#it’s horribly important but I can’t stand to see it. keep talking about it but don’t make me see it please

[galaxywarp]

the weather is getting warmer so I’m gonna politely request that mutuals continue tagging climate change related posts for me <3

Last summer I ended up in a suicidal rabbit hole of wanting to literally set myself on fire because I felt so horrible and hopeless about the state of the environment and I’d rather not do that again !

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Fantasy Villain

Imagine you’ve been transported to a DnD-Fantasy-like world. Quests, adventurers, and mystical beasts are everything you could dream of. You’ve already established your little troupe; becoming an important cornerstone of the group. Whatever your class, you’re excelling at they really rely on which is why things go badly when you meet him—-the recurring villain of this world.

“Oh my–oh my Zoth.”

“What? Do I horrify the little hero!?”

“No, you’re–”

“Worse than you imagined?”

“No, you’re–”

“(Y/n) stop freezing up!”

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met!”

The group is horrified as they plan a tactical retreat, finding it easier to thwart the Fantasy Villain’s attacks which are suddenly less frequent.  The group just assumes you’ve been enchanted because since you’ve locked eyes with him you’ve been unable to stand on your feet. Wide-eyed and breathing heavy you just can’t stop the heat climbing over your face and ears as you replay the moment you met over and over. 

“You realize he’s a part of the ugliest most horrible race known to all of Azarothan.”

“If that’s ugly then I’m dead!”

“M-maybe he did enchant them?”

Meanwhile, the Villain’s returned to home base, shedding his armor and dismissing his entourage. Sat on his throne he replays the words you’ve said to him…over and over….and over again. His ears are turning a deep blue and he can’t help the involuntary reaction of the volcano attached to his castle bubbling with excitement.

“They-they think I’m beautiful?!”

He’s reeling with an overflow of energy and unknown vigor when he recalls your awestruck face as you fell to your knees clutching your enchanted tool. He can’t stop the thought of you in that same position but in a different setting. Cursing his lacking imagination he concocts his usual magic to spy on the troupe with his crystal ball but this time he’s focused solely on you. 

“Surely they’ll brag about the enchantment they left on me…..and maybe talk about their own infatuation again.”

It strokes a different kind of pride when he hears you deny being cursed. The feelings are mutual. He’s over the moon all four of them. You have to understand the Fantasy Villain has never been told something so flattering. 

“From another world….figures. This world could never make such…a perfect soul.”

Since their upbringing, they’ve been met with nothing but scorn and hatred. Vowing to rule and change the world that did that to him. If others did express interest it was because he had power or was literally about to kill them. Your reaction, your unadulterated feelings for him, the tug at his soul is the only sign he needs before his objective changes. 

“I wanted to rule the world so I could change the world for me. But now I’m going to change the world so I can rule with them.”

He means it. The troops are given new orders, the deadly nightmarish beasts are given new tasks, and he’s already concocting a million different plans to attain you. He watches the crystal ball relentlessly trying to hear and see as much as he can to learn more about you. He realizes very quickly that he really hates those adventurers of yours.

“C’mon (Y/n)! Just because you’re attracted to the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to destroy the world!”

“Yeah (Y/n), you’ve got to get your head in the game. We need you!”

“I–your right…sorry guys…I just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who fits my preferences so perfectly.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“But one look in his galaxy-like eyes and it felt like I did.”

He really hates them. Listening to them talk you out of your feelings for him. Before you arrived they were minor pests. Simply a small roadblock that he would eventually crush to shatter the hopes of the people when they needed them most. Now they were just obstacles in the way of his goal–you.

“Sire those adventurers you told us to keep an eye on are on the move. Should I give the order to attack?”

“No…summon the siren I’d like to take a different approach.”

He gets incredibly crafty, despite only meeting you once he can tell you aren’t heartless like he. He’s certain should you find him to be responsible for the death of anyone you’ve met you’d reject his love. So he’ll make it his plan to slowly break your little troupe, such spunky and erratic individuals may be just the only tool he needs.

“My orders, My Ruler?”

“Join their group. Do what you like with whoever you wish. 

“?”

“Bring discord how you see fit.”

“Yes, My Ruler!”

His plan is perfect and the group isn’t nearly suspicious enough to reject his double agent. Who’s presence triggers the cracks that this group had always had. When the group splits apart needing to cool off you’re left alone, a perfect chance for a moment with you. 

“Hello, little hero.”

“Whoa, what are you doing here? My troupe’s not too far! A-a-a-nd I–I’m willing to fight this time!”

“That’s a shame because I came to speak to you.”

“Really! Ahem, I mean about what?”

“About those words, you said to me….I wonder did you know what they’ve ignited.”

Taking advantage of your easily lowered guard, he speaks the truth. Coming in close enough to feel the heat escaping from your armor, he’ll share the tale of his past. Which as he predicted makes you so sympathetic and just as willing to sing his praises as the moment you met. 

“But you’re not ugly or horrid like they all say.”

“No?”

“I think you’re beyond handsome. One of the most ethereal beings I’ve ever met.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know so… I’m just sorry no one else has told you that.”

“I’m happy it was you.”

When you let him dive in for a kiss, naturally you accept it. Returning his vigor in kind if not with sympathy or just your attraction, you miss how he places a magical mark on your neck. Or how he casually enchants your armor to protect you better. Or how he influences the flora and fauna of the forest to curve in the direction you came from essentially blocking the path back to your camp. When he reluctantly releases you he further promises he’s never letting you leave his grasp. Promising to one day have you on the throne beside him.

“I must return and so must you. Your friends will worry.”

“Oh…you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so sad, we’ll meet again.”

“Not just in my dreams.”

“Not just in your dreams.”

He leaves not only giddy with love but with a new plan in mind. He prepared to be faced with a struggle, to have to fight for your affection as the enemy you’d be fighting. But he wasn’t prepared for your heart to be swayed so easily. Licking your remnants on his lips, he knows that you can be deceived, and conveniently so can the rest of the world.

Fantasy Villain devises that if the history of his race’s banishment and exile were portrayed in a certain light. You could defect to his side without guilt and if some of the more stubborn adventurers were to also agree that’d make things so much easier. Pretending to be persuaded to sign some peace treaty after being gifted enough land to rule over with you beside him didn’t sound too bad.

Even if that didn’t work the Fantasy Villain has decided you will rule beside him whether he has to trick, drug, or force you to be his. Though he adores the honest love in your eyes when he looks at you and he’s going to do whatever he needs to have it. 

[countcvnt]

Dwell On It

[Ghost x Fem!Reader x Soap]

Summary: Your roommate hits you with the worst sentence you've ever heard in your life, and you can't help but dwell on it. Warnings: MINORS DNI!! 18+ Oral (f! receiving), pet names (doll/love), praise, threesome, not beta'd Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Was gonna write this with like ghost not wearing his mask, but i was already halfway through so... Mask Stays On During Sex. (don't ask why i didn't just have him take it off, idk...)

“Fuck!” You get home and slam the door of your apartment.

You want to scream louder, but you don’t want anyone to complain. You kick your shoes off at the door, a little too violently, and your roommate walks out from his room.

“You good?” His voice is full of confusion, he looks tired.

“Sorry, Hunter,” You groan, “I didn’t know you were here…”

You sigh and walk towards your room. He rubs his eyes and watches you closely. He squints at you. “What happened?” You scrunch your nose up. “I don’ wanna talk about it.” You mumble, entering your room. “It’s just, I have to do everything! All the time! Dishes? Me. Trash? Me. Paperwork? Me!” You want to scream again.

“Oh, so you do wanna talk about it?” Hunter cocks a brow at you.

You refrain from swinging. “Hunter, I’m tired. Okay?” You walk towards your bathroom and Hunter trails behind you.

“You still going out tonight?” He asks, like he’s planning something. “WIth those, uh, big military men?” You nod. “Well, tell them something for me?” You nod again. “You need your pussy ate.”

Your mouth drops. Hunter leaves your room. His name can’t even form. You're stunned. Your roommate has successfully stunned you. You stand in your bathroom, for a moment and hear Hunter’s door click. You come to your senses and rush towards his bedroom. You jiggle the doorknob. Locked.

“I won’t be here tonight.”

You let out a frustrated scream into your hands and walk back into your room. You look at the alarm on your nightstand and see you have two hours before you have to be at the bar. You groan. Two hours to dwell on the words Hunter had just said to you.

You sit at the bar, face contorted with displeasure as you wait for Simon and Johnny. You sip your water and huff. Your feet kick off the barstool and you keep thinking about Hunter. You wish you would have throttled him.

“Hey bonnie! Oh- You look-”

“Happy to see us.” Simon lets out a low rumble, causing you to turn towards them.

You lighten up. Or try to. “Sorry, had a horrible day. Roommate decided to make it worse and go to his room with no remorse.”

Johnny cocks his head. “How’d he make it worse?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I came home stressed, and he said the most untrue statement I’ve ever heard!”

“Which was?” Simon asks.

You want to not tell them, but they’re curious. And you’re still butthurt about it. “That I ‘need my pussy ate’!” You exclaim. “Which,” You put a finger up, “is so far from the truth- Like? Why would he say that?”

“Did he offer to do it?” Johnny really asking the important questions is pissing you off.

“No!”

“Bad roommate etiquette.” Simon smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkling gives it away.

“Shut up.” You mumble and sip your water. Johnny laughs. His hand hits your back as he continues to laugh. “What?” You give him a blank stare.

“I think your roommate was onto something.” Johnny can’t stop laughing. You want to get up and leave. You look at Simon, who is also finding amusement in your situation. You want to die. You stand from your chair and roll your eyes at them. Johnny reaches for your arm but you don’t yank away. “Where ye goin’, bonnie, we just got here!”

You pout at him. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Johnny gives you a concerned look. Hunter’s words run through your head, ‘so you do wanna talk about it?’ You do want to talk about it, but not right here. In front of everyone. “I don’t need that. Never have, never will.” You stand firm on your words. And let something slip that you normally only would if you’ve been drinking. “Not like it’s that great anyway.”

Simon and Johnny both stare at you. Johnny’s eyes widen. “You’ve never- Wait a minute.” Johnny collects his thoughts. “You’ve never had some good head?”

You want to hide. Run to the bathroom and escape through the window. As if either of them would let you do that… Knowing you have nowhere to run, you answer. “No. I guess not.”

“Y’know,” Johnny hops off his seat and locks eyes with you, moving closer. “I can’t speak for Ghost,” he motions towards his friend, “but I’m sure I could change that.”

Your stomach flips. The butterflies in your stomach are rapidly turning into bumblebees. Your eyes widen and you look at Simon. He moves himself from his stool and is looming over you. You look up at him.

“Our hotel isn’t far from here, doll.”

