and it's hard to tell where one end and the other begins. there probably isn't a difference, and trying to draw the line would doom the both of you.

this time, caleb starts avoiding you.

and this time, you know exactly why.

it’s different now. worse. because he doesn’t just disappear at school. he disappears at home, too.

you hear him tell gran he has practice when you know he doesn’t. you catch glimpses of him slipping out late at night, hood up, car keys dangling from his fingers. when he comes back, it’s always late, long after the house has gone quiet.

you pretend not to hear the front door creak open, the careful shuffle of his footsteps down the hall, the way he pauses outside your door for just a second before moving on.

he doesn’t look at you.

not in the morning when you pass each other in the kitchen, not when you sit at opposite ends of the dinner table, not when gran asks him a question and he answers without ever acknowledging the weight of your silence. the air between you is thick, heavy with everything unspoken, but neither of you say a word.

at school, it’s even worse.

you used to know exactly where to find him: leaning against his locker, sprawled across the lunch table, laughing too loudly, always moving, always there. but now, he’s everywhere except near you.

and when you do see him, it’s only for a second. a glance across the hallway before he looks away. a flicker of amethyst eyes lost in a crowd. an almost-moment before he disappears again, slipping into someone else’s world, somewhere you don’t belong.

you should’ve expected this. you should’ve known that kiss, your first kiss, would wreck everything.

but somehow, it still hurts.

and what’s worse, what makes your stomach twist, what makes your skin feel too tight and your throat close up, is that you hate yourself for it.

you hate yourself for wanting it.

for wanting him.

you feel disgusted when you think about it, about how easily you caved, about how much you liked it, about the way his hands felt on your skin, his lips against yours. you hate that even now, when you close your eyes, you can still feel it, still want it, still crave the weight of him against you like a sickness you don’t know how to cure.

so you do what you can. you push forward. you stop waiting.

and that was when you met him.

it started with a name, called out in class like it meant nothing.

‘zayne and y/n.’

your biology teacher paired you together for a semester-long project, and you hadn’t expected anything from it. zayne wasn’t someone you had paid much attention to before, and when he pulled out the chair beside you, there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just quiet acceptance.

‘looks like we’re partners.’ his tone was even, uninterested, like he was already calculating how much effort this would require.

‘looks like it.’you mirrored his indifference, expecting nothing more than a few study sessions and a forgettable final grade.

but it wasn’t just another assignment.

zayne wasn’t like caleb.

he didn’t overthink his place beside you, didn’t steal glances to gauge what others might think. he wasn’t loud, wasn’t overbearing, didn’t fill the silence with pointless conversation just to make his presence known. he was steady, self-contained, comfortable in the quiet. after weeks of feeling like you were walking on eggshells, that steadiness ws a relief.

at first, your time together was purely academic.

library meetings that were structured and efficient, an easy rhythm of work that never strayed beyond the boundaries of your project. but then, something changed. lunches became routine, neither of you discussing it but always sitting at the same table. walks to class happened naturally, steps falling in sync without effort. conversations stretched beyond assignments and deadlines, carrying into late-night messages about things that had nothing to do with school.

zayne told you about his love for the winter, and how he would sneak out during the first snow fall. you told him about the time you and caleb got caught sneaking out, how caleb had talked his way out of trouble while you stood there panicking.

unlike caleb, zayne didn’t tease, didn’t turn your stories into jokes at your expense. he just listened, nodded like he was actually picturing it.

too kind, too understanding, too much of exactly what you needed.

somewhere along the way, you became friends. and soon, you were always together.

dinners with gran started to change. it used to be the three of you. gran, caleb, and you.

but caleb started skipping them, claiming he was busy, always finding somewhere else to be, never home long enough for it to feel like anything but an excuse.

zayne, on the other hand, filled the space caleb left behind.

it started as a casual invitation.

