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praisethegabs · 6 months

Text

OLDER

leon kennedy x reader

synopsis: he's getting older, and he knows that. not believing in luck or in love, leon finds himself in a position of complete misfortune. he convinced himself he's not worthy of love, but that changes when he meets you.

warnings: angst with fluff ending, age gap, leon is very insecure about his age and the reader. strangers to lovers, mentions of smut, ptsd, alcoholism, depression, suicidal thoughts. reader is very delicate, kind, and patient. there's parts from the vendetta book and a few scenes from re6. it starts with re6!leon and ends with di!leon

word count: 15k

a/n: guess who's back? to celebrate the 1 year re4r anniversary, I decided to post this one shot I was working for almost two months. I'm into my angst era again. also i wrote this based on this analysis i read, which made me think about the broken part of leon for a while, also this fic contains part of the vendetta book. feel free to leave comments, reblogs, tips, or positive critics. they're always very welcome ❤️

I. THE WEIGHT ON HIS SHOULDERS

Life can be a bitch sometimes.

This is what he says to himself when he finishes another bottle of whiskey. Every day, when he opens his eyes, he tries to stay positive, hoping his day will be different from his usual schedule; in the end, it is always the same bullshit. Over and over again. No apparent ending; always his solitude.

But someday it must end, right? He can’t be fighting B.O.W.'s for the rest of his life, can he? Maybe someday he’ll finally settle down and have a peaceful day. Maybe, on this day, his nightmares will stop, and if he’s lucky, he’ll sleep for the entire night. No one can blame him for dreaming of a perfect life, and no one can take this from him.

The government made him their slave, their deadly pet that follows and obeys every rule and command, and forced him to risk his neck almost every week to keep their country safe. What a bunch of assholes, he thinks to himself. Thing is, Leon hates himself for what he was forced to become.

There is so much pain. So much suffering. He only wanted to be a cop — nothing more than that. He wanted to deal with simple things — not bioterrorists ready to blow up the entire world, not grotesque mutations that defy the natural order of things. Certainly, if he had a choice to go back and change that night, he wouldn’t go to Raccoon City. He would've stayed in his cheap hotel room; he would have obeyed Marvin’s orders to not go in there.

But now he’s something else. The rookie cop who had to survive that night died. He can’t even recognize himself anymore, and sometimes, he blames himself for it. No more than he blames the government for it; if he could go back…

His days are filled with this emptiness — the sensation that he might never see his happy ending. Ada? Yeah, sure. He knows he can’t trust her, and God knows where she is or what she’s doing. He was so naive to fall for her like he did. While on his free day out of the office, he finds himself with a certain envy of happy couples. He can’t stop thinking: why can’t he have the same? Why can’t he be happy for once?

Getting older sucks. At this point, Leon thinks and has already convinced himself that he doesn’t belong to anyone and that he won’t be able to have someone. To experience love and being loved, he wants to be wanted. He’s getting older and still doesn't have anyone by his side. That’s the price he pays for having this life, and he still blames the government for taking it from him. He doesn’t remember the last time he actually felt something for someone, and at this moment of his life, it doesn’t matter to him anymore. Leon had already accepted the fact that he'd die alone. Maybe he’ll get a cat to keep him company. Since he’s not much of a dog person since Raccoon City, maybe he’ll name her a cute name; who knows? That’s probably the closest he’ll get to having something waiting for him at home.

Leon doesn’t remember the last time he actually felt happy. Since Raccoon City, he doesn't know what happiness means, and sometimes, on very rare occasions, he envies people around him. He feels like his entire life has no purpose and no meaning, and he’s completely faded to emptiness, to a sad existence based on killing bioweapons and serving his country. Does he feel proud about it? No, he doesn’t.

It’s been a very long time since Leon felt pride. That feeling died and is now buried in the remains of Raccoon City, inside that police station where his life turned upside down. Now he’s only an empty shell of what he used to be. He’s rotting inside, craving something he knows he can’t have, and there’s nothing but a void inside him, consuming every inch of him.

After serving his country for years, he started to get used to the idea that maybe he wasn’t made for a happy ending, and he shouldn’t bother with such things. He can’t afford the luxury of being with someone, because it means being vulnerable, and it also means he would have to open himself to things he swore he would never feel again. No, thank you.

Things at work aren’t exactly the best, either. Years ago, Leon started to question himself about whether the government cared about their people, especially the ones he had to kill in order to save others. Leon couldn’t forget what happened in Spain — the entire village he was forced to end so he wouldn’t die. Perhaps they could’ve saved them; possibly they could’ve had a chance; maybe if… and this is where he dozes off thinking about the infinite possibilities.

After what happened in Raccoon City, Leon knew he had lost faith. He knew things would never be the same after everything he saw that day. Sometimes, he finds himself thinking about Annette and William Birkin. He feels his body shivering when he remembers he had to fight for his life, clinging to something bigger than him. Survival.

II. RINSE AND REPEAT

He has no social skills, and doesn't know how to interact with people anymore. It all feels weird and uncomfortable, and it makes him feel terrible. Sometimes he feels like he’s stuck in time and can’t have a proper conversation with someone normal. The worst part of his life is that he feels he’s carrying a weight on his shoulders that it wasn’t supposed to be his in the first place. He has the weight of the world with him, and there is no one to help him through it. Life made him depressed, cold and distant. Life has built him this way; he's shaped himself into something he’s not, and he can’t find himself. He’s lost.

Leon can’t stop having nightmares about Raccoon City.

At this point, he just accepted that they wouldn't go away. It feels like he’s trapped inside his own mind, and there’s no turning back. Sometimes at night, he keeps looking at his ceiling imagining a different life, where he was a cop and happy. Usually, his nightmares are so dark and deep that when he wakes up, he finds solace in the sunlight, feeling relieved that he survived another night. When he doesn't sleep, when he’s too scared to close his eyes, he cries quietly, protected by the walls of his room, searching for assurance and a promise that everything will be fine. It doesn’t always work, but now he knows he can control his fears, and somehow, it helps him feel safe.

This time, his mission nearly got him killed. His entire body was full of bruises and wounds, and every part of him hurt. He felt his body swallowing a little, and he felt terrible again. He has blood under his nails, and he washes himself at least three times to make sure there’s nothing more on him than the burden of being a slave for the government.

Leon is paranoid; he can’t stand the fact that he has blood on his hands. If he sees a spot, he’ll clean it until there’s nothing left, and maybe he’s now too obsessed with the idea of being clean. It makes him feel sick to the bones, because he knows what he does and what it means. He knows that this guilt won’t be washed away like the blood on his hands, and certainly won’t get away from his head like it does from his clothes whenever he launders them. It’s a pretty shitty routine, but he’s used to it.

Now he finds himself in a very dark place; he can’t eat without feeling guilty. He can’t do the basics of his chores because he can’t stop thinking about his life, regretting every decision he made. Everything he does seems mechanical, like he’s repeating the process over and over again, a perfect killing machine that has no one to care about. On Fridays, he finds himself sitting on his couch, in complete silence, holding an empty bottle. He knows he can’t drown himself in alcohol, no matter how much he wants it or how tempting it sounds, because the liquid doesn’t affect him anymore. It doesn't make the pain go away or silence the horrors he saw during his life.

After three weeks inside his house, locked inside his room, Leon woke up with a strange feeling inside his chest. Something was telling him that this day would be different, like a big change would happen. For the first time in weeks, he decided to leave his place for a simple walk. He could do that; he could walk into the market and buy some real food or maybe get a haircut. He felt that he was able to allow himself to have an ordinary day.

After taking a long shower, Leon decided to wear cozy and comfortable clothes. He was so used to his brutal routine that he almost forgot what it was like to have a normal day, but this time, he was willing to try something different. He took a deep breath before leaving his house, and when he felt the soft, cold breeze reaching his skin, he knew he could do that.

Step by step, Leon found himself walking towards the market, even enjoying the lovely view he had from his neighborhood. He doesn’t remember it to be so… gray. Sure, he knows what winter is, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually stayed at his home during the winter. His lips turn into a small smirk, and he thinks how silly he is. When he reaches the small market, which is more of a store, he walks slowly, looking at what he might be buying - he’s done with frozen food. He stops at the veggie section and keeps looking at it, confused.

“These aren’t fresh” a sweet voice is enough to wake him up from his trance. He looks in that direction, and all he sees is you.

“How can you tell that?” he asks you in visible confusion, which makes you smile. And that smile was enough to sparkle something oddly inside him.

“Color, smell, texture,” you explained, still smiling and showing him a fresh vegetable. “This one is fresh."

"Thanks,” Leon replied awkwardly, taking the vegetable from your hand and placing it in his basket.

“You don’t come here very often. I know almost everyone who comes to buy food here,” you said next, glancing at him with curiosity.

“I… have a busy schedule,” he says, still sounding awkward.

“Really? Well, you should definitely take some time to buy healthy food. I’m pretty sure you do a lot of workouts to keep your body in shape” you giggle, noticing the size of his muscles, which makes his face turn red.

“I’ll keep that in mind” Leon managed to say, although he wanted to dissipate from Earth.

“I can help with that” you suddenly said, analyzing him more carefully.

“With what?” Leon frowned, already feeling his heart beating ten times faster.

“I noticed you’re having difficulty with your right arm, which makes me think you got it hurt. If you’re planning to buy more, I can help with your bags” you offered, very polite and kind, catching him by surprise.

“Thanks” Leon says, finding himself smiling, which is unusual.

At first, having some company after so much time alone made him think it was strange. He wasn’t feeling ready to have a small conversation, but you didn’t seem bothered. In fact, you were enjoying walking to this stranger's house in complete silence. Fifteen minutes later, you were in front of his house in an awkward silence between the two of you.

“I guess this is it” you smiled at him, and Leon found himself lost in your smile.

“Yeah. Thank you” he said for the fifth time, which made you giggle a little.

“Anything for a customer” you said to him, giving him his bags. “My parents are the owners, so…”

“You don’t seem too old” he said, and after a second, he felt more weird. “I mean…”

“Nah, it’s ok. This isn’t the first time people say I'm younger than I look”. You smiled again, thinking that this old man was very silly and cute. “I’m 25, don’t worry”

“I’m Leon, by the way” He finally says his name to you, stretching his hand in a very educated way.

“Nice to meet you, Leon” you said before shaking his hand.

Leon took at least three weeks to return to the market.

His initial thoughts about you were that he definitely felt weird in your presence. Maybe he felt that way because of his lack of social skills and because he really sucks when the subject is social conversation. He caught himself thinking too hard about the visual and evident contrast between the two of you; you were young, bright and smart, with a great future ahead of you, and plus, you came from a loving family. Leon, on the other hand, was an orphan used and abused by the government, their pet and a man who only knew pain and brutality.

However, you were the first friendly face he saw after years. The way you were smiling and giggling at his awkward answers, it definitely made him feel something he thought he would never feel again. It was like you found the rookie cop inside him, and despite the fact that he barely said something, he felt normal around you. And that was more than enough. How could it happen so fast?

“How can I help you?” you said before noticing it was him. “Oh, hi”

“Hi” Leon is welcomed by that smile of yours. “I… um…”

“You came to buy more veggies?” you ask, still smiling at him. You think it’s cute to see him without any words.

“No… I just came because I’m looking for food seasoning” Leon said, his face slightly turning red. “I’m trying new recipes, so…”

“Yeah? What have you been trying?” you ask with sudden enthusiasm, leading him to the part with seasonings.

“Nothing too risky” he answers vaguely, following you closely.

“What kind of seasonings do you like?” You turn back to face him as you show him the shelves with different types of seasonings.

“I’m more into spicy flavors” Leon tells you, his attention going to the shelves.

“It suits you” you said, giving him some space. You saw him smiling again.

"How does spicy seasoning suit me?” he asks with a hint of curiosity.

“You might think I’m weird, but… seeing from outside, you look like someone with a rough agenda and, apparently, whatever you do is dangerous. Personally, I think you suit perfectly spicy things” you said, hoping it would make sense.

“I think I got your point,” Leon said, and then he found himself smiling for the second time.

“Lucky me, right?” you laugh, walking back to the cashier. “Is this all for today?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Leon nods, grabbing his wallet to pay for the seasonings.

“How’s your arm?” you ask, taking his money and counting it.

“It's better. I had to take a few painkillers, but it’s definitely better” he said, avoiding you for a few moments.

“That’s great. I know a few herbs to help with the pain” you said, giving him the change from his purchase.

“How so?” Leon asks with another hint of curiosity.

“A great sorcerer doesn’t reveal her secrets” you wink playfully at him. “You need to earn that, soldier”

“And how could I earn your secrets, great sorcerer?” Leon asks, enjoying your playful mood.

“Maybe you can invite me for dinner and show me your cooking skills” you shake your shoulders and, for the second time, catching him by surprise.

“You would love that, wouldn't you?” Leon said, and a slight smirk appeared on his lips.

“Who knows?” You wink playfully at him, with another suggestive smile on your lips.

The world has gone to hell, Leon thinks to himself.

He starts to contemplate everything that has happened to him. When did this madness begin? It was back in Raccoon City? Oh, no. It is way older than that. Maybe his collapse started when his family died, and he was left an orphan; what happened in Raccoon City wasn’t really the beginning of his nightmare. It was the cherry on top of the torments that would become his life.

Now that he’s coming back home from another mission, he can’t stop thinking how his life could’ve been if Umbrella had never happened. If those bioweapons were never created, defying every natural order. He looks outside his window, and he just can’t stop blaming himself for Tall Oaks.

What has become of this world? Leon thinks. Where did I go wrong?

His life is an entire mistake. It just goes on and on. His family first, then Raccoon City. Tricell, Los Illuminados, Uroboros and, finally, that nightmare at Tall Oaks. Leon takes a deep breath. He feels his hands shaking and closes his eyes, forcing himself to forget. How silly he is!

The future is a hell that’s only getting worse.

III. THE PAIN OF REMEMBERING

You weren't expecting Leon to find the note with your number that you left on his seasonings, the same way you weren't expecting him to call you.

However, something about him got your attention the minute he stepped foot inside the store. He wasn't like anything you had seen before; he was definitely something else.

After almost four weeks since the last time you saw him, you got a call from an unknown number. It was pretty late at night, but your curiosity won the battle within you, and you had to pick up the phone. With a groggy voice of sleep, you saw the number and frowned.

“Hello?” You ask, followed by a big yawning. It was one in the morning.

“Hi… um, it's Leon” he says with some urgency, to which you jump from your bed. “I'm sorry to wake you up”

“No, don't worry. I wasn't sleeping” you lied, forcing yourself not to yawn again.

“I know it's late, but… I was thinking about that dinner…” he says, sounding somehow hopeful. “Maybe you could come later and… talk?”

“Yeah, sure. Can you pick me up?” You ask him, and a smile appears on your lips as you answer him.

“Of course. At seven?”

“At seven, it is,” you smiled again.

As soon as the call ended, he was in complete shock. For some reason, Leon felt you wouldn’t accept his invitation, especially after being alone for so long. His heart was beating faster inside his chest, and he had to remind himself that it was just a casual date between… two friends? Could you possibly be his friend?

Leon felt anxious, something he only felt when he was on his missions.

Suddenly, the mere thought of having you at his home with him sounded terrifying. He felt like it would end in a complete disaster, and you wouldn’t see him ever again. Then, Leon had to stop and calm himself down, knowing it was his trauma trying to get the best of him. After everything he went through in his life, being able to trust someone proved to be a difficult task. He felt scared, and his mind was racing with thousands of different thoughts, each worse than the other.

Betrayal is the word that defines Leon.

He was betrayed before and multiple times, which left him with a lot of insecurities and traumas to the point he feels that he can’t trust anyone, which led to another set of insecurities. Leon feels that he isn’t enough anymore, that he can’t provide the proper attention someone might need from him, and that he can’t be in a relationship because of his problems. The truth is, he can’t be in a relationship until he leaves his trauma behind, and he knows it. That’s the easy part, but the hard one is how to let it go.

Later that day, Leon finally had the courage to clean his house. He needed some motivation to get rid of his depression, and nothing was better than finally allowing himself to have some company besides his solitude. His house smelled pretty good, everything was clean, and his furniture was even shining. He opened the curtains, and the sunlight entered his living room. He took a deep breath with the fresh air that came inside, and smiled, feeling somehow proud and happy.

At seven, you were waiting outside the store, scrolling through your phone, when you saw Leon approaching on his motorcycle. You were gorgeous, wearing a beautiful dress and covered by a black leather jacket — the perfect contrast that suited you well. Leon was completely mesmerized by the sight of you - so beautiful, he thought.

“Hey, there” you waved at him as he parked next to you.

“Hi,” Leon replies, sounding embarrassed. “You look beautiful”

“You too, handsome” you said playfully, taking the helmet from his hand and sitting behind him, your hands holding him tight. You didn’t notice the small blush on his cheeks.

"Are you okay back there?” Leon asks you, making sure you were fine before starting the engines.

“Yeah, I’m fine” you said, nodding your head, and smiling when he started to drive his bike to his place.

You two didn’t take long enough to reach his place. Leon offered you his hand so you had support to get out of his bike, and he even opened the front door for you. He led you inside his house, and everything inside was enough to show you the kind of man he was; his home was big, but simple. He had a lot of comfort there, but it seemed like he didn't spend much time at his place. You saw some photos at the fireplace, a few when he was younger, at some training camp with his possible friends.

“How old were you when you took these?” you asked him with curiosity.

“I was twenty-one” he said, grabbing the wine and the glasses.

“So young” you whispered, noticing that in some pictures, he was sad.

Leon took another deep breath. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t he be just normal for once? Why did everything have to happen to him? You were standing there, so gracefully, observing his old photographs, so young and full of life, with no baggage with you. Someone actually happy and alive. If you knew how much he envies this.

“People say that our eyes are the windows to our soul” you turn to face him, noticing his sudden silence. “Yours are so sad and broken… what happened to your neck?”

Instinctively, his hand reaches his neck, and Leon feels the bandage perfectly secured on his skin, with a small spot of blood. Gladly, it was enough to change the subject, because he was shocked enough by what you said about his broken soul. If you only knew.

“I, um… got hurt on my job. It’s nothing.” Leon tries to avoid speaking about his past.

“It seems pretty bad” you step closer to him, your hand gently touching his bandage.

“It’s nothing… trust me” Leon smiles weakly, looking down. His heart is beating so fast inside his chest that he could explode any time. “I’m fine”

“Then explain why you are so nervous around me” you whispered, now softly touching his cheek.

Leon felt he stopped breathing, like his lungs decided to leave him alone and deal with the matter himself; how powerful your touch felt. It was enough to break every wall he built around himself for years; it was enough to make him break. And it was only a soft and kind touch. He slowly closed his eyes, his breath becoming normal again, and he allowed himself to just feel it.

“I don’t know what on earth happened to you…” your voice is full of kindness as you speak, now seeing him hold your hand as you keep touching his cheek. “But I’m always here if you decide to talk”

Leon was reaching his breaking point.

He was used to being a slave, always using his body, mind and soul to provide safety for the others without them knowing one damn thing about it; he was used to always being alone, to the point that kindness was a strange feeling, almost not existing at all and that he didn’t deserve it. But here you are.

“It hurts to remember,” he confessed, his voice a low whisper. “I tried to forget it, but I can’t”

When he felt you wrapping your arms around his body and your warmth embracing him, Leon felt his eyes getting wet. He was so deeply touch starved, craving something so human, that when he got it, he knew he was going to break. His mind was racing, and his body was trying to process the feeling and react in the proper way. He felt so many emotions at once that he thought he was going insane.

“Please, keep holding me” Leon begs, his arms finding their way through your back as he hugs you back. “Because I know I’ll fall if you let me go”

After that night, it took almost two months until Leon decided to show up at the store to see you again. He felt nervous, but at this point, he realized that, for some reason, he couldn’t stay away from you; he felt that you had some type of magnetism enough to keep him close, which made him feel comfortable, something he hadn't felt in a while.

However, before he went to the store to see you, he needed courage. Leon thought you would be upset with him after being ghosted for almost two months, although he felt responsible for it, since he never told you the nature of his job or why he was so absent. Sadly, Leon was again in a spiral of sadness and depression. His last mission was a disaster, and Leon knew he had no control over his feelings again. He was sitting on his bed, contemplating the bottle in his hands. The curtains were closed, and the atmosphere inside his room was darker. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and then, he’s there again.

June 29, 2013. Tall Oaks, USA

“It might create more problems than it solves…” the voice of the president echoes inside his head as he points his gun towards the said person.

Leon doesn't recognize the man in front of him, or what he used to be. He keeps his gun raised, his grasp around the trigger getting tight by the second he makes his decision. His voice comes and goes, creating a tense atmosphere around him.

“Bio-organic weapons are a global threat and we are partly to blame…” Benford said once to Leon when he expressed his desire to expose the truth about the Raccoon City Incident. He looks at the living corpse in front of him. Tick tack. He knows what he needs to do. “I’ve always valued your friendship, Leon… It’s time to take responsibility and end this mess”

He shakes his head, somehow returning to his reality.

“Stay right where you are!” Leon said, his voice sounding cracked and angry. The corpse starts walking towards him and as a reflex, his grip gets more tight. “Mr. President!”

The zombie starts walking towards him and the woman next to him. He hesitates for a moment, unsure and sure about what he needs to do. Every part of him screams and begs, trying to find a solution. He knows it’s too late. He can’t save the president, he can’t save anyone.

“Don’t make me do this” Leon gritted his teeth, trying to find any reason to avoid what needed to be done. It happens fast. Adam Benford, the former president of the United States and now a corpse, throws himself towards her. “Adam!” Leon screams.

He pulls the trigger.

And there’s only blood.

He gets out of his thoughts when he hears someone knocking on his front door. It doesn't take too long for him to finally stand up and see who’s there, and, inside his mind, he’s already preparing himself to tell this person to leave him alone, but his entire demeanor changes when he opens the door, and all he sees there is you.

“You’re back” you smiled warmly at him, your cheeks red because of the cold temperature. “I wasn’t sure you were home”

“What are you doing here?” Leon’s first question isn't as welcome as you thought it would be.

“A friend can’t see a friend?” you answered simply, and the smile never left your lips.

“I’m sorry” he sighs, giving you space to enter his place. “I didn’t mean to be rude”

“Don’t worry” you said, removing your scarf and hat. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, I guess” Leon nods slowly, and you notice he’s not entirely well.

“Breakfast?” you ask him, wanting to confirm your suspicions, and he nods quietly.

You had difficulty finding yourself inside his place, since you’ve been there only once. You notice that he’s quiet, and despite that fact, which is completely normal for him, you know that there’s something wrong. So, you decided to go simple with his breakfast. Almost forty minutes later, you came back with a plate full of pancakes, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and some orange juice.

He leisurely used his knife and fork to eat the food you made. The careful manner in which he ate wasn’t due to his cautious nature, but rather because he had a terrible hangover that messed with his coordination, and rushing could easily lead to a slip of the hand and his shaking. Leon was a pretty man, and he could easily take on leading roles in Hollywood blockbusters. However, he currently sported a scruffy beard, exuded a weary atmosphere, and radiated fatigue and discontent.

“I think I reached rock bottom,” Leon finally says, but he avoids your gaze at all costs.

“Then I’ll help you get out of there” you said with kindness, your pinky finger interlocking with his.

IV. GRIEF AND BARGAIN

The path to healing isn’t always easy, and now Leon is aware of that.

The year is now 2014 and he’s struggling to forget what happened a year ago. Sometimes, when his mind is quiet, he starts to wonder. Is it possible that there could have been a world without Umbrella and zombies? Leon scoffed and shook off his sweet dreams. A world without zombies? That's something from a long time ago. The future is only going to become a worse hell. Then, he has to remind himself about the great things he has in life. You are one of these things.

Although he has your support, he knows that he’ll only get better walking this path by himself. The winter deciduous forest looked like branches made of human bones. A mixed forest with a walking path spread out. This is a high-end residential area in Bethesda, Maryland, where congressmen and bureaucrats commuting to Washington spend their nights. In the depths of a thicket, there was a slightly open gentle sloping area where the desired building was located. It was a designer house filled with a sense of openness, with all outer walls covered in glass, and it appeared like a model intended to showcase beautiful scenery rather than a place for people to live in.

The luxury was excessive to the point where it seemed somewhat like a toy. Leon had hidden himself in the thicket away from the road and was monitoring the designer house through binoculars with night vision capabilities. It was an unacknowledged fact, but a traitor to the country was living in this mansion. Senator Steven Air, who had sold information to a bioterrorist organization, was one of many government officials who had been involved in the incident in Tall Oaks where the President became a victim of B.O.W. Simmons, the President's aide, was among those who betrayed the government. And Leon still blames himself for what happened that night.

Currently, fifteen members of the Division of Security Operations (DSO) and two stealth drones have surrounded Steven's mansion. It was necessary to capture him and extract plenty of information before bringing him to trial. According to reports from aerial surveillance, Steven was on his way home by car from Washington. The distance from the White House to Bethesda was approximately twelve kilometers, and it would take about thirty minutes if he drove fast. Leon shifted his focus to his shoulder holster with a handgun. Of course, capturing him alive was best, but there was no hesitation in shooting the traitor if he resisted.

Leon suddenly remembers. This is Bethesda. The name is derived from the Bible. From the Gospel of John–

“Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie — the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years."

Jesus healed the man who had been sick for 38 years. God's love and His miracles. Bravo. That's exactly what this world needs in this hell.

"Target approaching."

As he thinks about the Bible, a communication comes through his earpiece. It's a report from the overhead surveillance team flying a drone. A roadway that weaves through a grove of mixed trees was approached by Stephen's white Porsche, an elegant luxury car resembling a graceful white swan. Perhaps dozens, hundreds of people may have died to buy that car. Such is the life of a villain.

"Visual on the target vehicle. Secure upon my GO signal," Leon whispered into his radio microphone. Both the earphones and microphone were of a bone conduction type that excelled in noise resistance. It converts vocal cord vibrations transmitted through the skull directly into voice signals. It was a perfect gadget for special operations where one couldn't make loud noises or miss instructions in the midst of noise.

The Porsche approached the garage.

"GO," Leon said sharply.

At that moment, two SUVs that had been hiding in a blind spot by the roadway started their engines like barking dogs and closed in on the Porsche at tremendous speed, trapping it in a pincer movement as planned. The driver of the Porsche was Stephen's secretary, with a bodyguard in the passenger seat and Stephen himself in the back seat.

Suddenly trapped from the front and back, they were thrown into confusion. Leon wondered – would the bodyguard or secretary resist? There was no doubt that they were carrying guns. He didn't want to give them unnecessary visibility, but he would deal with it when the time came. The agents jumped out of the trees. In the next moment, Stephen's Porsche exploded.

A deafening roar and shock. The high-performance explosive device planted under the car's body lifted the Porsche several meters off the ground, engulfing it in flames. And caught up in it, the DSO's SUVs overturned as well. The window glass of all the cars shattered into tiny pieces, the car bodies twisted and burned the people inside. All six agents from the team on foot, including Leon himself, were blown backwards by the force of the blast. Leon still thinks like he’s floating in the air, an eerie feeling of weightlessness that ended when he felt his body slamming against a tree trunk. In those fleeting moments, his consciousness waned, and it was the closest he had come to death.

Yet, it seemed the Grim Reaper was not yet ready to claim him.

Pain, intense and searing, jolted Leon’s awareness back to life, a grunt of pain escaping his lips. Leon struggled to his feet, and he threw up, retching repeatedly. His consciousness ebbed and flowed like waves, and he knew that rest was essential. Leon suspected that his ribs and collarbone were either fractured or cracked, but, fortunately, his arms and legs remained unbroken. Gritting his teeth, he managed to force his dislocated left shoulder joint back into place, enduring the excruciating pain, as he tried to work out which way was up.

There are bruises littered across his skin, scratches and abrasions where the bark of the tree tore his flesh. The shock of the explosion and the fear of death… an unpleasant feeling of internal organs turning over welled up. No matter how many times he experienced it, he could never get used to the terror of a close-range explosion. The air was knocked from his lungs; his breathing temporarily stopped; his eardrums were about to burst; and his knees were weak. He can barely stand. Leon finally sits up, willing his agent training to give him a sense of urgency even though his body is screaming in agony. The stench of gasoline fills the air, but Leon can barely smell it. His sense of smell and hearing are both almost gone. What the hell happened? Leon asked himself in front of the burning Porsche.

He feels paralyzed.

It was three in the morning when your phone started to ring.

It was an unknown number, and you had to fight the necessity of hanging up; something inside you told you to pick up the call, which you did. It was Leon, and the way his voice sounded on the phone made you aware that something bad had happened. Terrible, nonetheless. You drove to his location, and you found yourself shocked when you found smoke, fire and the smell of gasoline among a lot of government agents and military personnel. You found Leon sitting in the back of an ambulance, his body covered by a blanket, as he was examined by a paramedic. Not only that, but you had credentials to enter that isolated area, and the way those agents were rushing from one side to the other, talking on their phones, made it clear that someone important had died. You made your way towards Leon, not daring to look around, and when you reached him, you saw tears in his eyes. You hugged him tight, like you were holding the world in your hands.

“It’s ok, I got you” you said to him, your words full of assurance and kindness.

Leon refused to be taken to the hospital; instead, he asked you to drive him back home, since he felt he couldn’t do it on his own. The ride back to his place was silent, and you decided to respect his space, although you saw him trying to find solace in something real. He couldn’t stop playing with his finger, showing an elevated level of stress and anxiety. You have never seen him like this before.

“Can you stay?” Leon suddenly asked when you pulled over in front of his house. “I… don’t want to be alone”

“Yeah, sure” you nodded, noticing how vulnerable he was, which was odd.

You heard him groaning in pain once he got out of your car, but he refused your help, insisting he was fine. Knowing him well at this point, you gently held his hand, offering nothing but your support, and Leon quietly appreciated your effort. You helped him sit on his couch and heard him mutter something only he could understand. Judging by the look on his face and the way his hands were still shaking, you knew he was in shock.

“Do you have any first aid kits or something?” you asked him, hoping you would gain his attention.

“I’m fine” Leon replies, his eyes fixated on his shaky hands. You sat next to him, holding his hands and scratching his skin softly.

“It’s ok not to be okay." Your voice is almost a whisper as you look into his blue eyes. “You don’t have to be tough all the time”

You saw him reach the breaking point.

Feeling embraced by your kindness and safety, Leon finally allowed himself to feel his emotions — the same ones he fought hard to bury deep inside him — in the same place he swore he would never visit again. In the cozy atmosphere of his living room, having nothing but you as solace, the brunette agent gave himself a break, and when he did that, his eyes started to get watery.

After Raccoon City, Leon shut himself up so he wouldn’t be hurt ever again. He used to keep his emotions contained; he used to not think of them. He kept everything bottled up, because he knew he couldn’t handle it. Leon was so traumatized that the way he dealt with his feelings was to pretend they didn’t exist, in the first place. After Spain, it got worse. Nightmares after nightmares, the paranoia of still being infected with Las Plagas, everything that came after this.

But here you are, telling him that it is ok not to be okay, that he doesn’t have to be tough, and that it is okay to feel and to be vulnerable. He couldn’t stop sobbing; his hands were still shaking, but he didn't even care about this at the moment. Gently, you started to play with his hair, your fingers slowly going up and down on his head, providing comfort and care — exactly what he’s been missing his entire life.

“I lost them all” Leon started to say through sobs. “I saw them dead”

“It wasn’t your fault” you assured him with calm words.

“I failed them," he says as he looks at you, his blue eyes shining with tears as they fall through his skin.

“That’s not true. You didn’t know the car was about to explode or whatever happened there” You tried to calm him down.

“We were watching him; it was my responsibility to make sure they would be safe… it was my job to ensure that” Leon sobs again, and you can see he’s struggling to breathe due to his anxiety attack.

“Listen, you’re too nervous right now. Come on, take a deep breath with me” you said, hoping he would listen and cope.

Leon nods between sobs and takes several deep breaths to try to calm himself down. You took a glass of water and gave it to him, then you took his hand into yours, whispering words of assurance and kindness. You decided to put him to rest, and it wasn’t necessary to drag Leon into his bed; the moment you step foot inside his room, you can see how severe his depression is. Successfully, you were able to lay him down and remove at least his boots. Leon curled into his blankets and muffled his sobs with his pillows.

“Do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?” you ask, sitting on his bed with him, moving his hair from his eyes. He nodded silently.

Slowly, his sobs turned into sniffs, and Leon finally fell asleep. It took almost an hour to calm him down completely, but now he was safe and sound into a peaceful slumber, or what appears to be. You don’t recall exactly when you fell asleep on his bed, but you certainly remember when you woke up to the sound of his screams. Leon never told you about his nightmares, and you weren’t expecting that. His chest was drenched in sweat, and he seemed like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were filled with fear, and he was shaking head to toe.