Your mouth is agape. “Oh.” You say, placing a hand on your chest, ready to clutch your non-existent pearls. Without thinking, you speak up. “My roommate’s out tonight. We can go to mine?”

“Too dangerous.” Simon shakes his head. Johnny nods. You put your hands up. “Anyway,” Simon continues, “don't need any noise complaints from your neighbors.”

“Oh?” Johnny smirks at him. “Think yer gonna have her screamin’ that loud?” Simon rolls his eyes. You're standing beside the bar, baffled. All you can do is blink up at them. “What’d’ya say?” Johnny questions you. “Wanna come back with us?”

“You'll never wanna leave.” Simon's voice is gruff, sure. He's so sure of himself.

“Y'know what,” you nod, “yes. I don't think I can pass this up…”

Johnny seems relieved. He begins to leave the bar, you trail behind him, and Simon walks out behind you. Johnny is quick to wave down a cab. The three of you pile in the back, and you are so very sure that they can hear your heart pounding against your ribcage. You think the taxi driver can by the way he looks back at you when Simon gives him the hotel name.

His eyes linger on yours, you give him a smile, really not wanting him to think poorly of your currently awkward situation. You're in the middle of Simon and Johnny. Johnny's hand grips your thigh, just where your short black dress ends. He's almost massaging in. Simon places hand on your other thigh, giving it a tight squeeze. You look up at Simon and see he's looking at the driver through the rear view mirror. His eyes cut down to you and you swallow hard.

The cab reaches the hotel and you bring out your purse. Johnny is quick to stop you from paying and Simon pulls out his wallet. Johnny exits and helps you out. “Thank you,” you look back at the taxi driver and wave at him.

As you three enter the hotel, Simon walks up beside you, his hand snaking around your waist. “Did you thank and wave at the cab driver?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Yer so sweet.” Johnny compliments you. His hand grabs hold of yours. “Can't believe ya've never had-”

“Sh,” you swat at him with your free hand, when someone walks past the three of you. Johnny smirks at your reaction. The three of you make it into the elevator and Johnny hits the floor they're on. You're standing in the elevator; Johnny, you, then Simon. Johnny is holding your hand and Simon is still latched onto you like a lifeline. You're watching the floor number go up when Johnny steps in front of you, his grip on your hand tightening. “What?” You whisper.

“Y'know, we've been on a couple dates-”

“Is that what those were?” You genuinely didn't have a clue.

Simon stifles a laugh when Johnny is taken aback. “Yeah!” He groans, “Not the point. We haven' kissed, bonnie.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’. “You can change that, you know.”

Without a word, Johnny leans in and kisses you. Your heart, which is still pounding, is now in your throat. Simon is watching the both of you. He shifts, situating himself, his eyes and arm never leave you. The elevator stops. Simon's grip on you tightens and Johnny pulls away. He moves back to the side of you and you're left standing there, eyes locked with the woman stepping on.

“Oh my,” the words leave her mouth seemingly without thinking.

You smile at her. Awkward but genuine. Simon directs your attention to him. Johnny is still holding your hand, he's watching you and Simon now. Simon leans down and moves his mask up slightly. “My turn, love.”

You eagerly push yourself up and into the kiss, forgetting a woman was in the corner of the elevator. Johnny's hand tenses around yours, his thumb rubbing the back of it while you kiss Simon. The elevator is abruptly stopped and the lady immediately exits. Simon pulls away and you're left staring up at him, like he’s hung the moon and stars.

“Guess she wanted to take the stairs. Can't imagine why…”

The elevator goes up a couple more floors and stops on Simon's and Johnny’s. Johnny leads you out of the elevator and Simon follows you, not letting you go. You follow Johnny down the hall and reach their room. You swallow hard, heart beating in your ears. He unlocks the door and swings it open, motioning for you to go in. Simon escorts you into the room and Johnny closes the door behind the three of you. It locks, the click echoes through the room.

“So… Men,” you look at the both of them, “what now?”

“I think it's sorta obvious,” Johnny smiles at you. “If at any time you are uncomfortable, let us know.”

You nod. “Of course. Um,” Your palms are sweaty against the outsides of your thighs now, “how do we start?” They both stare at you. “What?!” You whine, “I’ve only ever had one serious boyfriend and this was not his forte!”

Johnny and Simon both give you solemn looks. You want to hide again. You can't help but feel like you're being judged. You shift your weight and keep yourself planted, from running away.

“Simon,” Johnny looks at his friend, “wanna do the honors? Since you're so sure you can get her to scream?”

You want both of them. “We have the whole night.”

Johnny perks up. “You wanna stay the whole night?”

“I mean, I can-”

“You're so cute.” Simon remarks. “I'm sure we'll find something to occupy us all night.”

And so your long night begins.

“You can take that off…” You whisper to Simon, “I know your name, why can’t I know your face?”

“It’s better this way, love.” Simon pulls the bottom of his mask up, uncovering his mouth again.

The mysteriousness… The anonymity is hot… You will not deny it. But you want to see him. You want to gently touch his face and kiss him softly. By the look in his eyes, he wants to kiss you too, but maybe not as gently. You reach up and cup Simon’s face, bringing him towards you. Simon lets you. He lets you grab him and place a soft kiss against his lips.

You’re so soft and sweet. And he has every intent of making you his.

“If you two are gonna make out, can I-” Johnny motions towards you. Simon sighs, pulling away from you. “I wanna taste you, bonnie…” It is at that exact moment you realize just how convincing of a man Johnny is. You nod at him. Johnny moves behind you, causing you to cock your head. You look over your shoulder at him.

Simon seems to know what’s about to happen.

Johnny’s hands grab your waist and he kisses your neck before dropping to his knees. ‘Oh,’ You think as you look back at Simon, ‘he’s doing it right here.’ Johnny moves to a sitting position, pats your thigh for you to spread your legs slightly, and you do. He scoots himself between your legs and is now on the floor, between you and Simon.

Simon gives you a moment before kissing you again. He observes you. Johnny looks up at you as he grabs your thighs with a grip you have never felt before, and he hitches your dress up some.

“No panties, huh?” Johnny smirks at you, his fingers going straight for your entrance.

“No!” You jump at his warm hands, “Those were not an option with this dress.”

Simon and Johnny both nod. Simon begins to kiss you once more, as one of Johnny’s fingers push into you. You moan into Simon’s mouth and you grab his forearms, tightly. Johnny kisses your thigh and pushes another finger inside of you while Simon slips his tongue into your mouth. Simon’s hands hold you in place, they grip your hips. You are sure you are going to have marks in the morning.

Johnny is good with his fingers. Phenomenal even. The way you’re being kissed by Simon while Johnny nips and sucks on your thigh and fucks with his fingers is magical. You let out a high pitched whine and Simon pulls back.

“You feel alright?” He asks. You can only nod. You try to answer but only whimpers and moans are escaping you. “You’re doin’ great, doll.”

Your whole body is on fire. You can’t think straight and your stomach is in knots. Your eye clinch shut and finally words form, “I’m gonna-”

Johnny’s fingers pull out of you and you gasp. You look down at him in shock and confusion. He places his fingers in his mouth and sucks on them. Simon watches Johnny and then looks back at you. You pout. Hard. Words aren’t forming again and you are a mumbling mess.

“Use your words, love.” Simon smiles at you.

“Why’d you stop! Please continue.”

“Anything for you, my sweet girl.” Johnny looks up at you and you realize his pupils are dilated. His big blue eyes are dark with lust and hunger. He dives in. He is slowly lapping at your pussy and you’re tensing up again.

Simon steadies you and keeps you from falling forward. You are holding onto Simon like your life depends on it. Johnny’s tongue hits your clit and your body jolts, your back arching. Simon’s lips latch onto your neck and he begins to suck on the sensitive skin, he still keeps you steady. You are moaning out and crying for Johnny; for him to let you finish.

His name falls from your lips, “Johnny!” You whimper, legs clenching together. He is quick to hold your legs apart. Your orgasm hits hard and fast. You’re shaking above Johnny, holding onto Simon, who is still sucking at your neck.

Johnny pushes himself back between your legs and stands up behind you. “You’re so good,” Johnny turns you towards him and his mouth and chin is sticky from the slick of your pussy. “You’re bein’ so good for us.” He gives you a kiss and you’re still trying to collect yourself.

Simon pulls away and you stare at him. He’s looking at you, his eyes darker than Johnny’s. His smile has dropped. His face has dropped. He is watching you with a predatory gaze.

“Your turn,” Johnny smacks Simon on the shoulder.

“Take your dress and shoes off.” His voice… You immediately comply. “On the bed.” Once again, you do as he says. “Get behind her Johnny.”

Johnny seems thrilled. He must know what is about to happen. You are set at the end of the bed, and Johnny crawls behind you. He lets you lean back onto him, he lets you get comfortable. You watch as Simon stalks towards the bed, towards you. You are putty in his and Johnny’s hands. You are sure by the end of the night, you would do absolutely anything or them.

Simon drops to his knees in front of you and looks with the same hunger Johnny watched you with earlier. You, in your fucked out daze, could still pick out the difference in their stares. Johnny’s gaze was filled with a sweetness, one that gave you butterflies. Simon’s gaze is wild, full of fire, and has you gripping the sheets before he’s touching you.

Johnny’s hands are rubbing your biceps as he whispers praises in your ear. You’re too focused on Simon to really catch what Johnny is saying. Your heart is pounding again, and you want nothing more than to be touched. You need Simon to touch you.

“If this is too much-”

“Let us know.”

You are nodding, violently. “Please,” You beg, “please just touch me.” Simon’s smile returns, and it’s lethal. His hands grip your thighs and you flinch. You can already see marks from Johnny’s earlier grasp on you. Simon begins to bite and suck at your thighs, a lot harder than Johnny had. One his hands moves up your thigh and two fingers push into you. His movements are somewhat harsher than Johnny’s. He is no way harming you, but Johnny was so gentle. The difference is jarring, in a good way.

Simon’s mouth moves up your thigh and he easily finds your clitoris. He sucks at the bud as his fingers pick up the pace inside of you. You are crying out for him, begging him to go faster, harder.

“Sure ye can take it?”

“Yes, please-”

Simon doesn't argue. He gets a little more rough with you. His hands holding your hips down holds you tighter. Johnny’s mouth connects with your shoulder and he kisses you softly, still giving you praises. Your hips buck slightly, but Simon is holding them too tightly for you to go anywhere. You let out a cry of pleasure. One of Johnny’s hands is on your arm, rubbing circles into the skin, while the other goes towards your chest, settling at your breast. He begins to massage it, before pinching your nipple.

Your back is arching again. Your hips are chasing after Simon’s fingers. Your body is hot again, your stomach is knotting up. Your toes curl and you let out a loud whine.