gran insisting he stay after studying, reassuring him there was more than enough food. he had accepted without fuss, without hesitation, and from that night on, his place at the table never felt out of place. gran told stories you had heard a thousand times before, and zayne listened to every one of them, nodding along, asking questions like he hadn’t already picked up on the details from you.

he wasn’t a replacement for caleb.

but he was something constant.

then one afternoon, you and zayne crossed paths with caleb in the hallway.

there was no tension, no hesitation, no moment of discomfort where zayne second-guessed himself. he just looked at caleb, gave a simple nod in acknowledgment, and kept walking, like it was nothing.

like caleb was no one special.

like he wasn’t even worth a second thought.

caleb didn’t say anything. he just stood there, watching.

but you knew that wasn’t the end of it.

and you were right.

the moment the wrong boy fell in love with you. and you wished he could pull out your heart, and make him see that you fell in love with the wrong boy too.

that was why you were here, standing in the biting cold, surrounded by barren fields of frost, with zayne’s rare laughter curling into the air like something warm, something that was meant to feel safe. that was why you let him get close, why you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that this could be enough.

you shouldn’t have been thinking about caleb.

so you focused on the wrong boy instead.

on the way his voice carried in the quiet, on how he walked beside you without hesitation, how his presence didn’t ask for anything more than what you were willing to give. he wasn’t waiting for you to figure things out, wasn’t demanding answers you didn’t have. he was just there. steady. certain.

maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like when you didn’t want it. something easy, something quiet, something that didn’t threaten to tear you apart.

but it still didn’t fit right in your chest.

‘we’re here.’

zayne’s voice pulled you back, his excitement evident in his eyes as he gestured toward the sled he had set up.

you blinked at it, then at him. ‘are you serious?’

he grinned, brushing the snow off the seat before tossing his scarf around your shoulders, adjusting it with careful hands. the fabric was thick and slightly uneven, the pattern something you wouldn’t have picked for yourself, but it was warm, and it smelled like him.

you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the details.

‘gran taught me how to knit,’ he admitted, a flicker of amusement in his expression.

your fingers traced the edges of the scarf as you exhaled. ‘it’s nice.’

and it was.

you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over how endearing it was, how easily he gave things to you, how much he seemed to mean it. he could have handed you anything, and you would have taken it, because this. this moment, this feeling. was already too much.

then, without a word, he just looked at you.

not a passing glance. not a fleeting moment of consideration.

zayne never did things halfway.

when he looked at you, he made sure you knew.

his hazel eyes were bright despite the winter gray, his expression unreadable but not indifferent. there was something certain about the way he watched you, something steady in the way his gaze settled, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

like he took in every detail.

the way the cold had flushed your cheeks, the way your breath curled into the air, the way the weight of the moment made your fingers tremble against the scarf.

‘is there something on my face?’ you asked, startled by the intensity in his stare.

he shook his head, his gaze flickering slightly before settling again. ‘i wish i had more time with you.’

the words were quiet, simple, but the weight of them landed hard.

you swallowed, pulse stuttering, because there was something in the way he said it that made your chest ache. he didn’t say it like a passing thought, didn’t say it like he was reaching for something just out of grasp. he said it like he knew.

like he already understood that whatever this was, whatever you were, had an expiration date.

his eyes dropped, just for a second, barely noticeable, but enough.

enough to know what he was thinking.

enough to know that if you leaned in, he wouldn’t stop you.

and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to.

not because it was right. not because it was real.

but because you needed to forget.

you needed something to press over the ache in your chest, something to drown out the weight of caleb’s absence, the sound of his voice in your head, the way he had always, always been there. until he wasn’t.

but you didn’t.

because it would have been a lie.

‘gran, we’ve talked about this—‘

caleb’s voice cut through the air, sharp with frustration, breaking the moment before it had the chance to solidify into something real.