“Fuck” Leon mutters, his hand running through his hair.

“What happened?” you ask him after turning the lights on.

“Just a nightmare…” he whispers, trying to calm down again.

“How frequent are they?” It was a bold question, but you needed to know.

“Every night” Leon ignores your glance, focusing on his shaky hands again.

“Here, drink it” you give him a glass of water with sugar to calm his nerves. You already had that glass with you the moment you went with him to his room.

“Do you even like me?” Leon suddenly asks you.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re so kind, beautiful, and young, with so much in your future” Leon sighs heavily. “Why would you be with a… broken man like me? I have nothing to offer but traumas and the big baggage of my shitty life”

The pressure you put on biting your lip was so intense that it was enough to cut your skin and make it bleed.

“Who says you have nothing to offer? I don’t think that’s true. You’re a wonderful person, Leon. I can see it every day when you come to see me at the store. The way you smile whenever you are around me, the way your eyes shine…” you said to him, hoping it would be enough to give him some comfort. “I don’t see you as a broken person or a man with the baggage of a shitty life. I can’t imagine what must have happened to you, and I know it must be difficult and hard because that's what I see, but, Leon, the darkness around you doesn’t define who you are. Whatever life did to you, it doesn't dictate your present or future."

No matter how many kind words you say, it isn’t enough for him. Leon blames himself for what happened, and you know he won’t forget it so soon. How can he? Those men trusted him and followed him, and now, they’re all dead. Leon thinks he should’ve saved them, even though he knows he couldn’t guess the car was about to explode.

“I wish I could heal your soul so you wouldn’t suffer anymore, but I can’t” you sigh, then look at his hand. “I wish I could fight all of your demons, but I can’t do that. I’m here and I don’t intend to leave you alone”

After holding his hand, it was the first night Leon actually slept without any more nightmares. When he woke up the next morning, he felt his eyes heavy and he instantly remembered how he cried the night before after his entire squad was murdered. Then, he also remembered that you were there with him the whole time. Finally, he noticed how strange that feeling was - the feeling of being comforted instead of comforting others. It was a strange feeling indeed, but it was a good one.

Lazily, he stood up from his bed and decided to look at himself in the mirror, washing his face and taking a moment to see the collateral damage caused by the bomb. There were a few bruises and cuts on his skin, but huge purple marks on his shoulder, which he dislocated. It still hurts, but it’s enough to keep him in the real world. He’s still alive.

“Morning, princess” you greeted him in his kitchen. “I made breakfast”

“You shouldn’t worry about that, y’know?” Leon says, leaning against his cabinet.

“Too late for that. Now is my job to worry about ya” you said, opening the cabinet above your head on tiptoe, which made him smirk. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I guess so” he says, nodding his head and helping you get the cornflakes. “Thank you… for sticking up with me last night”

“You know I care about you, right? Since day one” you glance at him with a warm smile. “I really do”

“I care about you, too” Leon blushes slightly. “More than I can tell”

You know Leon pretty well at this point and you know he has trouble speaking of his feelings. You know he can’t express himself properly, and you ain’t stupid. You know someone has hurt him before and you understand why he is the way he is. Fortunately, you are very patient, and that’s enough for now, because you don’t mind giving him time and space.

“I can look at your wounds; maybe I can help” you offered, finishing preparing the breakfast.

“This means I finally earned your secrets?” Leon asks, a small smile on his lips, as he references the conversation you had with him a few months ago.

“You surely did." You nodded, smiling. “Let’s eat first, then I’ll take a look at it”

Leon seemed to enjoy the breakfast you made for him, and, for the first time since you two met, he genuinely seemed happy. However, you knew deep inside he was trying and fighting hard to hide his true feelings; losing his squad certainly shattered him inside, and caused more damage to him than you could ever imagine.

Leon is a master when it comes to hiding his feelings. All over the years, Leon had built around himself an impenetrable shell, not allowing anyone to get closer, and all of that because he is scared of being hurt again. However, if the explosion never happened, if his men never died the way they did, Leon wouldn’t be pretending he’s fine when you know he’s not. The damage is so intense that you’re afraid he won’t recover. It’ll always be there with him, rotting inside him.

You weren’t expecting so many wounds all at once, but when he took off his shirt and you saw his bruised skin, you took a deep breath. He had so many marks, so many stories. You wanted to ask, you wanted to know, but Leon wasn’t ready to share it yet.

“I got this one back in Raccoon City” Leon quietly says, pointing to the scar on his left shoulder. “I got shot”

“How did this happen?” you decided to ask him as you gently cleaned a few cuts he had.

“I was helping a woman named Ada Wong to get a sample of G-Virus, and only a scientist named Annette Birkin had this sample. We were trying to find her and, when we did, she started to shoot Ada. I jumped in front of her, that’s why I got shot” Leon sighs, recalling the events that happened in the sewers.

“This Ada seems very important to you” you smiled at him, cleaning the other cut he had on his neck.

“She was, but it was a long time ago” Leon avoids your gaze. “Not anymore”

“She was the one that hurt you?” you ask him very carefully.

Leon didn’t answer, but his silence speaks for himself. You can see the extension of the damage and how Leon still struggles to deal with whatever happened between him and Ada. He stays silent, maybe trying to understand how his life turned into this mess. Then, he starts to count every time he was betrayed before until this very moment. His blue irises meet yours and all he feels is… peace. There’s no inner storms inside him, he feels completely at ease.

“If I ask you a favor…” Leon suddenly says, changing the conversation.

“What do you need?” you ask him without hesitation.

“Could you come with me to the morgue? There’s something I need to do” Leon sighs, preparing himself for what’s about to happen.

“Of course. I’ll tell my parents I’ll go to the store later” you nodded, quickly picking up your phone to text them.

Leon partially felt guilty, but you were so willing to go with him that he changed his mind after you helped him dress himself — the way he dislocated his shoulder still hurts and he has difficulty with it. You drove to the morgue and judging by the interior of the building, you found out Leon was some sort of agent working for the government. You were able to read the name of the organization. Division of Security Operations.

“So you’re a badass agent, huh?” you ask with enthusiasm as you walk next to him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a badass” Leon chuckles, still feeling tense.

“Well, if you put your neck at stake to save your country, then you’re definitely a badass” you added, giving him a warm smile.

When you both stepped inside the morgue, he reached out for your hand, seeking any support you could give him. The back wall was a box-shaped cold storage room, and a row of dissecting tables lined the spacious room. And on those dissecting tables were numerous body bags. It's a body bag with the DSO logo on it. Do they really need a logo even on something like this? Irony floated within Leon's chest. Are they planning to sell products with the logo on them, like DSO-branded body bags, DSO-logoed cigarette cases, DSO-logoed pass cases...?

He walked between the body bags to the sound of his boots. Unlike normal bodies, the victims of b.o.w - related incidents were usually sent for examination to specialized research institutions. Although this time the cause of death was due to a bomb, not a zombie attack, the instruction from above was to send the bodies to various laboratories, so they followed suit. This DSO branch’s mortuary was a relay point for passing the bodies from the scene to the laboratory, like a baton in a relay race. It wasn’t easy to simply bury them in a graveyard. The morgue itself wasn’t scary, but the corpses were scary because they stimulated the imagination.

“Would they suddenly start moving? Would I end up like this too?” Leon thinks to himself a little bit loud, enough for you to hear him.

“You won’t” you whispered, squeezing his hand to let him know you were there.

Watching the corpses closely would cause a moment where the elongated shadows would appear like monsters. However, that was before Raccoon City. He had seen too many moments where the dead came back to life.

“I’m not scared of the mortuary anymore; recently, I’ve been thinking about it a lot” Leon frowned as he moved towards the back while swirling his thoughts. He thought he heard a sound from there minutes before.

“What do you mean?” you ask him with curiosity as he approaches one of the bags.

“I was constantly thinking about death and ending everything. I was depressed and thought I had no hope left” Leon confessed, his eyes locked on the body bags in front of him. “But now… I don’t think about that anymore”

He glances at you, finally. Slowly, his eyes meet your hand while you’re holding him and there’s a small smile on his lips, then his blue irises find yours again.

“I used to be scared of the morgue… but coming here with you… is something else” Leon says next. “I couldn’t do this alone”

“I’m glad I can help” you said to him with your usual kindness.

But he stops and turns his attention back to the body bags and sighs. His entire demeanor changed and suddenly, he found himself fighting hard to keep doing this. He needed that. He owed his men at least this final goodbye.

“What kind of adult did I want to become when I was a child?” Leon thinks to himself as he approached one of the body bags.

The zipper was slightly open, and the body bag seemed like it was about to move any moment. It’s common for something that seems like it’s about to move to actually move.

Leon carelessly closed the zipper. Was it because of the sharp sound that, suddenly, another body bag bounced behind him? Inside the body bag, the zombie was wiggling and struggling. It seemed unhappy, as if it had been woken up from a deep sleep by force. Leon pulled out his gun from his holster and squeezed the trigger.

“What kind of adult did I want to become? I definitely didn’t want a life like this”

V. ACCEPTANCE

After everything that happened with his squad, Leon knew he needed time off of his office. Decided to get his mind off everything and take a break, Leon chose the Rocky Mountains in Colorado as his destination. Instead of going there alone, he thought it would be good to spend more time with you, mostly because he felt safe around you and due to the nature of his job and everything he saw, he needed to feel that safety only you provided him.

You had to explain to your parents why you would be going on a vacation, but they understood with no problems; they didn’t know about Leon because you were fearing some trouble because of the age gap, so you felt they weren’t exactly ready to meet him. How could you explain to them you were apparently dating a man eleven years older than you? It would be one hell of a surprise.

It was 9 a.m. in the mountainous area near Rocky Mountain National Park, located in northern Colorado. The national park was about a two-hour drive from the state capital, Denver. Along the way, there were several viewpoints where numerous travelers parked their cars to enjoy the scenic beauty. Even in the mountainous region of the Rockies, the mountains around this area were not exceptionally high. They were just before the tree line, covered with spruce and fir trees on the subalpine slopes. The forest appeared like a beautifully groomed brush, while wildflowers bloomed modestly, sheltered by large rocks.

“This place is incredible” you sound mesmerized by the incredible view from the hotel.

“You haven’t been in places like this before?” Leon asks you with curiosity.

“I barely leave my house” you chuckle, leaving your bag on the bed. “I just work at my parent’s store and go to college”

“It feels like I’m dating a baby” Leon chuckles, also leaving his bag next to yours.

“We’re dating, huh?” you teased, taking off your sneakers.

“Yeah, we are” Leon nods his head, smiling. “I know I haven’t officially asked you, but I’m too old for that”

“It’s fine, old man. I’m just messing with you” you said, playing with his fingers.

“Old man? Now I’m offended” Leon teases back, smiling.

“You said it first” you replied to him, your hands reaching his brown hair. “By the way… I have something for you”

Leon glanced at you, frowning. The mischievous smile on your lips immediately told him you were planning something. He sat up on the bed and kept his eyes fixed on you, waiting patiently for whatever you were about to do.

“I got you a birthday present” you said with enthusiasm, catching him by surprise. “I know I’m a few days late, but I wanted to give you something for your 37th birthday”

“You didn’t have to” Leon whispered in shock as you gave him the small box.

He unwrapped the present you gave him and found a beautiful dagger, silver and shining, also pretty sharp. Leon knew immediately that you probably paid a lot on that and he felt bad. He took a deep breath and glanced at you.

“This was very expensive. You shouldn’t waste your money with me like that” Leon says to you.

“It’s a gift. You can’t give it back” you said to him, a hint of playfulness in your voice as you insisted for him to keep it.

“That’s not fair” Leon complains, laughing softly.

“It’s pretty fair to me, though” you said to him, smirking. “It’s just a dagger, not a diamond or something related. I know your job is kind of dangerous and you might need it”

“Okay, you win. I’ll take it” Leon sighs in defeat. “About my job… I know I haven’t been extremely open about it, but…”

“It’s okay, I don’t want you to feel forced to share this with me if you don’t feel ready” you stopped him before he could finish his sentence.

“I wish I could be more open to you” Leon glanced at his hands, feeling bad because of that.

“Start simple and small. You don’t have to tell me absolutely everything at once” you placed your hand on his shoulder, petting him.

“Simple and small? How could I do that?” Leon frowned at the idea. He always thought it was impossible to open up about his trauma.

You pondered for a few moments, thinking about a way to help him talk about his issues in a positive way.

“Start with something like… why don't you like dogs?” you suggested. A while ago you noticed Leon had a certain aversion to dogs.

“I… um… I was attacked by dogs in Raccoon City. They weren’t common dogs, they were infected, something like that” Leon found himself surprised by the way he spoke about this issue so easily. “Then, at Spain, I had a few encounters with wolves also infected with a parasite, monstrous things”

“See? That one was pretty easy” you said, encouraging him to keep talking. “Wanna try to say something else?”

Leon thought about your question for minutes; inside his head, everything that has happened to him was like an endless movie. The trauma, the pain and the events that seem to be haunting him to this day. It was hard to pick one, but then, he reminds himself of your words of being simple and small. He takes a deep breath and quietly, he convinces himself that he can do this.

“Back at Raccoon City, it was my first day at the force and I was 21 at the time” Leon starts, his eyes focused on something else. “I was late, but I think that’s why I’m still alive”

While he was telling you the horrors he saw, you gently placed your hand on his, to let him know you’re there for him. It was a simple and kind gesture, but for him, it meant the world. Leon was only familiar with danger and brutality, so having you by his side providing comfort was enough to penetrate the depth of his former persona. It was enough to rescue the rookie cop buried inside those walls.

“After that night… everything changed. I’m here because of what I did to survive and I’m not exactly proud of it. I can’t stop blaming myself for my past actions, but…” Leon suddenly stops, taking another deep breath.

“You can’t control everything around you, Leon. And not everything that happens to us is our fault. You couldn’t know you were going to be stalked and nearly killed on your first day… you didn't know that there was a virus outbreak in Raccoon City that night…” you said to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “You need to understand that this isn’t your baggage to carry. What happened that day wasn’t your fault”

Leon had your words playing on repeat inside his head. Even though he was early in the morning drinking his sorrows away, he was still thinking about what you said. He also felt partially guilty for leaving you asleep in the bed while he was drinking, but the other part of him told you knew him pretty well and you wouldn’t be judging him for this. His head was a roller coaster and at this very moment, he wasn’t at the top.

Leon sat on the first floor of a lodge-style hotel in the rural town. The hotel was two stories tall, made of reinforced concrete, but designed to resemble traditional log construction. There was only one waiter and one chef, making it far from a trendy establishment — a rather run-down place. He was having breakfast in the first-floor restaurant. Though the restaurant wasn't popular, the food was decent. Approaching footsteps came from behind him — two sets of them.

"--To come fully armed to such a peaceful town," Leon said without turning around.

"Leon S. Kennedy, the ace of the DSO, a special agent organization directly under the President of the United States," a voice replied.

Finally, he turned around to see Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers standing there.

"Chris and... oh, the renowned expert in biohazard research, Professor Rebecca Chambers. What do you want?" he asked.

"It's work. Cooperate," Chris said in an uncompromising tone.

Chris and Rebecca sat across from him. And it was noticeable that he wore an annoyed expression.

"I'm on vacation."

"...In the past, while protecting the President's daughter, Ashley Graham, you fought and annihilated the cult group Los Illuminados. They were using special bio-organic weapons called Plagas," Chris said.

"I've forgotten about that old stuff," Leon replied simply.

"Do you plan on loafing around in this town for another week?" Chris asked.

"I don't know what will happen in the future," Leon retorted.

"Beer, please," Rebecca chuckled at the reference to an old movie, while Chris wore an unamused expression.

Leon called over a passing waitress with a casual wave to place his order, but Chris interrupted him.

"Cancel the beer."

"No, it's not canceled."

“Come on… what the fuck?!”

"I don't need any more alcohol."

"Cut it out. What's going on?"

"That's my line."

The waitress looked between the two of them suspiciously and before walking away. Eventually, Leon pulled out a flask from his back pocket and took a swig as a substitute for the additional order that couldn't be fulfilled.

"You–!" Chris leaned forward.

"Enough, both of you," Rebecca interjected. "--Leon. We apologize for disturbing your vacation. However, we need the information you possess," Rebecca said.

Finally, Leon showed a willingness to listen.

"...What's the situation?" he asked.

Chris and Rebecca had to explain to him what happened earlier at the university. The case was simple. Glenn Arias was a new threat and they needed to stop him at all costs. However, they didn’t know how Leon was suffering inside; they couldn’t know about the recent events. Leon wearily intertwines his gestures and continues,

"Just before I took my vacation... I was involved in a DSO mission in Bethesda to apprehend a treacherous senator who was selling internal information to a bioterrorist organization."

The disgusted irritation was evident in his movements, his expression, and his voice.

"You know..." Leon begins. "Here's the thing: the informant we used betrayed us. We fell into a trap instead. A massive explosion killed many of my colleagues... and then there was the incident with the resurrection of the corpses you guys were involved in... It's all a mess,"

Leon explains, letting out a heavy sigh. It's a sigh that escapes unintentionally, like a burden he carries.

"I had planned to become a police officer in Raccoon City. It was my dream job. But on my first day, there was a massive zombie outbreak, and from there... it never stopped," Leon pauses and shakes his head. "I've been fighting this whole time. There's no end in sight, and it only keeps getting worse. Have I been living just to fight zombies and the people who create them?"

"What are you trying to say? That you don't want to cooperate with us?" Chris asks.

"It's not that..." Leon's tone is uncertain, "Well, maybe it is."

With a hesitant tone, Leon continues

“What exactly is our goal? How far do we have to run? Do we have to keep running endlessly? The villains keep coming, one after another, while the good people keep dying. Maybe it's better to lose our minds."

Then, Chris found himself forced to explain to Leon what they were facing. He showed pictures of Cathy White, the agent that was turned into a bio-weapon. And worse, her son she killed. He showed the photos taken during the autopsy and how Glenn turned people into something else purely because of power.

"Killing him is the goal," Chris declares.

"That's only your goal, not mine," Leon retorts, his voice filled with resentment.

Tension fills the air between them once again.

"Hey," Rebecca interrupts, breaking the silence just as she did before. "So, Leon, you're exhausted," Rebecca points at Leon and then gestures to Chris. "And Chris, you're frustrated. There's one thing both tired people and irritable people have in common."

"What do we have in common?" Chris asks in response.

They both look at each other with a wide-eyed grin.

"You only think about yourselves," Rebecca replies.

"I–" Chris tries to interject, but Rebecca continues.

"Chris, all you talk about is wanting to kill Glenn Arias. After helping me, you didn't say a single word mourning the sacrifices of our colleagues. Leon, you're acting like a college student in their moratorium period. People get tired of running. But if we stop running, more people will lose their lives."

Rebecca takes out a trigger-activated needleless syringe from her small bag. In front of the bewildered duo, she abruptly presses the syringe against her left forearm and pulls the trigger, causing her blood to collect in the test tube attached to the syringe.

"I'll tell you something important. We're already infected," she says.

"What?" Leon's expression tightens in response.

Rebecca continues speaking in a tone reminiscent of a teacher addressing a poor student.

"The truth is, it's difficult to estimate just how many people have been infected by Arias' new virus. The problem is, we don't know the identity of the trigger that activates it."

As she speaks, Rebecca removes the test tube from the syringe and seals it with a cap.

"The virus is activated by something only Arias knows. When that happens, the dead rise, and living humans become bio-weapons."

Rebecca glances lightly at Leon.

"If things continue like this, this city will eventually become a living hell. There won't be any safe places."

Leon remains silent, averting his gaze.

"Just so you know, a prototype of the antivirus has been developed," Rebecca says. "It actually worked on me. However, the effectiveness of the antivirus is unstable without knowing the conditions for the activation of Arias' virus. When to administer it and how long it remains effective..."

Rebecca then places the sealed test tube into a small protective case and puts it on the table.

"My blood should provide valuable data. If I die, make sure it reaches a reputable research institution that you can trust."

"You're not in danger. We'll protect you," Chris says firmly.

"What?" Leon asks, confused.

"It seems like you're misunderstanding, BSAA soldier," Rebecca lightly dismisses Chris's assumption.

There’s a slight smirk on Leon’s lips as he hears that.

"The forefront of pandemic response is not the BSAA, but the research field. How many doctors and colleagues do you think I've seen die in conflict-ridden African countries or small Middle Eastern nations used as testing grounds for bio-weapons?" Rebecca questions.

Chris tries to say something in response, but his voice gets stuck in his throat, and only faint breaths escape.

"After I left the team, you two might have fought against plenty of mad scientists. But science can only be countered with science. Unless benevolent technology advances, we will never have a chance of winning. We fight not only for ourselves but for others. Have you both understood at least a little of what I'm saying?" Rebecca asks.

She stands up and adds, "Cool your heads," before leaving her seat.

"She's a great woman," Leon comments.

"We can't handle it on our own," Chris remarks, watching Rebecca leave, and he and Leon exchanged a wry smile.

And then, here it comes. The urge to talk about what happened one year ago.

"Leon, China was tough," Chris says, referring to that incident.

"Yeah, it was like a zombie version of Black Hawk Down." he nods in response.

"At that time, I wanted to quit the BSAA so badly," Chris admits, surprising Leon, "After getting involved with Umbrella, I witnessed too many deaths. We..."

Chris trails off. His expression was heavy, as if lead had settled in the depths of his heart. Then Chris realized: Why does it make me so angry to see him like this? He was too much like his old self.

"It makes you want to quit... makes me want to quit," Chris says, emphasizing his point. Leon falls into silence. And Chris delivers the final blow. "But, the moment we quit, all of our subordinates and friends will have died in vain. We are the survivors of Raccoon City. We carry that burden."

Chris falls silent, and the air becomes still. The waitress looks annoyed by the silence. For a few moments, there’s nothing but the said silence.

"Leon, I always thought you were a cheerful guy no matter what," Chris breaks the silence.

"No one is like that," Leon replies, “Well… I’m not. I've always been a stress-tolerant guy. I've been able to do what I've done because of it. But now look back on it. In Tall Oaks, I killed the president.”

"Technically, you had to save the President infected with the virus," Chris quickly adds, trying to provide some context.

“But,” Leon shakes his head, "But the fact remains that I pulled the trigger, I shot him, and I was even suspected of assassinating the President afterward. Although I managed to clear my name, the mastermind behind that incident turned out to be the President's aide. The DSO was once called the 'Sword of the President,' but now it sounds ironically fitting."

Chris remains silent, attentively listening to Leon's words.

"Chris," Leon continues. "I've returned to active duty, but every time I face the new President, I feel anxious. I can sense his unease as well. The President's aide had sold his soul to B.O.W. terrorism. Who's next? The Secretary of Defense? The Vice President? What's become of the foundation that supports the soldiers in the field? They keep using us, while the higher-ups continue to flounder, grow bloated... They only think about shifting blame onto others."

He pauses for a moment. There’s so much pain.

Leon furrows his brow and lowers his voice. "Perhaps the reason entities like Umbrella persist is that our society harbors a fundamental evil... I can't help but feel that way now."

Even agreeing with this stupid mission, Leon can’t go without saying goodbye. He feels guilty, but the moment he sees you, everything feels completely right. He sat at the bed, watching you perfectly asleep, imagining what kind of dreams you were having. Leon sighs and shakes his head.

“Hey, sweetheart” Leon says when he sees you waking up.

“Hi” you whisper, rubbing your eyes.

“Listen… something happened and my colleagues need me. Will you be okay here?” he asks you, his thumb trailing your cheek.

“Will you come back?” you ask him, sounding a little groggy.

“And leave my baby girl here all alone? Of course I’ll come back” he smiles sweetly at you.

“Ok… I’ll be here” you nodded your head, closing your eyes to go back to sleep.

Something about you made him see, for the first time, the bright side of things. Maybe it was the fact that you were younger than him, and also the fact that you were full of energy - he was just an old and bitter man. But, hey, he’s learning how to cope with every shit that has happened to him.

Before you, Leon was ready to die.

He was ready to embrace death, he already had made peace with his inner demons. But everything changed when you came into his life. Suddenly, he thought he could live and find happiness and death wasn’t in his thoughts anymore. It was like you were able to bring him back from his darkness. He wasn’t rotting inside. You were able to rescue him from himself and return the light he needed.

But if he thought he wasn’t close to death, he was wrong. Leon never thought he would face something like Glenn Arias and come close to death, but he had his job to do. Chris needed his help and Leon finally found closure to something that was weighing on his head; the death of his squad wasn’t his fault and he found the real culprit. He found the peace he was desperately looking for. And he was able to see another sunrise and come back to you.

It was a repetitive cycle. Leon recently started to wonder if anything he did was futile. That's why he took a vacation and drowned his sorrows in alcohol. It was a kind of protest, perhaps. A protest against the grand concepts of this world and destiny. A statement of "I’m not going on like this forever, I’m not going to do it," or something of that sort. But fate was cruel. In the end, human life rarely goes well by one's own choices. Perhaps humans are merely chosen by fate without their consent. Yet, Leon now felt that it was okay like that. Being chosen doesn't make him a hero by default. He becomes a hero reluctantly because he was chosen. And that's fine.

The merged form approached Leon with an eerie growl, swinging its massive fist. Leon leaped back to dodge it, and the merged form's punch shattered one of the spires on the rooftop into tiny fragments. It had the destructive power of a construction hammer, with each strike resembling the impact of a tank cannon round. Leon intentionally slid and jumped into the merged form's feet, thinking that at such a large size, close range might become a blind spot. He positioned himself beneath the massive body, lying on his back and firing his handgun. The shots were practically point-blank, but they were still deflected by the hardened muscles and exoskeleton.

"Doesn't matter," Leon muttered involuntarily. "I'll do whatever it takes, even if it's futile. Today's a good day to die anyway."

The merged form kicked out.

The enemy's movements were deceptively swift, and Leon was sent flying as if hit by a car. His body tumbled through the air until it finally collided with a gargoyle statue, coming to a stop. The impact was so intense that his breath nearly ceased. However, the merged form continued its pursuit. It threw a straight punch, a blow that would surely result in instant death if landed, but Leon managed to evade it with a jump. Not only did he dodge it, but in mid-air, Leon twisted his body and unleashed a spinning kick. His boot-clad foot connected with the grotesque face of the merged form.

Whether it would have any effect or not didn't matter. This strike was my will. Of course, a kick from a mere human wouldn't have any effect. The merged form retaliated with its opposite hand, grabbing hold of Leon.

"Gah!" A groan escaped Leon's throat involuntarily. The massive fist tightened around him like a vice, and within a few seconds, he felt himself being crushed like a tomato.

"Leon!" Chris emerged from the penthouse.

In his fading consciousness, Leon thought about you. The way you smiled whenever you were with him and the sweet perfume you love to use. The way your hands embrace him at night, helping him sleep safely, without any nightmares to harm him. And then, he doesn’t want to die anymore. Please, God, don’t let me die this way.

Chris picked up the fully automatic handgun that Arias had dropped along the way and unleashed a barrage of bullets at the merged form. For a brief moment, it seemed like the merged form's focus shifted, and its grip loosened slightly, but that was all.

Was my life meant to end here, crushed by this grotesque monster? Leon wondered, his pessimism threatens to shatter him. Leon wasn't the type to easily get this depressed or overthink things too much. Still, he felt more than a little exhausted.

What kind of adult did I want to become when I was a child? I never imagined I would be burdened with the stigma of assassinating a president. At least, I didn't want a life like this ― It doesn't matter what I want. There's no such thing as a person who can live the life they desire. Arias must have felt the same way. In the end…

VI. ABSOLUTION

When he came back, you noticed something inside him had changed.

After the fight with Arias, Leon noticed that life was much more than death, darkness and depression. At least, he started to think like that when he almost got killed. And his only thought was coming back to you. No, he couldn’t die like that and leave you alone. His arm was injured, but he was alive. And he was back.

“What happened to your arm?” you asked him when you saw him entering the room.

“Remember that day in the morgue when you told me I was a badass government agent?” Leon asks you back, sitting on the bed next to you.

“Yep, I do” you nodded, starting to massage his tense muscles.

“Well… I’m not this kind of agent. I work under the president’s orders. I fight bioweapons for a living… since that hell in Raccoon City” Leon sighs, finally opening about his job.

“Bioweapons? Like zombies and shit?” you ask him with curiosity.

“Worse than zombies, but yes” Leon nodded with a slight smirk. “It’s dangerous, and this time I nearly got killed… thing is, my job requires a lot of my time, it forces me to not be around for God knows how long. It scares me because I don’t know if you can live this chaotic life with me…”

“Wait, wait, wait… slow down” you held his hand and squeezed it softly. “Everyone deserves a second chance in life, Leon. You were alone for too much time and I don’t mind if you need to go somewhere else to fight bioweapons. If this means I get to see these pretty eyes of yours and this sweet smile every time you come home… I’m willing to live this chaotic life with you”

Leon couldn’t believe your words. After being deprived of something so human and getting used to it, Leon felt he was about to explode. It was too much for him to handle. At this point, he knew perfectly he was experiencing anxiety. But it was a good one.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. If we do this, I’m gonna get you wrapped up in something bad someday… and I’ll never forgive myself if this happens” Leon tells you, sounding extremely worried.

“I know you won’t let anything bad happen to me. And besides, I can take care of myself. I made self defense classes” you laugh sweetly, a symphony to his ears.

“Are you sure?” Leon asks, and those big puppy eyes of his wanting nothing but assurance.

“Honey, if this wasn’t true, I wouldn’t be here” you chuckled, kissing his forehead.

After what happened, you decided to introduce Leon to your family as your boyfriend. But before that, you convinced him he needed to improve a little. Getting rid of the alcohol was the first step. He started to see a therapist and work harder on his issues, which influenced a lot of your relationship. He was more happy and willing to do things he and you both liked. One year after that incident with his squad being killed and his mission with his friends, you noticed he was ready to meet your parents.

“I’m nervous” Leon tells you when you both were entering your home.

“Why? It’s not like we’ve been dating secretly for almost three years. Besides, they’ll think you’re cute, don’t worry” you giggled at him.

“I’m not so sure about that” he muttered, following you inside your parents place.

You could clearly tell how anxious he was. However, he always felt at ease on your side, and it was like you had the power to make him relax, like nothing could harm him and the world was finally at peace. When you stepped inside the house with Leon right behind you for a Christmas dinner, your parents were already expecting both of you.

“Mom, dad… this is Leon. The guy I was talking about” you introduced him to your parents with certain expectations.

“You clearly got my taste for man” Leon heard your mom whispering to you, which made his cheeks turn red.

“So… um… how long are you two hanging out?” your dad asked and you glanced quickly at Leon.

“Three years, I guess. We met at the store” you tell your parents. “I didn’t tell you before because Leon has a busy schedule. He’s not always in town, so…”

“Well, moonpie, if you’re happy, we’re happy too” your mom says with a gracious smile on her lips.

Leon wasn’t expecting to be so welcomed into your family, but the fact that your parents treated him so kindly melted his heart. He got himself thinking about the dinner for at least one week, mostly because part of him was still thinking it was weird to receive so much kindness and affection, especially coming from a real family. He wasn’t expecting to be playing cards with your dad while you and your mom were in the kitching talking about girl’s stuff, but it was enough to make him see he made the right choice. That it was okay for him to finally experience love.

“I like your light brown hair now that you finally stopped dying it” you said, sitting between his legs in the living room.

“My emo era is over” he chuckles sweetly, like a melody.

“May it rest in peace” you made the signal of the cross. “

“Changing the subject, tomorrow I gotta go to San Francisco. Work stuff” he says to you, softly kissing your neck.

“Yeah? Am I getting some gift?” you whisper, feeling the shivers down your spine with his lips against your skin.

“Do I ever go on a mission and come back empty handed?” Leon asks you, his soft lips pressing more against your neck and you can feel him softly biting you.

The thing is, Leon is like a porcelain doll. He needs to be treated with softness and kindness, because deep down, he is vulnerable. The way his lips met your skin was a clear sign that he was ready for you. He was finally ready to be yours. However, loving Leon also needed patience, and after three years, you could tell he wanted that too.

“Do you want to do this before you leave, handsome?” you ask him teasingly, holding his hands as he keeps kissing your neck.

“Yes, I do,” he nods, almost moaning in your ear.

He gently took you to his bedroom, the place was almost a sanctuary for him. He laid you down on his bed and removed his shirt, and this time, he didn’t seem ashamed of himself. You stood up from his bed and sat him on the edge, your hands trailing down his skin like he was a roller coaster. He closed his eyes, his breath soft and calm, although he anticipated what was about to happen. Leon craved for you.