“Simon!” You’re gripping the sheets. “Please- So close-” You moan.

“So good,” Johnny reassures you, “Bein’ such a good girl for us.”

It sends you over the edge. Your body is shaking. You’re seeing stars and don’t want either of them to stop touching you. Simon pulls away from you as you’re coming down. He looks up at you, and your eyes are on Johnny. You’re breathing heavily. You look down at Simon through half lidded eyes and he stands up. He is so fucking big.

“I’m glad-” You start, “I’m glad my roommate was an asshole.”

“I’m glad he didn’ offer to do that for you.” Johnny presses his forehead to your shoulder.

You let out a soft laugh. “He definitely would not have done that…” You begin to sit up. Johnny and Simon are quick to stop you.

“Where are ye goin’?”

“I, uh, was gonna-”

“You’re not leavin’ now, are ya, doll?” Simon asks. He seems genuinely curious. He doesn’t want you to go. Not yet.

“I don’t have to. The night is still young…” Johnny hugs your waist tightly as you say that. “And I’d love to repay the both of you…”

It was definitely going to be a long, eventful night.

[beforeimdeceased]

CRYBABY! - (E.W) PT4

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: the song was one thing, but calling you up on stage?

a/n: none!

better keep your head down + give me a call if you ever get lonely

masterlist.

the paparazzi are everywhere, all snapping shots of you as you rush into the band’s car. ellie stops to talk with them, ignoring jesse and dina’s pleads for her to get in. the sounds of the excited fans and the paps priding questions ring in your ears.

“so that’s the girl that fucked up your face?”

“i wouldn’t say it’s fucked up. it’d take a lot to fuck this face up. i think i look pretty hot with a bloody nose anyway.”

“and the song you performed earlier today is about her? crybaby?”

“yes—“

“ellie, get in the fucking car.”

“—yes and i’m looking into getting it released soon.”

jesse hops out of the car, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her in. “shit, gotta go guys. it was amazing to see you all—“ is cut off by the door slamming. dina let’s out a heavy sigh and throws her head back.

“i should punch you too.” dina starts. it makes ellie chuckle and she looks over at you. “it’s enough for you to write the song and perform it, but to call her out and bring her up on stage afterwards? ellie, seriously, you’re fucking horrible.”

jesse interjects. “not to mention you doing that during one of our most important songs. you ruined the set i’ve been perfectly curating for months. for what? for fun?”

ellie doesn’t respond. she just stares at you. puffy eyes and pouty lips while you sniffle down your remains of sadness. it felt like this night couldn’t get any worse, and yet you knew when you got back to the hotel she’d somehow find a way to prove you wrong.

“if you wanna sleep in our room tonight it’s fine. i completely understand.” jesse whispers to you as he opens the trunk to grab the bags. you think about it for a moment before shaking your head. you don’t want dina and jesse to feel like they always have to babysit you around ellie. you can handle yourself. you proved that today when you socked her in the face.

“alright kiddo. let me know if you need anything, okay?” he smiles, leading everyone to the rooms.

when you and ellie make it to your room, you both say nothing to each other. you’re sure she’ll break the silence, though. she always does. maybe the silence is uncomfortable for her? or maybe she just likes to hear herself talk.

“you gonna eat something?” ellie chimes up as she sees you walking towards the bathroom. you just ignore her and wash yourself up. you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from your bruised knuckles, or the lingering drowsy feeling after you’d been crying. all you want to do is collapse into the couch and sleep.

when you’re all done, you grab a blanket from your bag and settle yourself onto the couch. then ellie comes over, sitting on your blanket.

“remember when i went to jail?”

you sigh. “get off my blanket. i’m tired i want to go to sleep.” you tug at it but she refuses to move. continuing what she’d previously been saying.

“jesse and dina were on a trip and i called you. you bailed me out.”

it was 4am when you got the call. eyes barely able to open wide enough to see your screen. when you answered your heart dropped. “jail? ellie what the fuck?” you frown. she laughs. “i know right. gotta put this in our next song.” even with her sarcasm and smart ass mouth you could hear how scared she was. and you couldn’t say no. why couldn’t you say no?

you shrug. “so? what does that have to do with anything?”

“remember when you said you never hated me?”

you nod but you were rethinking it all now. flexing your sore hand. looking down at your blanket that she’d decided to hold hostage. confusion written all over your face. you said you never hated her, but not that you’d never hate her.

“i didn’t write that song to be mean—“

you interrupt her with a chuckle. “then what the fuck was it for?”

she angrily gets up and rushes away. “fucking forget it.”

you stand up, throwing a couch pillow at her. “why are you such an asshole, williams? seriously. were you dropped on your head as a baby or something? why do you walk through life as if everybody has done something wrong to you? you’re the tragedy of the story? that’s just not the case.”

she grabs the pillow and rushes at you, hitting you over the head. “why don’t you hate me then, huh? if i’m so terrible why don’t you hate my fucking guts?”

an uncomfortable silence falls between you two. you, bewildered at her question, still finding it hard to believe she cares. failing to understand why it’s your opinion she cares so much about. her, anticipating your answer. on edge. wanting things to make sense. both of you staring at each other. breathing heavy. twisted faces.

you see the scared look in her eyes and you almost want to hold her. want to see her for what she truly is: scared. that’s why she’s always angry. because she’s scared. because she’s alone. because she didn’t mean to, but she’s run everyone away.

but her lip curls into an all knowing smirk. the kind that could only come from predicting your thoughts through your eyes. piercing into your soul to ping at the bit of empathy you had left in you. for her. for the girl who’s angry and scared and alone. the girl who called you onstage in front of a crowd of people to humiliate you.

the girl who embarrassed you at karaoke. turned a video of you drunk falling into a meme. pushes you off to the side so she can be in the middle of dina and jesse on the sidewalk. trips you if you aren’t paying attention. lies. fights. and fucks you over.

your face changes completely, and hers falls when she realizes.

“you’re pathetic. you’re sad and you’re sick. i can’t believe i trusted you. i can’t believe i had sex with you. fuck you.” you yell before storming off. leaving her there. all alone.

“so you’re starting a band?” you ask dina. she nods, smiling. “with jesse and a friend of ours. i can’t wait for you to see us perform. maybe you could come to one of our practices this weekend?”

“yeah, i’d love to meet your friend!”

[cupidsdolll]

pairings: boyfriend!mafia!Harry x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: Harry's known for being ruthless in the way he does his job, a day out with his girlfriend takes a horrible turn.

content warnings. IMPORTANT: hurt no comfort. blood, guns, knifes, and death. please read with caution

authors note: this has to be the darkest story i've written and i just want to say please read with caution, don't read if you are uncomfortable with any of the warning written above. minors please don't interact. this may or may not have a second part following the aftermath.

----

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. 

Everything seems to go wrong one after another and Harry blames himself. If he hadn’t been so reckless, had been paying more attention he would’ve seen it coming. He figured they’d come for him eventually, there’s no denying that part. He had enemies, there’s no doubt about that. It just comes with the job, or the title he would say. Being a head boss of his huge mafia crew, he’s bound to have enemies because of the fact that he’s relentless in his ways. 

He doesn’t waste time with questions that most people ask before killing someone, he gathers the information beforehand and watches them before making his move. He’s mean in his acts, likes to torture them and prolong the pain before quickly putting them out of the misery (he just doesn’t like to hear their screams.) He’ll beat them and laugh while doing it, mocking their cries while he tortures them. He’s well known around the United States, his name sending fear through most people that hear it. No one wants to deal with him, to end up on his bad side, while other mafias will send their catch to him sometimes if one of their employees doesn't want to do it. He’s popular with the other bosses, constantly being invited to any events and to teach but he declines, it’s simply a waste of his time. 

While his hard exterior scares off anyone in sight, there’s one person who broke down his walls and quite frankly is  the complete opposite of him. While he’s all black and grumpy, she’s soft and sunshine-y, all bows and giggles and sweet smelling perfume. She doesn’t hang around him while he’s “Mafia Harry,” usually out shopping or baking or whatever because she can’t stand blood or seeing anyone get hurt though she understands why he does what he does. His men think he’s crazy half of the time, the amount of times they’ve walked into him smiling on the phone (when he’s not bossing his men around, barking orders over the phone or beating someone to a pulp) or chuckling to himself at certain points of the day is concerning to them. 

He doesn’t talk about his personal life to them aside from his closest man on the team, EJ who has heard bits and pieces about Harry’s girlfriend, his other men don’t get paid to listen to him gush on and on about the girl of his dreams. They whisper amongst themselves about how he’s smoked too much or needs to cut back on drinking and drugs and whatever else he does, they think it’s all gone to his head. None of them bring it up to him though, they know better than to do so. After all, he is the one that signs their checks and he treats them well enough that they don’t want to mess up any chances of keeping their job. They just don’t understand how their grumpy and uncaring boss can be so smiley and happy, especially before he has to take care of someone. 

He keeps her away from his job for a reason, there’s no need for anyone to see her, to know that he does in fact have a weakness. He doesn’t want to take a chance of a mole coming in and reporting to their boss about her. His main focus is protecting her and making her happy, always having her sporting his favorite smile. Besides, she’s too pretty to be around all the gruff men and blood and screams. He doesn’t want to tarnish her in any way, he loves her just the way she is and he refuses to be the one to ruin her view of the world. He doesn’t want her to end up like him, all grumpy and somewhat pessimistic of the world and always on the edge whenever he leaves the house. He wants her to keep laughing and cooing at cute animals they pass by, wants her to feel comfortable enough with him to always be able to shut her brain off and just follow him aimlessly. 

He’s a busy man, constantly having to answer phone calls and texts and emails and double checking surveillance videos to make sure they have the right guy, but he tries his best to leave work at the door when it’s just the two of them. He wants to be able to just enjoy the time together and not have to worry about who he needs to find next, wants to be able to look at her smiling and be content with that. He wants to enjoy their time together, doesn’t want to be distracted with his work duties and the constant sound of his phone dinging. 

They normally would just hang out at the house, watching whatever tv show either of them were interested in or just lounging around. That’s one of the main things that he loves about her is that she’s content with just existing with him, his past partner wanted to go out all of the time and party. He didn’t necessarily mind it, but he prefers to just unwind and relax on his off days; he just wanted to have a sense of normalcy, the peace amidst his chaos and his storms. That’s what happened when he met her. It was a cute little meeting that Harry still brings up quite frequently and is one of Y/N’s favorite memories of them. 