‘no, you talked. an aviation school halfway across the country? when there are good ones right here? what’s wrong with being close to home?’

the front door creaked open, and as if time couldn’t be any crueler, gran and caleb stepped outside.

his presence was immediate, impossible to ignore.

caleb had always carried himself like he belonged in any space he occupied, but now, standing in the cold with the weight of an argument still lingering between him and gran, he felt like something distant. something storming just beneath the surface, unreadable and untouchable.

zayne sighed, shifting beside you, but you barely noticed.

because while he was looking at you, you were looking at caleb.

your stomach twisted, the weight in your chest pressing down harder, suffocating in a way you didn’t understand.

‘and i know it’s far. i know it’s hard. but it’s not about running away.’ caleb’s voice was firm, steady, like he had already made up his mind. he barely hesitated before adding, ‘this is what’s best for me. for all of us.’

and just like that, it was over.

he turned before anyone could argue, before you could even process what he had said, stepping back into the warmth of the house.

the door clicked shut behind him, and somehow, that sound felt louder than anything else.

you don't know what's love and what's hate now. if there is a difference between the two of you, y/n and caleb, here.

later that evening, you fell.

it was late, exhaustion pulling at your limbs as you trudged up the stairs, arms full of books. zayne followed a few steps behind, his pace unhurried, hands tucked into his pockets as he listened to you yap.

you were mid-sentence, distracted by the conversation, too focused on the warmth of another presence at your side to notice the uneven step beneath your feet.

your toe caught the edge, and before you could react, your balance shifted forward. books tilted dangerously in your grasp before slipping from your fingers as gravity pulled you down. your stomach lurched, breath catching in your throat—

but you never hit the ground.

zayne’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his other pressing against your waist with steady ease. his grip was strong, grounding, keeping you upright before you even had the chance to panic. your breathing was uneven, heart hammering from the sudden shock, your body tensed from the lingering adrenaline.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

his fingers still pressed against your skin, his touch neither hurried or hesitant. . he had caught you, steadied you, and yet he didn’t let go.

you became painfully aware of the way his chest hovered just inches from yours, the warmth of his palm burning through your shirt.

when you looked up at him, his expression was unreadable. calm, composed, but something else lingered beneath the surface. he wasn’t just looking at you. he was waiting.

waiting for you to move. waiting for you to step back. waiting for your permission.

and that was what made your pulse stutter.

it’s too much and it’s never enough.

you should have pulled away. should have created space. should have let the moment pass as nothing more than a near fall. but you didn’t.

because then, his gaze flickered. just slightly, just for a second. before his eyes dropped to your lips.

your breath hitched, and before you could process what was happening, a voice shattered the moment.

‘y/n? zayne?’

gran’s voice, light, amused, pulling you back to reality.

and then—

‘what the fuck?’

caleb.

your entire body locked up, tension snapping through your muscles as your head turned toward the sound.

he stood at the end of the hall, unmoving, his eyes dark, expression unreadable. his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

he wasn’t just watching. he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

zayne, still close, exhaled a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, as if this was nothing, as if caleb wasn’t standing there barely a few feet away. gran smirked, clearly entertained by whatever she thought was happening.

caleb did not.

he didn’t speak, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t so much as glance in your direction. he just turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing down the hall without another word.

and somehow, that was worse.

dinner was slow, thick with something unspoken, the weight of the evening settling over the table like a fog.

gran, as oblivious as ever, carried the conversation, her voice the only thing filling the silence. ‘he’s going to be a doctor, y/n,’ she said, beaming like it was something worth celebrating.

zayne gave a polite shake of his head, still eating, still composed, his presence unwavering despite the obvious tension in the room. ‘still got a long way to go.’

but the real shift came when caleb sat down.

for the first time in weeks, he joined dinner.

he didn’t make an excuse, didn’t disappear before the plates hit the table, didn’t claim to have somewhere else to be.

he was here. silent, stiff, but here.

his fork scraped against his plate, but he barely ate. his shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. he answered when spoken to, voice clipped, his eyes fixed on his food, refusing to meet yours.