“I’ll take care of you” you whispered, leaving soft kisses across his neck and chest.

You sat gently between his legs, your sweet and soft fingers removing his pants and reaching his already hardened cock. He sat there, observing you with those big and blue puppy eyes, like he was savoring your image. When you took all his length inside your mouth and gently started to suck him, Leon felt he was in heaven. It felt so good, so powerful.

Tears started to fall from his eyes and he cried. Not because you were hurting him, dear lord, of course not! It was because he finally felt that he deserved to be loved. Your tongue did an amazing job on his cock and when he came, he felt his body at ease. Leon moaned with the sudden sensation, it was stronger than he last remembered. But it was because of you.

“I love you” he says when you touch his face, wiping his tears.

Loving Leon needed patience, you knew that already.

However, living with him brought new challenges that you weren’t expecting at all. He would be gone for weeks, then he comes back out of nowhere. He always forgets to send you a message to let you know he’s coming back, but that’s okay, because his lack of patience to deal with technology amuses you. He always sends an emoji out of context, which makes you laugh and you find it very cute when he gets disappointed for misunderstanding those little and yellow faces. He’s getting there, don’t worry about that.

When he’s at home, things turn out differently. He always helps you with the chores, likes to tease you whenever you’re cooking his favorite meal and at the end of the day, you two are together on the couch watching some silly movie while he complains about it and softly scratches your leg. Sharing a domestic life was something he never thought he would have, not after everything he went through alone.

Now that he's back from whatever he did in San Francisco, you have another job to do. Tend to his injuries. It’s a small sacrifice to pay whenever he comes back hurt; this time he has purple marks all over his body and face. You don’t ask what on earth happened, because you know he can’t really give details, but at least he’s safe and sound with you again.

“Stop moving, old man!” you tell him, trying to clean a small cut he had on his neck.

“That hurts,” Leon replied back, flinching slightly.

“I know, but someone has to clean it” you rolled your eyes, applying a Barbie band-aid on his neck.

“Please, don’t tell me I got the Barbie thing on my neck” Leon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Next time I’ll get you a cat one” you wink playfully at him.

After so many death experiences and the inner wish of being dead, he’s glad that he found the absolution that he always wanted. He looks at you with amusement, part of him finds it hard to believe that he’s so lucky to have you, but the other part is glad that you are real and you love him for who he really is. You took every damaged part of him and loved with such intensity that it was enough to bring him back from that dark place he was at. He forgave himself, allowed his soul to heal and to be loved. Life had gifted him with the second chance to live, made him see the beautiful things again. You took him in when he was on the lower part of his life, and your love brought him back. He knows he’s getting older, but he doesn’t mind spending his days with you, because you are the only thing in his life that makes sense.

And he’s fine with that.

2K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 7 months

Text

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

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sidthedollface2 · 4 months

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Something Borrowed (Part 2)

Read part 1 here

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (Rhys sister)

Series summary: Rhys tells Azriel to back off Elain and find release at a pleasure hall. Instead, Azriel finds you, Rhys' younger sister.

Chapter Summary: Right after we find Azriel and Elain in a compromising position, Azriel tries to smooth things over only to drive you further away. Feelings escalate when Azriel sees another male touching you.

Word count: 5k

Series Warnings: MDNI 18+, ANGST, hurt/no comfort, smut (p in v, oral) no use of yn, nicknames, fighting, jealousy.

A/n: Thank you for all the love on part 1, I really appreciate all the comments, likes, and reblogs. This is part 2 of Something Old Something New. Please read that first, this ch continues right where we left off. I’m sorry it took so long to make this part. I’ve decided to make it a mini-series so expect 2 or more parts. It’s not over till I say it’s over. I'm a daydreamer, not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

Rhys clenched his jaw tightly at the scene in front of him. His brother, a broken shell of a male on his knees, pleading for a love that would never be his. “Azriel, my office now! The rest of you go back to your chambers,” he commands, jerking his head towards his office. Azriel stands, wings dragging behind him as he makes his way towards his inevitable demise.

Rhys enters behind Azriel, closing the door to his office with a wave of his hand. “How dare you disobey me. Not only was my demand about Elain ignored, but you went behind my back to court my sister and then decided to break her heart! I told you to go to a fucken pleasure house to get laid not to fuck my baby sister! ” Rhysand yelled, fury evident in how this neck strained from raising his voice. Azriel lowered his head in shame. “I should kick your ass right now, but your lucky Vi said not to, now sit. I’m not done with you yet.”

Rhys gestures to one of the armchairs that are placed in front of a very large bookcase. A round table sits between the two chairs, an intimate setting for friends to converse. Or for a High Lord to intimidate and test his guest. Azriel would know of such tactics, he’s been a witness to Rhysand's techniques.

Two glass cups with amber liquid are placed on the table, followed by its luxurious bottle. A bottle Azriels never seen before. Rhys catches his curiosity, “I hide the good stuff. This one's aged 50 years.” Azriel’s mouth waters. Of course, Rhys would keep the expensive stuff in his stash.

Rhys takes the seat across from his brother, his gaze piercing into him from above the rim of his glass. “Drink.”

Azriel eyes the glass in front of him. Temptation stared back at him in the form of delicious whiskey. He could really use a drink right now, to cure the hatred that he's brought upon himself.

He opens and closes his mouth, suddenly parched and wanting to soothe the dryness in his mouth.

“I’ll have some water.”

“Good choice,” Rhys hums in approval, and the house magically delivers Azriel’s water. Silence falls between them. The ticking of a grandfather clock is the only sound heard, counting down by the second. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each male waiting for the other to break the silence. Azriel takes a sip from his glass, hands shaky as he brings the cup to his lips.

“Care for a smoke?”

Azriel chokes on his water, “sorry?” He questions wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, unsure if he’s heard correctly.

“Mirthroot, to ease the tension,” Rhys clarifies, indeed offering Azriel the drug that he smoked earlier, minus the hallucinogen. With a trick of the hands and some magic, the cigarette appears between Rhys’s fingers, bringing it to his lips, its cherry blazing red. He inhales. His chest expands with how deep he aspirates, holding the fumes within his lungs. Slow and calculated he exhales. Swirls of white smoke leave Rhys lips, landing directly into Azriels face. Its white tendrils carve through his wavy hair, coating each strand with its foul scent. A Lingering reminder of his mistakes.

Azriel swipes his hand in front of him, ridding the air of the smoke surrounding him. A slight cough erupts from his throat, “no, uh, I recently had a bad experience.” Azriel tries to joke, but it lands flatly based on Rhys' stone-cold expression.

“Azriel, what do you think your punishment should be for making my sister run away from her court?”

Oh, straight to it then.

“I do love her, Rhys. She's breathtaking in every way and I don’t deserve her.”

“No, you don’t!” Rhys bellowed, slamming his glass down on the table. “What. Is. Your. Punishment?” He seethed.

“Death. Because I can’t live without her, I deserve it knowing I’ve hurt her. That I’ve betrayed you and your trust. I’ve lied to you, taken your brotherly love for granted. I’ve killed for much less.” Azriel slouches in his seat, defeated but willing to take whatever his punishment shall be.

“You must truly love her then if you're willing to die. But I find that to be too swift of a punishment. Will torture suffice?”

Azriels eyes snap to his brother, a look of shock and slight terror in his hazel eyes. This wasn’t his brother anymore, but the words of a High Lord. A cunning, cruel High Lord.

Azriel doesn't say a word, he simply nods. Accepting his fate.

“Very well. You will watch over my sister. You will shadow her every move, her every outing. You will not speak with her or make yourself known. You will observe her interactions with other males. If she happens to love someone else then you will witness their beginning, middle and end. You will endure her loving someone else while she falls out of love with you. That will be your punishment. If you love her, truly, you will see her happy, even in the arms of another.”

Azriel swallowed the knot in his throat, shoving down the emotion that was a breathds away from coming forward. His eyes failed to meet his High Lord as he took a moment to process the terms. A slight sheen was coating his forehead, heat climbing up his spine at the thought of you with someone else. Clenching and unclenching his fists, his nails dug into his palms, creating half-moon shapes on his rough skin.

He did want to see you happy, and in love. You deserved it more than anyone he knew, but not with someone else. Azriels mind flashed back to every tender moment you two shared. Every soft touch under the table, away from prying eyes. Each stolen kiss when the two of you were last in leaving meetings. Morning snuggles after a night of intimacy before he snuck out of your bedroom. Flying together under the stars, in the middle of the night when the rest of the Velaris was sound asleep. He could keep those moments to himself, call upon them when he missed you. It’ll break his heart watching you fall out of love with him, but that was the whole point. And that's what Rhys meant by torture. It would happen slowly, painfully peeling the layers of his heart back piece by piece till nothing remained.

His refusal was on the tip of his tongue, “I can’t….” He shook his head, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Letting out a shaky breath, “can I at least apologize without an audience, before I begin this punishment?”

Rhys nodded and flicked his wrist, dismissing his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel knocked on Elains bedroom door, determined to explain himself and confront her.

Her beaming smile when she opened the door caught him off guard. Was she happy? Happy for his misery?

“Hi Az,” she smiled wide and stepped aside to let him in. “No, I don’t want to give the wrong idea. I’ll be quick.” Azriel sighed, running his hand through his tousled hair. He winced as Elains scent off his fingers made its way to his nose. Reminding him that he needed to shower before he spoke to you. “Elain, I’m sorry for-”

“I’m not” she interrupted, her doe-like eyes staring up at him as she stepped closer. Her chest inches away from pressing against him. “The only thing I’m sorry for was the interruption and not bringing you to completion. I liked doing it, I wanted more,” she confessed, attempting to close the distance.

“What the fuck Elain!” Azriel's voice boomed as he jerked back, putting distance between them, hoping to get his point across that he did not reciprocate her feelings. His face twisted in disgust at her scandalous behavior. A side of her he had never seen before. He pointed his finger at her, “stay away from me.”

“You said you loved me.” Elain gulped, a tremble in her meek voice.

Azriel lowered his face to meet hers, eyes red with anger and unshed tears for the situation she put him in. “Those words were not meant for you, I feel nothing for you. And definitely not love. You know I adore her, you heard me tell her in the library and you still took advantage of my inebriation.”

“Az, I’m so sorr-”

Azriel lifted his hand, silencing her apology. He shook his head, upper lip curled in a snarl as he looked her up and down. Not even her beauty would mask the bitter taste she left in his mouth.

~~~~~~~

It was late when he finished speaking with Elain, yet every nerve in his body wanted to find you and apologize. Fix the turmoil he had created and start new. He knew it was better for you to sleep on it, let bygones be bygones. First thing tomorrow he’d reach out and smooth things over.

Azriel had been staring at your side of his bed for hours, running his hand across the empty space. He couldn't sleep without your warm body cuddled next to him. Or your soft breathing fanning across his chest. Your very soul had made a home within his heart, and he foolishly never bothered to secure the doors to keep you safe and nurture your love. You weren't a bird to be caged, but he sang your favorite song and each night you’d perch on his arm and stare into his hazel eyes with a look of love and admiration. Azriel was too scared to return the gaze. Too scared to lose the only person that brought him laughter and joy.

He buried his face in your pillow, inhaling the subtle scent of your hair that still lingered. A silent sob escaped his lips. It had been too long. He tried again, inhaling deeper, searching for those notes of magnolia and rose. Gripping the sheets tight in his fists, Azriel let his tears fall freely; your scent was fading. Loneliness followed him to bed that night. The cold of the night, a blanket holding him till he fell asleep. His heaving chest rocked him faster to the nightmares that would now plague him.

~~~~~~~

You sat in the lower levels of the library, the darkness, a familiar friend that brought you company in your solitude. The hum of Bryaxis slumber filled the air, a solemn soundtrack to accompany the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Sadness dotted the pages of the book that sat on your lap, rippled and wrinkled from the volume of your cries.

You could no longer read the pages, vision blurred and hazy. The more you researched the more it became a reality and in truth, you couldn’t stomach the thought. You’d have to visit Helion for clarification. How to undo or break it off before the other end sna-

A gentle shadow wrapped around your wrist, leaving a cool phantom kiss on your knuckles. You summoned a pocket of darkness and quickly sent the book away in a puff of black mist.

Azriel stepped out of a dark corner, concealed in the shadows like a true spymaster. “Love, I’m so fucking sorry. Please, forgive me,” he begged, as he took slow steps towards you.

“I know where I fall in your list of priorities, Azriel. You followed Rhys into his office like a loyal dog, and after that, you went to Elain and now you're here asking for forgiveness?”

Azriels brows furrow, questioning how you knew when you ran out of the house. “Your shadows,” you reply, already knowing his thought process- it seems they’ve betrayed their own master in favor of you. “They’ve told me everything. What you did with Elain and what you did after.”

“Did they tell you how much I love you? How much I crave you?” he cooed softly.

You shook your head. Those words were everything you wanted to hear ‘I love you,’ yet as your head moved side to side, you weren't sure if it was because you didn't believe the words or because It was too late. You wanted to believe him, fall into his arms, and easily forgive.

But your breathing quickens as your memory takes you back to last night. Azriels head thrown back as his hips thrust into Elains mouth. The pleasure that you hoped only you brought him, was written on his face; from the warmth of another female's mouth.

“Forgiveness? I can’t give that to you, not now. Not when every time I close my eyes all I see is your betrayal. All I hear are the words that I longed for mixed with the gagging of Elains throat as she took your cock down her mouth. I’m going to need time and space to forgive you. If the time ever comes.” You look to the ceiling, eyes stinging as you try to hold back the tears, your brave face faltering in vulnerability.

Azriel kneels in front of you, begging for your eyes to meet his. “I’ll spend forever apologizing and when you're ready to forgive me I'll be here. I’ll always be here, as long as it takes.”

“I heard what you said to Cass. That I was a mistake, and a fucking rebound,” you sniffled, fighting back the tears that once again tried to break free from your waterline.

Azriel doesn't miss the way you bite at your lip, the furrow between your brows. He's hurt you. Made you feel inadequate. You had always felt not good enough. Not good enough for your father, your mother. Not good enough to become High Lady of the Night Court.

Once Feyre and her sisters came into the picture you had no place. Feyre became High Lady, Rhysands equal. Not you. Not his flesh and blood. And now Azriels words cemented that feeling. You were the doormat of The Night Court, beloved by its citizens but stepped on by those that mattered to you, and that hurt more than you could bear.

“That's not what I meant! I wanted… I want to do things right. I want us to be together, finally. No more secrets, no hiding. It was a poor choice of words, and for that I’m sorry. But you are not a mistake. If you think you are, I'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you're not.”

He reaches for your hand to offer a comforting touch. To soothe the doubt within your heart. If anything else, to touch you one last time and caress the smoothness of your skin.

“Don’t touch me. Not with those hands,” you hiss, jerking your hands away and crossing your arms over your chest. A deep sadness settles over you, knowing the hurt you've caused with the double meaning of your words. You knew it wasn’t due to the scars, those hands had been touching someone else. Bringing another female to climax not even 24 hours prior.

It was that single sentence that broke the spymaster. An aching pressure was felt in his chest, growing into a mass of the insecurity he once had. He couldn't hide the quiver in his bottom lip or the way he felt his stomach cave in itself. You didn’t want him to touch you. His hands were now tainted, dare he say more now than ever before.

A soft cry pushed past his lips as the dam holding his composure finally broke. He stood up and turned his back to you. Wiping away the tears that continued to fall. You quickly followed, itching to place a hand on his shoulder, soothing the turmoil within him.

Your caring nature screamed for you to comfort him and apologize. Causing someone's pain wasn’t in your character, a stark difference from most of your family. But you retracted your hand, and wrapped them around your middle, holding yourself together.

“Do you really hate me?” Azriel whispered as he pulled out his gloves from his back pocket, sliding them on in hopes of hiding the repulsion you felt towards them.

You hesitated for a moment if revealing the truth would change anything. If it would alter the path of your relationship into one that was worth fighting for. But there was no Azriel and Vi, so you’d tell him the truth.

“I hate the way you make me feel. I hate that you embarrassed me in front of my family. I hate that you can make me laugh and cry on the same night. Most of all I hate that you didn't choose me.” You end on an exhale, rubbing your arms up and down, attempting to soothe the heartache.

“This is it then? You’re just giving up on us? Let me at least fix this mess I’ve made. I promise I’ll do better,” he pleads, running his hands through his hair, lightly pulling at the root.

You close your eyes and release a heavy sigh, “There was never an ‘us’ Azriel. As much as I wanted there-

“I want ‘us’ now,” he interrupts, closing the distance as he cups your face between his gloved hands. “Please, love. Give me this one last chance.”

Hazel eyes bore into yours pleading with every ounce of desperation in his voice, “please,” he breathes, gently nuzzling your nose with his. The puff of his breath cools the moisture on your lips, a chill that weakens your knees and for a moment you think to give in. It takes every ounce of control for you to wrap your delicate hands around his wrist and pull them away from your face. “I can’t do this,” you choke, shaking your head, trying to hold back the knot of emotion lodged in your throat as you rush past him, wiping at the lonely tears that have breached your waterline.

His happiness was fleeting, running into the arms of another. Except you didn’t. Not yet, not so soon. That was the difference, he realized. Where Azriel drowned in sorrow the moment you first left, his pain lingered on. Holding onto the pain meant; holding onto you. Holding onto what you once were. Whereas You faced the feeling head-on. You talked about what troubled you, about him, through the pain in your eyes and the wobble in your voice.

No matter how painful it was to relive, you pushed through. Felt deeply and wholly, head first into the unknown and you always managed to stay afloat. It scared him, how open you were with your feelings. Heart on your sleeve, willing to give and give. It was easy for you to love, to feel. And if you spoke of your sorrow so openly, then you’d heal faster and surely fall out of love just as quickly or worse forget him altogether.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feyre was the one to scold Rhys for his actions towards his brother. The cunning High Lord indeed had a trick up his sleeve. One that would ensure Azriel had your best interests at heart. Rhys knew all too well how loyal and dutiful Azriel was to him and he wondered how far that loyalty ran. To what end would he go to please his High Lord? Rhys knew sending Azriel to spy on you was invading your privacy. And that would only anger you if you knew. Rhysand hoped though, that Azriels love for you was stronger than the loyalty he held for his High Lord. He was wrong. Azriel took the punishment without thinking how it would affect you. How following your every move would make you uncomfortable and you’d possibly resent Azriel for agreeing to such a thing.

~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed in a blur. You had avoided the Inner circle at all costs, not quite ready to comment on the love triangle that unfolded under their nose. You tried to continue your work in Hewn City as you had been for centuries. Although the High Fae preferred you over Rhysand, you were finding it difficult to sway certain policies with Keir. You were a brilliant light in Hewn City, creating an education system that opened their eyes to diversity and understanding amongst their people. They no longer detested lesser fae, a tradition that had been extremely difficult to break. The residents were now free to travel out of the city and some even enjoyed Velaris. All the work you had done was more than Rhys could expect, yet you still felt as if you lacked purpose. It then occurred to you that perhaps you could fulfill that purpose in another court.

You winnowed back to Velaris instantly, running up the steps of the house of wind towards Rhysands office. Excitement in each step as you imagined a new opportunity at your fingertips. One that puts space between your fractured relationship with Azriel as well as a chance to step out of your brother's shadow and into your own. As soon as you opened the door to his office you stilled-causing the person who was trailing behind you to stumble into your back. Azriel straightened, careful not to touch you. “Apologies, I,” Azriel narrowed his eyes at the guest seated across from Rhys, “who are you?”

“Kit!” you blurted out, bouncing to him and embracing him in a crushing hug. Kit wraps his arms around your waist as your hands clasp around his neck. Azriels eyes zero in on where Kit’s fingers dig into your sides, noticing the small caress against your skin. And how he’s pulled your body so tight against his, relishing in your radiate beauty. Or the way his chest expands as he inhales the scent of your hair. “Good to see you again Princess. I was just talking to Rhysand about a proposition.”

Kit’s gaze lands on the Shadowsinger, “ forgive me, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kit, son of Kallias and Vivienne of The Winter Court.” He extends his palm in a friendly greeting towards Azriel. Ever respectful and kind, just as an Heir should be. Azriel runs his eyes over the Princeling, scrutinizing every inch of the male; from his snow-white hair to his pompous pale blue shirt. Even down to how costly his shoes must have been. Seconds passed and Azriel just stared the Prince down, a challenge in his deadly eyes.

“Please excuse my spymaster, Azriel, he's recently gone through a break-up.” Rhysand shoots a glare at the Shadowsinger with a look of disappointment.

A muscle feathered in Azriels jaw. He didn’t like this, not one bit. Kit touched you. Touched what once belonged to him. His shadows curled around his ear whispering all the ways Azriel could kill him. He saw the look in his eyes, longing and desire. Rhys no doubt divulged that break-up comment to open the doors for Kit to swoop right in.

Your eyes drop to the floor, shifting on your feet uncomfortably. Tension in the room doubled as the silence filled the awkwardness.

Kits' attention shifted to you. Noticing your downturned lips and slumped shoulders. Things must have gotten worse between you and Azriel. His icy blue eyes snapped towards the brooding male. “How unfortunate, that when you looked at her you did not feel cauldron blessed to have her. In that case, she must not have been yours to keep,” he pulled you close around the waist, “hopefully she’ll be another males blessing.” Kit smiled down at you, his dimples deep and adorable. You couldn’t help but melt into his side, his touch offering a comfort that you desperately needed.

A dangerous growl ripped through Azriels throat. He rolled his shoulders back, craning his neck from side to side, cracking the tension in his bones. The loud pop of his knuckles rang in your ears as Azriel flexed his fingers into a fist. You’d seen this rage in his eyes many times; right before hand-to-hand combat in the camps.

You quickly glanced at your brother, pleading mind to mind. "Stop this, they’ll kill each other.” Rhys sat back in his chair, legs spread wide and relaxed, "I’ll bet you all the jewels in Velaris Azriel breaks that pretty boy in two."

“Watch your mouth!” Azriel seethed, as he stalked forward, a predator hunting his prey.

Kit moved you to stand behind him, shielding you with his body. He did not back down from confrontation and did not cower. A fighter with words that will knock his opponent where it hurts the most. For wounds heal but poisonous words rot from the inside out. Latching to the mind to burrow and breed the thoughts keeping the nightmares and failures alive.

With every drop of ferocity that flowed through his veins, he struck at the jugular. Pouring salt on the wound of Azriels inferiority complex with malicious intent to hollow him out. “No Shadowsinger! You’re no Prince, nor are you a High Lord or King of any Kingdom. You do not own property and you are not wealthy. You offer nothing to a Princess but anguish and a filthy cock that's been between the legs and mouths of cheap women. You survive by the scraps your friend gives you out of pity for being a bastard born. It is you who needs to watch your tongue. It is you who needs to remember your place.”

Azriel's face was unreadable as he took the insult with his head held high. His breathing turned rapid, with every second that passed. Azriel wanted to wipe that smug look off the princeling's face and scrub the floor with his perfect teeth. Break every finger that had touched you, gouge out the blue eyes that had fantasized about you.

The second Kit took his eyes off Azriel to gawk at you. Azriel pulled Kit by the collar of his shirt, holding him in place as his hammer fist connected with his jaw over and over again. Adrenaline flowed through his body, as knuckles met solid ice beneath the flesh and blood of the heir. Blood sprayed Kit's shirt as a cut splayed open below his eye, most likely from Azriels rings. Kit's head bobbed around lifeless, blood slipping down the corner of his mouth. Azriel couldn’t stop the onslaught of his attack, as he continued to break the heir's nose with a resounding crack.

“Azriel stop!” you screamed, throwing your fist at his back, pulling at his shirt in an attempt to stop the assault. Azriel tried to stop but Kit's crimson smile taunted him each time his fist landed against his pale skin, enraging him more.

“Shit!” Rhys scrambled out of his chair, using his dark power to throw Azriel off the Prince and into the farthest wall. Crashing to the ground Azriels vision cleared, his heart sank at the image of you on the floor cradling the bleeding Prince in your arms, tending to his battered face. “Vi, I’m so sorry I.. I didn’t,-”

“You brutish Illyrian bastard, when will you stop breaking things?!” You looked at Azriel with glossy eyes and blood that wasn't yours smeared against your bosom.

“Pack the rest of your bags sister. You’ll be living in the Winter Court for the foreseeable future. Re-shaping their crumbling Agriculture and stabilizing their infrastructure for future prosperity. The work you’ve done in Hewn City is remarkable, I’m sure you’ll do great things for Kallias and Vivienne. ” Rhys gaze never left Azriel as he delivered the news to you.

‘I’m sorry Az. This was the proposition brought to me today. Vi needs this, she's no longer happy here. And as her brother, I have to do what's best for her.’

Rhys saw the tears well in Azriels eyes. If he hadn't been shattered to pieces before, then this would disintegrate him into ash. Left alone to wander the skies aimlessly, letting the wind tousle and puncture him as he reached for the sun's brightest ray of light.

“Take a good look at him, Vi, He’ll no longer be allowed in The Winter Court after today's attack,” your head whipped from Azriel to Kit, “My father will ban him from ever setting foot on his land again.” A sly grin crossed Kit’s face, victorious in his plan, “Don’t worry shadowsinger, we’re just borrowing her and I promise I’ll keep her safe.” Azriel snarled as Kit grimaced, pushing against your chest for your comforting touch.

He’d fallen into Kit's trap so easily, allowing his anger to blind him from his true intentions. He didn’t even raise his hand to deflect the blows or bother punching back. He took the punches and played victim, the scheming ice Prince. He knew how it looked. The eloquent Prince who had a future and armies at his beck and call.

A Court that he would one day rule for centuries with a palace to call his own, a throne and crown made of diamonds and sapphires. A Night Court Princess turned High Lady to warm his bed and give him Heirs to sit on his throne. Azriel couldn’t offer you any of that. He was a bastard-born Illyrian who tortured people for a living. You deserve a fulfilling life full of happiness, laughter, and love.

You were leaving because of him, and he decided then, that he wouldn’t stop you. It would make him sick, but he’d survive and the sun would rise one day. The future he dreamed of was slowly fading to black and he couldn't imagine a world without you, but you were leaving. He couldn't think of a way to stop the bleeding or to fix what he broke. He couldn’t hold you back. You were a princess, when you were meant to be a queen.

“Throw me in the prison Rhys I don’t care, but if I have to watch her fall in love with him, by the God’s he’ll die by my blade before he lays another hand on her. Punishment be damned” Azriels words pierced through Rhys mind like a violent storm, destroying everything in its way. Rhys chuckled, grinning like a madman towards Azriels words, “there you are brother.” He stretched out his hand to help Azriel get up off the floor, ‘I know now that you love her, but she still needs space. Please respect her decision.’

Rhys jerked his chin towards the door. “Now get out.”

Azriel walked towards the door, looking over his shoulder for one last glance at you. Even with red staining your face, you were still the most beautiful female he had ever seen, yet he took every moment with you for granted. The cauldron was either cruel or he had terrible luck. How is it that his first and ever love would ruin him? How was he to move on from this? He realized too late that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You had completely shattered his heart and soul, taking the bleeding organ in your hands. “Be happy, love,” he spoke softly, “and for what it’s worth, I have always loved you.” You saw a lone tear run down his cheek as he turned and walked away.

Part 3 coming soon.....

A/n: Thank you for reading.

Taglist: @fuckthatfeeling @celtic-shadow-wolf @crazylokonugget @leyannrae @rehua @readychilledwine @ellievickstar @siriusblackssun @saltedcoffeescotch @b0xerdancer @tothestarsandwhateverend @anainkandpaper @em-marlenesversion @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe @rogersbarnesxx @nayaniasworld @sam-san-sam @yeahimcrying @olive-main

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x fem!reader #azriel angst #azriel x y/n #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic

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babeyun · 3 days

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falling alone ✩ l.hs [teaser two]

✩ series m.list | taglist form ✩ synopsis: cold cases were heeseung’s specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband’s. ✩ genre: established relationship au | hurt-comfort ✩ pairing: lieutenant!lhs x housewife!reader ✩ word count: 1.4k | [full fic: tbd] ✩ rating: 18+. minors dni. ✩ warnings: a little more pining between husband!hee & wife!reader, a bit of outsider help. nothing explicit ✩ author's note: hello everyone! i just wanted to let you all know that i am trying my best to get this fic out before the end of the year (and if i don't, i do go on winter break from uni in early december! so we can expect a few fics in that time.) this being said, i will add a taglist link here as well as the series masterlist because i cannot for the life of me keep up with urls at the moment. the people tagged below have already been added to said taglist, but if you wanna jump on and don't see yourself tagged, please fill out the form linked above! thanks!

Heeseung knows that Dr. Bahng told him to leave work at work. However, Dr. Bahng said nothing about bringing home to work. He said nothing about thinking about you at work, or missing you, or daydreaming about you instead of analyzing the reports that a pair of rookies messed up. He also said nothing about reading articles by some sketchy romance columnist on how to keep your relationship alive, which is exactly what Heeseung was scrolling through right now.

There are things in a relationship that must always be shared in order to avoid, or resolve conflict. How the other person is making you feel, how you are making them feel, and how to tackle both negative checklists properly. It is key to always remember that it must be you and your partner against the problem, not you and your partner against each other.

You make Heeseung feel…alive. You make him feel loved, cherished, and even at some bizarre times, worshiped. You make him appreciate waking up at the ass crack of dawn, your sleeping face relaxed as he peppers kisses across your warm skin – something he's thankful never manages to wake you up, but it adds to all the adoration he holds in his heart for you.

How does he make you feel? Dejected, neglected, rejected. Pushed aside for the true love of his life – work. You never bring it up unless he asks. You never brought it up until last July, when he was slumped in his office chair after drinking half a bottle of sherry whiskey, listening to music and thinking about yet another dead end that deterred him from finding Soyoung. You had approached him with a gentle gaze, a soft touch to his shoulder and asking about taking a shower together. You never questioned him, you never pressured him, you never tried to make him something you assumed he just wasn't – an attentive, doting husband.

And he remembers how he asked you, too. He remembers spinning around in his chair, asking you if he was everything you'd ever wanted. Asking you if he was living up to your expectations, as a husband, as a life partner, as a friend, even.

And he remembers the way you sighed carefully before perching on his desk. "You're everything I've ever wanted, and I'm sure you'll continue to grow and be even more deserving of the love I hold for you." You had smiled, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Nothing we can't work through, you know? If I was given a choice in another life, another world – I'd still choose you."

He will never forget it, and he can still feel the warmth of your lips against his as you led him to the bathroom. He can still feel the ache of your love on his skin from the way you held him under the running water, quietly basking in his presence as the mint of your shampoo filled his nose. Nothing is as special to him as you are.

There are things that should routinely be shared in order to maintain a homeostasis of the calendar. Asking how their day was, if you have any ideas for dinner tonight, or if you'd like to do something this weekend to celebrate the mundane. It shouldn't be difficult to establish a routine with your partner, if you are in tune with them. A kiss goodbye in the morning, a warm embrace in the evenings. A shared meal, a shared bath, a shared bed.

Heeseung can't remember the last time he fully checked in with you – you always have something to do. You always attempt new creative projects, and his fingers toy with the fabric of his slacks as he remembers that you hand stitched them. He thinks about how you waited for him all night yesterday, and the disappointment you must have felt when he arrived late. He thinks about how he just doesn't make time to tackle the problem that you two are constantly glossing over by being intimate – he knows you don't feel loved.

He didn't ask you about your day yesterday, or the day before, or last week. He didn't ask you if you were sewing anything new, learning any new pieces on the piano collecting dust in the living room. He hasn't asked about your mother, but at least he knows you don't like to talk about her.

Heeseung hasn't asked you a single thing about yourself, or your life, and he doesn't know how long it's been. Even last night, your eyes were focused entirely on him – the way his lips twitched when you said you liked the wine he chose, the way he pulled your leg over his in the booth you were sharing. You asked him about work, and he just shook his head as he pointed out the new menu items.

You love him so selflessly.

Something that works for my partner and I is parallel play. We aren't necessarily doing something together, but we are present in the same room and doing our own thing. Knowing that he is there, and that if I need him, I can reach for him, adds a comfort to our relationship. Aside from this, we also come together every two weeks and address any issues we may be experiencing – both in our relationship and our individual lives. We resolve the issues about us together, and advise the other on our personal issues. Balance!

You do this a lot. If Heeseung is home, you'll wander to wherever he is and sit down where you can, and quietly go about your business. Sometimes it's a new cross-stitch, sometimes it's just putting a headphone in and listening to music. Sometimes you're giving yourself a pedicure, sometimes you're just sitting there staring at his corkboard of paraphernalia while matching your breathing to his. It was subtle, something you thought he'd never notice.