Harry was having a bad day, it all seemed to go wrong. While he’s always grumpy, he woke up especially grumpy that morning and of course he tried his best to not take it out on his employees, but of course still ended up being overly sarcastic with them, grumbling about whatever they did that upset him so he decided to make a trip to just breathe. He grabbed his jacket, hat and sunglasses and quickly let EJ know he’s leaving and he’s in charge for the meantime. He walked for what seemed like hours before he landed on a small coffee shop, a small run down looking building with plants in almost every corner and empty space. He figures this might help with his grumpy mood so he walks inside, the smell of coffee and different pastries fill his nose immediately, the sound of the different conversations happening all at once and the soft piano music coming from the speakers fill the space and his ears. 

He ordered a drink out of his normal, one that was recommended by EJ’s girlfriend actually, a tall white chocolate mocha with just a drizzle of caramel and it has to be iced. Those were her words exactly, it won’t taste as good if he doesn’t order it exactly how she says it.  The lady looked at him weird, a concerned glance that only says she knows how to do her job so she’d appreciate it if he didn’t doubt her abilities. He only gives her a nasty glare in return, one that flusters her so she walks away mumbling to herself as she starts making the order. He then walks to one of the nearby walls, leaning against it as his eyes scan the room and taking in the different personalities, mainly doing this to be aware of who else in the room with him (as if anyone who’s in the mafia would be ordering coffee, let alone from the same cheap looking building that he’s in,) but still just in case. 

Not even a couple minutes later, his order is being called out and he walks up to the register once more, hoping this will help his grumpy mood. He wasn’t paying as much attention as he should’ve been though, otherwise he would’ve known that this wasn’t his order actually. As he went to grab the cup of coffee, another hand reached out as well, one that was smaller and softer. Painted nails and a few rings on the fingers, and he immediately looks up with a scowl ready to tell the person off. It was his drink after all, what were they thinking? When he looked up, he was met with a soft apologetic smile and the prettiest of eyes, her hair held back with a big bow and an outfit to match. She smelt like heaven if that was a smell, sweet smelling and strong; a scent that matched her aura perfectly, although Harry wouldn’t call it her aura, he didn’t know the right word to describe it. 

He couldn’t go off on her, it’d be cruel and he’s not that mean, so he just stares at her. She immediately begins to fidget with her hands and he can tell he’s intimidating her. 

“I’m so so sorry! I just assumed this one was mine because I was here before you, but you can go ahead and take it!” She says through a breath, her eyes wide and face flushed. He furrowed his eyebrows at her, he doesn’t understand why she’s giving away her coffee if it’s true. He’s not gonna just take someone else’s coffee no matter his mood. 

“No, no go ahead. If you were here first then I’m not gonna just take it.” He says as he pushes the cup closer to her, he can feel the unnecessary glare from the worker at the whole interaction and it only irritates him further. 

“Are you sure? You seem very…um…. Grumpy and I’d hate to make your day worse.” She says as she pushes the cup towards him. 

This is all very silly, the whole situation. He’s just trying to be a gentleman and she can’t grasp that. He then grabs the cup and puts it in her hand, forcing a smile to seem as if he’s friendly and not trying to hide his frustration. 

“I’m serious, I don’t even know if I’ll like mine, it was a suggestion from a… friend of mine I guess. Enjoy it before it gets watery.” He says, but he doesn’t understand why he’s being so nice to her. Maybe because she’s pretty? But he doesn’t want to date her, he can’t afford to waste his time like this anymore.  She ends up telling him her name and asking a couple of questions to try to make small talk and unfortunately for Harry she’s fairly easy to talk to. They talk until his drink is ready, and then some more out the door as they walk to their destinations and then she has the confidence to ask for his number, which of course (and against his better judgment) he agrees. 

After that it’s pretty smooth sailing, conversations whenever they have the time, and of course a little white lie whenever she asks about what he does for work. Months later, Harry found himself asking her to be his girlfriend and of course she said yes. They usually spend their time lounging around and just existing in each other’s company, but today Y/N wanted to go for a little walk around the town. Normally Harry would be against it, especially when it’s right after he just took care of a member of a rival mafia who’s higher up on the scale and he knows he has several mad enemies looking for revenge. But Harry had thought that he’d been doing a good job hiding her from the public, having her dress as one of his men or wearing some sort of disguise after he told her the gist of what he actually does, so he doesn’t think much of it. He agrees but tells her they can only be out for half an hour, no more just to be on the safe side. She squeals excitedly before tugging on her shoes and throwing on one of his jackets and basically drags him out of their apartment. 

She shows him a couple of her favorite spots in town and gives him her favorite orders and practically begs for him to try, he will always try anything she wants. They talk quietly, wrapped in their own little bubble of bliss and this was Harry’s biggest mistake. He’s usually very attentive whenever they’re out and about, but he allowed himself to be distracted listening to her talk. She’s excited as she talks about some outfit she wants to get for the pet they don’t have, her eyes all bright and full of excitement. The air is warm against their skin and the clouds begin to roll in, dark and menacing and this is where Harry should’ve begun to take a hint. 

Things seemed too calm, aside from the storm beginning to roll in. It seemed too quiet, and then the rain began to fall. Small droplets of water cooled their skin and Y/N smiled brightly at the sky, silently thanking the universe because she always likes walking in the rain. It just always seemed so romantic to her. Harry didn’t think too much of it though he was still cautious. His eyes still scanned over the sidewalks and streets, trying to stay alert of his surroundings. He watched as Y/N tugged her jacket closer to her, a signal that she’s getting too cold but she’s always been too stubborn to let him know, she just enjoys being outside too much. 

He just assumed that time would be on his side with all of it, and had enough time to somehow throw the Gallegos family off of his tracks long enough to not have to be on edge anytime he’s out. He hates it whenever he feels as if he’s putting Y/N in harm's way, hates the feeling it gives him knowing he’s the reason she can’t just walk down the street or just even exist in this world. He’s too scared of someone linking her to him and then taking her away. Y/N says she doesn’t mind all that much, this is the happiest and the most taken care of she’s been in a really long time. As long as they’re both happy and safe, then she could care less. 

Harry didn’t see it coming. The breeze was picking up and the rain was coming down harder, thunder began to boom in the sky. The storm was coming, and it was coming fast. Everyone was scrambling to get indoors or to their cars and Y/N’s just smiling but still walking fast, she hates being too wet for too long. They were bumping into one another and Harry walked a beat behind her, just in case she happened to trip or anything. There was a slight commotion happening in front of them, the sound of gasps and the shuffling of feet as they were pushed to the side. Before long a man is running at them, a hood hiding his face and wearing baggy clothes. Harry still doesn’t think too much of it, maybe a burglary or he upset a store owner, but he’s still cautious. He walks closer to Y/N, his face turning mean in an attempt to deter the man from bothering them. It’s useless though, a good attempt at best but the man moves closer and Harry frowns. He wraps an arm around his girl and begins to move her onto the other side but the man is already right beside them, still moving. 

He’s an arm's length away and before anyone can realize it a knife is entering Y/N’s side and she’s groaning and leaning over. Harry can’t believe it, he frowns deeply and his eyes scan over her. He picks her up and begins to make his way through the crowd to find an empty spot, to make sure they’re safe before anything else happens. There’s more gasps and murmurs around them, more than likely the bystanders either assume he did it or they’re just shocked. It’s not every day that you see blood pouring out of someone. Right before Harry can get them into an alleyway and when he clicks on his ear piece to alert EJ about what’s happening, a gunshot sounds and the bullet goes into Y/N’s head, her blood splattering over his clothes and onto his face. 

He hurries into the alleyway, tears streaming down his face as he stares in disbelief. 

“EJ here, what’s up boss?” EJ’s voice comes through Harry’s earpiece. 

“EJ, they found me. They hurt her. I need you to get into all the security cameras on the strip and find out who did it, search for snipers as well. One Knifed her and someone else shot her,” His voice cracks on every word. He gently sets her down onto the ground near the wall, once he feels as if they’re far enough. Hidden enough by the shadows of the buildings but with just enough light to see the damage. 

It seemed as if the sky screamed with Harry. 

The rain was pouring down heavily, the clouds dark and the wind was unforgiving as it blew harshly against the trees and the ground below them. The lighting strikes were loud, bright flashes of light burst from the sky randomly and loud rumbles of thunder were deep in his ears. Mother Nature has to be upset as well, crying with and for Harry and his loss. He can’t believe it, the love of his life. Gone. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes are just barely opened, she doesn’t have much life left. 

“You fucking promised! You can’t leave me! Don’t hurt me like this… please” Harry’s voice cracks as he sobs over the body in his arms. 

“I’m so sorry, mama. I’m so fucking sorry, you didn’t deserve this and it’s all my fault. I knew me being in your life was a bad idea but I couldn’t help it. You made me so fucking happy, the happiest I’ve been in a while. You deserved nothing but happiness and smiles, you shouldn’t have to worry about hiding. I was selfish and I’ll forever blame myself, I should’ve let you go. I’m so fucking sorry. I love you, please. You can’t leave me. I need you.” He cries, his words are muffled into her neck, somehow hoping him speaking into her body will magically bring her back to life, keep her alive. He can’t hear anything aside from his own sobs, everyone else doesn’t matter to him at this moment. He’s sure that EJ is trying to talk to him, but he can only focus on the fact that he’ll never be able to hold her again. 

He’ll never be able to hear her laugh again. He holds her tighter to him, his tears landing in her skin and he screams. He screams and screams forever, he doesn’t care that he’s gaining attention from the people walking by. He doesn’t  care that they’re calling the police and ambulances, doesn’t care that he could be attracting his enemies. They took the only thing he truly cared for. He knows he’ll never be able to love again. There’s a few people trying to help, ask if he needs anything. Offering to take them to the hospital, even the paramedics can’t get to her. He won’t let them take her away from him, he can’t bear it. He can’t imagine a life away from her. They’re trying to convince him that she needs to go to the hospital, trying to take her from his hold. He just holds her limp body tighter, crying harder and yells at them. 

Eventually they’re able to calm him down enough to remove her from his hold and they begin to transfer her to the ambulance. 

“Don’t bother taking her to the hospital. Just take her to the morgue. She’s dead. There’s no saving her.” He says as he wipes his tears, everyone just stares at him. 

“Please.” He says and just walks through them, he doesn’t have it in him to argue. Right now, he has a mission. He’s determined to get revenge. 

He now has no reason to not hold back anymore, and he plans on finding each and every one from that group. 

He’s not going to play nice, and he’s going to take his dear sweet time. If they thought he was crazy and ruthless already, he’s going to prove that he’s insane now.

[francixoxoxo]

BILLY THE KID BASED OFF OF TAYLOR SWIFTS SONG ‘you belong with me’

Like he doesnt realize readers feelings for him because maybe hes caught up with some horrible girl but then ends up with reader after reader silently pining for forever 💕💕

You belong with me⋆.˚𖥔

Billy the Kid x fem!reader

desc; Billy mistakes infatuation for love, choosing another woman over you. You try to keep your feelings for him stifled, as you always have. But you can’t just stand by and watch him be played.

𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐱𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐗𝐨𝐱𝐨

You loved Billy since you could remember.

Even when you first met him, shooting empty bottles off a fence, you found him handsome. Though you watched from afar, sitting in the crook of your claimed oak tree, you could see the practiced skill in his movements. He wasn’t doing anything fancy, wasn’t showing off. Just a young man practicing his aim.

The second day he came to that field, dotted with daisies and wildflowers, he noticed you and Introduced himself. Struck up conversation with the pretty girl up in the tree, reading away. Wasn’t long until he spent more time talking with you than shooting, wasn’t long at all until you knew everything about him and he knew everything about you in turn. A few months until attraction turned into love.

Billy trusted you with information he wouldn’t even tell Jesse, that later on he wouldn’t even tell Charlie or the Regulators. Information he would’ve taken to the grave, had you not come along. And you told him things you never dreamed somebody would lend their ears to. You never loved someone like you loved Billy. You held out hope that he loved you the same. Held out hope for many, many months that as the seasons changed, so would his feelings.

Your hopes were shot when Billy came to the field, full of glee as he sat down beside you against that old oak tree. “What’s got you smiling so hard?” You furrowed your brows, smiling at him. You hadn’t seen him in at least a week. “Where’ve you been?”

“Met a girl.” Billy couldn’t keep his joy to himself. He took off his hat, putting it behind his head as he leaned against the tree and sighing like a wistful teenage girl. You felt anything but euphoric. Your stomach sank to your knees, quite frankly. “She’s great, just great. You’d love ‘er, yanno. I— well, I think I love ‘er.”

You felt like throwing up. Truly sick to the stomach, not even trying to put on a smile. “Love her.” You repeated. He nodded, eyes wide as saucers. He was serious as death, wasn’t he? Oh, God. “How long have you— Who’s ‘her’?” You traded the first question for the most important in your spinning mind.

“Joan.” Billy said the name like it had been the only one he remembered how to say. You swallowed hard.

“Joan Black.” You breathed. You knew her. Your fathers were good friends, actually. She was a sweet girl. Beautiful, too. Oh, you really felt ill at the way he beamed and nodded. “That’s nice.”

It was not nice. Billy’d known her for a week, you found out after you circled back. Walked her home from the market when he saw she had three bags to carry all on her own. One week. One week, and he said he loved her? You felt like something had been torn from deep within you before you could truly appreciate it. Well. You couldn’t be upset, could you?

He wasn’t yours to begin with. So you bit your tongue to stifle a scream, to muffle a good telling-off about the difference between puppy-love infatuation and true, deep love. You sat through excruciating stories and ramblings about Joan for weeks. Painfully sweet descriptions of her dark hair, her gentleness, her apparently expansive knowledge of just about everything. You tried to brush off obvious red flags, because you didn’t want to seem jealous. Which you shouldn’t be.

Because he wasn’t yours to begin with.

What hurt most was that Joan seemed to be a good girl. You couldn’t blame Billy for finding her attractive, both in looks and personality. You tended to beat yourself up over that, until Joan and her father called on your father. It had been maybe two weeks since Billy broke the news to you. While the men talked in the sitting room over a bottle of whiskey, you had the chance to chat with Joan. You let her sit in your favorite rocking chair on the porch, trying to keep from glaring at her, from judging every hair on her head.

You’d never been so jealous. It was vile, the way you thought of her! She was just another girl who’d fallen head over heels for Billy, wasn’t she? You two should’ve gotten along. You opted to bond over him. “I heard ‘bout you and Billy. How’s that going?” The words were like bile on your tongue despite your sugary tone.

Joan shrugged, fixing her dark curls over her shoulder and smiling knowingly. “He’s all-right.” You couldn’t help furrowing your brows.

“Just all-right?”

“Well. He’s like a puppy dog, s’ almost annoyin’.” She rolled her eyes, smirking in good fun. As if this was just girl talk. You felt your stomach wrap itself into tangles. All you managed was a meek, “Oh.”

But she continued over your lame response, “I’m kinda twixt men right now, yanno? There’s Billy, sure… But you know David Peña? The ranchers son?”

It took you a moment to collect yourself enough to speak. What the Hell? Joan had a man like Billy, and she couldn’t accept just that? She just had to have it all, didn’t she? Oh, your blood was bubbling over, you wouldn’t be surprised if you looked down to find your dress stained crimson. “Yeah.” Joan looked at you expectantly, as if she wanted more of a response, so you shifted uncomfortably and nodded. “Peña’s handsome.” You really had to swallow down the bile in your throat to say, “I don’t blame you for wanting both.”

You absolutely did blame her. Billy being taken hurt you, but if you couldn’t have him then you’d atleast want it to be a woman who’d treat him right. You’d at least want to be able to admit that she was better than you. Joan smiled appreciatively, going on to talk about something you couldn’t care less about.

All you could feel was a strange.. satisfaction. It was selfish. So, so unbelievably selfish of you. But this meant that you hadn’t been bested. Joan wasn’t the better woman for Billy, not even close. It meant that you may have a chance.

Your hopes soared as you met Billy at the oak tree again. You weren’t sure how to break it to him, and suddenly, when you were looking into his eyes, you felt awful. How could you have been happy? Joan’s infidelity would crush his heart. What was a chance at being Billy’s girl when he’d be heartbroken?

Atleast, you felt bad until you finally got the words past your lips, and he looked at you like you were the devil. His jaw ticked, his eyes harshening as he stood up and told you, “Joan’d never. Don’t you say that about her, goin’ ‘round spreadin’ rumors ‘bout my girl.”

You’d been furious. But you swallowed it down along with every other emotion you felt about Joan. You remember shaking your head. “Do what you want. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” he mirrored you, shaking his own head and huffing like a stubborn bull. When he stormed off, you’d only see him again in passing glances in town. Oh, did that hurt you. You should’ve kept your mouth shut. But you couldn’t bear the thought of such a good man as Billy being mistreated. Now he must’ve hated you for such a silly reason as talking badly about Joan.

He must’ve told Joan about it as well, because her eyes seemed locked in a perpetual glare at you. When her father called on yours again, she didn’t accompany him. Whatever. She wasn’t exactly a friend of yours, anyway. What you really mourned was the loss of Billy’s friendship. You considered it good as dead.

Though, when your father told you to put on a nice dress and come with him to a party Joan’s family was putting on, your hopes soared despite yourself. As you brushed a comb through your tresses, your mind dreamt up scenarios of running into Billy again. Maybe he’d forgive you for slandering Joan (even though it was for his own good!) and, in your wilder dreams, would confess that Joan was no good for him, and sweep you into his arms, kiss you like the fairytales…

You were being daft. Stupid. You put your hair into a neat bun, sighing at your reflection. Billy just couldn’t see that you were the one for him. Perhaps that was selfish, but lately you were finding that you were more selfish than you thought.

As soon as you arrived, a few daughters or other well-to-do ranchers and businessmen swarmed you, beckoning you to sit with them. You were actually grateful for the company. Though you were having a nice time, you didn’t see Billy anywhere. Your hopes stayed high, eyes darting around the room and training on any dark-haired man. None of them were him.

Joan, on the other hand, arrived soon after you. You couldn’t help staring at her as she kept to the edges of the room, talking to a girl you knew when you were young. You couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed that Billy wasn’t with her or sick that her other man must’ve been.

You forced yourself to avert your eyes when said man sauntered up to her, greeting her with a kiss to the cheek. Why did you do this to yourself? You shouldn’t have cared so much for a situation that— Billy had made very clear— didn’t involve you. But you cared for Billy. Even if he wanted nothing to do with you, you wouldn’t stop desperately wanting him to be happy.

You hesitantly sipped a mock-tail one of the girls had given you, pushing away thoughts of him, trying to have a good time. That was, until you felt a hand ghosting on your shoulder, and threw your head over it to see Billy, looming over you from behind the couch and smiling crookedly down at you. God, did he look handsome. He was wearing that navy hat, shading his eyes yet not hiding the beautiful azure of them. He was dressed well, too, not to the nines as you and practically everybody else in the room, but as good as an outlaw could get. A new navy button-up, a black vest and even a neck scarf. His clothes were only a ribbon, anyway, a neat little bow tying off the strikingly handsome man wearing them. Who, did you mention, was smiling at you for the first time in weeks?

“Hey. Long time no see.” Billy said it with a grin in his voice, so easily, like it was nothing. It was everything to you. You bit back a snarky Whose fault is that? In favor of smiling and nodding almost shyly. Words seemed impossible with how tight your chest was from happiness. You thought you caught him glancing you over quickly, your pretty dress and up-do. Billy threw you a little wink and nodded politely at the other girls around you. “Hope y’ladies don’t mind if I borrow her a sec?”

The girls nodded passionately, smiling and raising their brows at you in mixtures of second-hand excitement, congratulation and surprise. You set down your drink, excused yourself, and let Billy guide you to the porch. You gave Joan another look, grateful that she was busy.

“What is it?” You couldn’t help picking at your nails, pinching your brows. God, this was all so nerve wracking.

Billy stopped only a foot in front of you, his jaw tensing and his gaze flicking away for a brief moment. When those brilliant, gorgeous eyes settled on you, with so much intensity, you almost felt weak in the knees. “I wanted t’say m’sorry for bein’ so cold. It was petty of me. And wrong.”

Damnit. You wanted to be mad. You wanted to yell at him for treating you so badly for just looking out for him, but… you couldn’t. Damn him for being such a mature man. Looking up at his expression, his eyes, the set of his mouth, (you shouldn’t be looking there!) he was so sincere. He wasn’t staring at you expectantly, he wasn’t waiting for your forgiveness because he wasn’t apologizing to receive it— he was apologizing to apologize.

You weren’t too in love to be honest even with how hard your heart was thumping. You’d been waiting for so long for those words to slip from his lips, too long to let them pass by with a simple it’s okay. “It hurt. I never meant to upset you, Billy, I was just..”

Billy shook his head, reaching a gentle hand to your forearm before letting it slip just as fast, as if remembering something. “Y’didnt deserve that. Y’were just tryna help, I shoulda known that. I shoulda known you were just misled.”

You pressed your lips at that. Sure, you had your apology, but he still didn’t believe you. “I wasn’t misled.” You huffed, and Billy didn’t reply. His eyes brushed you up and down, but you didn’t lose become shy this time. “I’m serious. Joan isn’t good for you.”

Billy sighed your name, a bit exasperated but trying his very best to be polite. He shook his head, those baby blues bare and honest. “Why don’t you like her?” You opened your mouth to protest but he lifted a hand and huffed. “No, I can tell. Since the beginnin’ you haven’t liked her any further than you can throw her.”