zayne, on the other hand, didn’t react. he carried himself with the same quiet steadiness as always, like nothing had changed, like caleb’s presence, or his anger, meant nothing to him. he didn’t fidget, didn’t acknowledge the storm brewing across the table, didn’t shift under the weight of caleb’s unspoken frustration.

and that made it worse.

but you noticed.

caleb was stiff, his usual relaxed posture replaced with something rigid, something tense. his grip on his fork was just a little too tight, his knuckles flexing under the strain. he barely touched his food, answering gran’s questions with clipped responses, his voice measured, controlled.

through it all, he never once looked at you.

your stomach twisted, the weight of his silence pressing down on you more than any harsh words ever could. it wasn’t like caleb to hold back, it wasn't like him to sit in the same room as you and act as if you didn’t exist. but tonight, he was locked in his own storm, letting it brew under the surface, making sure you felt it, even if he refused to acknowledge you.

then, after zayne left, gran turned to caleb, her gaze slow and assessing, studying him the way only she could. she took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a quiet clink before speaking, her tone light but deliberate.

‘zayne is a good boy, but whether he’s good enough for you...’ she let the words linger just long enough to make them feel heavier before tilting her head toward caleb, watching for a reaction. ‘what do you think, caleb?’

the shift in him was subtle.

a slight tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, the barely-there twitch of his fingers against the table. you barely had time to process it before he moved, smooth and purposefully, his arm slipping around your shoulders like it belonged there.

his grip was warm, steady, and possessive.

‘i think,’ he said, his voice softer than usual, the perfect balance of ease and sincerity, ‘as long as pipsqueak’s happy, then i’m happy too.’

the words were convincing.

to anyone else, they would have sounded effortless, genuine even. but you knew him. you knew the calm in his voice when he was anything but. you knew the way he smiled when he wanted to bite back something sharper. you knew the restraint in his touch, the tension running just beneath the surface.

and right now, caleb wasn’t just mad.

he was furious.

furious that you had kept something from him. furious that you had let someone else too close. furious that, for the first time, there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

later that night, when you knock on his door, he opens it immediately, like he had been waiting.

the hallway is dim, the only light spilling from his room, casting sharp shadows across his face. the space between you feels suffocating, thick with something unspoken, something heavy you aren’t ready to name.

his expression is unreadable, his face carefully blank, but you see it anyway.

the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightens around the doorknob, the barely restrained control in the way he stands, like he’s holding himself back.

your pulse thrums in your throat as you force the words out. ‘did you mean it?’

caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, his silence stretching unbearably between you.

you swallow hard, pushing forward even as your stomach twists. ‘as long as i’m happy?’

a second passes, then another. his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he finally answers.

‘no.’

the word lands between you like a blow. it should make things clearer, should make it easier to understand, but instead, it only makes everything worse.

you shift on your feet, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs, but caleb just watches you, his amethyst eyes locked onto yours in a way that makes it impossible to breathe.

‘then why are you acting like this?’

there's a crack in his surface, his electric electric eyes gleaming in undetectable, hidden message. his expression was a clear indication to what he felt.he wasn't ready to hear that.

his exhale is slow, controlled, measured, but there’s something beneath it, somehing restrained. and then, just as carefully, he says it.

‘get rid of him.’

the command slices through the air, sharp and undeniable, like a final puzzle piece snapping into place. your stomach drops at the certainty in his voice, at the quiet weight behind his words.

‘i-i can’t.’ the response comes out weak, barely more than a whisper, but it’s the only thing you can give him.

something in caleb shifts instantly. his body tenses, his expression sharpening as his focus narrows completely onto you. his movements are deliberate, controlled, like he’s making a conscious effort not to move too fast, not to let whatever he’s feeling slip past the careful edges of his restraint.

‘what do you mean you can’t?’ his voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it, a dangerous thread of something unraveling just beneath the surface.

you look away, knowing that whatever comes next will change everything. ‘i don’t want to hurt him.’

the silence that follows is heavier than anything he could have said.

his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders squaring as the warmth in his eyes fades into something colder, something unreadable. his posture doesn’t change, but the shift in the air between you is unmistakable.