He sighs, exiting out of the tab before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. Tugging it on, he uses one hand to log out of his computer when he hears three knocks on the door. A lightness of the rapping knuckles similar to yours…and your smiling face appears as you crack open the door. "Surprise?" He hates that he can't bite back his smile, a few of his fellow officers wide-eyed at his expression. He nods silently, and you extend your hand for him when you hear his coworkers whispering about you. With a dejected look, you tuck your hand back into the pocket of your jeans, "Guess we don't want them gossiping, right?" "Right." He mumbles, his own hand twitching around the doorknob as he pulls it shut behind him. He wants to reach for you, embrace the warmth you bring, show you off to the people he often calls his friends. Sunghoon catches his eye, a quizzical look on his face before shaking his head.

Heeseung reaches for you, but you've already made your way towards the door. Your smile has lessened as you open the door, holding it for him. "How was work?" You ask as he joins you in the cool air, and he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in close, his nose buried in your hair. You hesitate to wrap your arms around him, instead leaning back to try and meet his eyes. "Hee?" "Don't ask me about work." He mutters, before pressing his lips to yours softly. You let out a noise of surprise, but you can't melt into his touch before he pulls away. "I hate talking about work, let's talk about you. Over lunch." He takes your hand in his, gently pulling you to his side as he makes his way to the car. He doesn't see yours in the parking lot, so he only assumes you got a rideshare before you clear your throat. "Are you okay?" The words are slightly jumbled as he leads you to the passenger side, opening the door for you, helping you step in. "Hm? Why do you ask?"

"Well…you're actually out of the office. And you want to go to lunch…and you don't want to talk about work?" Your voice is meek, and it makes his chest ache as he reaches to buckle your seatbelt in for you. "I just want to spend time with you. Shall we?" His smile is a little forced, until he sees the soft gloss of embarrassment over your eyes. "Okay."

TAGLIST [those in red could not be tagged] @thesassy-mia @starfallia @ramenoil @hoonieversies @wintabite @shnnzsworld @eneiyri @jjongsha @ilovejungwonandhaechan @oopshee @capri-cuntz @petalsofink @teddybeartaetae @chocminteu @moon0fthenight @delvziion @heeseungthel0ml @bbyjw @marimariiiiiiii @thenastone

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wardenparker · 3 months

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American as Apple Pie

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mention of shooting/guns but the context is carnival games, cheesy flirting, Jack being Jack. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Going to a Fourth of July party with your girlfriends turns out to be an unexpected whirlwind. Notes: It wouldn't be a holiday without a little fic to celebrate. Independence Day seemed best acknowledged with a heavy dose of Jack's good natured charm. 🎆🎇💗🤍💙

The Statesman Fourth of July celebration in Louisville, Kentucky is one of the biggest and loudest in the area. It was an excuse to drape everything in red, white and blue, perfect your Uncle Sam costume, and play Lee Greenwood’s ‘Proud to be an American’ on repeat. There is a special whiskey barrel that is opened every year since its founding in 1919. Huge grills are rolled out to cook hamburger and hotdogs by the thousands as it’s an open party for everyone. Ending in a spectacular fireworks show that lights up the sky.

Some friends wanted to go. Girls from the office who were looking for a more festive holiday celebration than watching their siblings' kids play in the pool and playing cornhole while their aunts bitched about grocery prices. Not having anything better to do, you had thrown on the only red, white, and blue clothes you had in your closet and punctuated the look with red lipstick just for fun. Maybe you'll have one too many and flirt with a cowboy. That wouldn't be too bad.

The bolero he normally wears around his neck with the button down and sports coat had been traded for an open collared shirt, a print of U.S flags on them. His normally painted on jeans exchanged for white shorts and cowboy boots changed out with boat shoes. Still, the black Stetson is firmly on his head, although the mustache was still impeccably groomed and no one would mistake him for anything but a cowboy as he drinks from a long neck bottle to beat the mid afternoon heat.

The music filtering through speakers all over the Statesman Distillery property is obviously country, but the actual number of Stetsons in the sea of guests is staggering even to a Louisville resident. It's that time of the year, you suppose, making your way toward one of the many drink carts with your friends as you scope out the crowd.

“Weeeeeellllll, holy shit.” Tequila whistles, twisting his neck as he looks over at the margarita cart, smirking at the choice of drink. “Get a good look at the shorts on those legs.” He nods, making Jack follow his gaze to the group of women who obviously just arrived.

"God bless the USA." Rum pronounces solemnly, only lifting his Stetson from his head to place it over his heart in salute to the group of four ladies in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen that are now getting their drinks.

“Goddamn I love the summer.” Jack whistles, winking at the one in the red top when she looks over at them. “Happy fourth ladies!” He calls out, lifting his beer towards them.

"Happy Fourth!" You call back, raising the frozen margarita you've just been served in their direction as you friends giggle mercilessly around you. The three men who are not bothering to censor their ogling are dressed in some of the worst outfits here. Tiny white booty shorts on one, a stars and stripes Kiss the Cook apron on the tallest, and the third wearing neon red shorts and a muscle tank depicting a bald eagle wearing sunglasses that says You Free Tonight? underneath.

"Rocks Paper Scissors for the tall one?" You friend Madi proposes to the group, eyeing the youngest and buffest of the men like he's the snack she didn't know she was craving.

“No, you can have him.” Tina snorts. “I’ve got my eye on the one with the eagle on his shirt.” She admits, drooling herself at the virile display of man, who can also enjoy themselves.

“Have fun,” you snort, shaking your head and focusing on your drink. “I came here to drink and to line dance very poorly, not to get picked up.”

“Why can’t we have it all?” Madi asks, giggling when the one in the apron motions the group over when no one has looked away.

“I’m not sure white shorts is the guy to break my dry spell,” you mumble to them with an amused grin as the four of you strut over to the men who were watching you. “And you two already called dibs on the others.”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll ride his mustache.” Sandra snorts, smirking slightly at the group of men. “I’m sure my fiancé wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tina giggles. “We’ll just call Brad up and let him know you’ll be late for dinner because you found a cowboy at a party.”

“He’ll understand.” All of you laugh, knowing that he definitely would not understand. He loved her completely and was lucky enough that she was just as crazy about him. Their wedding is only three months away.

“Ladies.” Kiss the Cook tips his hat gallantly and lets his eyes sweep over every single one of you. “A very happy Independence Day to you beauties.”

All three men clock the ring on the statuesque brunette’s hand and immediately understands that she is off limits. The other two tip their hats as well and Jack grins. “Can we offer you something to eat?”

There is a split second before you look over to fully take in the third man of the group that you’re apparently now hanging out with, and instantly regret the snap judgement made from yards away just a minute or two before. He’s only smaller by comparison, broad shoulders and a strikingly cut jaw accented by the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing and leading down to biceps as thick as his neck and hands that — fuck, if you’d seen his hands beforehand you wouldn’t have said a damn thing, he makes that beer bottle look like a doll accessory. “Ah—We—um, sure,” you manage to blurt out, nodding self-consciously and absolutely aware that your friends are never going to let you live down getting flustered in front of the cowboy.

Madi grins at the way you are suddenly tripping over yourself to accept the offer of a burger. “If we’re gonna eat, maybe we can know who is offering us a plate?” She asks, smiling flirtatiously at the taller man holding the spatula. The three men chuckle. “We go by our work nicknames.” Jack offers, pointing at Rum to start. “Ryan, also known as Rum. Because he can get any party started.” He introduces him with a grin. “Next, we have our ‘kiss the cook’, Luke, who we call Tequila. He thinks he can make clothes come off.” Tequila rolls his eyes and shoves Jack slightly as the older man tips his hat towards you girls. “And I’m Jack, otherwise known as Whiskey.” Tina grins. “Why do they call you that?” She asks, making Jack chuckle. “Because I go down as smooth as the finest whiskey.” He boasts, tipping his aviators down so his eyes find you again and he shoots you a confident wink.

“So you work here then, I assume?” Guys who work for a distillery having boozy nicknames it’s so far off base, but Jack’s declaration that he ‘goes down like the finest whiskey’ has you thinking mustache ride thoughts all over again and if you could do it you might just slap yourself for something so obvious. On the other hand? No man should be able to make a wink look as smooth as he just did.

“Only if you want us to.” Rum smirks at Tina and tips his hat back slightly. “Otherwise we can be whatever you want. Spies, cowboys, hell, maybe all three.” Tequila huffs a cough and slaps Rum on the back. “Are you ladies burger or hot dog kind of women?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I think there’s a rule that you have to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July, isn’t there?” Tina replies, batting her eyelashes pointedly.

“Absolutely.” Tequila agrees. “Now the question is-“ he points the tongs at all of you seriously. “Are you a chili cheese dog person or a peppers and onions person?”

The question sparks a full culinary debate, as Tina insists only mustard is necessary, Sandra and Madi are fans of peppers and onions any way they can get them, and you just shrug over it all because there's no point in trying to be dainty with a hot dog. A chili cheese dog is the only way to go.

Jack chuckles as the girls are chattering, except the one in the red. “You are awful quiet, sugar.” He comments. “Not choosy?”

"Very choosy," you tell him, laughing a little about how involved your friends are getting in this debate with the other two guys. "Chili cheese dog every time. But my friends like to pretend that it's possible to be dainty while eating a hot dog. I'd rather enjoy something delicious."

Jack grins at your answer and points a finger up to tip his hat back on his head. “No, you just gotta jump in and devour it.” He hums, his smirk slightly dirty.

"Whoever put you three in one place today is a menace," you inform him with a deeper, rounder laugh. "But I totally agree. The only way is to jump in."

Jack chuckles, leaning in a little closer to you. “Not true.” He coos. “We were brought together for a good time.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

It can be both," you concede, getting a whiff of an expensive, musky cologne under the grill and sunscreen smell that hangs all around this booth.

“Well then.” Jack snorts, tapping his bottle against your margarita glass. “To being a menace.” He offers with a smirk.

"Here." A long sip of your drink hides a flustered grin, but you don't mind having run into someone this charming and handsome right off the bat. You and your friends will wander away in due time, and they'll become a fun anecdote for the office, and probably material for the spank bank of each and every member of your group as well.

“So what made you decide to join our little celebration?” Jack asks without any sense of irony despite the bash being massive. There are bounce houses and carnival style game booths set up. Along with all kinds of food and drink.

"Girls' day out." Ordinarily you might feel bad for Sandra, being slightly singled out while the other three of you are being shamelessly flirted with, but she's chatting with Kiss the Cook as well and having a grand time. "When your day is office, home, and back again, sometimes a party is just what you need."

“Oh I understand.” He promises, even if his work is not as traditionally boring all the time, there are plenty of days that the paperwork tedium gets to him.

"Your days are probably a lot more fun than ours." Without knowing that you're reading his thoughts, you just decide to make conversation and enjoy whatever comes from it.

“Some days. Others it’s slower than molasses dripping off a spoon.” He likes the fact that you aren’t just flirting, there’s interesting conversation blooming. “Although I’m enjoying right now.”

"This must be one of the more fun workdays each year." Why wouldn't it be? There are half-dressed women all over the places, and whatever the orientation of these three might be, they're all definitely interested in women. You sip your drink again and find that your head tilts slightly in his direction instinctively. "We're not going to get you in trouble, are we?"

“Nah.” Jack waves away your concern, secretly touched that you would be worried about that. “Well just call this….public relations.” He teases, winking at you again. “How does that sound, sugar?”

"Like you should be a politician," you snort, but honestly you don't mind. It's been a while since you just flirted for the hell of it and it's fun.

Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Sugar, you are breaking my heart.” He groans. “I would never want to be lumped in with those lyin’, thievin’ scumbags.” He shakes his head and puts his beer down to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m a patriot.”

Somehow that only makes you laugh more, and when you meet his eyes again it's with warm cheeks and a bright smile. "My apologies," you hum, tipping your margarita in his direction again like a salute. "We'll stick to drinking and flirting. No filibusters today."

“Now hold on….” Jack leans closer and chuckles. “Depends on what kind of filibuster we are talkin’ about.” He drawls. “Some of them can be a good time.” His eyes slide up and down your body suggestively.

Raising one eyebrow at him, sip your sour-sweet vacations through the bright pink straw and smirk. “You want to have a prolonged speech that stalls all activity about my body? Seems counterintuitive, cowboy.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand darlin’.” He leans in even closer. “We ain’t talkin’ during my filibuster, we’re just prolonging the main event.” He explains.

One second your head is tiled and the next second you're clamping your mouth shut on a bitten lip. He's just gone from casually flirting to casually painting a mental image that will last you weeks. "You're pretty sure of yourself, cowboy," you hum when you remember how to speak again.

“Have to be.” He admits, truth more than cockiness in his words. “You don’t have to accept, but….” He smirks. “You could always consider it your patriotic booty.” His pun is horrible and he knows it, but he uses it proudly. With the same confidence he wears his Fourth of July outfit.

You snort before you can stop yourself, shaking your head at him as you wave off the laugh as good natured. "That's awful." The play on 'patriotic duty' is absurd, but somehow he manages to make it circle back to charming in a way that is fairly impressive. From most guys it would just sound cheesy or plain bad.

“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees with a grin. “Really awful.” He reaches for his beer again and finishes it in one long swallow.

"Worst line I've heard in a very long time." Even though you're agreeing, you chuckle and shake your head. Why the hell not? When was the last time you just cut loose and had some fun? Can you even remember? "It's...not a no, though."

“Hmmmm.” He lifts a brow and smirks at you again as he reaches into the cooler next to him for another beer. “Well then, I better make sure that you are fed, sugar.” He tells you. “‘Cause you might be in for a hell of a night.”

"You promise a girl a hell of a lot." But for some reason you don't think he's lying, or even exaggerating that much. Maybe it's wishful thinking, you can't tell, but Jack fixes up your hot dog with flare and hands it over just as you finish your margarita.

He takes your empty glass and chuckles. “Would you like another frosty margarita? Or perhaps the blackberry old fashions that are being made?” He asks, pointing to another stand just a few feet away, featuring the ‘87 single barrel that Jack loves.

"I think I have to have whiskey this time, don't I?" Given his nickname, it would almost seem rude not to. Especially when you've decided to encourage him. At least you've been polite enough not to let your eyes wander down and inspect those tiny little shorts he has on.

“Right away.” Jack gives you a two fingered salute before he spins on his heel and hurries towards the booth to collect you the best blackberry old fashion you’ve ever had.

Sandra scrambles over during the momentary pause, searching your face for anything besides the focused attention you're paying to the cowboy's ass as he walks away. "Are we rescuing or retreating?" She murmurs, hot dog in hand but ready to bounce in a heartbeat if you need it. "Actually?" Glancing up at her, you offer a sideways grin of defeat. "I think I'm gonna hang out a while. Hot-but-cheesy cowboy kinda got to me. I wanna see how this plays out."

“Really?” Her brow shoots up and she grins at you. “Takin’ that mustache for a ride?” She teases. “I’m jealous. He’s got a fantastic one.”

"I'll tell Brad to grow one before the wedding," you tease, barely managing not to snort again with laughter as Jack heads back your way.

“Ladies.” Jack smiles with a charming aplomb as he hands you the old fashion he had made for you, and offers Sandra the one he had gotten for himself.

"Oh, I'm alright." Sandra insists, smiling her thanks but not taking the drinks. "Designated driver. I had my one and now I'm set for the day." That smile flashes over at you, and she squeezes your hip gently but encouragingly. "I think we're going to wander. You want to come?"

It's a clear chance to break away if you have suddenly changed your mind and you want to, but you shake your head and lean over to kiss your friend's cheek. "I'll catch up with you guys later," you tell her, though at present you aren't actually sure if you will or not.

“I’ll keep her entertained.” Jack promises when your friend’s eyes turn towards him and he can read a slight warning in them. “And return her to you when she’s bored with me.” He adds.

“You have our numbers,” Sandra reminds you. “One text and we come running.” She blows you a kiss before stepping away, satisfied that Jack will at least be respectful as well as pretty, and that’s worth its weight in gold.

“You don’t have to stay.” Jack hums. “But I’ll make sure you don’t regret it if you do.”

"Promises, promises," you sing song, but rather than letting the moment get heavy you take a first bite of your hot dog and groan happily.

He chuckles and lets you enjoy the hotdog, admiring the way you save a dollop of mustard before it escapes and takes a sip of his drink. “After you eat, are you wanting to dance or maybe play a few games?”

"Either." Pleased with the idea that he might put a little more work into this than just fucking you and having a nap after, you end up smirking a little before the last bite of your food. "Both?"

“Done.” He agrees easily, holding out a napkin for you like a gentlemen. Other agents have taken over the grills because Tequila and Rum have magically disappeared with your friends. “Games first, let your hotdog settle.”

Gone in mere minutes, you make sure you haven't smeared your mouth with mustard or chili before picking up the drink he brought you and motioning ahead of you toward the rest of the fair. "Lead the way, cowboy."

The first booth is one that all the agents have been warned to throw. It’s the shooting gallery. He grins as he cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha think?”

"I can't say I'm much with a gun. Besides maybe a Super Soaker." The big plushies and toys behind the counter look just as inviting as they're supposed to, though, and you shrug. "But what the hell. Think you can give me a few pointers?"

“Let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll help you win a prize?” Despite the warning, Champ won’t be too mad if he shows off just a little. Especially since all the prizes have been paid for by Statesman already, leaving the game free to play.

"I have a feeling I'm about to embarrass myself for your amusement." Despite that, you laugh and take your place at the booth. The moving targets are fairly standard — bright yellow duck-like figures that do not resemble the actual animals but look more like rubber duckies that will fall over on the track when shot. "Here goes nothing," you decide, figuring that if you get even two you'll be extremely proud of yourself.

Jack uses this to his advantage and presses close behind you, holding your elbow up. “Steady.” He murmurs in your ear.

"Hell of a thing to say to a girl when you're that close," you mumble, but the smirk in your voice is obvious.

“I can always say more.” He teases playfully, nudging your arm up slightly. “Be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

It's almost frustrating how well that works on you, making you inhale sharply and shallowly at the words and completely giving yourself away before you can follow the direction and inhale slowly like he's told you to.

You miss, but it was actually closer than Jack had figured the first shot would be. “Good job!” He praises, reaching for your hips and shifting your core slightly, brining you back against him more. “Try again, sugar.”

Whatever the cologne is he's wearing, it reminds you of a campfire in the middle of a forest and that might be fogging your mind more than helping you concentrate. Again, you inhale deeply and squeeze the triggering, putting far more work into this silly shooting game than you need to but finding that you actually clip one of the targets this time and manage to almost knock it over.

“Almost got it.” Jack hums in approval. “Let’s see you knock that same one down.”

Utter concentration isn't possible with him pressed up against you, but you breathe again and call yourself to order, managing to breathe and aim and drop your elbow and all of those other things in just the right harmony to actually knock over one of the targets on the next try. It's not enough to get you a prize, but it's enough to have you doing a little wiggled dance of celebration that all the effort paid off.

Jack chuckles, happy with your achievement. “Good job, sugar.” He praises. “You did a good job.”

"Not bad for an accountant," you joke, turning a little to beam at him.

“Not too bad at all.” He winks, nodding to the game handler as they set the target back up. “Now I want you to pick out which prize you want.” He tells you, taking the gun from your hand.

"Cocky." You smirk at him but glance back at the booth and consider the options hanging from the top of the booth. Right in front, there is a white teddy bear with blue and red stars wearing a Statesman t-shirt. "How about that one right there?"

Jack hums in approval and looks towards the attendant. “Ten shots in a row.” The kid, who can’t be more than seventeen explains. “Knock all ten down and you win the prize.”

There's no way he'll do it, but you step far enough away to give him room and wave one hand toward the little metal duckies. "Show off for me, cowboy."

Jack settles his hat more firmly on his head and since it’s ten shots, he picks up another gun to have one in each hand. “Oh I will.” He promises as he sends both weapons twirling around his trigger fingers in a smooth gun trick.

Despite literally asking him to show off, your eyes still widen with the trick and you're left half-giggling and half-staring as he knocks down every single target with grace and seemingly no effort at all.

The targets are easy and Jack might have been showing off just a tad by alternating shots with both hands, making sure that you know he’s just as accurate with both hands. The targets are down and he turns towards you with a grin. “Your prize, sugar.” He bows as the stuffed bear is handed to you.

More than a little surprised by the display that was just put on for your benefit, you choke out a laugh, thank the kid running the booth, and positively curtsy to Jack in exchange for the bow. “Alright, I admit it,” you laugh in utter surprise, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek like a fairy tale princess bestowing a token. “I’m very impressed.”

“Good.” Jack smirks slightly and looks at the bear. “I think it’s always important to impress a lady.”

“Consider us deeply impressed indeed,” you joke, holding up the bear beside you like it might have had an opinion in the matter all its own.

Jack smirks slightly. “Do you want to play some more games or dance?”

“I don’t see how we could do any better at the games.” ‘We’ here meaning him — your own performance was dismal but that hardly matters. He’s smiling at you like he wants to make you scream in the best way possible and you want to see if he moves as well on the dance floor if he claims to in bed. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack takes the hand that is holding your drink and carries it for you. Looping his arm through yours so you can still hold your bear. “We’ll let him watch and learn.” He jokes, motioning to where other stuffed animals are resting while couples cut up the large dance floor.

“For when all the other bears decide to have a hoedown of their own?” That’s about the cutest thing you can think of — aside from him — and you grin at the idea. “I like that. Teddy Bear Hoedown is like a sequel to the Teddy Bear Picnic.”

He chuckles and you go over to the large table, setting down your bear in a particular spot. “He will be safe.” Jack promises you.

“So full of promises today.” The little coo in your voice is teasing, but maybe that’s just how he is? Reassuring and protective is not a bad combination in a man. Not at all.

“My momma always said never make promises you can’t keep.” Even with your drink in your hand after he presses it to you, Jack sweeps you up in his arms to take you out to the dance floor.

“And you always do what your momma tells you to, like a good southern gentleman.” It’s just a guess, but as he twirls you around to settle against him, cradling you in his arms so you can drink and dance while you away with the slower tempo song that’s playing, you just have to grin. “Very smooth,” you admit without a hint of begrudging in the compliment.

“Sugar, all my moves are smooth.” Jack boast, smirking as he gently glides around the floor with you, taking special care not to jostle your drink. The next song will be faster, but right now, the breathless couples are resting slightly with the bluesy sounds of Patsy Cline crooning to them.

“I’m starting to get that.” Not that you mind. Coming to this whole big carnival for the holiday was just for fun after all. But you glance over at Jack after taking the last sip of your drink and find your smile going a little lopsided. It isn’t the booze. He is that handsome.

He hums, his voice a little rusty as he starts to quietly sing along with the song. Only slightly off key as he serenades you with a grin on his face. One that tells you he’s well aware that he’s not the best singer, but he enjoys being a little silly.

Maybe it’s silly. Or maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s because it’s both, you start singing along with him, quietly and just a tad off key. Two silly, awkward, imperfect little people out there on the dance floor swaying in each other’s arms and singing ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’ to each other like a chest moment from a 90s romantic comedy. It’s impossible not to look at his lips at least a few times, both of you grinning when one of you flubs a lyric. And at the end of the song when he twirls you around again to land tight against his chest? The only possible place you can look are his eyes or those lips again, like a magnet pulling you in.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips, basically asking for him to kiss you. He leans in slightly right before the song changes and is incredibly peppy. A song to line dance to. “Oops.” Jack smirks.

One another day or with another man it might have annoyed or frustrated you to be more or less cockblocked by a deejay. Today? With Jack? Your answer to it all is just to snort in amusement at how pleased with himself he looks and let yourself get all swept up in the dance. It was barely an hour ago that you met him. It does no one any harm to spend a little more time together before things get frisky.

The beat is easy to dance to and despite the fact that you might not know all the steps, Jack does. “Just follow me, sugar.”

The trouble with line dancing is that if you don't know every move you end up looking like an idiot, but you nod and decide to put a little bit more trust in him for the time being. If you were about to kiss the guy, you should at least be able to do that, right? "I'm with you," you promise him, knowing you can keep up.

Jack files into the natural line that forms, partners slightly in front of their men and everyone starts to move together. ‘Heel, toe, dosey doe, come on baby. Let’s boot-scoot.”

Able to pick it up step by step, you follow Jack's lead for movement and watch the couple in front of you the once or twice you get confused, until you're very smoothly and easily moving through the dance with glee. It's such a simple thing but so welcome, and utterly fun to boot.

You are laughing and that is all that matters as Jack grabs your waist to pick you up and spin you around before setting you back down in time with the other couples on the floor. “Having fun?”

“Every second I possibly can,” you answer with a light, bubbling giggle. He’s a strong lead — which is wonderful in a dance partner but gives you ideas about what he could be like in bed. Not to mention how strong he is…

“Good.” Jack is almost ninety-nine percent certain that he is taking you home tonight, but he wants you to enjoy yourself.

"And I hope you are, too?" Glancing back at him as he turns you, you raise one eyebrow at him in question.

“No doubt, sugar.” Jack is a shameless flirt, but oftentimes it’s not leading to more than that. Unless it’s his mission to seduce a target. This- this is just for him and he likes that you are having fun with his corny nature. “Best damn party I’ve been to in forever.” He promises. “Company makes it good.”

“Company is what matters.” And maybe it’s the silliness of it all again, but you throw him a wink before the dance has you turning again. He seems to like a like cheese with his flirting, and frankly that just makes it more fun for you.

The song finishes up and Jack decides that he will twirl you around once more and dip you down low, just to make you giggle. People clap and he grins at you over his aviators. “Another dance, or another drink, sugar?”

“One more dance?” He’s far too much fun like this, with moves even you have to admit he can be proud of, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that fun up just yet. Besides which…it might be a bit embarrassing for the guy whose nickname is Whiskey to find out you’re a bit of a lightweight.

He waggles his brows when the song turns to another slow one, meant to press bodies together. “Never turn down a chance to hold a beautiful woman close.” He promises as he tugs you in.

“I don’t believe you do.” It may be a small moment of teasing but the fact that he doesn’t take himself too seriously speaks volumes to you. Relaxed and confident are too things that don’t always compliment each other well — it can come off as pure arrogance whereas he’s cocky in a way that is a bit cheeky and fun. Everything about the man is over the top. “But then,” you hum, winking for good measure. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Jack’s grin blows into a fully devilish smile and he looks around speculatively. “And which beautiful woman would you choose?” He asks with a chuckle.

For his amusement, you make a show of surveying the room even while you’re pressed tight up against him, and nudge him slightly when you spot a cute girl in the corner being talked at by some other guests she doesn’t seem to be too interested in. “Do you see the cute little redhead over there?” Your own nose points the way to him when you nod. “In the corner? She’s at a table with a blonde, but these two guys keep trying to flirt with her. I think she’s talk rather be flirting with her blonde friend.”

“Good call.” Jack snorts. “That’s Grenadine.” He explains. “She works at Statesman too.” It’s interesting that you seem to have an eye for agents.

“Does everybody get a booze related nickname?” You ask, amused at the idea of it. If you all got accounting nicknames, things would start sounding weird very fast at the office.

“Mixers count.” Jack chuckles. “It makes it easy when there’s twelve John’s working around the place.” He reasons.

"Fair enough, I guess." That does, logistically, make a bit of sense. And frames Statesman as a fairly whimsical place to work in the process. After twirling around the dance floor a little more, you hum softly to yourself and lift your head, raising one eyebrow in question. "Did you always want to work in the booze biz?" He seems silly enough to appreciate the phrasing, and you grin. "Or do you want to be something else when you grow up?"

“Just wanted to raise some hell.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Was in the Navy for a little bit. Found out I like the freedom of the private world better.”

“Rules.” You huff dramatically, blowing a raspberry to make him laugh. “Who needs ‘em?”

Jack laughs, a full belly laugh of good humor. “Exactly.” He agrees. “Plus the pay is better.”

“There’s that too.” A nod of agreement comes on the end of your own laughter. “Distilleries pay well? I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Good enough to buy corny outfits for the Fourth of July picnic.” He jokes, taking his aviators off and turning them around to perch on your nose.

“That’s what your shorts need!” You tease, cackling out loud and pushing his sunglasses a little further up your nose. “Ears of corn! The perfect symbol of Americana.”

Jack laughs again. “I’ll have to see if I can order some for next year.” He hums.

"Perfect." The grin you aim at him is almost blinding. "I guess I'll have to come back and see if you found any."

His smug smirk deepens and he waggles his brows. “Yeah?” He asks. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you.” He suggests. “Make sure they are cheesy enough. Rum talked me out of my Daisy Dukes of Freedom.”

"Oh my god..." You barely manage not to snort with laughter over that image. "Do I want to know?"

“Silkies.” He explains. “Running shorts in the military are…brief.” He hums with a grin. “I had some American Flag ones but then Rum was complaining my upper thighs were too white to wear them.”

"Your friend's objection was your lack of tan?" That only makes you laugh harder, and by the end of the song you're practically clinging to each other as you share that laughter between you. "I dunno, Jack." With your lips pursed, you correct yourself. "Whiskey." He's sure as hell smooth, so why not just use the nickname? "I think you might have to do a little tanning so you can wear them again."

“Well I left my speedo in Italy.” He chuckles. “So how do you suggest I tan?”

That opens up a whole new line of questioning, but in this moment you just flash him an even bigger grin. "Nude, hopefully."

He pretends to be shocked, mouth opened and he reaches for his chest as if he is clutching pearls. “Why I declare!” He drawls. “That is such a scandalous suggestion.” His lips curl into a smirk. “I love scandal.”

"I had a feeling you might." The song is over, your revolving has stopped, and as the next — much more upbeat — song begins, you tilt your head slightly to the edge of the dance floor. "You wanna go be scandalous, Whiskey?"

“Is that an offer?” He asks, lifting a brow and giving you a chance to change your mind. He loves to flirt and have a good time, but he wants it to be enthusiastic.

Hadn't he caught you staring at his lips maybe fifteen minutes ago? Was it really only just a few dances since then? It seemed like days spent basking in his energy and charm. Ah well. Why the fuck not? The Founding Fathers were all freaks anyway, might as well celebrate their way. "Yes."

Well, sugar…” Jack sweeps his hat off his head and holds it over his heart. “You just made my damn year.” He promises with a wink. “And I guarantee I’ll make yours.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy.” Something tells you he’s bragging with plenty of proof to back him up, but you still give him a crooked smile as you dig your phone out of your pocket. “I’m going to tell my friends not to wait for me.”

“I’ll go collect Mr. Bear for you while you do that, sugar.” He nods and sets his hat back on his head and moves away so you can text your friends privately.

Sliding open your phone, the group chat you have with your friends is full of photos, videos, and excitement shared between them during the day. You’ve been apart from them longer than you expected but they seem to be having a ball — though Rum and Tequila don’t feature in any of the photos or videos so it seems like you’re the only one who stuck with an interested fella today.

Don’t wait up for me, ladies. You type out, and send along a selfie of you wearing Jack’s aviators with him picking up your prize bear off the table in the background. Gonna save a horse by riding that cowboy.

The answers that come back are swift and all congratulating you. Teasing you about your quick change of mind.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the gossip tomorrow. You write back, barely smothering a grin and you have to bite your lip to keep it at bay. I’ll send you guys a photo of his place and the address when we get there. If you never see me again, tell the cops it was the cheesy pickup lines that convinced me to go with him.

Jack watches you giggle as you put your phone away and walks back to your side with the bear. “See? Safe and sound.”

"Both of you." And something tight and gnarled in your heart seems to breathe more easily in a way you don't quite understand. It's an excitement you haven't felt in a very long time. "Lead the way," you say, accepting the bear happily when Jack deposits him in your arms.

“Did you ride with your friends, or do you want to follow me?” Jack’s Bronco is close to the party, having been here for hours bringing in coolers and helping to set up. He pauses by it and taps the side. “Give you a ride to your car if you want?”

“We all rode together, so I guess I have to beg a ride with you.” Saying it out loud makes it feel very real, but for some reason you’re not nervous. There is a tingle of anticipation and excitement but no worries.

Jack nods and opens the door to the passenger side for you. “Then let me give you the address of where we are going.”

“Thank you.” For both the door and for his understanding, you offer him a soft smile as you climb into the Bronco. So many men these days take the sensible precautions of women they’ve just met as an insult. It’s nice to not have to skirt the line and simply be upfront with him.

He smirks at you as he whips out his phone and opens it up to air drop you a location. “Nothing but details, sugar.”