“Because, Billy, she’s not an honest girl!” You scoffed, crossing your arms. Realizing you’d raised your voice, you took a breath and muttered a lame apology. “You barely know her, n’ you already trust her. You don’t have any reason to, if anything you have reason to hate her!”

Billy’s eyes were buggy, staring down at you in shock at this outburst of passion. But you wouldn’t give him a chance to reply. If anything, you stepped closer. He didn’t backpedal. “You deserve a girl who wouldn’t take advantage of you. She’s playing you, Billy, and I’m sorry for overstepping but I can’t stand by and let you devote yourself to somebody who won’t do the same!”

Billy turned his cheek a bit, eyeing you as if seeing something new. Something he didn’t exactly mistrust, but something so unbelievably foreign in you that he couldn’t help being skeptical if he was seeing it at all. Suddenly his gaze was so honest, so raw and searching you felt a bit self conscious, that gumption wearing off to fumes.

“I am the woman who wants you to win, and I’ve been waiting for you to love me.” You breathed, swallowing hard you wondering if you might’ve gone too far. You’d only just gotten Billy back a minute ago, and here you were jeopardizing the most important friendship you’ve ever had. “You belong with me.”

The friendship of the most important man in your life.

The man who was staring down at you, close as he could be without blatantly touching you, his brows furrowed and his eyes raw. opening his mouth to speak but being oh so cruelly cut off by a man barging outside.

“Charlie?” The name was put to the face as Billy eventually and reluctantly turned his head to him.

Charlie had a remorseful expression, beckoning Billy inside. “You’re gonna wanna see it f’yerself.” When Billy stepped inside, you trailed after him, expecting a commotion but not finding one. Just a beautiful, dark haired woman kissing a mediocre (to say the kindest) man.

“What the fuck?” Billy breathed, stomping closer and shoving Peña off Joan roughly, his nostrils flared. He looked to Joan with wide eyes, huffing, “Joan? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

Now there was a commotion. Socialites stared and chattered, Joan desperately tried to explain a situation that didn’t need explanation. Much less such a feigned one. “Billy, he’s not— oh, it’s not what it looks like!”

Billy shook his head, rubbing his temple and throwing a look over his shoulder to you. Maybe he was expecting an I told you so, but you didn’t give him one. You frowned deeply, hoping that your eyes were enough of an apology for the time being.

If it wasn’t a scene a moment ago, it certainly was now. All the room’s eyes were on the three, and Billy must’ve known that, because he muttered something to Joan to be kept twixt them. Her face fell, and she reached out for him, but he was already storming to the door. Now it seemed to be Peña’s turn to be upset with Joan, but before you could see anything else your father grabbed your elbow and declared it was time to leave— A blessing or a curse, you were too confused to say.

But one thing that reared its ugly head through the blur was heartache. Heartache for Billy. You’d warned him, you had every right to feel righteous, but you loved the man too much for his pain to be anything but excruciating. Even if this opened the door for you, how could you be certain Billy wouldn’t close it for fear of another broken heart?

The next day, you returned to the field and the oak tree. Maybe you were expecting Billy to show up, because you didn’t bring your book. You simply tied your Appaloosa to the tree, sitting in the overgrown grass and looking out over the plains. They were dotted with wildflowers this time of spring, dappled yellows, purples and whites. It wasn’t long until you heard hoofbeats, as you expected to, making you quickly rise to your feet and dust off your riding pants. You picked against your cuticles as you watched Billy tie his quarter-horse to the tree with yours.

“I’m sorry about Joan.” You blurted the moment he came close, watching him adjust the brim of his hat. That easy smile he wore faltered.

“Not your fault, sweet. If anything it’s m’own fault for bein’ so dumb.” There went those brilliant blue eyes, flicking over you and making your belly erupt in butterflies. “You’ve been the one person on my side since the beginnin’. And I didn’t appreciate you.”

You shook your head passionately, pinching your brows and training your own eyes on your boots. You had to change the subject before your heart gave out. “You still love her, though?”

Billy shook his head and snorted. Actually snorted, as if anything about this was funny. You hadn’t realized he was so close until he used a bent finger to tilt your chin up. “Puppy love, m’ realizin’.”

If his hand were to drift to your neck he’d find your pulse frozen. That gentle set of his lips, the subtle draw of his draw brows, shaded by the brim of his hat— Oh, Christ. You were always comfortable around Billy. But something about the air here was charged. Your words on the porch rang in his head like the echo of a birdsong, he just couldn’t help confront them.

“But this ain’t that, is it?” Billy mumbled, as if the words were a secret twixt you two. Your eyes widened, you had to swallow down any rash words. Rash words like I love you. Your mind was swimming, until Billy’s hand moved to your rosy cheek. Something about the touch made everything still.

“No.” You admitted gently. That hat was casting too deep a shadow over his handsome face in the noon light, and you reached forward to tilt it upward. Much better. “It’s never been puppy love.”

The corner of Billy’s lips pulled a bit. Once again you’d disregarded just how close he was, because when his nose nudged yours, you sucked in a soft gasp that made his eyes flick up to yours. He made a move to back away, your anxiety jumping at even the slight movement, as if he’d run away and never come back. Your hand flew to the back of his neck, your lips crushing against his as you pulled him down to your level.

The kiss was not bruising. It was not demanding. His lips were just as lovely as you dreamt, slightly chapped and warm. This kiss as ardent and loving as you’d read in the fairytales. This kiss was honest.

So of course you went for more the moment he pulled away. You had nostrils for a reason— and Billy had no problem with kissing you until his chest was tight. By the time your lips disconnected, his hand was strong on the small of your back, the other threaded in your hair.

Billy let out the softest laugh after a moment, you couldn’t help breathlessly giggling. Here was everything you’d ever wanted, in your arms, pressing another kiss against the corner of your mouth and smiling broadly. You were the woman who loved him all along, and now he was the man who loved you just the same.

“What took you so damn long?” You couldn’t help jest, wrapping your arms around his neck (with only your toes on the earth, mind). Billy shook his head, that grin softening to a sweet smile that barely pulled his lips over his teeth.

“What, y’don’t like my timin’?” Billy squeezed his arms tighter around you at the sweet sound of your laugh.

You pressed another peck to his lips, unable to resist for a moment now that you’d gotten a taste. “No, not one bit.”

“When would’ve suited your schedule better, miss?” Billy cocked an eyebrow, nose nudging your cheekbone a bit. Oh, you could get used to this.

You pursed your lips in thought. “Last year.” You decided, making Billy’s grin grow impossibly until his eyes crinkled along with it. He hummed thoughtfully, lifting you up with the arm ‘round your back and giving you a little spin that drew sweet giggles from your lips. “That so, lil’ lady?”

Billy didn’t set you down without another, lingering yet chaste, kiss. “Better make up for m’mistakes, yeah?”

Idk how I feel abt this one but it cured my writers block so thank you for the ask!!!

Bonus points if you can clock the Fiona Apple lyric lol

[mandalhoerian]

ghost to its haunt, II | leon kennedy x reader

GHOST TO ITS HAUNT, I. pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader summary: You really shouldn't take advice about your love life from gorgeous women in red dresses, who knew being cold to Leon once would lead to him snapping? word count: 19K warnings: vomiting, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, rough sex to gentle sex, safe word usage, it gets a bit angsty, hurt/comfort, teeny tiny l-bomb, fluff... as a treat notes: We're here y'all. I went way overboard again. I hope it was worth it. This is so horribly unedited, please enjoy. header template can be found here.

🌀 read on ao3!

i. The White House ballroom shimmers with golden lights, and the air buzzes with the sound of laughter and polite conversation with the soft hum of elegant music relaxing the nerves in the background, setting the perfect backdrop for the prestigious event where the whole First Family would be making appearance, most probably to present Ashley Graham, whom the rumors were circulating about of a kidnapping — it was obvious they wanted to be seen and be put in the front page of the newspapers, and everybody with and their mother with a press pass was searching for an opportunity.

As other fellow journalists mingle with politicians and distinguished guests, you move gracefully through the crowd, camera hanging around your neck, as you interview influential guests and fish for possible slips of the tongue that could be important.

After you’re satisfied with that, standing near the refreshment table, you busy yourself with discreetly capturing candid shots of dignitaries and officials while gliding over the crowd to look for a decent looking photo, when out of nowhere, the viewfinder lands on a familiar someone, making you do a double take and going back to him through the camera, your heart going a mile an hour and doing a backflip where it stood, sending a jolt through your body from the surprised spike, breath catching as your time together flooded back in a stuttering film reel from monochrome to color as you registered it was really him.

In the soft glow of the yellow light emanating from the elegant chandelier above, Leon is almost shining — the center figure of a conversation, all attention on him while he dons a weary expression and the slightest of a polite smile, his blond hair catching the illumination and setting it ablaze with a golden radiance, like a halo, cascading in gentle strands and framing his face with an ethereal glow. He is dressed impeccably, wearing a tailored suit that fits him flawlessly and emphasizes his strong figure in the most flattering way as he talked to other men who shared similar clothing, but it’s unfamiliar to you, having never seen him wearing something like that before — it’s strange to you, but you guess feeling unfamiliar and a stranger is supposed to be normal, and a needlepoint of an ache stings your chest.

You keep watching through the viewfinder for what seems like an eternity when only a few seconds of absolute shock has passed, feeling like it’d be similar to looking directly at the sun with a naked eye if you lowered your camera to stare better.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say you didn’t know if you would ever see him again. He and you don’t have anything in common, didn’t meet in a place where you’d be crossing paths often, he lives in a world different than yours, seems like there are oceans between you despite standing in the same room. The joy of meeting him again is melancholic, and the sadness is bittersweet, a weight you can’t lift makes a home on your chest, crushing your lungs underneath it.

What ties you and him anymore? What could there be besides pleasantries? Two years spent by each other’s side without being anything at all together — and the rest, rust and stardust, just like that?

Your fingers betray you and take a photo of him, a flattering shot with the focus on him, and you come back down from la-la land with the muted shutter sound. Stumbling on him when you were expecting it the least has you dumb enough to not realize if Leon were to turn his head, he would literally see you standing there, across the room, pointing a camera directly at him, and the realization has you flustered, dropping your hands and looking for a corner to slip into the shadow of, all the while he is still at the corner of your vision, angry at the intrusive thought in your head:

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

It’s almost as if he’s heard you, or sensed your presence somehow, because he abruptly turns, eyebrows pinched, and your eyes lock across the crowded room.

For a moment, there isn’t anyone else in the room but you and him.