‘so you’d rather hurt me?’

the words hit you harder than they should. you weren’t prepared for them, weren’t expecting the weight they carried, the way they landed with a finality that made your chest ache.

your throat tightens, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix whatever just cracked open between you. but caleb doesn’t look away, doesn’t take it back, doesn’t even flinch as the meaning behind his own words settles over him.

his gaze flickers, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he exhales sharply, like he’s regretting letting you see this part of him.

‘are you saying… you’re jealous?’ the words feel too fragile, too uncertain, but they leave your lips before you can stop them.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

doesn’t breathe.

you expect him to deny it, to roll his eyes, to throw some dismissive remark at you like he always does. you expect him to do what he’s best at, pretend it doesn’t matter.

but he doesn’t.

he just watches you, his silence heavier than any answer he could have given. and then—slowly, carefully—he smirks.

‘if you want me to say i’m jealous, i will.’

his voice is smooth, effortless, light in a way that only makes your stomach twist. it should be reassuring, should make this moment feel less like a breaking point, but it doesn’t.

because it’s too easy. too casual.

like he’s still pretending.

like he’s still keeping you at a distance.

your fingers curl into fists at your sides as the frustration rises, your voice barely more than a murmur. ‘you could have just lied.’

caleb exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly, and then he moves.

too close. you're too close together for just friends.

your back presses against the wall before you even realize you’ve stepped back. his presence is everywhere, surrounding you, his warmth pulling you in even when you know you should push him away.

and then his hands are on your face, fingers cupping your jaw, steady and warm, grounding in a way that makes it impossible to think.

your pulse jumps, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as his amethyst eyes lock onto yours, the distance between you disappearing entirely. there’s no teasing in his gaze this time, no smirk, no sarcasm.

just heat.

just certainty.

his thumb brushes against your cheek, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, like he needs to. and then, his voice drops lower, softer, barely above a whisper.

‘i am jealous, baby.’

a pause.

a beat of silence so heavy you can feel it in your ribs.

his fingers tighten just slightly, his grip firm but careful, like he’s making sure you don’t move, like he doesn’t want you to look away.

you're trying to not cry now but you missed everything you never had.

and then—

‘more than you think possible.’

[ratyts]

TAPPING OUT

synopsis. caleb graduates from the academy, but when you unexpectedly tap him out, a tradition where loved ones step forward to formally release a pilot from their duty, he realizes no achievement compares to having you by his side. (based on this.) word count. 1.1k an. loved doing this for codghost so i might as well do it for this man. lets pretend they have the tradition in their universe. okay? okay.

caleb stood in the crowd, his posture rigid and form still with precision despite the celebration around him. cheers echoed through the room, but they sounded distant, muffled. he watched as pilots, one by one, were tapped out by their loved ones. parents embracing their children, lovers reuniting in tearful hugs.

his chest tightened as his eyes scanned the room. he was waiting for gran, the one person he knew would come. gran had always shown up, had always been his anchor. he learnt not to expect anything more, not to hope for anyone else.

but then, like a shift in the universe, caleb felt you before he saw you.

when you stepped into the room, it was as if the entire world faded away. time slowed, the noise dimmed, and the lights seemed to soften, catching on the edges of your features. you looked beautiful, achingly so. heartbreakingly out of reach. you weren’t supposed to be here, not after the fight, not after the cruel words you’d both thrown at each other before he left.

you moved toward him with purpose, cutting through the room like you were meant to be there all along.

caleb couldn’t breathe. he couldn’t think.

his hands trembled at his sides as he watched you close the distance between you. he could act all stoic, but his heart didn’t feel stoic enough to make him calm.

when you stopped in front of him, there were tears already brimming in your eyes. his carefully constructed control, unshakable during training, steadfast through every grueling challenge, began to crumble.