“Which is the same thing the girls are gonna say to me tomorrow,” you tease, sitting back in the buttery soft seats as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I better make sure you got nothin’ but good things to say.” Jack chuckles.

“I guess you’d better.” And you wink, even though the promise makes you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I don’t live too far.” Jack converses as he drives, wanting to you at ease. “That way I can be in the office easily in an emergency.”

“Like oh no, the whiskey isn’t old enough yet?” You ask, confused as to what kind of emergency a distillery could possibly have.

He chuckles. “Or the storage tanks collapsed and flooded the complex in raw, unbarreled whiskey.” He counters. “Thieves. Corporate spies.” He doesn’t get into the extra security Statesman has, that would be a little much for you to understand.

“Corporate spies. Thieves. You make it sound so…” Searching for the word, you notice he never even gets on a highway to get back to his place. He’s simply driving through a suburb as ramblingly as he pleases, and then turns down a long country road. “So very much like the beginning of a self-discovery novel, where the main character is just a lowly employee who finds out their job is really just a cover for something illegal or magical.” Grinning at him, you turn in the front seat and look at him instead of the drive. “Need an accountant? The place sounds fun.”

“Never know, maybe we could.” He chuckles, knowing he would enjoy seeing you around the office more. Might actually want to sit behind his desk more often if he could expect a view like you.

“Never know,” you agree, but your attention is quickly diverted by the little white-painted farmhouse with its picket fence and big shady trees outside that he pulls up beside. “It’s so cute!” You exclaim, having expected to see him living in something huge or deeply masculine. A house you’d see on Yellowstone or picture Clint Eastwood outside.

“Thanks.” He shoots the house a proud smirk. “My great-grandaddy built the place with his own two hands.”

“I love it even more now.” Madi would point out that you’re a sucker for a family story, and she would be right.

Jack is proud of the restoration and tasteful updates that have been done to the old place, an homage to the past. “Then you’ll love it when I tell you that they are buried up on that hill.” He chuckles, pointing to a little fenced off area around a large magnolia tree.

“Being a sentimental man runs in your family. I do like that.” When he pauses in sliding out of the Bronco to open your door and raises an eyebrow at you, you fluster. “Not that I assume you might be sentimental about me,” you clarify immediately. “Just that I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to be passionate.”

“Sugar, that is something you’ll get to witness firsthand.” He promises as he climbs out and saunters around the front to help you out.

It’s a beautiful little place he’s got, and when he helps you out of the car you can see the wrap around porch does go all the way around, and that the house has been added on to in back. Maybe the second level was an add-on as well, you can’t quite tell. But it speaks to generations of love and stubbornness to stay here and add to this old place instead of moving or building new, and you like that. Loving and stubborn isn’t a bad combination by any means.

“Do you want a drink?” Jack offers. “Water, Coke?” He doesn’t just want to ply you with alcohol, so he offers other things, even though he is walking towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You can make two of whatever you’re drinking.” Whether that’s alcoholic or not, you have a feeling you’ll be putting your glass aside in favor of paying attention to other things soon enough.

“Hmmmm.” The countertop ice maker is put to use after you tell him this and Jack adds a little flair to his movements as combines orange vodka, pineapple juice and peach schnapps into a shaker and mixes it up before straining the cold alcoholic drink into two glasses and floats some blue raspberry vodka onto the top. “Here you go sugar.” He hands it to you with a wink.

“Do you have friends called Vodka and Schnapps, too?” It’s just a light tease, but he poured and mixed and assembled the drink so deliberately that you found yourself mesmerized by his movements. “Or one with the same name as whatever this drink is?”

“There are colleagues by those names.” He admits with a grin and takes a sip of his drink and groans in approval. “But this one was made just for you.” He hum. “I call this ‘Lick Her Right’.”

“Shit, Jack.” You end up smothering flustered giggles as you have your head at him and try a sip of the fruity sweet cocktail. It’s every bit as delicious as you expected and doesn’t taste a thing like alcohol — which probably means it’s the strongest drink you’ve had all day.

He chuckles at your cute little giggle. “Sweet with just a touch of twang,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek next to your ear. “Just like the best pussy.” He murmurs in your ear. “Like I’m betting your pussy tastes.”

“Need you to do one thing for me before I let you find out,” you murmur, finding that just as you expected you’ve only had a few sips of the drink before something much more enticing has been presented to you.

“And what’s that, sugar?” Right now, he will offer you the moon. Give you whatever he needs to be able to strip off those tiny shorts of yours and drape your legs over his shoulders for a private Independence Day celebration.

“You’re gonna need to kiss me, cowboy.”

He laughs, tossing his head back and reaching up to take off his hat. “Much obliged to, sugar.” He promises before he swoops in for a kiss, his tongue still cold and fruity from the cocktail as he slides it into your mouth.

He’s playful and enthusiastic, two things you all but demand from a lover, and your arms slide around each other with greedy intensity as the rest of the room goes blank around you.

Jack’s drink is all but forgotten when he sets it on the table and pulls you closer, letting your body press against his as he plunders your mouth and groans in happiness that you accepted his invitation to come back to his place.

The half-wall behind you becomes the perfect thing to lean back against as Jack presses in, holding you as close as he is holding the last shred of decency you’ve got as you plunder each other’s mouths eagerly. You’re damn lucky your glasses didn’t get so thoroughly tossed aside that they fell over and stained his rug, but right now all you care about is chasing that sticky sweet taste from each other’s tongues.

His hands slide under your tiny little tank top, fingers pinching the back of your bra strap and unhooking it with one hand while the other slides under the cup to posses one breast. Keeping his tongue tangled with yours as he moans at the soft fullness of it, the hard nipple against his palm.

It's so smooth you might have barely noticed the movement at all, except his hands are hot and callused and the touch of them on your skin makes you moan into the messy kiss with enthusiasm. Nothing but the perfect heat and heaviness of him can penetrate your mind at this point — and that includes the heaviness growing hard in his own shorts as you both do your best to stay as pressed against the other's body as possible.

Jack presses his cock against your tiny shorts, grinding into you as he paws and plucks at your tit, pulling the most beautiful sounds from your throat as he slides his other hand to your neglected breast to give it the same treatment.

Pressed between Jack and the wall, your own hands wander freely. Mapping his body from broad shoulders down to slim waist, there is no hesitation there when you slide one hand into the back pocket of his shorts and pull him forward, inviting him to grind into you just as much as he likes as he swallows your moans.

There’s nothing wrong with a little over the clothing humping in Jack’s mind. Grinding against you and squeezing your tits as he kisses you is just the warm up for the night, although it feels pretty fucking good as you pull him closer.

The world has gone the most gorgeous shade of blank, narrowing down to just Jack, and when you finally can’t breathe in any more of him and have to break the kiss for air, the matching groans you let out are sweeter than any other sound.

You’re gorgeously giving and soft. Yielding to him. He reluctantly releases one breast and pulls back just a bare two inches to slide his hand between to you pop the button open on your shorts. His hand immediately sliding inside to delve into your panties.

“Fucking—” The rest of the curse, whatever it is, gets swallowed up by your moan as his thick fingers make quick work of finding your slick and swollen clit to draw circles around it that have you seeing double.

You’re wet and nothing is sexier to Jack than a wet pussy on an eager woman. He groans into your mouth. “Already so wet.” He rasps. “Want to see how much wetter you can get.”

“Before I dehydrate?” You huff, growling into a kiss with ferocity and angling your hips to try to get him to slide his fingers inside you. Not that it’s been very long at all since he first kissed you, but you’re on fire with wanting him and have been for hours. “Or before you finally fuck me?”

He chuckles into your mouth and bites at your lower lip. “Both?” He teases, rubbing your clit again before he finally gives you what you want and slowly sinks two fingers into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shaking as he twists his wrist and presses the heel of his palm against your clit, you’re even more pinned against the wall behind you than you were a second ago. Far from finding it confining, your fingers dig into Jack’s broad shoulders with enthusiasm as you cling to him in that moment.

“That’s it.” He groans, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers and he hums in approval. “You’re little pussy likes my fingers.” He coos. “Why don’t you cum on them for me?”

If you could ever cum on command, it would probably be right now. It would be for the pair of thick fingers curled so perfectly inside your cunt every time he pumps them inside you that your vision whites out a little at the edges. It would be for the man who makes you simultaneously tense and limp with need. As it is, your toes are curling in your sneakers and you're about damn ready to flood his hand any second while the only sound you can make as an incoherent moan.

“Sugar, sugar, sugar.” He groans. “You’re so close.” He continues to finger you, loving how your eyes are rolling back. “Just let go and give it to me.” He begs. “I want to strip you down and eat your pussy, but I can’t until you cum for me.”

The absolute whimper of frustration on your lips and hearing what's coming next mighty really be what does it. What has you moaning his name into the warm evening air and holding onto him so tightly that your fingernails leave neat little half-moon shapes at the base of his skull. When you cum it's full force, with shaking legs and an arching back, and all you can think — when you eventually get your thoughts back after the fireworks subside in all your nerves — is how fucking glad you are that you took a chance on going home with this man.

Jack loves to see a woman cum. Always beautiful and you are no exception. The hollow of your throat is the perfect place to moan his praise, the white shorts he’s wearing becoming damp and showing it as he leaks pre-cum into the material. His fingers are soaked and making the most obscene sounds as he pumps them into your cunt until your entire body sags against the wall and is only held upright by his pinning you there. Then he slows his wrist and ease you to a stop as you pant his name. “Good girl.” Jack rasps against your throat. “Now I want to see what kind of mess your pussy made.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” you huff, giggling under your own breath and a little dizzy. If he can do that with his hand, the rest of him is going to reduce you to a puddle. “Stripping is tricky when my legs are wobbly.”

He chuckles and pulls his hand out of your shorts to grab your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He promises, pulling you up into his arms and guiding your legs around his waist as he pulls away from the wall to carry you through the house to his bedroom.

It only encourages you, which you’re sure was his intention, you steal kisses and swoon at this strength as you carries you down a hallway. By the time he turns into his room you’ve found the spot on the long column of his throat that makes him moan when you suck on it, and the bruise you’ve left there will be sure you remind of you every time he looks in a mirror for at least the next few days.

Jack’s bed is large, inviting and it’s not as heavily masculine as you might expect. The comforter is pillowy when he lays you down and smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Now it’ll be easy to strip you down and not worry about those legs, except for how they look on my shoulders.” He boasts.

“I think I’m past the point in my dignity where I can dispute that,” you tease, wishing he hadn’t stood up fully because now he’s too far away for you to grab.

Jack unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. Revealing the shape of his hard cock pressing through the white shorts and he grins down at you. “We will just have to have an undignified time then.”

“Deeply undignified, I hope.” You agree, letting your eyes wander down the length of his body and darken all over again at the sight of what is waiting for you.

“Is there any other kind of sex?” Jack snorts, quickly unbuttoning and stripping down his shorts to groan in relief when his cock bounces free.

If you were going to debate with him, whatever argument you had gets lost on your tongue. He's a mouthwatering sight — veiny, cut, and curved just right so you know you're not only going to have him pulsing against your g-spot later but you're going to be cross-eyed and breathless while he's at it. "Fuck I hope not," you grin, licking your lips. "At least not tonight."

He smirks proudly and kneels on the bed, shuffling closer to reach for your shorts. He drags them over your hips along with your panties while you lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs and toss them on the floor. Eager to spread your thighs and get a good look at that slick pussy.

Sure it was only five minutes ago that your legs were shaking in his living room, but when he very surely moves your ankles to open your legs wide on top of his bed, your fingers drop between your spread legs without hesitation. His eyes on your pussy have you craving touch all over again.

There’s only your shirt left and Jack hates for the material to conceal your tits from his eyes, so he slides his hands up, grabbing the hem of it to pull over your head, unable to resist dipping his head down and lapping at a hard nipple.

It was barely a scrap of a shirt and this is so much better — tits free for his attention and back arching up to meet his mouth just as eagerly as he dips his head. The cool air in his room makes your already hard nipples peak even tighter, but all you can think about is the heat of his mouth and the heaviness against your thigh. Every inch of him feels incredible and he's not even inside you yet.

He lavished attention on one, then the other before he pulls away with a pop and a grin as he starts to slink back down your body. Intentions clear as he scrapes his teeth over the top of your mound and pulls your legs up onto his shoulders to cradle his head.

"Jack..." his name is a whine from your lips as he kisses the insides of his thighs, and one of your hands fists in his hair to tug encouragingly at the short strands.

He chuckles and blows a little air on your pussy to hear you whine again, your hips jerking up to try to meet his mouth. “Now, let’s get down to the business at hand.” He intones seriously. “You’ve got a pretty pussy that is begging to be eaten.” He looks up into your eyes and winks. “And I’m just the cowboy for the job.”

He dives in like a man starved, making you feel like every single woman whose pussy he tried to eat over the years must have denied him otherwise there wouldn't be any reason to be this voracious. That first lap at your slit has you gasping sharply, eyes rolling back in your head and tugging tighter on his hair in needy, silent gratitude. You'll be lucky if you can form any words beyond his name in all this. His name and endless repetitions of 'yes' or 'fuck'. But that's all you need.

Anything that Jack sets out to do, he does with vigor and eating your pussy is no different. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling your hips up to his month as he devours you. Wanting to feel the sting of your hands pulling at his hair while his tongue carves a path through your folds.

He means to overwhelm your senses entirely and he's doing a damn good job, right down to how tightly he manages to hold you in place while he leaves no part of your soaking wet pussy untouched. Maybe at another time you might have fought of wrestled or taken some of the lead, but he's swept you away so entirely today that all of your usual sass is reduced to whimpers and moans under his attention. Probably because the attention of that long tongue of his is well worth submitting to.

He had been right, you do taste delicious. Making him even more ravenous as he explores what makes you whimper and whine his name as his tongue laps at your swollen clit.

Every time your hips twist or roll to beg for a specific kind of friction. he seems to be anticipating it. He reads the waves of your body like it's a second language, intuiting what you need and giving it to you with growls and groans of his own that vibrate through you and make you see wave after wave of stars.

His mustache is coated with your juices, his chin slick with them, and still he continues to devour you. Licking into you and pushing his tongue into your pussy like he is starved for you, his hooked nose pressed against your clit as he groans in pleasure.

It doesn’t matter how long you lay spread out like this. Or how long Jack spends devouring you like you’re his new favorite dessert. The walls could crumble down around you and you would still be begging for more.

Jack can feel your body start to tense, your thighs tightening around his head briefly and then relaxing only to do it again. He holds them loosely, wanting you to squeeze him and he rolls his tongue back up to your clit to lap at it.

The second time you cum for him isn't like being carried away on an ocean wave. Even the arch of your back is like being washed out to sea, and the roaring of your blood in your ears making you feel like you've just crashed on top of a wave in some dramatic engraving. It's like all of your senses are both being hugged tight and being blasted wide open and you're drowning in every sensation but your nerves are tingling with life as you float back down to earth in his bed.

Humming softly, the pads of his thumbs rub your inner thighs, soothing you as your breath starts to slow down. You had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. A feat that has Jack feeling mighty smug as he watches your closed eyes bounce around under your lids.

"Fucking hell," you manage, once you stop panting and have the presence of mind to push up on your elbows to be able to see him more fully.

Smirking up at you, he winks as he unfurls himself from between your thighs to rest on his knees. “How are we doing so far?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Feeling patriotic yet? Or should we really make you see fireworks?”

"I think we'd both be missing out if we gave up now." After all, you've barely done a thing for him. And if his cock feels half as good as it looks, you refuse to miss out on that.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to know what you feel like around my cock.” Jack confesses, his hand squeezing his cock and pumping it lightly.

"I think it's time for you to find out." There is a smirk curling in the corner of your mouth as you sit up, and with one hand beckon him closer. "Don't you?"

“Yes ma’am.” He hums. “Do you want to save or horse, or see if I can hold on for eight seconds?” His brow arches in question and he wonders what you will say.

“On your back, Jack.” You grin up at him, already shifting over to switch places. Even if this isn’t where you end up, you want to ride that handsome cowboy for at least a little while.

“Never say I don’t follow a lady’s orders.” Jack drawls as he lays down, tucking one hand behind his head and the other still pumping his cock languidly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.” That smirk stays in place as you straddle his hips and lift yourself up, braced for your cunt to be so wet from his attention that he slides inside you right up to your throat.

Jack helps, holding his cock up for you line up. “Take your time, sugar.” He coos, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It takes time to make sure you are seated right.”

“Not too long.” A moan escapes your lips as you sink down, but you take him at a slow, steady pace. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t be the one to break your dry streak.” He teases, having read your lips from the margarita stand with the assistance of his glasses. He had turned off the special features before he put them on your nose earlier.

“Were you spyin’ on me earlier?” The best you can do with him halfway inside you is to raise one eyebrow as if you vaguely disapprove, but it doesn’t hold a single drop of water when you let out a shuddering little gasp and take more.

“I can read lips.” He admits with a grin. “Don’t worry, sugar, I didn’t hold it against you. Just made me want you more.”

"Now I feel like I ought to have made it harder for you," you purr, but the truth is that he'd had you from the first real smile. Not the smirks, not the intrigue of just being handsome in general. The first time Jack genuinely smiled at you, you had felt your heart beat a little faster. Now it's your pussy that's reacting to him, though, and you shift your weight to lean back and give him a long view of your whole body as you start to bounce on his cock. Whatever his reason for being interested in you, it is well worth it.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack hisses, sliding his hands up to your tits again. “You are such a pretty thing, so fucking beautiful.” He groans, admiring the view as you use him.

"View can't be as good as mine." Panting between each word is the only way to get them out, because your mind is so fuzzy all over again from how good he feels that all you can focus on is how well he fills you.

He would have to disagree, but you steal his ability to speak when you roll your hips and squeeze him tight. All he can do is groan and squeeze your tits harshly before sliding his hands down to your hips.

"Hold on, handsome." It doesn't take more than a few movements of your hips to establish a rhythm, and one that you're both thoroughly enjoying. With Jack's fingers curling insistently into your flesh, you pick up the pace and let your eyes slide shut in bliss.

Jack groans your name again and again when you fully seat him inside you. Giving you the encouragement and praise through the panted words.

It's a damn good thing that his bed isn't an antique like his house. Once you get going, with his encouragements and your own seemingly insatiable thirst for this man, it would be a damn shame to sacrifice an heirloom to your shared lust. The sheer power and force of your enthusiasm with his strength makes it feel like you're going to fuck each other into the stratosphere to begin with, there's no reason to lose furniture.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack slaps your flank in encouragement and moans when you roll your hips down at little harder. “Fuck, you do know how to ride a man, don’t you?” He counts his lucky stars you wanted to come home with him. “Ride me hard.”

He might have been the one to make the joke about lasting the length of the ride, but you have no intention of getting bucked while you're on him. The prominent veins of his cock scrub your walls like they were made for you, bringing deeps moans and shuddering growls of his name from your lips with every bounce and rock of your body on his.

Bracing his feet on the bed, Jack tilts his hips up, changing the angle and he chokes out a sound of approval when you squeal in pleasure. “There it is.”

It's the exact angle you need to have the head of his cock battering against your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure, and right now you're prepared to swear that no one has ever managed to find the spot that perfectly before. Just like his fingers curling against it earlier, your vision whites out as your eyes slide shut again and you could swear this is what being on fire feels like as you cry his name out in that quiet little farmhouse.

When your pace stalls, Jack picks up the slack. Driving up into you while your walls convulse and you shake on top of him. Groaning out your name raspily as he works himself towards that same peak you are currently cresting.

It's so easy to fall forward, bracing yourself on his chest with both hands and letting him take over the pace. Your third orgasm ripples through you so sharply and definitively that you practically scream, but his arms are there to catch you and pin you to his chest while he races toward his own pleasure.

It only takes a few driving thrusts until his holding you tight, locking his arms around you and grinding up into you. Your name is moaned into his ear as he floods your fluttering pussy with his cum. “Fuck sugar.” He groans. “Little pussy is milking my cock like a dream.”

"I'm afraid..." You're both panting, and you rest your forehead on his rising chest for a beat and giggle to yourself. The flow of endorphins is making you feel so light you could fly. "I've been neglecting her. She was hungry."

“Pussy like that needs to be seen to frequently.” Jack chuckles breathlessly and strokes your back as the sweat clinging to your bodies starts to dry and cool. “I’ll be happy to make sure that happens.”

"Oh yeah?" In the bliss of the moment, when you pull back to look him in the eye, it's like you're seeing a completely different side of the needy and addictive man who was pushing you up against a wall a mere hour ago. This Jack is soft at the edges, boyish and gleeful, not to mention beautifully relaxed as he cradles your body against him. "Thinkin' about asking me out, cowboy?"

“Considering it.” He admits before that soft smile curves into more of a smirk. “I think it would be my patriotic booty to keep you satisfied.” It’s the repeat of the joke from earlier, but completely worth it because of how cheesy it is. “What do you say, sugar?” He asks. “Want to make everyday Independence Day?”

"I think it's only right." Stretching slightly, the tip of your nose nearly touches his and you dip your head barely lower to hover above his mouth. A single centimeter of movement and you would be kissing him. "It'd be a damn shame to never ride my new favorite steed again."

“Damn shame.” He agrees. Since you’ve been in his house, the sun has slipped below the horizon and he reaches up to cup your cheek just as the first muted boom of the fireworks from Statesman is heard. “Happy Fourth of July, sugar.” Jack murmurs before he crushes his lips to yours, happy that he had decided to go to the celebration rather than taking a mission. He had never had a better Fourth than this one.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #Fourth of July fic #Independence Day

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thesummerpetrichor · 1 year

Text

𝓞𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓷

SoftDark!Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Explicit pictures of you taken by a man you cheated with find their way to your boyfriend's father's desk. He isn't too impressed with the artistry. Good thing he can make it right. He’s a photographer after all.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. No outbreak, NONCON, DUBCON, coercion, blackmail, manipulation, power imbalance, implications of revenge porn [not by Joel], infidelity, girthy age gap [reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his early 50s], explicit photographs and photography, petnames, praise kink, daddy kink, minor size kink, soft dom!Joel, sub!reader, fingering, edging, just the tip action, creampie, cumplay?, unprotected P in V [be better!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word Count: 5.9K

A/N: Surprise Joel Miller smut because why not. This is my first time writing for Joel, so please be gentle. Going for the subtle horror meets porn vibes. Hope you nasties enjoy. mwah 💗

Masterlist

I never walk about after dark

It's my point of view

'Cause someone could break your neck

Coming up behind you

Always coming and you'd never have a clue

I never look behind all the time

I will wait forever

Always looking straight

Thinking, counting all the hours you wait

“S’ just a hobby.” Kind, gentle mister Miller had scratched the back of his neck modestly, towering over you as you inspected the black and white photo negatives freshly hung on his walls. He just seemed happy that someone appeared to be taking up an interest in his retirement activities. It was an interesting choice, you thought, to hang up the negatives.

That was your first time visiting the Miller household, and had you known your boyfriend’s father was as unassuming and sympathetic as he turned out to be, you wouldn’t have been as worried about meeting him as you were. You surely wouldn't have been able to guess looking at his pictures. But his scowl melted away into a soft, subtle smile the moment you walked through his door, and so did your reservations.

You learnt a lot from him that evening– about cameras and such. He indulged you in conversations about your life and interests– you had many in common. There were quite a few people at the Miller’s Christmas party, and he made sure you weren’t too lost in the crowd. It was nice to have a listening ear.

Humble as he was, it was only months later you discovered his pretty pictures in a photography magazine. At the hotel you were staying in while on vacation with his son. It was the last vacation you ended up taking together. Switzerland.

Since that Christmas you visited him every once in a while, occupying the couch in his office to help him sort through his prints, tidy up his gear, and chart out subjects he wanted to capture. His son didn’t really like making the twenty minute commute back home, so you brought his well wishes with you. Mister Miller liked the strawberry puff pastries you baked, so you brought them along as well.

He was a quiet guy, and after all these years alone seemed to enjoy the company of someone in the house. His face lit up just that little bit whenever you came over. Enough to let you know you were welcome back anytime.

His office was cozy. With a large Persian rug at its center, and tufted, walnut brown, leather furniture. He had an expansive library of literature beside his desk, one that he’d fitted to the wall himself. Reading- another one of his retirement hobbies.

His desk was tidy, almost completely empty save for a picture of him and his brother Tommy, sitting on a ledge with their arms slung around each other, an in-progress construction site for background. Judging from the lack of gray hair on his head, and the absence of the little crinkles beside his eyes, the photograph was at least twenty years old. It looked like it belonged to an alternate universe.

Mister miller looked a far cry from the sophisticated, whiskey drinking, cigar smoking, middle aged man you knew. A regular ol’ Joe, or Joel, rather. He had this rugged boyish charm about him. He was smiling wide, he looked happy. There was a jarring absence of that tired look in his eyes. Whether he looked more handsome back then, or now– you couldn’t decide.

It was late July. You watched the menacing, dark gray clouds drift lazily towards you from your living room window. It was 4pm, but you had the lights on, and the oven going in your kitchen. The younger Miller was not yet back from work, even though he was supposed to be off by 2:30. At times like that one you hardly regretted your unfaithfulness.

You had your little dinner date with Mister Miller that evening, but from the looks of it you might have had to reschedule. A crack of thunder reverberated along the walls of your two bedroom, and had you reaching for the kitchen timer you’d abandoned on your center table– the dial dangerously close to hitting ‘0’.

It felt more wrong than it should, calling it a date, considering the circumstances. You couldn’t say you didn't feel guilty still meeting his father, telling him that things were going great when they really weren’t. You wondered what Joel would think of you if he ever found out about your little secret.

It was difficult not to wonder how two people could be so similar and different at the same time. Why, save for some of his good looks, Mr. Miller’s best qualities did not seem to pass down to his son. Admittedly, you thought about it a lot. You thought about it when you found a shade of lipstick that surely didn’t belong to you stain the collar of his cream sweater.

Things had spiraled far out of your control since that moment. Into your secret paradise of hotel rooms and weekend getaways. Worst of all, you knew your partner was living a parallel life to yours. You could have ended your relationship, but things were just never that easy. Especially when consciously, or subconsciously mister Miller was part of the mix.

You reached in the oven and pulled out the pastries. Looking between the custard you’d put into your piping bag, and the strawberries you’d cut lengthways laying beside the powdered sugar. The clouds were closer than they were five minutes ago. Your backyard was no longer the lush Eden of green and purple it was in the morning. You thought of Mister Miller– spending the night alone at home, sitting at his desk, with no dessert to enjoy after dinner.

You reached for the piping bag and sighed, beginning to assemble the sweet treats and lay them in the pink paper box you’d picked out for him from your kitchen cabinet.

—

By the time you got to his house thick droplets of rain were already coming down from the sky. It was about three shades darker than it was when you left home, and the minacous clouds had caught up with you. You glanced at your phone.

7:00 pm

You felt a drop trickle down the side of your cheek as you ran up the front staircase leading to the main door. You rang the bell. It sounded full, and new. He must have fixed it recently.

Mister Miller opened the door. He always wore some variation of the same flannel shirt and dark jeans. Like a cartoon character. It was quite charming. You liked it. It was soft, and smelt like his perfume. Tobacco, Sandalwood. He rubbed your back soothingly when you hugged him.

You handed him the pink box. It had a darker pink ribbon wrapped around it, folded at the top into a big bow, with a small card wedged in between the loops.

“To Joel Miller :) ”

He chuckled, then smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.” You didn’t need his gratitude, he was nice enough to you as is, but you did appreciate it. In the past months he had become your only real excuse to bake.

He welcomed you inside, and soon enough you were settled in the dining room. He’d hung up a new painting since you’d last visited, and changed the light switches on the wall. Every time you were over there was a new addition to the home. You figured he liked having something to do.

By the looks of it he’d lit the candles there a while ago, and laid the table. He’d butterflied napkins in their napkin rings, and set out glasses for red, white, and dessert wine. You felt a lot better about not canceling. You noticed the brand new table runner against the table’s wood. He told you he bought it that morning. He sounded excited.

You helped him bring in the pot of stew from the kitchen, as well as a plate of cheese and a loaf of warm bread set on a wooden board. He served you some stew, then cut a few slices of the bread he’d baked and placed them on your side plate. It was surprising that he’d taken up an interest in baking. He always said he preferred to cook on the stove. He did it well.

“Taking after you.” he’d said, reaching for the wine decanter.

You wondered if he ever taught his son to cook, and if he did why the latter never liked to do so. You recognised the cheese on the platter. It was from the shop beside your house. You’d served it when he came home in February, with berry jam, marmalade and grapes. He hadn’t been back since then.

He was mostly quiet during dinner, as always. He listened to you ramble about the show you were watching, and how you found your grandmother’s recipe book in your attic. You assured him you’d be trying every recipe in that book. He said he hoped so. Other than that it was quiet. A comfortable quiet. And you watched wax dribble away from the candle wic, and pool at the base of the candelabra.

He cleared up while you brewed some tea and placed your pastries on the hand painted porcelain tray you’d gifted him for Christmas. You padded across the hardwood floors to his office, and it was only then you noticed how heavily it had been pouring outside.

You peeled back the white lace curtains to find a sheet of rain clouding your vision. You made out the dim, golden lights coming off the neighbor’s porch, and the street lamps flickering gently. You were glad you came. It was all quite welcoming, and warm and golden in the Miller household– far more than you would be if you decided to stay back home.

The door clicked open, and you felt him walking up behind you as you stood at his bookshelf. You pointed to the clock on the wall above it. “It stopped.” He exhaled heavily, with his hands on his hips, and looked up to the pathetically stuttering hours hand. It looked like it was fighting for its life within the confines of the glass– spluttering, struggling.

“Fixed it two days ago.”

You peeled your eyes away.

He eased himself into his leather office chair, reaching below the mahogany table to lift a large cardboard box filled to the brim with film. Used, unused, polaroids, disposables. It had red electrical tape around its edges, and the words ‘32, spiral cord and wire’ scribbled in black sharpie.

“Gotta sort these.” He looked at you apologetically, but you reassured him with a smile, and poured him a cup of tea while he inspected the box. Your eyes wandered to the wooden clock, the hand still pleading for help. You heard it's garbled tic. The contents of the box clattered to the desk, rhythmically with a crack of thunder outside.

You placed a plate and cup in front of him, then took your seat on folded legs across the table. The white curtains momentarily set ablaze, followed by another hard, violent thrum. You foredged through the pile, lightly covered with residual dust. The rings on your fingers sparkled when they caught the light of his table lamp.

Amongst the many treasures were some polaroids of the lake mister Miller liked to fish in, the cabin he built upstate, and the back end of Tommy's Miller’s orchard. They looked like test films to you. Not as fixed on composition as Joel was. The settings on the camera all over the place.

In the pile, under an oversaturated photograph of an apple tree, two familiar eyes peered up at you– much of the face covered and lost to the clutter. You reached for it. Bound together with a thin, blue paperclip were three separate photographs flimsily hanging on to one another.

You felt sick to your stomach.

The eyes were familiar, because they were yours.

A mangled torso, waxy, glossy legs, a chest glazed with the sheen of sweat. You looked more like a deserted mannequin than you did yourself. The dark gray “lighting” rendered your body and its surroundings lifeless– ironically, you remember quite enjoying it in the moment. But the polaroids were far more reflective of what you felt of them at present– plagued with regret and shame, and lifelessness.

How long had he known? Importantly, How did he find them? It hurt you to even think about it. The sound of the stuttering clock was deafening in your ears, ringing like an ominous, cruel joke.

You distinctly remember taking those pictures. Worse, you remember thinking of mister Miller as your partner had clicked them. You thought of what he’d think if he ever saw them. You could have never guessed you would actually find out.

“How long, sweetheart?” You forced yourself to look up, finding his eyes already boring you. He was upset, and angry, and there was something brewing behind his eyes. But worst of all he was disappointed in you. And out of all the possibilities, somehow that was the worst. You’d rather him be yelling, because there was something about that soft, gentle voice of his that unnerved you.

“Why didn’t’ ya say somethin’?” It was like a car crash, you just couldn’t look away from the polaroids in your hands. Your spread legs, bare breasts, panties thrown to the side. You opened your mouth to say something, but you just couldn’t manage it.

“Really shouldn’t let just anyone take those kinds of pictures.” Your eyes welled with hot tears as he reprimanded you. The whole ordeal had you feeling like you’d been sent to the principal's office, sitting across from him at his desk, both his forearms leaned on the table as he threatened you with consequences. He continued to speak, despite being met with your silence.

“You’re lucky these ended up here, would be a shame if he found out about it before you did.” While your little affair hadn’t ended well, you surely hadn’t expected whatever this was from your ex partner. He must have still thought your boyfriend lived at his childhood address. Boy did he make a miscalculation. You didn’t know which outcome you preferred.