You see the genuine, unguarded surprise light up his face, people around him keep talking, but he zeroes in on you, not blinking once, not even breathing, perhaps, because that’s how you are, frozen in time almost. It takes everything in you to not flee like some heroine in a rom-com, your hands snatching a champagne glass from a nearby waiter’s tray when he conveniently walks by the minute Leon breaks the magic of the moment first by shaking his head as if disoriented and saying something to his companions before starting to make his way toward you, steps picking up the speed as he gets closer.

Why is he coming this way? What does he even want to say? What do we even talk about?

Leon is strangely out of breath as he finally stops in front of you, hand coming up to open the button of his jacket, a tentative, fond smile tugs at the corner of his lips, an incredible contrast to how he was like with the group of men he was with. He calls your name like witnessing an answer to a prayer, nodding in greeting, and it’s awkward, so against the nature of how your greetings used to be, always accompanied by some sort of loving touch to translate the feelings.

“Leon,” you reply, voice and the hand around the delicate stem slightly shaky, and you tighten your fingers to get rid of it.

Neither of you talk for a beat, eyes avoidant of each other as you try to take the other in without being noticed. You didn’t want to acknowledge how nervous he is, how it was because of you, how he would barely let you see any of it before, none of this could mean anything anymore.

"You look amazing," Leon finally says, breaking the silence, the rasp in his low voice raising goosebumps all throughout your back, how he looks at you is a loaded gun at your temple.

"Thank you," you reply, fiddling with your hair nervously once and freezing once you catch yourself doing so, it has to be about self-consciousness, you can’t be giddy and nervous, you can’t be flattered. “You, too.”

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a twitch and leaves a faint, crooked grin in its wake afterwards, his eyebrows raise and fall, head tilting and straightening again. “You think so? Pulled this out from the back of the closet. It’s a couple years old. Feels like it’s gonna rip if I don’t stand like a robot at all times.”

It’s tight fitting in the best way possible, you fight to not look at how his shirt is straining as it hugs his chest and how well-defined his thighs are, but the way he puts it in the added context manages to make you laugh a bit. “It sounds like the job of a Queen’s Guard.”

(Your first instinct was to say, What a memorable show that’d be for the boring old people here, but it’s way too intimate and suggestive, you don’t feel like you should say it, and more surprised how naturally and comfortably it comes to you that it’s frightening.)

You don’t notice him get closer and stand right beside you, the moment you do however, suddenly watching the boring old people seem more interesting. “Would have loved that. At least people wouldn’t expect me to speak, then.”

You take a sip from the flute glass. “Suffering from popularity, are you?”

“I have you to thank for getting me out of my misery,” he says, nearly whispering like he wants nobody to hear him.

It’s so easy to fall into a back-and-forth with him like nothing of dire consequence happened, he makes it too comfortable when he’s the silent type in the first place — the one to be talked to, and you ponder, mind conjuring an image of him dutifully standing beside the President’s daughter, her getting to find out how gooey he is inside when the exterior is of a rock, and the irritability seeps into your speech, replacing the lighthearted undertone of the conversation. “You shouldn’t have come at all in the first place, then.”

He reaches for his tie, tugging on it, you see that he wants to loosen it, take it off entirely, but can’t do anything about it, not really, not when he’s surrounded by all the glamor and politics, and somehow it’s a good metaphor to be tied to the White House the way he is. “It was a last second invite, I wasn’t going to attend, but… I’m glad I did.”

Leon knowingly says it in a voice that conveys what he wants to say without having to say it, and here it was again, the hooded, longing stare that darkens the blue of his eyes. There’s another spike in your heartbeat, palms getting sweaty, all of a sudden it’s too hot to handle and the spacey ballroom is stifling.

You’re looking down, and feel the feather of a touch at your pinky that you wouldn’t even have noticed was there if you didn’t catch his own extending toward yours, and you’re mesmerized by the sight, by the tenderness of the gesture. He can’t possibly hold your hand because of all the people around, you think, but he only reaches, doesn’t touch, just lets the heat be there, and you realize that it’s you that he’s waiting for — he won’t initiate anything uncomfortable.

“Leon!”

You snatch your hand away so forcefully that you nearly bump into the refreshment table, the actual President’s daughter Ashley Graham parting the crowd and walking up to you — to Leon gets you in a frenzy you can’t explain and want to avoid, and so, face flushed from almost causing a scene by spilling champagne everywhere, you quickly mumble your pathetic excuse, “I should go,” and leave like your tail is on fire.

Leon calls, “No, hey, wait!” after you, but you’re maneuvering around the crowd with the agility shame has presented you. The disappointed, “Ashley…” of his comes from afar, and you momentarily look back over your shoulder to get a glimpse of her reaching out to touch his tie and the cute giggling that follows.

It hurts how close they are. It hurts how you still get hurt by the notion he has hidden sides he shares with others but won’t let you see.

You’re so unsettled that it’s only after stumbling on a few coworkers that reason shows back up and says you were an idiot to walk out like that when Ashley herself had shown up, you could have asked her a few questions, no journalist stumbled on a chance like that and you’d blown it.

All this because you were too disturbed seeing her with him — the familiarity in the exchanged “Leon” and “Ashley”s knocking the breath right out of you.

Jealousy. Really?

No, it went beyond jealousy.

This was envy. Of her shared experience with Leon.

You couldn’t possibly be this childish, could you? Two people of opposite genders can be friends, it doesn’t make sense to be making a mountain out of a molehill. How is he drawing out the vulnerable, young and neglected self of you in the past, wallowing in loneliness and the ill-fated ache of being left behind and not chosen over anybody?

You never want to feel like that ever again. This was the biggest reason you really should let Leon go, not because he broke up with you first.

Why did you let him get close like that in the first place just now? It’s stupid and child-like to crave being chased like that when you know nothing good will come out of it.

Leon suddenly wanting to commit has all the toxicity and accumulated grudge in you bubbling to the surface, angry and boiling and condensed, sticking to your insides like tar, you don’t want any of this, don’t want to be like this, you can’t bend to what he wants anymore. Not only does Leon wear around an armor at all times unlike you, he’s also covered in spikes — it hurts trying to get close to him, who knows what him getting close will do to you?

Who knows how you’re going to ruin it the moment things start getting better because you resent him for the past?

As the event at the White House draws to a close, guests are guided towards the designated exit area by attentive staff members. The grand ballroom, really the East Room, was where the gathering had taken place, located on the State Floor, which is the main floor of the White House reserved for official events and receptions, and you find yourself amidst a sea of elegantly dressed guests, each one chatting animatedly about the evening's affairs. You navigate the ornate hallways adorned with historic artwork and furnishings, taking in the grandeur of the place while being mindful of the strict protocols in place. It takes your mind off of things even if only for a while, but everything you look at begins to remind you of Ashley, and what once was breathtaking is now tinted with green, making you sick of yourself.

Along with the guests, you are directed towards a designated security checkpoint. Secret Service agents, dressed in formal attire but discreetly vigilant, ensure the safety of everyone leaving the event. Guests are required to present their official invitations or credentials before being allowed to depart, you hand your invitation to a stern but courteous Secret Service agent, who checks your name against the guest list and returns a friendly nod as he allows you to pass.

You’re finely attuned to Leon, consciousness of him making you notice he isn’t in the crowd at all.

He’s not being let out like the other guests are.

So the newspaper issue coming out tomorrow is right, he isn’t like the other guests.

An acidic feeling rises.

“It was a last minute invitation.”

“Leon!”

“Ashley…”

You feel like you’re being watched.

You also feel like you’re going to puke, though, so it could be out of being ill at ease over preferably not wanting to do that in front of the most dignified of the U.S.

Outside, you feel a rush of cool night air as you make your way towards the awaiting vehicles where the guests departed, assisted by courteous White House staff in locating their assigned transportation.

In your moment of privacy, you take out your camera, and scroll to the picture you’ve taken of him, zooming enough until his face is the only thing in frame. You don’t have anything else left from him. Your bottom lip bears the pressure of your teeth as you hesitate, questioning whether you should delete the picture or hold onto it as a memento of what once was.

Just as you're on the brink of a decision, you're startled by the sound of running footsteps approaching from behind. You turn around to see Leon, disheveled and looking flustered, his tie missing and a few buttons of his shirt undone. The lights of the White House cast a halo around him, making him appear almost ethereal, like a figure from a distant memory.

And you’re a deer caught in the headlights.

He clears his throat, the silence between speaking volumes, crackling and popping with the charged electricity of the heavy words left floating unsaid. .

"Hey," he says softly, eyes searching yours for any sign of what you might be feeling.

"Hi," you reply, trying to maintain composure despite the butterflies in your stomach, putting your camera away, flustered a bit that he could have seen that.

He takes a deep breath, as if trying to gather the courage to say something. "I wanted to talk to you," he combs his hair back, but it falls back anyway, his voice is clogged from nervousness and sincerity. "About everything. Properly."

You swallow, trying to dispel the lump in your throat. "There isn't a point in that anymore," you say, trying to protect yourself from potential heartache.

"There is," he insists, his determination shining through. "There is, for—"

"For closure?" you interrupt, a bitter smile forming.

"No," he responds firmly, his expression showing cracks of something sad and agitated. "Not closure. I want to start again, do this properly."

Your heart stirs at his words, torn between skepticism and a treacherous glimmer of hope, and the ugly feeling in response to him wanting to string you along with what he wants again. "I'm not some guinea pig, Leon.”

He begins to approach you like you’re a frightened animal that’d take off with the slightest of abrupt movements. “I know,” he says, mouth falling open and closing again as if he’s exasperated by the words, head shaking. "None of it was fair to you and I can't change the past, but I've thought about you a lot during these past weeks. I miss you, I miss what we had."

That catches you off guard. On paper, it sounds sweet, but it really is not. What you had was something of a double edged sword that got in between when you tried to get close to him, it was a wall and it was ammunition at the same time, comfortable in some ways, yes, but for him. You always burned for something more and waited for him to acknowledge the fire, but he acted like the smoke didn’t bother him, he could easily breathe through it.

So you laugh, and watch as his eyes close shut in gloom. “I bet you do. It was convenient for you after all.”

“I can’t deny that. But believe it or not, I wasn’t happy. I wanted more. I wanted to be more.” He took a deep breath, searching for the right words, one hand at his wrist, playing with the watch there. "I know I messed up before, and I'm sorry for hurting you for so long. I can't promise that things will be easy going forward but—”

You’ve had enough of this. “What do you want, Leon?”

Having noticed you were getting more agitated and detached from the conversation as he kept going on, he reaches out and catches your hand in a loose hold, thumb feathering over your knuckles. “I want to be yours.”

Blinking rapidly is all you could come up with as a reaction through the blankness that takes over your thoughts.