caleb had faced impossible physical challenges, the grueling expectations of training, and the endless psychological evaluations that pushed him to the edge. but none of those had broken him nearly like you did. you, standing here, looking at him like that.

you were his undoing.

you should be his first sign. the first sign that there was something wrong with him. because you were his obsession. the one he was slowly losing control over.

caleb was not allowed to fall in love with you.

he trembled as your fingers brushed against his, tapping him out of his frozen misery. the soft touch was meant to symbolize recognition, acknowledgment. but to caleb, it was so much more.

you were here. you were real.

there was no second-guessing, no hesitation. before he could stop himself, his arms were around you, pulling you into him with a force that left him breathless. a strangled sigh escaped his lips and found its home in the crook of your neck, right where your heart beats: friends, friends, friends.

he held you like a man drowning, and you were the only thing keeping him afloat. he felt the soft shake of your shoulders, the warmth of your tears against his neck, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

‘i didn’t think you’d come,’ he whispered, his voice low and raw, breaking under the weight of his emotions. you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. there was something in his gaze, but before you could respond, he spoke again, quieter this time, like a vow. ‘i’ll never let you go.’

the words made you shiver. they were so soft you almost didn’t catch them.

‘you can try,’ you joked, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to lighten the mood. a nervous laugh escaped as you gently pushed against his chest, pretending to escape his embrace. ‘you love me, i get it.’

but caleb didn’t loosen his hold. instead, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. there was a quiet laugh, quiet and unsteady, before he murmured, ‘you have no idea, pipsqueak.’

his voice was filled with something raw, something deeper than you could fully understand. it wasn’t just love. it was obsession, devotion, a yearning that had no end.

you smelled like honey. like the same thing you’d been smelling your entire life that made you feel like home in a way that hotels and dorm beds could never manage.

he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, shining pin they’d given him for finishing aerospace academy. it gleamed in the light, a symbol of everything he’d fought to achieve. without a word, he placed it carefully in your palm.

your fingers brushed his as you took it, and the touch sent sparks up his arm. with careful, deliberate precision, you pinned it to his chest. caleb didn’t move, his gaze fixed on you, watching every motion, every soft touch of your fingers against his uniform.

‘they should give you a medal instead for doing so well,’ you teased softly, smiling up at him.

once the pin was secure, you smoothed down his uniform, your fingers lingering against the fabric. it was such a small gesture, but it felt so intimate that caleb’s breath hitched.

he tried his best not to be frantic, but it was almost impossible when he was overloaded with want, want, want, and with the feeling that this might not happen again, with the fear that if caleb thought about it too hard, he’d stop himself before he did too much.

he couldn’t stop himself any longer. leaning down, he kissed your cheek, his lips lingering on your skin. he didn’t move away immediately, letting the moment stretch as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of you.

he felt like a criminal on the run, but it was too good to withdraw from. so, he overdosed on unrequited love.

when he finally pulled back, there was a soft, almost shy smile on his lips. his voice was low, but full of meaning. ‘i already have my reward.’

you looked up at him, your cheeks warm, his cap still sitting crooked on your head. for a moment, neither of you spoke, and the weight of everything unsaid lingered between you.

and caleb, looking at you, standing there with your fingers still on his uniform, knew it was the absolute truth. you didn’t realize it, but you were the center of his universe. his greatest test, his deepest weakness, and the one thing he could never, ever let go of.

i’m a fool, he decided. damned in the bits of exhaustion at pulling and pushing at whatever’s left of trying.

the noise of the crowd finally broke through the haze, the sound of laughter and celebration pulling you both back to the present. caleb stepped back slightly, watching as you adjusted his cap, your smile soft but hesitant.

you didn’t have to know the struggle he’d endured to get here, the battles he’d fought within himself.

you were his obsession. his reason for everything. and he was losing control, but he didn’t care. because having you here, now, was all that mattered.

[ratyts]

[ratyts]

HALLELUJAH! praise be! timeskip deku and bakugo beat the fugly ass undercut allegations.

[ratyts]

yearly art era