You wanted to explain yourself, wanted to assure him you weren’t some cheating, lying piece of shit. That you and his son were just not working anymore, that you felt guilty, and never did it again, that the man who took those pictures was the last one you slept with. That you couldn’t just end things with his son because you didn’t want to lose him. “Mister Miller- I-”

He cut you off, snatching the images from between your fingers. You watched with burning eyes and your heart hammering in your chest as he inspected them. The man would never look at you the same. He sighed, his downturned, disappointed eyes catching yours. That look, it broke your heart.

“I mean, look at these babygirl. Ya’ look dead.”

With your palms cold and sweaty, and cheeks set ablaze, you sure felt like it. The burning in your chest and neck had become almost unbearable.

“Such a cute lil’ body ya’ got there. And this-” he shook his head, his unblinking gaze forcing your eyes to his. “This boy fuckin’ ruined ya.” He tossed the polaroids on his desk, and leaned forward.

It took you about ten seconds to realize that mister Miller’s real quam with the pictures was, for better or for worse, not the fact that they existed, or worse, weren't taken by his son, but that they were bad. Not morally, or ethically, especially considering how they’d landed in his possession, but artistically, formally.

“Would be a shame if my son were to say, find em, layin’ ‘round.” The room began to spin in slow circles. In a second a flash of lighting struck through the curtains in the window behind Joel, his frame completely backlit by the blinding light momentarily. You winced as another harsh crack of thunder descended upon the quiet office.

“No, mi- Please-”

“‘Specially to see ya like this, catch ya like this. In these god awful pictures.” He took your chin between his fingers, eyes filled with faux concern, brows furrowed. But behind the obvious facade there was something sinister and cruel. Something you wished you had seen before. Because you were sure it had always been there.

“How ‘bout we fix ‘em, huh babygirl?” your eyes widened at the realization, at the weight of his implication. His grip on your chin was unrelenting, a warning, a little taste of what was to come. Had he forgotten somehow that you were in fact his son’s girlfriend and not his? A girl who was to him, until about ten minutes before, his future daughter in law?

“You gonna help daddy fix ‘em for ya?” Time seemed to lose its cadence, every moment stretched endlessly as you remained trapped under his dead eyed, unwavering gaze. His words sent a jolt between your legs, that name sent a jolt between your legs, and had you squeezing them together shamefully as you struggled to blubber out a response.

He raised his brows in question, once again offering you the artificial choice before you were sure he would take what he wanted himself. You swallowed thickly, and nodded. It was a lot less difficult than you let yourself believe. What were you going to do?

“Hmm good girl. Get on ya knees sweetie.” Still gripping your chin he reached for the camera on his desk. A polaroid SX 70– the one he used to click a picture of you blowing out your candles on your birthday. In that same office, where he sang to you alone, because his son was on a work trip.

He pinched your cheek, and got up to round the table. You knew better than to talk back. You were reminded when you saw how his frame towered over you, like that first night you’d met him. Except this time his broad shoulders and muscular arms were threatening, intimidating, and undeniably making you weak in the knees.

Pushing your chair back you got on your knees on that once thick, soft Persian carpet. It’s weave like a thousand needles piercing your skin, and no longer the cloud on which you liked to sit.

“Would’ve expected more from a smart cookie like you. Didn’t I teach ya better sweetie?” It was sick. You knew he was talking of not only your carelessness, but those pictures. You should have known to come to him. He would have helped you figure it out. Your relationship troubles, and how to take those photographs. He squatted down to your level, eyes raking over your body like you were already on display for him.

“Lemme see ya sweetie.” You wished he would just rip off the bandaid and do it himself. It would feel less humiliating. Reaching for the buttons of your sweater you undid them one by one. He watched your every movement, eyes trained on your chest as you exposed the swell of your breasts.

He reached forward, and brushed his thumb over your skin, hushing you soothingly when you shivered. Your hot skin burned further under his feather light touch. It was like you’d always imagined– gruff and rugged, but skillful. Just like him. His fingers were rough, and reminded you of the photograph of him and Tommy on his desk. He suddenly looked a lot more like the man in that picture.

It was like he was eating you up with his eyes with each bit of clothing you discarded on his floor. He hummed when you got to your white, daisy print ankle socks, and caught your wrist when you reached to pull them off.

“Keep em’ on.”

Once brimming with vitality, his brown eyes turned lifeless, devoid of any flicker of emotion or human connection. You found yourself questioning whether you ever really knew him– the gentle, unassuming man you adored. If he even existed in the first place.

Left in nothing but your bra and panties you sat on your knees in front of him, unable to meet his eyes. Pink lace. You’d worn them on purpose, because your little dates were always a special occasion. You weren't planning on him seeing them.

By the looks of it he seemed quite pleased with your choice.

“All f’ me, babygirl?” His voice had dropped three octaves, almost slurred thanks to his smooth southern drawl. You swallowed thickly, and nodded your head. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in some convoluted way, one hundred percent correct.

Excitement defiantly swirled in your tummy as he let his hands roam your mostly bare body for a few seconds. Like he was examining and inspecting you. He lifted your limp arm to get a better look at your bare waist, then let it fall by your side and reached for the straps of your bra– loosening them to the point they were barely hanging on to your shoulders.

The room began to spin a little faster when he gently pushed you back against the carpet, one palm planted firmly on your stomach to hold you there, the other hand folding your knees and planting your heels on the ground. The cup of your bra slipped off your chest, your breast now bare to the cool air. You felt exposed, for reasons less obvious than they really were.

You heard the violent swish of the wind outside. It felt far and distant, and like it was right in that room, all at the same time.

He began inspecting you again. It was odd, surely he liked the sight of your body, you could tell when you eyed the obvious bulge in his pants, but he was looking at you like you were some prop– like a little sex doll for his little photoshoot. He was moving you around as he pleased, positioning your limbs and tilting your head like an inanimate object. You didn’t fight back, let him take control of your body. It made your stomach churn, your core tingle.

He nudged and then kneeled between your legs, fully clothed, looking at you methodically. You felt the cool air brush the wet spot that had formed on your panties as you gazed up at the ceiling, far too ashamed to meet his gaze.

You watched him reach upwards towards his desk, and shift the lamp there till it was barely hanging on to the edge. The light hit you in the face, and forced your eyes shut till he turned it away and towards your chest. You tilted your chin to get a look at him, despite your better judgment.

He hummed, swiping your dripping seam with his thumb, only stopping to eye you in warning when your body understandably jerked at the contact. The dark look in his eyes reminded you you weren’t really there for your own enjoyment, and more for his. It was like your natural movement was some sort of inconvenience to him, something that was hindering and interfering with his creative process.

It was nauseating. But despite the fear that bubbled in your chest, you couldn’t deny the thrum of excitement that ran through your system when he began adjusting the settings on his camera. A part of you, a much bigger part of you than you'd like to admit, was enjoying the entire experience.

“Look at that.” He chuckled, presumably at the way the fabric of your panties clung messily to your wetness in spite of your seemingly unwilling demeanor. You felt a drop of sweat roll down between your breasts in anticipation.

He teased your clit over your panties, switching between watching your face intently and finding the best angle. Leaning backwards and forwards. You knew better than to move around this time. “That boy doesn't know a thing about angles does he?” He was mumbling, excessively concentrated on properly composing his shot.

“‘S’ okay sweetheart, we’ll fix it.” Hooking two fingers under the seam of your panties he pulled them aside, exposing your bare cunt to the chilly air. “Daddy’ll fix it.” He watched himself run his fingers through your wetness, and you watched him swallow thickly at the view. You chewed on your bottom lip, summoning all your restraint not to wiggle your hips in his direction.

“Thought ‘bout this cute lil cunt all fuckin week.”

Your disobedient mind encouraged the desire that pooled in your core, and you turned your head side to side to rid yourself of the disturbing thought.

He must have noticed your strained expression, the way you were so clearly begging to be touched, but refused to admit it. Your creased brow was not one of intense pleasure, but anxiety, uncertainty and perpetual frustration. His shoulders dropped defeatedly, and he looked at you like he was about to unleash on you another set of debased instructions.

“Gotta look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself more than that babygirl.”

Caught slightly off guard, but admittedly thankful nonetheless, a breathy sigh escaped your lips as he began drawing soft circles on your aching clit. “That’s it babygirl” His praise licked between your legs, going straight to your core. Fingers wet with your slick he rubbed your throbbing pussy, and you let your head fall back against the carpet.

“So fuckin’ wet f’ daddy.”

Increasing his pace ever so slightly his fingers moved to tease your aching hole, just barely pushing in. You felt a moan bubble in your throat, forcing its way out of your mouth. It was more than embarrassing to admit you were enjoying his attention.

“Let go babygirl. Daddy’s gonna make ya’ look so pretty in his pictures- like ya’ really are, like ya' deserve.”

He bit his lip to keep from smiling when he heard the soft moan slip past your lips. “That's better.” You didn’t know if he was more pleased with your pleasure, or the fact that you’d look better in the photographs.

As your chest rose and fell with his movements you were more and more convinced. It was undoubtedly better to play along and give in. There was little point resisting by the time the thought even occurred to you. Admittedly, embarrassingly late. At least that's what you told yourself when you moaned and sighed below him.

“Shit sweetheart. Wish you could see what ‘m seein’.” You imagined what Joel could see through the lens. It felt dirty, and contrite, but also exhilarating, and warm and right.

You felt the tension build in your hips, between your legs. He had been resisting fucking you with his fingers, and your need to be filled was only increasing with each touch to your sensitive clit– your aching hole clenching around nothing. Your mind wandered to the way you’d undoubtedly seen his cock twitch in his jeans at the sight of you. How you’d been wishing secretly for him to fill you up.

The coil in your belly tightened, and tightened, and you felt yourself reach the edge, the very peak of your pleasure. You made out a beam of white lightning through your half closed, lust clouded eyes.

He brushed his thumb over your clit, ever so slightly. You were so so close, feeling the tension reach its highest point in a split second and then dissolve entirely. You gasped, back arching off the ground.

In the deafening silence you heard the shutter and click of the camera. The sound was menacing. And it made your tummy flutter.

“That's it baby, good girl”

Your slick pooled at your entrance, running down your thighs and making you shift uncomfortably. You felt numb in your toes, something in you prompting you to kick your feet just a little. At the lost pleasure. The word was leaving your mouth before you could even register it.

“Daddy”

“I know, I know-” Fuck. He sounded so gentle. Like the Joel you knew. The Joel you loved. “just a little longer sweetheart, you can take it.” He rubbed the inside of your thigh.

He rested his camera on his knees and reached forward to cup your cheek, stroking your warm skin with his thumb. His fingertips were ice cold, and made you wince. “Just think of how pretty they're gonna turn out-” The look in his eyes was pleading, like you even had a choice in the matter. You wondered if he thought you did. Either way it seemed to work on you. “How pretty you’re gonna look.”

“C’mon be a good girl f’ daddy.” His words made you mewl. Joel pinched your hip in warning, but kept his voice steady.

“C’mere” Hitching both your legs on his shoulders and on either side of his head he scooted forward on his knees. Your skin tingled in anticipation, and you wondered what it would be like to have his head between your thighs.

Admiring your white ankle socks he ran his thumb along the base of your foot, making your squirm in his hold. He engulfed its arch in his large palm, placing a kiss to your soul and then your ankle, moving forward to nuzzle your calf with his nose.

“Goddamn, such a cute lil thing.”

You watched him palm his bulge through his jeans, then undo his belt with his eyes still trained on your messy, wet pussy. As if he’d caught you staring he reached forward and tilted your chin back up towards the ceiling. Surely, you straining your neck to get a good look at him was doing nothing for his shot composition.

You felt him let go of your shin in favor of guiding his cock along your throbbing seam. His tip bumped your clit, making you mewl and inadvertently lift your hips in his direction. You wished you could see him, on his knees in front of you, his cock teasing your dripping cunt.

“Poor thing, can feel how bad ya’ need it.” Exhaling heavily he continued to rub his cock against your wet folds, eyes fixated below him. He cursed lowly under his breath, and lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in just a little.

Your mouth fell open in a wordless cry at the slow stretch of him, and you attempted to grab fistfulls of the carpet beneath you. He’d barely put it in , but it was enough to send your eyes fluttering shut.

“Cute lil pussy can barely take my cock, baby.”

He fucked you, giving you just the tip, over and over and over, unwilling to burry himself in you to the hilt. You felt him twitch inside you, the slow pace and minimal contact enough to keep you both on edge, and not enough to provide any semblance of relief.

You whined in protest.

“Shh babygirl, I know.” He fucked you in slow shallow strokes, hips barely moving. You felt his eyes glued to your face, as if he was waiting for the perfect moment to snap his shot.

He thumbed your clit, his own breath quickening when your walls clamped around his cock.

You’d never reach your peak this way, and it looked like he noticed. It seemed to be quite a large part of his artistic vision, and you were more than glad.

He groaned and thrust himself to the hilt in a single slow push, picking up his pace just enough to where you could feel him hit that sensitive spot inside you. His cock throbbed against your aching walls, the drag of him sending your eyes rolling back into your head. His hands gripped your thighs, lips dragging across your calves every now and then as he fucked your warm, wet pussy– slow and deep.

You felt full, unlike you ever had before. With the way he was making you feel it was difficult to think of who he was, and how he’d got you into this position. Neither your boyfriend’s existence, nor the reality of his intimidation took away from the soaring pleasure that made your body sing.

It was all too much to bear, and you could feel your orgasm building in your core once again.

The ominous sound of the wooden clocks garbled tic found its way back to your ears, this time in rhythm with your pounding heart. It sounded oddly comforting, like it was pushing you closer to the edge.

“Daddy-” you reached for his hand, bringing his large palm to squeeze your breast. He obliged, his free hand moving from there to tug and pinch at any part of you exposed to him.

“Daddy, gonna cum-” Joel sat back just a bit, still fucking into your soft cunt. “Cum ‘f daddy babygirl, fuck, that’s it.” It was all you needed, the tension that had been building in your core for what seemed like forever finally snapping. Your body went rigid, eyes screwing shut and back arching off the ground once again, legs tingling. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he slowed his pace, coaxing you through it. He hit that sweet spot inside you over and over, seemingly enjoying the many waves of your orgasm just as much as you.

Between the ticking and Joel's labored breaths, and ringing in your ears you barely heard the click of the camera, but the soft sound sent a jolt through your body, like an electric aftershock.

You took more than a moment to catch your breath, face tingling and head buzzing.

When your eyes fluttered open you noticed Joel had abandoned his camera on the ground beside him in favor of grabbing your thighs. Still sensitive you shivered as he fucked into your pussy, fast and hard. You looked up at his face, twisted in pleasure, the little wrinkles on his skin accentuated thanks to his frown and furrowed brow.

“So fuckin tight babygirl” You felt him pulse and throb inside you, emptying himself in a few final, sloppy thrusts.

He looked so handsome, with his hair just slightly out of place, and flannel wrinkled and messy. The thought of being filled up by him had your tummy erupting with butterflies.

Still catching his breath he reached for his camera, pulling out ever so slowly. With your legs still on his shoulders he tucked himself back into his jeans and fixed his belt, slowly easing himself on his stomach in front of you, and dropping your legs on either side of his head.

You couldn’t see him, but you felt him chuckle against your bare thigh, his breath tickling your skin. “Show me how full ya’ are of me babygirl– how messy ya’ are f’ daddy”. You bit your lip as you pushed, and heard yet another click of the camera echo across the room.

“Fuck. look so fuckin’ pretty, full’ve my cum” His spend leaked out of your fluttering entrance, and you felt him swipe his finger against the cut of your pussy and push anything that escaped right back in. He shifted your panties back in place, the material already dampening once again, this time with both your and his juices.

He sat up with his legs stretched out in front of him, back resting against the legs of his couch beside you. He pulled you to rest your head on his lap. You watched him intently as he reached beside him for the photographs. They must really be something, because mister Miller sure looked impressed with himself.

When he turned to you you were probably met with his most wide and genuine smile yet, the three fresh new polaroids pinched between his thumb and index. You watched as the white light from outside invaded the room, and struck his face, illuminating it for a split second. The garbled tic of the wooden clock had subsided into the white noise of the background, along with the steady hum of the rain. You relaxed into his embrace.

“Make the prettiest little model, don’t ya think sweetheart? Daddy’s gonna have to use ya’ more often”

And no, I'm not a jerk

I would ask if you could help me out

It's hard to understand

'Cause when you're running by yourself

It's hard to find someone to hold your hand

You know it's good to be tough like me

But I will wait forever

I need someone else

To look into my eyes and tell me

"Girl, you know you've got to watch your health"

See you on a dark night

Going to hell for this one. Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs keep me writing. I also want to re iterate please be careful about who you send or let take explicit pictures of yourself. Never show your face and stay safe. Dividers by @ saradika and @cafekitsune 💗🐝🫶

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archangeldyke-all · 11 months

Text

hello sevika lovers happy saturday! here's a nasty little smutty piece for you from me.

have a lovely weekend! love,

angel :)

men and minors DNI, i'll block tf out of u

modern au

sevika's some kind of high level exec. business owner with silco. he handles the marketing and she handles the numbers.

the two of you met years ago when her business was just starting to take off. silco had hired you to help design a logo for them, and in the process you'd spent quite a bit of time getting to know the duo.

for a few months, you met with silco and sevika once or twice a week to discuss and tweak your designs. after the first few meetings, silco started sending sevika to meet with you alone, sick of feeling like a third wheel during business meetings.

you weren't subtle about your infatuation with the woman, but you kept it professional--she was your boss after all.

after three months and dozens of meetings with sevika (most of which went hours over scheduled-- both of you getting too caught up in flirting and chatting to notice the time flying) you finalized the design and got your final paycheck.

you figured that that was the end of your little flirtatious fling with sevika, until a week later she's pounding on your door with a bundle of flowers hidden behind her back.

"sevika?" you asked, surprised to see the woman standing in your doorway.

"hi. uh. silco said my brooding was ruining the atmosphere at the office. told me to suck it up and go for it so..." you had no idea what she was talking about until she revealed the flowers to you and shoved them into your chest. "i was wondering if you'd ever like to get some food with me. you know. not for work."

"like a date?" you asked. she nodded.

you kissed her in response. (and she fucked you against your front door before trimming and arranging the flowers in a vase for you.)

anyways since then you've been inseparable.

she marries you the second she has some substantial money put away in her savings.

most days she's able to keep her work away from home, but come the end of every business quarter, work gets exceptionally busy for her and she doesn't have any choice but to sprawl out in her home office, crunching numbers and reviewing accounts night after night after night.

one of these evenings, you come home and find her hunched over her desk, glasses slipping down her nose, rubbing her temples.

for a few minutes, you simply admire her as she jabs at her calculator and shuffles through her files. eventually, she notices you, the tension in her shoulders melting at the sight of you. you saunter over to her and she grins.

"hi baby" you say, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"mmmh." she says as she buries her face into your tits, her arms snaking around your waist. you scratch her scalp, and you can swear you hear her purring.

"how much longer have you got?" you ask her. she groans into you long and dramatic, and you giggle, pressing kisses on her head.

"hour and a half, two hours maybe." she says. "why? you wanna distract me?" she looks up at you with a salacious smile. you laugh, flicking her forehead.

"get your work done and i'll give you a back massage." you say, pulling away from her. you gently push her glasses up her nose for her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. she sighs.

"fine." she says, shooing you away.

you go , stripping and putting on your jammies, (one of sevika's old t shirts and a pair of panties.) sipping on a large glass of wine after a long day.

you put on some soft music in the kitchen, whipping up a quick meal for yourself and sevika.

when you wander back into her office about half an hour later, she's so focused she doesn't even notice you.

you place her food beside a tall stack of folders, then pour her a big glass of whiskey from her bar cart. you press a quick kiss in her hair.

she hums, reaching out to grab your wrist, keeping you beside her as she finishes some calculation. when shes done, she sets down her pencil and looks up at you.

you pout down at your wife, tracing the dark bags under her eyes with your thumbs. "poor baby." you whisper. "workin' so hard."

sevika hums in agreement as she nuzzles into your touch. you laugh at her. "come here." she demands, patting her lap with one hand and pulling you toward her with her other

you comply, straddling her lap. her hands find your waist, while yours snake around her shoulders. "you think this chair can hold the both of us?" you ask as the chair lets out a pathetic squeak beneath the two of you. sevika doesn't respond, too busy pressing kisses into your neck and jaw. you hum, running your fingers through her hair.

"fuckin' miss you." she mumbles into your neck.

"'m right here, honey." you say. her hands begin to massage your hips.

"yeah but i haven't gotten to fuck you in weeks." she grumbles. this makes you cackle.

"we fucked this morning!" you say. you feel her smile against your neck.

"been so busy lately, been neglecting my wifely duties." she continues. you laugh again. she begins sucking a hickey into the flesh of your neck. "been neglecting you, huh?" she asks. you laugh.

"you're not getting anything from me until you're done with your work, babe." you say to her. she nips your skin and you screech.

"why not?" she asks petulantly, grip becoming tighter on your hips. you have to pull her away from your neck by her half pony.

"because you've got important things to do. businessy things. dinner things. things for silco. and if we start now, you know we won't stop until we're both asleep."

"you're more important than any of that shit." she whispers. you smile, pushing her back in the chair, slowly unbuttoning the top few buttons of her black silk button up for her, pushing her glasses up to sit on her head. the more you undress her, the harder getting off her lap seems.

her grip on your hips is so tight now you'd struggle to leave now anyways. she's got a cocky little smile on her lips, like she knows she's won, and you can't help but huff in annoyance.

with a grin, sevika pulls down on your hips as she thrusts up against you. you gasp when you feel a hard bulge in her pants.

"fuck, sev." you whisper. she grins as she begins to grind you down on her crotch. "when did you even put that on?" you ask with a giggle.

"kept it on after i fucked you this morning. wanted to remember the noises you made all day." you groan, pulling sevika's shirt out of where it was tucked into her pants, clawing at her abs. "so...?" sevika asks.

"what?"

"you gonna distract me for a bit, sweetheart?" she asks.

you roll your eyes but nod anyways, grinding small circles into sevika's lap as she grins up at you. "you're fuckin' annoying." you whisper down at her. she chuckles.

"you're the one who married me." you roll your eyes at her, before smacking at the grip she has on your hips.

"lemme go." you whisper. she pouts. you kiss her in reassurance, whispering in her ear. "not going far." sevika's grip doesn't relent, and you roll your eyes, biting her ear lobe. "come on baby. gotta get your dick wet before you can put it in me." you say, popping the button on her pants. she moans and lets go, hands flying to help you push her pants down. you giggle as she wiggles out of her pants, sliding off her lap and onto the floor between her legs as she pulls her strap out.

"fuck." she whispers at the sight of you. you lick your lips when her strap pops out of her pants, seven thick inches of purple silicone that never fails to make you scream. you don't waste time, both of your hands coming up to grip her thighs, pressing a kiss to the tip of the strap as your eyes flick up to catch hers.

sevika always loses her mind when you suck her strap, swears she can feel it, swears it's the hottest thing in the world to watch. she's cum from it a few times when she's particularly desperate, and it never fails to get you soaking fucking wet watching her fall apart above you.

sevika snakes a hand into your hair, gripping at the roots. she guides your head down the strap, and you keep your eyes locked on hers as you relax your throat and take her to the hilt.

tears begin to well in your eyes as sevika holds you down on her cock, and she waits until they fall down your cheeks before pulling you off to let you breathe. "shit baby, you're so fuckin' good at that." she whispers as you gasp to catch your breath.

you grin and spit on her strap, giggling as her hips jolt. you jerk the silicone up and down, pressing kisses on every inch of the shaft, soaking it in your saliva, never letting your eyes leave sevika's unless it's to close your eyes as you moan.

taking the strap back into your mouth, you begin to bob your head up and down, nasty gagging and squelching sounds starting up from between your lips. "g-god fuck." sevika whines. "shit listen to you. fuckin' gaggin' on it, huh baby?" you nod up at her. she tightens her grip on your hair and you relax, allowing your wife to control your movements as she begins to throat fuck you.

"f-f-fuck honey, shit." sevika grunts as she starts thrusting her hips up into your mouth. your clit is throbbing in your panties, and you're sure you've soaked them through by now. clenching your thighs together brings you some relief, but nowhere near enough.

when you snake one of your hands away from where you were gripping her thighs to rub between your legs, sevika groans.

"fuckin' touching yourself, baby?" she asks. you whimper, two of your fingers easily sliding inside of your sopping wet hole. "fuck, you're so nasty. getting off on this. shit is that you?" sevika asks when the wet sloshing sounds of your fingers massaging your inner walls start. you whimper around her cock in response. "jesus fucking christ." sevika growls. "get the fuck up here. lemme feel how wet that pussy is for me."

before you know what's happening, she's pulling you off her cock and back up into her lap.

your chin, neck, and the front of your t-shirt are soaked in your drool, a small puddle of your saliva's grown at the base of sevika's strap, which prods deliciously against your cunt as you get comfortable in her arms again. she hugs you to her chest, pressing kisses against you everywhere she can reach, into your hair, against the tear tracks on your cheeks, down your neck. she hugs your waist with one hand, and with the other, she pulls your panties to the side and starts rubbing your wet cunt.

"need something?" she teases as you twitch against her hold. you bite her neck and reach down to grab her wrist, pushing her fingers toward your hole.

"gotta stretch me out before i can take your dick, baby." you whisper. a shiver runs down sevika's spine. "and your fingers feel so much better than mine." you say. sevika groans and she slides her pointer finger into you. your thighs quake. "m-more i can take more, 'm wet enough for more baby." you gasp when she shoves a second finger inside you.

"feel good?" she whispers against your ear as you grind down on her fingers. she starts shallow thrusts in and out of your cunt, pushing against your g spot on each thrust.

"m-m-more." you whisper, orgasm creeping up on you. "another sev, please, you're gonna make me cum." she growls as she begins fucking a third finger in your cunt. the stretch stings, sevika's thick fingers bullying their way into your pussy, and you whimper and whine until her third finger finally slides in along side her other two. your pussy clenches, and her fingers press right up against your g spot, and you see stars.

"fuckin' cum for me." sevika growls. "cum on my fingers then i'll make you cum on my cock." you gasp. "fuck, you're soaking my hand honey." she whispers, grinding her fingers inside you as her palm rubs against your clit. you bite down on her neck, your thighs shaking, your back arching. "there you go baby, there you go. so perfect for me. such a good mouth. such a good cunt, baby, shit. takin' me so perfectly, you're gonna look so good all fucked out and dumb riding my cock."

you gasp and cum, her words going straight to your cunt. "fuckin' good girl, just like that. i fuckin' love you, holy shit, look at you." sevika babbles as you tremble in her hold. "shit baby. 'm gonna knock you up." she whispers in awe as you collapse against her, the last waves of your orgasm dying down.

you chuckle at her words, kissing her neck as you try to catch your breath.

sevika rubs your back with her free hand, peppering kisses against your head.

when you pull back to look her in the eyes, you melt. she's looking at you with a lovesick expression, the same expression she wore after the first time you kissed her, the same expression she wore watching you walk down the aisle, the same expression she wears every time you cum for her. you grin and lean forward to kiss her sappy smile off her face.

as you kiss her, you grab her wrist where her fingers are still buried inside you. you whine as you help her ease her thick fingers out of your cunt, the emptiness after the lovely stretch of your wife's fingers feeling foreign.

"you okay?" sevika asks against your lips. you pull away nodding. with a gentle tug, you bring her hand up to your face. sevika looks confused until you open your mouth for her-- lust quickly overtaking her features as she shudders.

she shoves her fingers in your mouth and the two of you moan simultaneously: you at the taste of your cum on your wife's fingers, sevika at the feeling of your tongue and lips sucking on her fingers.

"you're fuckin' nasty" she whispers, impressed. you chuckle around her fingers. you've been using the same few moves on sevika since you met, and she's just as shocked and turned on each and every time.

she shoves her fingers deep as they'll go, watching as your drool starts collecting and sliding down her hand and your chin, before pulling her hand away and smashing her lips against yours, shoving her tongue in her mouth like she was trying to get just as deep as her fingers were. one of her hands reaches back to grip your ass, the other snakes up your shirt to squeeze your tits. you reach behind you to guide her strap toward your cunt, huffing in frustration as you struggle to line her up right.

sevika pulls away from your mouth with a pop, spit strings connecting the two of you as she pulls away. you gasp for air as she reaches down to help you hold the strap up. "here you go baby." she whispers.

she's so sweet it almost makes you feel bad for what you're about to do to her.

almost.

you smile up at her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips as she guides the tip of the strap inside you. the strap and your cunt are both so slippery that even with the two of you coordinating and guiding it, it takes a few tries to get it in.

when the tip does slide in, though, you both moan simultaneously. (you laugh a bit, because sevika can't even see the strap but she somehow knows it's inside you. she always swears she can feel you through it, and you're starting to think she really can)

her hands clutch at your hips, trying to be patient, but after so long together you can see the desperation creeping up on her. it's in the way her hold on you has become bruising, in the way her pupils are blown so wide she looks fucking high, in the way she's shuffling her feet beneath the two of you, trying to keep from thrusting into you. she's so sweet to you, so good, and you're about to break her poor heart, so you lean forward and give her a nasty kiss before pulling away and ripping your shirt over your head, determined to give her a good show.

sevika's gaze snaps to your tits, a grin growing on her lips, and you arch your back as you slowly sink down on her cock, giving her a good view of her slowly disappearing inside you.

your legs are shaking by the time you're sat on her lap, her strap buried inside you. "fuck-" you whisper. sevika gulps.

"you okay?" she asks. you close your eyes and nod, biting your lip and grinding tiny little circles against her. you both shudder at the movement.

you finally compose yourself, stilling your movements, taking a deep breath, and opening your eyes. your lovely wife is studying your body with a furrow between her brows, lip between her teeth, looking at you with the same intensity she was looking at her work earlier. though she looks much less bored this time. you gulp.

"sev." you whisper. her eyes snap up to yours. a nervous flutter flashes through your stomach when your eyes meet. sevika looks like she's gonna eat you alive. shit.

in an effort to placate her before you rip the bandaid off, you start gently scratching her scalp, running your fingers through her hair like you always do at night when you're trying to lull sevika to sleep. some of the tension leaves her body, she melts into her seat, sighing and blinking slowly at you. "sevika." you say, gathering your bravery, trying not to smile with nerves and betray yourself.

"yeah baby?" she asks. fuck. her voice sounds like sex.

you lean forward, pressing your body against hers, burying your head into her neck, pressing a gentle kiss there before nuzzling in and sighing. "you better hurry up and finish your work if you wanna fuck me before i fall asleep." you say.

sevika freezes. you close your eyes and bite your lip and wait for her to speak.

you hear the sound of her mouth opening and closing. like she's trying to talk but no words are coming out. you sneak a glance at her, and grin.

sevika looks shocked. her mouth is wide open, her eyes are widened in surprise, her brows reaching for her hairline. her hands are suspended in the air like she's not sure what to do with them.

you make the mistake of giggling, and her eyes snap to yours.

"you..." she whispers, eyes flashing from your cunt to your face to your hand still running through her hair. "are you serious?" she asks, dumbfounded.

you try your best to look innocent, widening your eyes, like who me? biting your lip in an attempt to hide your guilty smile. if the incredulous smirk sevika's face morphs into at the sight of you is anything to go by-- your attempt at innocence fails.

it's a stand off for a minute, sevika waiting for you to break, you waiting for sevika to get back to work.

you lean forward and give her nose a little kiss pulling her glasses back down and straightening them on her nose, tucking her hair behind her ears. "dont forget to eat your dinner too, baby" you whisper, settling back down against her shoulder.

your heart is pounding against your chest and your cunt is pounding around sevika's strap. you close your eyes, taking a shaky breath, waiting for her to react. for a minute, she does nothing, her hands suspended in midair.

then, she scoffs, sniffs, clears her throat, and picks up her pencil. the gentle scratch of pencil against paper fills the room and you grin in victory against her throat. she must feel the curve of your smile against her neck, because sevika scoffs and shakes her head above you, then she brings her free hand down on your ass with a resounding smack.

you gasp, your hips jolting in shock, causing you both to moan. sevika swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and gets back to scratching numbers behind you.

it takes you ten solid minutes to get your heart rate under control, but eventually, you and sevika start to sag into each other more and more. you sigh into her neck as the tension in your back slowly melts away, and she presses a gentle kiss against your scalp in return.

at one point, she stops writing, and takes a couple bites of her dinner, grunting as she does. she squeezes your ass and mumbles against your head "'s really good babe. thank you." you hum a happy sound and kiss her neck.

the hand on your ass starts to gently trace little numbers in your skin, which is so fucking cute it makes you a little dizzy. you have to bite your tongue to keep from kissing her senseless and breaking her focus.

your breath catches in your throat every other minute when sevika will intermittently claw your ass like a stress toy as she mutters under her breath, cursing her calculator, or a client, and occasionally just silco himself for "talkin' me into this fucking business shit." like she hasn't been doing 'this fucking business shit' for over a decade now.

she pushes her head into your hand when your scratching stops, like a cat demanding more attention. you giggle and begin to play with her hair again. she sighs sweetly in thanks.

eventually sevika snaps one folder closed and opens another. she jostles you a bit in the process. "sorry baby." she mumbles. you hum.

"'s okay."

"you're not falling asleep are you?" she asks suddenly, panicked, her grip on your ass tightening. you laugh.

"not yet."

"you tired?" she asks. you are, but nowhere near tired enough to fall asleep with sevika's cock buried inside you. still, you decide to tease her.

"a little."

"tell me about your day." she demands. you scoff, but start talking regardless.

you mumble against sevika's neck for a while she works behind you and hums and laughs at your words. after a while you trail off and run out of things to say, so sevika starts speaking in short little bursts between tasks and problems. what she ate for breakfast. the guy she watched step in dog shit this morning, how he almost caught her laughing. that she hates the arm exercises her new physical therapist gave her.

as time goes on, sevika's mindless groping of your ass becomes a little more intentional. her hips beneath you start shifting minutely, intermittent at first, but soon she's just grinding up into you. you bite your lip, trying to ignore her, but she just takes it as a challenge.

"i'm still trying to decide if i'm impressed or betrayed by your little stunt." she grunts out. you chuckle nervously.

"fuckin' dramatic." you whisper. "'m just trying to make sure you keep your job. like a responsible wife."

"like a tease."

"that too." you giggle.

suddenly, sevika's got both her hands on your hips, grinding you down onto her strap hard. you squeal.

"fuck sev!" you curse. "you--you've gotta do your work first." you say as your hands go flying down to grip her wrists. she grins at you.

"just finished." she growls.

you gulp, your cunt clencing, your heart rate picking up. you give up on trying to control the way sevika's grinding you against her lap, instead just holding your breath in anticipation of what she's gonna do to you.

"so whaddya think?" she asks. you whimper.

"'bout what?"

"should i feel betrayed or impressed?" you smile, leaning forward to kiss sevika.

"impressed. duh." you whisper against her lips. "got you to finish your work twice as fast." you say with a waggle of your eyebrows. sevika chuckles and shakes her head in amusement. she leans forward and gives you a sweet little kiss. you hum against her lips, only to screech when in a flash, sevika shoots up with you in her arms, setting you down on the desk in front of her, pinning your legs by up under your shoulders and looming down over you. you blink.

"dont make too much of a mess, baby, i gotta give these papers to silco tomorrow." is the only warning you get before she's pistoning her hips in and out of you at a brutal pace.

you scream and sevika grins.

"what'd you think was gonna happen, babe? thought you were gonna tease me like that 'n get away with it?" your hands flail, clawing at papers, before smoothing them out, then reaching up to claw at sevika instead. "huh?" she asks. you blink, then shake your head no with a chuckle. "no?" she asks, surprised. you laugh.

"knew i wouldn't get away with it. that's half the fun, sev." you whisper. she laughs and ducks down to kiss you.

"you're an evil fuckin' genius, baby." she says against your lips between panting breaths as she fucks you at a brutal pace.

your cunt is squelching between the two of you and sevika shakes her head in admonishment. "fuck did i say honey?" she spits. you huff. "told you not to get messy and you're already laying in a puddle." she growls against you.

"c-can't help it." you whine.

"no?"

"feels- fuck- feels so good baby." you moan. sevika growls, pressing one last firm kiss onto your lips before pulling away completely.

she pulls back, pulls her strap out of you, lets go of your legs, leaves you spread out and fucked open on the middle of her desk, whining and empty.

"fuck, you're pretty." she whispers. she grins down at you for a second, reaches forward to tweak your nipples, and then she's flipping you over.

you land on your stomach with a grunt, a shiver running down your spine as sevika presses your face down against her desk with one of her hands and guides her cock inside you with the other.

"fuck!" you gasp. sevika chuckles, starts fucking you with shallow little thrusts as she gropes your ass. "sevika." you whine.

"what's wrong baby?" she asks, chuckling as she watches you twitch and writhe beneath her.

"deeper, please." you ask. she hums, hitches one of your legs up on to the desk beside you, then slides all the way inside.

you whimper. the new angle makes her cock feel two inches bigger.

"that good enough for you?" sevika spits from above you. "huh? your greedy cunt finally satisfied baby?" she asks. you nearly cum at her words.

"sevika!" you gasp out. she laughs and starts grinding deep little circles into you.

"fuck. love watching your cunt clench around me like that baby. so fuckin' pretty. you're creamin' all over me baby, shit." sevika rambles. your eyes roll back in your head and you start rambling, desprate and needy.

"sevika, sev, baby, fuck me. please honey, fuck me hard and deep and fa-- ah!" you shriek as sevika starts fucking you. "oh fuck!" you screech. "fuck! just like that!" sevika presses down against your head and leg harder, pinning you to the desk as she picks up her pace.

she's growling behind you, but it's barely audible over your wailing and the smacking sounds of her hips meeting your ass, the squelching sounds that start back up between the two of you again.

"fuck." she whispers. you giggle when you hear it.

"feel good baby?" you taunt. sevika grunts. "god you're so deep, 'm not gonna be able to walk tomorrow." you gasp out. sevika leans down to begin biting at your back and shoulders, her thrusts getting sloppier the more you talk. you smile. "gonna cum inside this pussy, baby?" you ask her as sweetly as you can while swallowing back moans and whimpers.

sevika's hips stutter and she bites your shoulder, groaning against you. "gonna get you fuckin' pregnant." she whispers. you jolt against her at the words and she chuckles. "you gotta cum for me first, though." she whispers.

"'s gonna be messy." you choke. sevika coos down at you and you bite your lip.

"that's okay baby, you can be messy. i put all the important shit away. was just teasing you earlier."

"you're so mean." you whine. sevika grins, then pinches your clit.

"yeah, but it gets you so wet." she grunts. you gasp beneath her and she chuckles. "gonna cum?" she asks. you squeak, your thighs starting to shake. "i can tell. can feel this pussy clenching around me. fuck, you're so perfect baby." you gasp, your orgasm creeping up on you.

"sev--" you scramble and claw at the papers littering the desk, looking for something to hold onto as you start to fall apart. sevika presses kisses to your shoulder, cheek and back as she fucks you impossibly faster. "sevika i'm--!" you squeak out. sevika chuckles behind you.

"do it baby." she grunts.

with one final squeak you cum, soaking your thighs. "fuuuuck." sevika curses as she continues to fucking you until you're twitching.

she moves her hand away from your clit when you start to whine, sinking it into your hip as she starts drilling into your cunt with reckless abandon, chasing her own release.

you struggle to catch your breath, still so sensitive from your own orgasm that you cant do much but lay limp on the desk. "y-you gonna..." you gasp, "gonna cum sev?" you whimper. she grunts. "gonna cum inside me?" you ask. she responds with a grunt and a hand smacking your ass.

"f-f-f--" she says, clawing your ass.

"yeah, yeah, yeah, sev, cum inside me, please, want you to feel good baby."

"fuck!" she shouts as she cums, burying her cock deep inside you and grinding against your ass as she shakes. "shit, baby, fuckin' take it, just like that." she grunts. you hum happily beneath her as she twitches against you.

its quiet for a second as she catches her breath behind you, but then she flops forward, pinning you to the desk with her full body weight.

you giggle and moan as she nuzzles into your neck, breathing you in as she comes down from her orgasm. "fuck baby." she grumbles on top of you. you giggle.

"mmm." you hum beneath her. "i want a bath." you whisper. sevika grunts on top of you. you let her rest for a minute before speaking again.

"and a snack." you say. she huffs against you.

"sevika." you say after a minute. she hums. "if you run us a bath, i'll still give you that back massage." you offer. she lifts her head up in consideration. you chuckle.

"in the bath or in bed?"

"whichever you want."

"you making the snack?"

"if you help me walk to the kitchen and back."

it's silent as she considers your terms, then finally, she groans as she lifts off of you to stand. with a gentle pat to your ass, sevika pulls the strap out. you flinch, and she kisses your back in apology.

you stay melted to the desk as sevika undresses behind you, only moving once she finally reaches down to help you up.

she gathers you in her arms, pressing kisses to your face and head. you giggle against her.

"hi." she says with a sweet smile. you grin, leaning in to brush your lips against her.

"hey, sexy."

"thanks for the motivation." she whispers against your lips. you giggle.

"anytime, baby." you promise.

she seals your promise with a kiss.

#sevika x reader #lesbian smut #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x you #sevika imagine #sevika smut #soft sevika #i want her so bad

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even-in-arcadia · 7 months

Text

A Consideration of 1st Lt. Edward Little of HMS Terror (As Played by Matthew McNulty)

The thing about Lt. Edward Little is that he had the highest ideals and yet was set up in so many ways to fail them.

We occasionally see glimpses of the man Edward Little must have been in order to be appointed First Lieutenant on a very prestigious expedition: reliable, capable, stalwart.

(Continued below the cut, as this got very long)

He had that, before, when he was doing the job he was trained for, ie running a ship at sea. What he hasn’t been trained for at all is managing 129 126 119 105 ? men stuck in pack ice in endless night, later trudging over ice and shale, trying to keep them busy and out of trouble and from getting killed by a demon bear. Of course he’s out of his depth, but honestly aren’t most of them? Of the lieutenants Gore (RIP) is the only one who seems to be in his element and he’s the only one with Arctic experience so that tracks. Even Le Vesconte is getting by on charisma and the power of peer pressure, neither of which actually make for competent officering. So that’s the scene he’s stuck in, and no wonder he’s out of his depth.

Then we have the circumstances specific to Edward Little. He's spent the first two-plus years of the voyage as the first for a captain who is very depressed and increasingly alcoholic. As Crozier's state deteriorates and especially after Franklin dies, Little has to tread a very fine and somewhat blurry line. He has to cover for Crozier, picking up the slack that is inevitably dropped; he also has to prop Crozier up in such a way that his leadership as Captain isn't undermined with the crew. A big part of both of those is making sure that the right questions are being asked, that all practicalities are being factored in, but he has to ask those questions without seeming to question Crozier’s authority. Thus he must essentially be an acting captain without seeming to do so either to the men or to Crozier . He is not someone who wants power per se; in fact I think what he wants most is to be a good and competent 1st Lt. But because he's under an semi-incapacitated captain, he has no choice but to take on some of that power while appearing to be no more than a loyal lieutenant. He's leading without being seen to lead, and he's already seen Crozier flog three men for among other things insubordination and disrespect (and without due process).

Crozier has also put him in a position of having to lie - both directly and by omission! For example, when questioned he tells Fitzjames (who outranks him) "much to do on Terror is all” - leaving JFJ to draw his own conclusions on the source of that “much” and the extent to which it is falling on Little. The instruction to procure more whiskey “discreetly” is nearly if not actually insulting in how far below Little's rank it is. Having to do it “discreetly” is even worse. He is being treated as an errand boy, and not just an errand boy but one tasked with something that is clearly unsavory, even illicit. By ordering him to to this, he makes Little complicit in the very vice that is causing all of these problems, and Little by virtue of his position is unable to refuse any of these direct orders, even ones that are way below his station. (The fact that Jopson, Crozier's actual steward who was actually in charge of these things, was not given that task is also telling although I’m not sure of what - perhaps that Crozier wanted someone who outranked the Erebus’ steward to do the asking; perhaps that he felt some shame in asking Jopson.)

Through all of this, Little is having to cover for a man who continues to lose his own respect in ways both large and small, personal and professional. Crozier has endangered the crew for which Little feels himself bound to care - leading directly to Blanky losing his leg - and has spoken flippantly of the situation ("How fares the raft of the Medusa?"). In 1x04, he is clearly galled by both the disregard of due process and severity of Hickey’s punishment. (While both are not unstandard in the Navy, Crozier’s manner makes it seem like spite as much as anything - which I’m sure Little clocked.) Overall, Little observes him making inebriated decisions that are based as much on his internal demons as any the practicalities at hand while men continue to die under his watch. This erosion of trust will come back to haunt them all, because even when its causes have been overcome, the deep root and the effects are there. (JFJ gets to have reckonings with Crozier and say his piece in a way that Little never does or will.)

Edward Little also cares deeply about the welfare of his men, perhaps more than anything. Command is a responsibility not just to the navy but to those whose lives his decisions affect. And so he as he sees this disregard for them (and for himself) he is angry, and he is in a profession and position where one is not allowed to be angry with one's superiors. So he spends a lot of his time pretending that he is not quietly furious while carrying out orders that he knows he shouldn't be, and hiding it from everyone , even Fitzjames, because he is also, deep in his heart, loyal (even if he feels it is unearned) and married to Naval structures. Crozier and JFJ have their reckoning, but Little never gets that, because subordinates aren’t allowed to be angry.

This combination, the lack of trust both given and received, the anger, the care & loyalty, the necessity to fill the void in leadership, means that he asks a lot of questions . A well placed "Are you sure, sir?" can go a long way. "Yes, but--" is not a phrase that would often have been uttered to a commander by a lieutenant, but Little has not just earned but hard won the right to say it. Every time he questions Crozier, I think it is out of a sense of duty, not defiance. A duty to the expedition, to Crozier, and above all to the men, because for so long Crozier’s judgement was not something he was able to rely on. He can’t even attend a sunrise party without thinking of the supplies that are being used up!

To top everything off, he also never appears to be someone who is particularly congenial nor gregarious, he is very aware of his rank, and is competent while not being loved (except by me). I like to imagine that he and Jopson and Macdonald were able to commiserate in some way as Crozier was going through his detox. But everyone is so conscious of class & rank & secrets being guarded that it seems unlikely that anyone actually confided in each other. By getting dry and in such dramatic fashion, Crozier earns back his loyalty & respect, but by doing so in secret I wonder if he hasn't further eroded Little's relationship with the other lieutenants. Do they even know Crozier is drying out or is Little lying to them as well as to the entire rest of the crew? Little does not seem like a man who cares for lying, and covering up the captain's "gastritis" would only have made Little feel more cut off and burdened by the captain's confidence. (To say nothing of the fact that all of this is going on with the Tuunbaaq in the background - these lieutenants were not designed to contend with alcoholic spirits let alone the spirit world.)

Crozier’s trust does often end up being more burden than anything, and it’s beyond the responsibility that would normally come with his rank. That moment when he practically shoves the pistol away from him is so telling of this. We really were robbed of the moment when Little is so angry after leaving Crozier that he can’t even slam his door: because that’s what’s building up this entire time!

By covering for Crozier both before and during his sobering up, Little probably lost some of his authority over the crew. They know he's hiding something, and that earns some distrust. He's obviously worn out, and there must be some observation that Crozier is literally using him as an errand boy. In the best of circumstances the commanding-without-commanding is a hard line to walk while maintaining one’s own air of authority. He's also angry, and in working so hard to cover and subdue his anger, what he's left with is the "sad, wet man" that fandom has dubbed him. The crew may not know exactly what’s going on (although what do those men have to do besides gossip) but they must have sensed how Little is being worn away. As much as he cares for them, he wouldn’t fraternize - it seems like he barely fraternizes in the wardroom. (Which is why that moment of camaraderie with Jopson outside Crozier’s cabin is so important to me personally.)

That brings us to the mutiny. We may love a sad, wet man, but in the face of a charismatic mutineer he's never going to match up. He doesn't have the authority, the love of the crew, or really the energy to go against it. At this point, he has no reason to know or suspect that a mutiny is what's the offing in the first place! He is someone who wants to believe the best of his men, and he's been given no reason to doubt Tozer's motives. And what was he supposed to do in the face of a marine sergeant surrounded by frightened, armed men? They are clearly on edge and afraid, a dangerous combination. He is practical, and although ultimately it loses him even more face by going along with Tozer, he was never going to be able to stop that in its tracks. Even JFJ wasn’t able to reel back in what had already been done. So he chooses the pragmatic route: agree publicly to the logic, let Tozer do with him what he's been doing with Crozier, in making the subordinate's idea appear to be the superior's. With the situation and facts at hand, what else is he to do?

The irony is that Little has been quietly looking out for all of them and their best interests for so long; but because it was so quiet, an undercurrent, when it comes down to brass tacks, none of them have ever seen that, or feel that they owe him any respect or loyalty. Tozer and Hickey appear to be men of action, and unfortunately in a moment like this a group of frightened men is going to follow the one who appears strongest.

I also want to point out that Crozier specifically says *while the fog holds off*. Well the fog has rolled in! The situation changed! Crozier clearly has suspicions of Hickey and Tozer that he hasn't confided to Little, and whose fault is that! When it comes to investigating Irving’s and Farr’s murders, Little asks what the evidence is, which suggests to me that he has no knowledge of any concerns about Hickey that have arisen post-lashing. Again, he is inclined to trust them.

One of the realest moments we get from him is "I'm the worst kind of sorry." It's one of the very few times he breaks from naval demeanor. The worst kind because he feels it deeply, but also because he was stuck, and he knows it, and also knows the expectations both from himself and from others that he be Better.

What it comes down to is what he says to Hodgson: "All we have are our instincts and training. If both told you to proceed with what you ordered, then be easy with yourself." That is all Little has had for so long. He certainly doesn’t seem to be having heart to hearts with Irving and Hodgson, let alone JFJ and Crozier; his counterpart on Erebus is long gone. Who has he to confide in, especially at this juncture of events, when there are no clear paths and no right answers. I imagine this is what he told himself over and over in the long watches of the night.

And yet!! Matthew McNulty has said that “Little's probably one of the most hopeful out of them all. [...] He still thinks that humanity will prevail in this dark, dark world.” I’m not sure where to put this, but I think it’s important. I think it’s part of why he doesn’t always quite have the authority he should: poor, worn down Edward Little sees the best and hopes for the best, and can’t quite reckon that not everyone has the same moral compass he does. That’s why Tozer & Hickey get the best of him, because he wants to believe the best of them. He doesn’t compromise his moral compass or belief in humanity, and unfortunately that turns into a blind spot.I think it’s also why Tozer invites him to join them: because some part of him recognizes that they both have that idealism deep down. They are both doing their best in an inconceivable situation to cling to hope and take care of those they see as under their protection. It pains me to think what they could have accomplished had they worked together rather than against each other.

(Incidentally, I don’t believe Little ever would have been swayed to join them, but I can’t blame him for the fact that Tozer’s claim about Crozier leaving them gave him pause. He’s seen Crozier finally grow into a commander he can respect, but to find out that Crozier’s judgment was not just impaired for so long but extended to actively planning to abandon ship & crew, as Tozer frames, as he was working so hard to hold things together - even if he doesn’t believe it, in his heart of course there must have been some doubt.)

All of these, the erosion of respect, the concern, the exhaustion, the lack of direction and support, the HOPE, come together in a moment for which he (unjustly, in my opinion) gets vilified for:

We’ve slowed our pace hauling some of the ill in the boats. But if we extend this temporary camp more than a few days, we can allow the ill to rest here while the bulk of us proceed south. We can hopefully find game and trek back for the others once we have something more to offer them–

And Jopson’s anger is both understandable and not unwarranted - but. Based on that look Le Vesconte gives him, this most likely is not a thought that originated with Little. It’s being grumbled by those hauling, maybe even obliquely discussed by the officers. That look says to me “It has to be said.” And it does, the logistics are evident to everyone and that needs to be discussed. They’re sending out hunting parties every day, sure, but in an area very close to the one they’re trekking through. It genuinely does make practical sense to have some unencumbered, able-bodied (relatively) men go ahead quickly to what would hopefully be better hunting grounds, while the sick conserve what strength they have: those able to hunt could move quickly and bring back game, while those who are dying could do so while not being jostled about on boats on shale. Little does not say (and, I think, would never say) that they should leave them behind entirely: only that this current system isn’t really helping anyone (and it isn’t). He needs to make sure that Crozier has fully considered the situation, because for so long that was not the case. (Historically, in fact, they did set up a hospital camp while a smaller party moved south.)

I actually do think he says this with hope: the hope that they really will find game, that the ill do just need to rest, that he can save as many of them as possible. He's also thinking of the practicalities and (though I may be biased) really does intend to return to the ill once they have something to actually provide them with. He doesn't say so that they can move on unencumbered, to better their own chances, he says to let them rest , to find something to offer them. He knows the situation and the feeling in camp, and that the time has come to have the conversation. It's not even necessarily a conversation he wants to have or believes in, but it has to be had. Once it's been talked about, once Crozier has come out with not just a position but a direction (to leave supplies behind if necessary), Little is entirely on board. Shortly thereafter, when Le Vesconte suggests the exact same thing, he retorts that " Most of us are ill" (note the us - the identification with) and further responds with disgust and anger that "The Captain also ordered that we not leave any man behind. You expediently leave that out." The Captain isn’t there; Jopson isn’t there: if Little really in any way wanted to leave anyone behind, this was his chance to order it and save himself. The fact is that he is still arguing for and trying to lead with compassion as well as duty; the fact that he can't override the more selfish majority doesn't negate that.

I wish we could see his decision to go with Le Vesconte even though he so clearly believes that these lesser mutineers are in the wrong; I know why we don't. I like to think that it's because he believes he's doing the best thing for all, that he knows one semi-able bodied man staying behind is not going to help anyone, and that by going south with the group he may be to able to sway them, or find game for the ill. But again - he has been put in a position where there is no right choice, and where any authority he had has been too far eroded to matter.

Regardless: we go from his vehement protestation that they must a) rescue their captain and b) not leave behind the ill to die to this:

A man completely broken, weathered almost beyond recognition, with his flesh pierced by and draped with the chains of watch fobs. That's fobs plural: they're clearly different chains, from different watches, from different men. But in still uniform. Because he clung to the to his identity, to hope, to grounding structure of the Navy in which he trained and believed, until the very end.

We don't know what happens in between. Is it madness? Did the mutineers do this to him? Is it penance? A memorization of the men whose watches those were? A punishment on himself for what happened on his watch - despite the fact that really, he was powerless to stop it? And this is the only watch he can keep now - watch chains in his face, his eyes forced open to the horrors. Or did 1st Lt. Edward Little spend so long suppressing his anger, marrying that anger to hope, being responsible, keeping confidences, bearing all that alone, with authority that is both shoved on him and disregarded - did he finally snap? Are the chains not a decoration, not a punishment, but an attempt to literally bind himself up and tack himself down to this terrible world where he’s found himself?

All we know for certain is his last word - “Close?” Close to what? To death? To salvation? The only comfort either Edward Little or we, the audience, will get - is that at the very end, his captain was there to release him from the duty to which he clung for so long, so fiercely, with so much hope.

#the terror amc #edward little #francis crozier #i did not mean for this to be so long #but i have many thoughts and feelings as you know now #matthew mcnulty i just want to talk

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oprahwinfreyjrjr · 2 months

Text

What I’m manifesting for Frenchie and Kimiko in season 5 of The Boys

Frenchie and Kimiko casually sharing clothes. His sweatshirts are huge on her but she loves them.

A scene where Kimiko paints his nails at the office while all sorts of serious discussions are happening around them

M.M. teasing Frenchie for being a wife guy but not-so-secretly really happy for his friend

Only one episode at most where they are separated because a little yearning hurts so good

A tearful reunion. He cups her face in his hands as he kisses her.

The knowing smiles on the rest of The Boys’ faces because they’ve all been shipping them too

Kimiko rips off Cate’s face. Bye bitch.

And Little Nina too. This is a side quest that she never tells Frenchie about. She comes home with Kirkland Signature whiskey to celebrate.

Frenchie’s shock and delight when he discovers that Kimiko can speak

But they still sign sometimes

And they think they’re being slick when they sign the filthiest things to each other around The Boys but literally everyone can tell

The first time they make love it will be the most romantic, tender, emotional shit you ever saw

That awed, slightly open-mouth thing he does when he sees her naked for the first time

She runs her hands all over his scars

A forehead kiss the morning after

The next time the fuck they are absolutely feral for each other

When he undresses, she’s surprised to find he has so many weapons stashed all over his body, including a knife in his underwear

Full frontal Frenchie! (As an actor, I think it would be an incredibly brave choice for Tomer Capone, don’t you agree?)

And the 🍑 too

More scenes of their domestic life

Kimiko asking Annie for advice about how not to break their fragile human boyfriends during sex

Frenchie continuing to have hair because it’s really working for him and he has gorgeous curls

And it’s something for Kimiko to hold on to

The two of them on a beach in Marseille

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darkchocoboo · 2 years

Text

El Jefe| Javier Peña

summary: You work for Javier in Bogotá on Cali case. And he offers you a couch to “sleep”.

tw: penetration, p in v sex, oral (f! receiving), little context mostly smut

(I can’t write smut)

( and I'm planning to write p2)

SMUT! Minors DNI!

Part 2

You were focused on the board in front of you like your life depends on it. Your hips on the side of the table. You were standing there like that for over an hour to solve the puzzle you've been working on since you were sent to Colombia. The air was thick and hot. Your white formal shirt buttons were already half open. Sweat sliding between your breast. You were so focused that you didn't even hear Peña walking in. His lighters little sound snapped you into the real world.

"Working late Agent?" You hummed between your lips while massaging your noses bridge.

"If you gonna say something Peña, believe me I'm not in the mood for a fight." You were expecting a mocking reply but instead he handed you a whiskey on the rocks.

"Wow, who are you?"

"Just relax a little," he said while closing the distance and taking of his vest. "Everybody needs a break."

You took a sip from amber colored drink burning feeling washing over your throat.

"Everybody left. Go to your home, sleep agent." He murmured as he sipped his drink.

"Jokes on you Boss. I don't have a home. Yet." You sat down to the chair next to you. Kicking of your heels you forgot you were wearing.

"What?"

"I didn't have time to rent. I was just staying at an hotel. But they kinda kicked me out for being an agent or a gringo, you choose." His hands slipped to his neck. Scrunched his face.

"You know I have a spare couch."

"OH you nasty man trying to take me home. Jokes aside. I can't accept your offer. No." You got up walking past so close to him that your hips almost touched his front. "I have to work on this anyways," you said under your breath.

He was an attractive man. Known as a womanizer. Just being with him in the same room made your skin hot. Maybe it was the smell. Maybe it was because you were in a vulnerable time in your life. You were afraid you would fell into his trap.

"I can't let you stay here all night without sleep, Agent. No. Let's go get some food and sleep. Tomorrow morning we can search for a house. Okey. C'mon." His cigarette was hanging from his fingers losely. You massaged your nose bridge. After short seconds you were in his car nibbling on the food he got you. You moaned low.

"That's some good shit."

Your low moaning twitched something inside him. He was watching you with a side eye while driving to his place. Your legs in your mini skirt was glistening with light coat of sweat. Bogotá was indeed hot that time of the year. Your hair was in a lose bun low on back your neck. Leaving your neck open. White shirt on you was tight, just like the skirt. Your make up was smudged a little after the day you had at the office, your under eye bags showing. They were dark because the lack of your sleep.

You were working with/for Peña for over a month now. When you walked in to Peña's room the first day you started he thought you were just there for the money but he saw how focused you were over the time. You were focused on the job. That definitely catch Peńa's attention. Longer he watched you work, longer he wondered about different things about you. Your interests, your drink of choice, your favorite music, the color of your underwear.

"Done checking me out Peña?" He snapped in the reality with your words.

"What?"

"You missed two red lights." He sighed.

"Just tired." He took a sharp turn. Killed the engine.

"That's us." Walked into the building. Keys clinging at the door to his apartment. His apartment was neat. Well decorated. You didn't expected a place like this. He walked to the couch. Dropping his body like a bag.

"Make yourself at home sugar."

You went to the bathroom to change. When you walked in to the living room you saw him in his white t-shirt that was clearly too small for him. His little beer belly was showing and the fabric around his biceps was looking like it was gonna explode if he makes a wrong move. You wish he would. He looked at your side and checked you out like it was his first time seeing you. In your spagetti stap top an your little short that made his cock throbe under his clothes.

"Beer?" He handed you a cold one while he sat next to you in the couch.

Your bodies so close that you felt his heat washing you. He smelled like cigarettes and fresh woods that made your head spin. You took a sip from the bottle. The way your lips touched the bottle made him ache.

His hands walked to your cheeks, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. He got closer and closer to you in seconds. His handsome face stopping so close to yours, breaths lacking your face.

"So, cariño, " The way he speaks, tone of his voice... You slowly turned your body to him. Eyes slightly shut with the atmosphere around you two. "What'u gonna do about house?" You couldn't put words together, just let out a sigh and shake your head in unknown.

"I don't wanna think about it right now." Your lips touching with every word you say. Next thing you know is his lips on yours. Passion was the only word to describe it. Like he was burning internally. Hand run down on your shoulder. Grabbed hard like he’s never gonna let you go. Other on your waist, cold from his fingers gave your exposed skin goosebumps. You moaned into his mouth while the kiss got deeper. You grabbed his hair in need. Pulling his dark curls.

Something inside you was constantly whispering that what you’re doing was wrong. Fucking your boss. But the other side, it was crazy for his touch and needed him between your legs, inside you. Wrecking you to a mess. It was wrong but it felt hella fine. You did nothing to stop.

His lips traced an invisible line to your boobs. Ripping the top to leave you naked. He flicked your nipple with his rough tongue. Your nails digging into his scalp more. Moans coming out of your mouth like it was a sacred song. Filling his ears and making him want you more. He left your skin for a moment, looked into your eyes between his long lashes with eyes that hazed from desire.

Your head falled back. Breathing heavily. He got up, undressed in matter of seconds. His hard cock was thick. Thickest you saw in your entire life to be honest. You stared at it for to long apparently he let out a chuckle.

“You like what u saw baby? Want it?” An approving moan filled the room. He got onto his knees.

“Not yet.” His hand grabbed the waist of your shorts and took it off in a fluid motion. Your lace panties following it to the floor.

His lips were exploring your inner thighs. Taking deep breaths inhaling your intoxicating smell.

“Javier, please.” His teeth digging in to your skin, leaving marks.

Your hands found his hair one more time pressing him into your core.

“Good girl. All wet for me.” His trigger finger find your core parting it.

“S’good, corazon. You look beautiful.” His hot breath hitting your exposed and sensitive core with every word he says. Next, it was his tongue, sending shivers up to your body.

“Javi,” He smiled against your skin. His tongue giving you kitten licks, his soft lips pressing your nub and pulling it. A finger went in. And then another followed it. Feeling his fingers inside made you ache for him more. Long fingers brushing your deep spots you never new existed. Clit throbing under his tongue made his mouth water. Wet sounds coming from your core and his finger was filling the room.

Air was thick and smelled like both of you. Stray curls got stuck on his forehead with sweat.

A knot in your belly was getting tighter with every move his tongue did.

“Javier, I’m,” His fingers got faster when you moaned.

“Yeah, baby. Tell me what u want.”

“I’m gonna, gonna cum, please.” His fingers didn’t leave your insides, never slowed down. He leaned to you. Lips touching.

“Cum baby. Cum on my fingers.” His thumb massaged yor nub. You could taste yourself on his lips when you licked his lips with hunger. Your climax getting closer and closer. Your walls tightening around them fingers.

You bit his bottom lip when your high hit you. Your thights started to shake as you clasped his hands between yor legs. In want to feel him deeper in your core. Room started to rotate with the feeling. Juices coming out of you left wet spots on his couch. Your breaths mixing together as you tried to help yourself come together. You looked at him with watery eyes, your mascara runing down on your cheeks.

His hard cock hitting your belly lit another fire inside you.

Legs hugging his waist as you pulled him for a kiss. He used that to grab you from your ass and started to carry you to his bedroom. Never breaking the kiss.

“S’wet Agent. Only if I knew,” You didn’t let him talk, covering his lips with yours. Leaving wet kisses and kitten licks as he sat on the bed.

Dim light from the street light was hitting his face. His skin was glistening with sweat, eyes nearly shut with the feeling of your wet pussy on his lap.

“Beautiful,” you said unconsciously under your breath. He smiled across your lips.

“Yeah.” You started grinding to his lap, hips rotating slowly. He groaned as you kept moving. He reached out to his bedside table for a condom. Gave it to you as he falled back.

You stroke him, his precum spreading all over, your juices from earlier as well.

“You’re doing so well baby.” He whimpered as your hand kept stroking his cock.

“¿Sí, jefe?” Javier’s cock twitched under your touch.

“Don’t call me boss like it doesn’t turn you on.” You felt his climax raising under your hand. Your hand stopped, you put on the condom as you lined him on your entrance. He groaned.

“Corazón-mmh.” You slowly sank on his length as his groans got louder, turning into moans.

The feeling of him streching your walls was something else. Made the knot in your belly thighter. Burning so good that your head spins.

“Javi~” you kept moaning his name as you jumped on him.

“Yeah baby, like that.” His hands on your waist slapped your as, burning feeling washed over your body. His fingers left a red mark on your ass. Squeezing where he hit you. Hard enough to mark you.

He raised from the bed and hugged you, chest to chest. His lips kissing your thin skin, wanting to get under your skin.

“Javi” He turned our back to bed, hovering over you on his arms. His eyes burning with desire.

He moved his hips as lips find yours. Pumping into you as his pace got faster.

“Javier, please.”

“Yeah, baby. So good. Doin’ so well.” He kept chewing on your skin. Like he wanted to mark you, like he wants everybody to know you were his.

You felt your end growing inside your lower belly as his thrusts got sloppy and out of rhythm.

“YN, baby. I’m,”

“Yeah, Javi, me too. Keep going. Right there.” His groans got louder as you walls were thightening around him. His forehead fell over yours. His hot breath hitting your face.

“Baby” He didn’t let your words to end by kissing your lips as he cums inside you. Your walls milking the last drop of his cum as you came with him.

“S’good, Agent. S’good for me.” He fell on top of you as his weight crushing you to bed. Leaving small kisses all over your face.

“Let’s sleep Agent. We have work to do tomorrow.”

#javier pena #javier pena smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #javier pena x y/n #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you

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cxrdycxps · 2 months

Text

Chapter One • Interruption

⚠️ Smut, f!reader, no y/n used ⚠️

Main Masterlist • Joel Miller Masterlist • Interruption Masterlist

“Happy birthday!” You cheered, passing off the card to the woman of the hour. Sarah smiled, holding her arms out for a hug. You wrapped her up tightly and squeezed before letting go. “You look amazing.”

And she did, the color of her dress made her skin look luminous, her eyes shining brightly. She waved away your compliments, instead turning to the man behind her.

“This is Jason.” She introduced and you smiled, extending your hand to the partner she had told you so much about. “I feel like you two should already know each other.”

“I feel like I do know you.” You laughed when he spoke and released his hand.

“No doubt you heard some pretty choice words about me.” You told him and Sarah smiled ruefully. It was true that as Sarah’s boss the pair of you had a rocky start.

You were the head of the biggest publishing office in Austin and Sarah was your assistant. You had fought tooth and nail to get to where you were now. Fighting over men’s voices that would try to drown you out.

You wanted Sarah to be ready for that. To someday be an editor herself. She didn’t know it but you’d been training her to take over the position for editor of Biographies. Her favorite type of book to read.

There had been a rocky beginning when you had been tough on her, making sure she had what it took. You liked how she wasn’t afraid to fight you on important things.

You liked her.

It wasn’t until the last few months that both of you had developed the close friendship you shared now. After two years of being your assistant, a family emergency had pulled you away from your job. One that had turned your life upside down.

Sarah had stood to the task, keeping things running smoothly without anyone knowing you hadn’t even been in Texas, never mind the office.

So here you both were now, inseparable at work and slowly becoming so outside of work too. Starting with her thirtieth birthday party.

You had been hesitant to attend, parties with colleagues had never been your thing but here you were.

You had donned the last of the dresses you had left over from your twenties, feeling like a total farce now that you were closer to forty than thirty.

But you deserved to get dressed up and let loose everyone once in a while. So here you were, not feeling as much out of place as you had expected. There were plenty of people your age.

Including what had to be the most attractive man you had ever seen.

He was standing by the bar, one elbow propped up on it, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had a flannel shirt on, sleeves rolled up and forearms on display. The kind of display that left you weak in the knees.

The man was big all over. Big hands, big shoulders, broad chest and biceps that bulged against the fabric of his shirt.

Your mouth actually watered when you first set eyes on him and you were a little embarrassed as you excused yourself from Sarah and Jason, pushing your way through the crowd to the bar.

You stayed as far as you could get from the man but it didn’t take him long to notice you as you flagged down the man working the bar and ordered yourself a Long Island Iced Tea.

“That bad of a week?” You didn’t have to look to know it was him. He had abandoned his companion to muscle in beside you at the bar, resting his glass as he turned to face you.

“Haven’t had a drink in a while. Go hard or go home, right?” You asked, passing off your card to the bar man. “Put Sarah’s drinks on my tab tonight.”

“That’s mighty generous of you.” You told yourself you would’ve done it anyway. You had planned to buy Sarah’a drinks all along. Having her father be the most handsome man in the room and knowing it would impress him was only an added bonus.

“She deserves it. Everything she’s done for me this year? I don’t think a couple of drinks could even begin to cover it.” You told him honestly, stirring your drink idly with your straw.

“Well the bad news is, she drinks like her daddy so you better be ready for the shock when you see your total.” He teased and you tilted your head with a coy smile.

“I see she also gets her charm from her daddy.” You raised your eyebrows and he laughed, his hand out between you.

“I’m Joel, Sarah’s old man, which you’ve already guessed.” He introduced himself and you shook his hand and gave him your own name.

“I’m Sarah’s boss.” You told him and he narrowed his eyes at you before pursing his lips. You knew that look. He was probably the one who had heard all about how you were an epic bitch who ran Sarah around like a dog. “You may not agree but it was for her own good. Needed to be sure she could hold her own.”

Joel looked abashed that you could guess what he had been thinking but you let it go when the song changed and you asked him about the music.

It started a conversation about music which lead to movies. The pair of you had ended up in a booth, your chin resting on your palm as you listened to him talk.

He disappeared only once when it was time to bring out the cake. He stood proudly beside his daughter as Jason held the cake for her. You watched him, drink in hand and he winked at you.

You couldn’t help clenching your thighs. Excusing yourself to the bathroom to fix your lipstick and take a second to cool down.

Sarah stepped up behind you in the mirror and you smiled sheepishly at her. She didn’t say anything for a second, just rolled her eyes.

“You’re gonna sleep with my dad, ain’t you?” Sarah asked and you stared back at her in the mirror, chewing on your lip.

“Is it like really awful if I do?” You asked her and she laughed, throwing her head back. “Cause I won’t, if it’ll bother you. I’ll leave right now and we can pretend it never happened.”

“Ah I don’t care if you put the screws in him. I just don’t want to hear about it like I heard about the obnoxious mouth breather or the way too into feet guy.” You laughed at Sarah who scrunched her nose up at the thoughts of the last two men you had slept with. “I don’t wanna know a damn thing.”

“That PTO you put in for last week? It’s approved.” You told her and she laughed at you. “You can have an extra week if your dad is as good of a lay as he looks.”

“Ew, get out of here.” She pushed you towards the doorway and you laughed at her. She shoved at you as you both walked down the hallway and walked straight into Joel who was chatting with Tommy, Joel’s brother you had learned.

“Now remember dad. Wrap it before you tap it, not all accidental pregnancies are as cool as I am.” Sarah nudged her father, stealing his drink as the pair of you attempted to gather your composure.

“You’re fired. Effective immediately.” Tommy and Sarah laughed loudly as Joel handed you the drink you had left him with while you were in the bathroom. “Have your desk cleared out by morning.”

You tried not to overtly react to Joel’s hand resting on the small of your back while you all laughed as a group but it didn’t take long before Tommy and Sarah made themselves scarce.

“Didn’t think I’d need my daughters approval this late in life.” Joel told you quietly with a chuckle and you tilted your head.

“Approval for what, Mr Miller?” You asked, stepping closer to him. “I hope you don’t think I’m that easy of a lay. Don’t you know sex before marriage is a sin?”

“Tomorrows Sunday. I’ll bring you to confession.” He muttered before ducking his head down to kiss you, the hand on the small of your back pushing you closer to him.

///

“Where’s your manners? Thought you were a gentleman.” You teased Joel in the back of the Uber. His face was pressed into your neck and one of his hands was attempting to maneuver between your thighs.

“I am. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll make you cum so many times you don’t remember your goddamn name.” Joel whispered against your skin and you closed your eyes against the spike of desire. “I know that pretty pussy of yours is aching for me. Been squeezing your thighs together all damn night.”

“Joel.” You laughed, shocked at his turn of attitude. Gone was the polite man who had helped you into your jacket when leaving and promised Sarah he’d see you home safe. “We’re not far.”

“Not close enough.” He grunted, kissing down the column of your neck as his hand slid under your dress. “I know you’re aching for it.”

Despite yourself, your legs fell open for him and you prayed the Uber driver couldn’t see his fingers sliding against your underwear, a low hum of approval from Joel. “Damn baby, I ain’t even touched you properly yet and you’re this wet?”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name and he ran his fingers up and down your slit through the thin layer of fabric between them.

“I’m gonna wreck this pretty pussy. I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first. Then my tongue. And then I’ll split you open on my cock.” Joel promised and you latched your fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth to yours.

You promised yourself you’d tip the Uber driver so well for the moan you let out when Joel slipped one finger inside you.

You let your head fall back as he used the palm of his hand to rub against your swollen clit. You arched against him and tightened your hand in his hair. “Gonna fucking-“

Your phone sounded from your purse and you paused. Joel urged you to ignore it but you couldn’t, scrambling to answer the call.

“Hello?” You prayed it wasn’t who you thought it would be but you knew. Even without checking the caller ID.

“It’s Ellie. She wants to come home. I’ve tried everything but she had a nightmare and now she-“

“I’ll be there soon. I’m just leaving the party. I’ll get the Uber to swing around.” You knew other parents weren’t equipped for Ellie but she had been so ready for a sleep over.

“I’m so sorry.” Dina’s mother apologized but you knew the fault lay entirely on your shoulders. You shouldn’t have let her go in the first place.

“No, please. I’ll be there soon. Tell her I’m coming.” You were pulling away from Joel, fixing your dress. He had drawn away from you, sensing the seriousness.

“I’ll let her know.” You hung up the phone and looked to Joel before leaning forward and asking the Uber driver to extend the journey after dropping Joel off.

“I’m sorry.” You told Joel, turning to look at him. “I didn’t think- I shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Sounds important. Don’t worry about me.” He assured you as the Uber rolled to a stop outside his home. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. It’s just my kid, she needs me.” If Joel was shocked to find out you had a child he didn’t say anything. He just nodded in understanding, reaching into his pocket and tossing a couple of notes on the passenger seat. “That should cover it. I hope she’s okay. That kid of yours.”

The door shut behind Joel and you sighed, fixing yourself up as best you could, using a compact in your purse to fix your smudged make up.

“I hope she’s okay too.”

#Joel miller #joel miller tlou #soft Joel miller #Joel miller smut #joel miller x you #Joel miller x f reader #Sarah miller tlou #Ellie Williams tlou #Tommy miller #tlou au #tlou! no outbreak

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sheerfreesia007 · 18 days

Text

Scent of Attraction

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

Word count: 5,159

Content warnings: Fluff, suggestive

Summary: You and Hyunjin can’t stand each other due to knowing each other back in college. What happens when the two of you are forced to collaborate on a product together to elevate both of your business?

You sighed loudly as you leaned back in your chair while raising your hand to gaze at the dainty wrist watch you wore, it was thirty minutes past the time you were supposed to meet with him at this restaurant that his assistant had reserved. Rolling your eyes you watched as your waiter looked over at you with wide worried eyes as he fidgeted over by the sidebar. Today’s lunch meeting was supposed to mark the beginning of a collaboration between Hwang Incorporation and your company Ivy Jardin. The investors of both companies had been hopeful that this collaboration would elevate both companies and dominate the perfume market. But if the empty seat across from you was any indication you knew it was only going to be an uphill battle the whole time.

Feeling your irritation finally consume you, your eyes darted over to your waiter and you nodded slightly at him causing him to immediately spring into action as he made his way over to you. But just as he reached your side there was the man you had been waiting for over a half hour, Hwang Hyunjin the owner of Hwang Incorporation. You turned to him with a pout of distaste on your face that he grinned widely at.

”Sorry darling, I got hung up at the office.” He drawled out as his tongue licked across his teeth as he pulled his designer sunglasses down his nose before winking at you while his lips pulled into a wide wicked grin..

”Another whiskey sour, please?” You asked your waiter not sparing the other man an ounce more of your attention. Your waiter nodded his head before looking over to the tall lanky man across from you who pulled out his chair and slipped into it gracefully.

”I’ll have a bottle of your finest red.” The man said with a nod to the waiter who quickly left the table to put in your drink orders. “Drinking while on the job?” He asked as he eyed you curiously his smirk was maddening as you took in a breath to curb your desire to reach across the table and strangle him.

”Only way I’m going to get through this meeting with you.” You said uninterested and he grinned widely at you as his eyes sparkled with challenge. You sighed tiredly and held up a hand to stop him from saying anything as you continued on. “Let’s just get this over with please. I’d like to get back to actual work.” You pleaded with him hoping he’d give you some grace, but all that hope was dashed when you saw the answering smirk on his face.

”Oh darling, I can definitely put you to work.” He teased and you gritted your teeth as your body flushed with aggravation. Sighing softly you knew that he wasn’t going to make this easy at all for you.

”So what was your idea on the collaboration? I was thinking of doing a women’s and men’s line of perfume that complimented each other and using your designs for the bottles. We could even use any of your original artwork for the labels.” You said ignoring his teasing words as he eyed you across the table with a smirk on his face.

”I can’t work on an empty stomach.” He said flippantly and your eyebrows furrowed angrily as you stopped the growl that was climbing up your throat.

”If you had been here a half hour ago we would have already had our meal.” You snipped angrily and his smirk widened on his face.

”What’s the matter darling? Mad that I was late for our little date?” He asked arrogantly, causing you to sigh softly before shaking your head.

“Hwang, please.” You pleaded with him and instantly regretted your choice of words as he grinned wickedly at you and his eyes began to sparkle with utter delight.

”Already begging darling? I haven’t even done anything to you, yet.” He said in a low sultry tone that had your hackles rising in anger and indignation. You silently wonder how much trouble you’d be in if you just up and left without actually having a meeting with him. You knew the investors would be upset but they could easily have their happiness bought with favors and other trinkets, but you knew that this collaboration would ultimately set your company as the top perfume company in the market and you’d love to take that title.

The waiter came back with your drinks and then stood there expectantly with his notepad ready, you looked at Hyunjin pointedly and he lazily flipped through the menu causing you to sigh loudly.

“Can I please have the chicken Marsala, with a house salad as a side?” You asked pleasantly and the waiter nodded his head as he wrote down your order.

“Chicken cacciatore, the chef knows how I like it.” Hyunjin said arrogantly and you took a sip of your drink trying not to roll your eyes, you feared they’d roll out of your head at this point. “The chef is a personal friend.” He told you trying to sound importantly and you nodded your head choosing to stay silent while your eyes looked around the restaurant.

When you had first arrived you had been too on edge for this upcoming meeting that you hadn’t taken the time to survey your surroundings. But now as the bane of your existence sat in front of you it gave you time to look around yourself and take it all in. The restaurant was a five star Michelin and had raving reviews in every major newspaper, you had figured that Hyunjin’s connections gave him instant access and tried not to be impressed by that.

”Is that Yang Jeongin?” You asked softly sounding starstruck before you tried to reign in your admiration for the business owner. Hyunjin frowned as he turned his head to look over at the younger man and his lunch companion before smirking softly as he recognized the two of them.

”Yeah and he’s having lunch with his girlfriend. They recently stepped out as official this past month.” Hyunjin said knowingly before his eyes swung back to you.

”Oh, good for them. That must be nice.” You said pleasantly as you nodded your head.

”Disappointed?” Hyunjin asked curiously and you shook your head at his question.

”No, I admire Yang’s determination to prove himself within his family. That’s all.” You said softly and Hyunjin nodded his head in agreement.

”He’s not that good looking anyway. There’s definitely others out there that are better looking.” He said arrogantly before he gazed around the room and you bite your tongue to stop the burst of laughter that threatened to escape.

”Who, like Bahang Chan?” You asked teasingly and Hyunjin whipped his head over to you with an outraged look on his face.

”That old man?!” He asked incredulously and you burst out in laughter at him, you missed the softened look he gave you after hearing your delighted laughter.

”He’s only a few years older than us. Not to mention I heard older men would have more experience than younger men.” You teased and watched as Hyunjin scoffed softly before taking a sip of his wine.

”Please he’s too old to keep up with you. You need someone your age.” He stated knowingly as his eyes dragged up and down your body hungrily. “I could totally help you with that.” He offered and you scoffed loudly at him.

”Thanks, but no thanks Hwang.” You said with a shake of your head. “But if you have Han Jisung’s number I’d take it.” You said with a smirk on your face unable to stop teasing him. He looked at you with a look of disgust as his lip curled slightly and you laughed at his look before shaking your head at him.

”He wouldn’t be able to handle you either, plus he’s in love with assistant.” Hyunjin said with a wave of his hand. You tilted your head to the side amazed at how much personal information he seemed to know about the other business owners in town.

”How do you know all these things?” You asked curiously and he smirked at you behind his wine glass.

”I’ve got all the tea darling.” He said cryptically and you smiled softly while shaking your head at him.

”Do you do any work at your company? Or do you just gather intel on all of your business rivals?” You asked sarcastically and he grinned widely at you before winking.

”You’re the only one that I can’t gather any information on.” He said teasingly while tilting his head to the side giving you an analytical look that made the hairs on the back of your arm stand up in caution.

”Well I feel special.” You mumble and he scoffs softly before leaning forward towards you.

”Tell me your secrets darling. I’m dying to know anything about you besides that you’re beautiful and a force of nature when it comes to business.” He says sultrily and you scoff softly before shaking your head at him.

”Never.” You whisper to him and he grins widely at you causing you to feel a shiver of dread run down your spine. You didn’t trust Hyunjin as far as you could throw him, he was known as a playboy in the business world liked to work hard but partied even harder. He would often have a new woman on his arm every week and never dated the same woman twice. And not to mention he had been a pain in your ass since before you had started your own perfume company.

You and Hyunjin had been college classmates when you were younger, his family was very affluent and you were a new upstart trying to make her way in the perfume business without any influence or help from your family. He had looked down on you back in college always giving you backhanded compliments for any of your accomplishments and would always have stinging comments about how you wouldn’t make it in the business world. He had continuously told you that you were too soft for the cut throat life of a business owner. But your drive and need to prove him and everyone else that looked down on you wrong was what made you succeed and reach new heights. And now as you sat in your position of owner of one of the most popular perfume companies you felt as if you could breathe a sigh of relief, you had done it.

That’s why this project was so important to you, not only would it elevate your company to an even higher standard but it would show that you could be professional with one of your naysayers.

The rest of your lunch with Hyunjin was spent fielding his teasing remarks as well as any personal questions that he would throw at you in hopes of tripping you up to answer honestly. You didn’t understand his need to know about your personal life since he had always been so against you back in college. The two of you had managed to come to an agreement that you would both work on a women’s and men’s line of perfume but Hyunjin had nixed the idea of using his original artwork as a label since he wanted to create the bottle designs to speak for themselves. He wanted the bottles to be immediately recognizable as both of your products and not rely on a label at all. You had agreed with him only because you knew that he had already been bit by the creative bug as he began sketching on the linen napkin much to your embarrassment, which he had easily waved away since he had a connection with the chef and would pay him back for taking his napkin.

After that Hyunjin had easily paid for your lunch and the two of you left the restaurant with the promise to reach out to each other for another meeting once you both had made some development on the design of the bottle and the scent of the perfume. You had even ran into Yang Jeongin and his companion striking up a friendly conversation with them as you saw Hyunjin staring at you with narrowed eyes out of the corner of your eyes.

*-*-*-*

“So if you look at the sketches you’ll see I want to switch it up for each line. I’d like to do harsher lines for the bottles of the women’s perfume and more softer rounded edges for the men’s bottles.” Hyunjin’s voice came across your ear piece as you sat on the park bench with a notepad opened on your lap as you took in the sunset in your local park by your apartment. You gazed down at your tablet that had the file he had sent to you opened and your fingers quickly pinched and opened on the file to get a closer look at his sketches.

”These are really good Hwang.” You said absentmindedly as you made a note in your notepad about the bottle designs. “I like the switch up especially because it’s such the norm to do prettier bottles for women. But I’m really liking it and think it’ll be a big hit with our consumers.” You admitted to him.

”Thanks darling.” He drawled out and you huffed softly at him as he ruined the perfectly nice moment you had both created. His deep pleased chuckle rang through your ear and you frowned softly as you shivered at hearing the sultry tone of his voice. “You’re always so easy to rile up.” He admitted and you scowled darkly at your notepad.

”Is that all I am to you?” You asked frustrated. “A source of entertainment?” You asked sourly and there was a beat of silence on his end of the phone call giving you all the answer you needed causing you sigh defeatedly. “Never mind, I’ll be able to use these sketches to narrow down my combinations that I’ve already started working on.” You said going back to the business side of your conversation and steering clear of anything personal.

It had been two weeks since your lunch meeting with Hyunjin and the two of you had been busy at work on the project. By all the sketches he shared with you today you could easily see the journey of the concept that he had finally chosen for each bottle and while you liked some of the earlier options you were very happy with his final decision. And while he had been busy with the bottle designs you had been busy as well creating scent combinations that you knew paired well and smelled amazing.

But now as you realized what his vision was you grew excited at the combinations that you could use for each line. The whole concept of it being a different take than normal made you eager to change the scent profiles for each line to match the bottles. Your mind began to swim with ideas and you quickly began to jot them down in your notepad.

”Did I lose you darling?” Came Hyunjin’s soft voice and you realized that you had gotten swept away with your creative ideas and forgotten to say anything else in the conversation.

“Sorry, with your concept idea it changes what I had planned but it opens up so many other combinations that we can do.” You said almost sounding breathless with excitement.

”You’re such a nerd.” He said fondly suddenly and you frowned at his words. “I like it.” You frowned even further at that admission and you shook your head at his words choosing not to dig further on them.

“Anyway let me get working on the new combinations and then I’ll have them made before scheduling a meeting with your assistant. How does that sound?” You asked distractedly as you continued to write down more combinations of scent profiles to try.

”Sounds wonderful darling. Can’t wait to see you again.” He coos over the phone and you scoff softly just as group of kids run past you shouting at each other as they play. “Where are you? Are you not in your office?” He asked curiously and you watch as the kids race to the playground nearby.

”Needed some inspiration for a new women’s perfume line I’m working on with a popular girl group. So I came to a park nearby my apartment that has a really pretty flowerbed arrangement.” You said distractedly as your eyes follow the kids. “But I don’t think I’m going to go the flower route.” You say distractedly again once more. Hyunjin’s chuckle fills your ears once more and you shiver at the sound as it pierces your brain and skates down your spine.

“You always did find inspiration in the oddest thing when we were in college.” Hyunjin muses softly and you raise an eyebrow at his words.

”I’m surprised you even remember me back in college.” You say honestly and it’s Hyunjin’s turn to scoff softly.

”It was kind of hard to ignore you little miss honor roll.” He teases you and you roll your eyes. “You were always making us look bad.” He grumbles out on a sigh and you laugh delightedly at his pain.

”Because I had something to prove to you, idiot.” You snipped at him haughtily.

”What did you have to prove to me?” He asked bewildered and you scoffed at him anger was starting bubble up inside of you at how obtuse he was..

”Hwang, you were the driving force for me to succeed in college.” You admitted angrily as your anger started to get the better of you. “Every time you told i wouldn’t make it in the business world or that I was too soft for that life it made me more determined to prove you wrong.” You admitted to him passionately. “I needed to show you how wrong you were.”

There was silence on the other line and you sighed softly knowing that you admitted too much of yourself to him and that he’d probably hold it over you forever. Looking down at your notepad you saw what you had written down and nodded your head in satisfaction of your ideas.

”Listen, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you again when I’ve got the samples made and ready for you.” You said tiredly still not hearing any response from Hyunjin after you admitted that he was the reason for your determination in college.

”Wait, dar-“ he began to speak up but you quickly hung up the phone not bothering to say anything else.

*-*-*-*

The next time you see Hyunjin it’s at the launch party for the perfume line of the popular girl group that you helped create. You’re dressed in a pretty flowy dress that matches the image of the girl group and your hair is pulled back from your face as natural makeup covers your pretty face.

You’re standing to the side of the display table that holds the two perfumes that you had created while talking to the group’s leader. You spot Hyunjin out of the corner of your eyes and turn your head to acknowledge him with a soft smile and head nod which he responds with a wide smile on his face before nodding back at you. Your eyes quickly dart up and down him and see that he’s dressed casually yet still handsome in his pressed navy blue pants and gray button up shirt that he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. You belatedly notice that he’s also by himself and without a date to the party which confuses you for a moment but you’re quickly pulled back into your conversation with the group leader.

As you move around and socialize with the other guests you can’t help but feel pride rush through your body after everyone mentions how good the perfumes smell and how surprised they are by the contrasting scent notes of the two perfumes that you helped create.

You had decided to create two perfumes after the girl group had come to you with two different views of what smelled good to them. Ultimately creating a “good girl” scent of sweet sugary smells and a “bad girl” scent of spicy musk smells to compliment both sides of the group. You were insanely proud of the line and were excited to see how well it did with the fans.

”You look so happy.” Came a soft voice near your right ear, which caused you to turn and see Hyunjin leaning close to you. You turned fully to face him and smiled widely up at him as you nodded your head.

”I am happy. I helped create a perfume line that compliments both sides of the group and it turned out really well.” You explained excitedly and Hyunjin smiled fondly down at you.

”Nerd.” He teased you softly and you laughed delightedly at him causing him to grin widely down at you as his eyes turn into crescents on his face. The two of you don’t notice the photographer snapping pictures of the two of you together. That is until he calls out to Hyunjin to catch his attention.

”Mr. Hwang! A picture with your new collaboration partner?” The photographer calls out and Hyunjin eagerly ushers for you to take the spotlight causing you to blush softly at his antics before gesturing for him to stand at your side. The two of you stand close with your arms wrapped around each other’s waist before smiling warmly at the photographer who snaps multiple pictures of the two of you.

”I’m very happy for your success darling.” He says softly into your ear and you’re surprised but pleased by his words as you look up at him beaming happily.

*-*-*-*

At the next meeting with Hyunjin you have made four samples of perfume for the women’s and men’s line that the two of you are working on. You’re nervous and giddy with excitement to show Hyunjin what you had created. It was like sharing something extremely private with him and you weren’t sure what his reaction would be which worried you.

But as you paced your office where the two of you had agreed would be the best place to meet you tried to get a hold on your emotions running rampant inside of you. Your eyes darted to the ornate clock on your desk and sighed softly, he was ten minutes late. You had hoped that he would take this meeting seriously, your phone call check ins lately had been pleasant and you had found that you worked well with him when it came down to business and lately he hadn’t been as obnoxious or overly annoying to you. But maybe you were wrong about him if he was just going to continue to show up late.

”I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Came his worried rushed voice as he walked quickly into your office looking disheveled and distressed as his eyes focused on you. “There was a big accident on my way here and every route I tried to take was blocked by other traffic.” He explained hurriedly and you frowned softly noticing how distressed he was about being late. Maybe, you had been right that he was changing around you?

”It’s okay. Relax, you’re only ten minutes late. Much better than your last record.” You teased him softly trying to make light of the situation to ease his distress. He looked at you and your eyes darted over his handsome face, his hair was disheveled and hung in his eyes as his dark colored eyes stared at you concerned.

”Do I want to know how late I was the last time?” He asked suddenly and you burst out into amused laughter. His answering smile was breathtaking and you felt a blush creep up your neck much to your confusion.

You had always known that Hyunjin was gorgeous, there was no denying that but you had always thought that you were above being affected by his good looks. After his attitude and how he acted with you in college you had thought that you couldn’t find this man attractive, but had you been wrong?

”Thirty minutes.” You say with a cheeky grin and Hyunjin hangs his head causing you to chuckle at him before patting his chest over his white button up shirt. You don’t think too much about how toned and muscular his chest feels under your fingers as you pat your hand against it. “It’s alright though I won’t hold it against you.” You teased him and he chuckled softly as he gazed down at you fondly.

”You’re too kind.” He hummed softly at you while still staring at you with a soft smile on his face.

”C’mon I want you to smell the perfumes and help make the final decision.” You tell him as you begin to walk over to your desk where you have the four samples waiting for him. “So the first two are for the women’s line, the first is a plum blossom, wisteria and violet mixture that has base notes of amber, musk and sandalwood.” You explain to him and he nods his head as he picks up the small sample bottle and uncorks the top before taking in a large whiff of the scent.

”Mmmm I like that one. Is there a hint of chocolate in there?” He asks suddenly as he looks over to you.

”You noticed? It’s only a small amount as opposed to the other scents so I wasn’t sure if it would be detected at all.” You said worriedly as you fidgeted with your hands. Hyunjin watches you for a second as he takes in another large whiff of the perfume and smiles softly at you.

”I really like this one, it’s got floral notes but it’s more musky.” He says nodding his head.

”Alright, the next one has sandalwood again but it’s a sweeter woodsy scent with red berries and cashmere.” You explain and Hyunjin nods his head at your explanation before uncorking the second bottle and taking in it’s scent.

”Oh I like this one too.” Hyunjin says softly as he takes in another whiff. “But I think the first one fits the bottle better.” He says and you nod your head at his words.

”I thought so too but I wanted to give options.” You explained and he smiled softly at you. You grab your pen from your desk and make a note on your notepad on what you both had decided for the women’s line. “Alright, the next ones are for the men’s line. The first one is a spice mixture of Star Anise, Yuzu and Bergamot with hints of incense, patchouli and violets.” You explain as Hyunjin moves down the line, he takes that bottle and takes in the scent nodding his head at the smells filling his nose.

”That’s nice, I like that it’s got the spice mixture in there. That’s different from others out there.” He says softly and you nod your head at his critique.

”The next one is rosemary, jasmine, orris root, and patchouli mixture.” You explain and Hyunjin nods as he picks up that bottle and lets the scent surround him.

”Oooooh.” He says as he takes in a breath. “This one.” He said confidently and you beamed up at him before making another note on your notepad.

”Good! I’m glad you liked them. Now that that’s all settled we can move forward with production. The planners will start the preparations for the launch gala.” You said as you looked down at your desk calendar while Hyunjin looked over at you with a soft furrow to his eyebrows. “We’re probably looking at a month from now if all goes well with production.” You say nodding your head from side to side.

”So we’re done working together?” Hyunjin asks softly and you turn your head to look at him and notice the softly furrowed brows on his face.

”I mean in essence, yes. But we still have to host the launch gala.” You said nodding your head.

”I’m going to miss working with you, darling.” He said softly and you looked up at him surprised as you blinked quickly before a beaming smile graced your lips.

”I’m going to miss working with you too.” You confess to him and he grins softly at you before stepping closer to you as you stare up at him. His hands come up to cup your cheeks as his eyes dart back and forth between yours. You nod your head at him and he slants his mouth against yours causing you to whimper softly which makes your whole body flush with embarrassment. But Hyunjin doesn’t give you time to think about it as he deepens the kiss while groaning loudly. The two of you grip at each other’s clothes while being swept up in the desire for each other as you kiss. Hyunjin pulls away first and rests his forehead against yours while trying to catch his breath.

”I was an asshole in college. I was an asshole out of college too.” He pants out and while you’re bewildered of him to bring this up now when all you want to do is kiss him again. “And I’m sorry for that. Over these last few months I’ve seen you in a different light and I’ve fallen for you darling.” He confessed softly and you stared up at him wide eyed.

”That’s why you’ve changed.” You said softly and he nodded his head at your wonder.

”Let me take you out and show how much I’ve actually changed since starting this project.” He pleads with you and you smile softly before tilting your head up to him and catch his lips with yours.

”Show me.” You whisper against his lips and groans low in his throat before kissing you deeply once more.

*-*-*-*

The evening of the perfume launch gala you arrive to walk the red carpet but just as you’re about to step out of the limo that you had ridden in a shadow falls across the open doorway. You look up as a hand falls open in your eye line and you can’t help but beam up at the man standing besides the door. You gently place your hand in his and he helps you from the limo and tugs you into his chest as his arms wrap around you.

”How late was I this time?” He asks cheekily and you laugh loudly as your hands come to rest against his lean torso.

”Only five minutes this time. You’re getting better and better each time Hwang.” You tease him and grins down at you lovingly before planting his lips against yours in a hungry kiss as the photographers for the event all eagerly snap your picture.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha

#my writing #stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #skz

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