“You don’t have to be mine.” Leon presses on with more restrained desperation when he sees no response from you, the heat of his palms shocking you as he cups your face with both hands, looking you dead in the eye, searching for what was once out in the open for him. “But I wanna be yours, I am yours. I always was. I’m… If you’ll have me…I want to be more to you—I could be so much more—”

You step away from him, looking him up and down as if he’s burnt you, and his Adam’s apple bobs with the harshness of the rejection, eyebrows pulled in to hide sadness, hands hanging in the air for a bit before falling back to his sides, fingers flexing like he’s dealing with the sensation of your skin still lingering.

“You want to be more to me.” Your arm wildly gestures and claps back to your side as you turn around to face to the side, hands on your hips like there’s someone you can confirm with if they’re also seeing this or not. “You always have to say things in a roundabout way. Or maybe that’s not the case at all and you are afraid of change and that’s what this is about—and yeah, okay, let’s say I accept that and say yes, will you let me be more?”

“Of course, I—”

“Do you know what that means?” You fight a shiver from the chilly air, crossing your arms against your chest as if it could shield you. “It means none of what we had will work anymore. It means the moment I’m treated like that again, I’m gone.”

He releases a big exhale, like he’s been released from ancient chains he’s had to drag around with him for his whole life, he sees this as some sort of green light from you — because you wouldn’t have brought this up if it wasn’t a possibility. You’re still here, hearing him out, and it’s your hamartia. “I’m not incapable of understanding that, I just…”

"Know how it ends?" you ask, echoing his words from the past, and he falls silent, the environmental sounds of cars going about and conversations of the people seep into the quiet between.

His confession would have made you the happiest person in the world once.

There’s still something in you for him, but it’s exhausted, it’s not excited, only anxious, it doesn’t know if it should be happy or not, terribly numb yet wanting to cry at the same time.

You've been through the patterns before, the moments of closeness followed by distance, and the history will repeat itself if you let it. Your heart yearns for love, nothing short of it or close to it, you want to be loved openly, unashamed, unafraid, and you can’t trust him with it, don’t think he’s ready, and you have to think of yourself now. It was two years of putting him first.

But Leon insists on haunting you. “Will you at least have dinner with me sometime? No expectations, just... talking.”

“I don’t know, Leon.”

“Is that a no, then?”

“I don’t know.”

That means chase me, and you’re astounded at yourself for not drawing the line — not even wanting to.

“That’s fine.” He drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, his scent enveloping you and the cold melting away into warmth within seconds, your hands clutch onto it, stunned. “I’ll call you, then. That okay?”

Avoidant of his stare, your pride doesn’t let you say, Sure. Instead shrugging, “Do as you like.”

ii. A lady in a gorgeous red dress and the most beautiful silky, shiny, short black hair is keeping you company as you’re drinking your woes away that night.

The bar is a pleasantly lit space, with inviting, warm lights casting a cozy ambiance. The walls are adorned with vintage photographs and framed artwork, giving the place a touch of nostalgia and character, air filled with a blend of laughter, murmured conversations, and the faint notes of the jazz music playing in the background, creating a charming hum of activity. A polished mahogany bar counter stretches along one side of the room, lined with bar stools, and attended to by a skilled bartender who effortlessly crafts cocktails for the patrons, you’ve come back to him over and over again for more mango margaritas, and behind him, bottles of various spirits and liqueurs are neatly displayed on shelves, reflecting the soft glow of the lights. The place is furnished with a mix of plush leather booths and high-top tables, offering a comfortable and inviting seating arrangement, the deep red upholstery of the booths complements the warm wooden tones, adding a touch of sophistication to the space, everything about this place is safe, and that’s why you chose to get drunk in this place tonight.

The lady in red and you are seated in a cozy corner booth, giving you both a degree of privacy amidst the social hubbub. The table is adorned with a flickering candle, casting dancing shadows on your faces, enhancing the intimate atmosphere of your conversation.

You’ve long forgotten how and when she decided to sit by you, but she’s a great listener and a natural man-repeller — one would think she would do the opposite instead, but something about her keeps them at bay, makes them hesitate to make a move, and you suppose she is unapproachable. That sort of beauty would intimidate anyone of rejection. And you’re talking about man troubles with this kind of woman when it’s obvious it’s beneath her, thinking someone like her would never share your idiocy in matters of the heart, she looks too experienced and dignified for it, looks like she’s mastered any game of love.

It’s not in her intent to embarrass you when she playfully, pointedly asks, “And you thought you could change him?” chin resting against the back of her hand, manicured fingers curled inwards, dark eyes inquisitive and twinkling in the faint lighting of the bar — but you feel like a teenager talking about her first boyfriend anyway.

The lady in red tilts her head slightly, her black hair shimmering as she listens intently. A small smile plays on her lips, and you can sense amusement in her expression. Her fingers trace the rim of her cocktail glass, the redness of her nail polish matching the elegance of her dress.

"Do I look that dumb?" you ask, feeling a touch defensive, a self-conscious smile on your face. "No, he doesn't need changing, I just... I thought maybe I could change the outcome, you know?"

She leans back, the dim light casting an alluring glow on her face, teasing yet genuine. "You just said you accepted that it would end. I'm getting mixed signals,"

"Yeah, I know... But I guess I am that dumb," you admit, feeling a bit embarrassed discussing your romantic struggles with such a sophisticated woman when she puts it like that and exposes your bullshit for what it is — it’s like getting called out by an authority figure you’re looking up to as a child.

"Men like him are predictable, so yes, I would say that you are. For wasting your emotions," she says bluntly, but her eyes show a hint of empathy.

So, you try to make her see it from your perspective, seeking solace from that point of view in the conversation, but the knot continuously folding within your chest isn’t letting you get any relief. “It was worth it. He was worth it. I mean, I’ve never felt like I was wasting anything. You know — you know that famous quote? ‘Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened’?”

Her lips curve into a sympathetic smile, but her eyes remain sharp as she retorts. “You’re not smiling now, are you, hun?”

You have to break eye contact at that, “Well, I’m sad about some other things right now as well, so…” you trail off, not wanting to delve into the other troubles plaguing your mind.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I technically can’t talk about it. It’s work related.”

“Hmm,” she hums, taking a sip of her red wine cherry sangria, her eyes never leaving yours, tips of her fingers trailing the bumps on her cocktail glass.

“What?” you ask, her silence penetrating your thoughts.

She doesn’t get into a back and forth with you, saying it straight away. “I have eyes. All night long, you’ve been drowning in alcohol for someone, not something. You’re lucky I don’t take the change of heart personally.”

You sense that she’s majorly unbothered at all times to take anything personally, yet, your first instinct is to protect yourself from the allegations. “I’m not lying. It is work related.” The confession comes out childishly guilty. “He’s just unexpectedly involved.”

“Now things are getting interesting.”

Your brow wrinkles at the sight of her feigning interest. She doesn’t look surprised.

“They weren’t before?”

"You don't want me to answer that," she says enigmatically, leaving you to wonder what she truly thinks of your life and choices, and you can't help but feel drawn to her mystery and wisdom, even if her observations are uncomfortable to confront.

“Okay, wow,” you widen your eyes at her bluntness, pitch comically rising, but come down from the moment after that, tipping your glass to her. “But yeah, things got… complicated thanks to that and I’m not sure what to do or what to feel. Let’s just say he hasn’t been honest with me and I know why now. Still doesn’t make it any better.”

“Dump him.”

The tipsiness reflects in the way you use grammar comically for emphasis. “We’re already dump. We’ve dumped.”

“He’ll come back. When he does, dump him.”

Scratch begging, you can’t even imagine Leon wanting you to take him back. “Yeah, sure he’ll be back. To pack his shit and leave.”

“Will he really?”

You give her a look, and she gives a subtle, amused one back, so mysterious for no reason.

“But we’re done for good this time. This isn’t him being away for like a month without saying a word, we’ve talked it out, he returned my key. It’s over.”

“Over isn’t the word I’d use.”

“How?”

“I have a feeling.” She looks like she’s scheming behind that subtly knowing smile about something she knows but you don’t, index finger tracing along the rim of her glass. “So… When he comes back, give him a taste of his own medicine. Ghost him.”

You’re terribly interested, imagination going against you, her confidence and subtle smile make you curious about the possibilities.. “Ghost him as in..?”

“Stop caring. Show him he’s become just another passerby on the street. Treat him like how you’d another stranger. Kind. Polite. Bland. Withdraw emotionally.”

That’s not how your personality is, you’re self-aware of being too desperate for your own good. That sort of strength in knowing one’s worth, not lowering standards for any kind of men and forcing them to step up are what chic women like her are good at. Besides, Leon isn’t the sort of man she’s talking about, anyway. “I don’t want to hurt him, though. He hasn’t been that bad to me.”

Her eyebrow slowly starts rising up, accompanied by a flat look that puts you in your place.

“So… Be cold?” you ask, feeling like you’ve disappointed your mother or something.

“Yes.”

“I don’t even know why we’re talking about this when it’s the farthest from what’ll happen—”

Your phone starts ringing, you take it out to see who it is, and see Leon’s contact name flashing on the screen.

“Is that him?”

The urge to answer is strong. "Yeah,"

“Her authority surprises you. "Don't answer.”

"But... He'll worry. I know I would," you protest, torn between following her advice and your natural instincts.

The mischievous glint in her eyes is the glare of light reflecting from a knife’s edge. "That's exactly the point. He's the cat, you're the mouse. Let him chase you around, play with him.”

“I’m not sure what that’ll be good for at this point…”

“Depends. Think about it carefully. How do you want this to end?”

iii. D.C.’s darkness embraces you, mirroring the turmoil within as your stumbled silhouette emerges from the shadows, teetering and swaying with the weight of intoxication. It’s a moonless night, heavy with the weight of regret and shattered dreams, and stumbling through the dimly lit streets, you clutch the remnants of your sanity, drowned in the bitter solace of liquid courage to feel the emotions you’d been avoiding.

But as you fumble for your keys, a flicker of dread ignites in your chest, for there, lurking in the shadows, stands your past, patiently waiting — an ex-lover, hauntingly familiar yet irreversibly estranged.

He is all but highlighted by the contours of the darkness illuminated by the fluorescent light overhead, standing tall, his broad shoulders squared and his stance rigid, holding onto a phone, the strength of his grip on his own biceps something else, the veins on his forearms standing out, and you are unsure if you’re hallucinating things you wanted to see. “You’re late.”

But that didn’t sound as gentle and inspired by the more vulnerable moments you treasured and preserved like a rare insect in amber as you often imagined in your head, the reality being too pent up and harsh and angry — how he’d managed to convey that with two simple words and nothing more, you had no idea.

“And you’re back.” A ghost back to haunt you. A physical ache in your chest manifests, grinding and grounding your lungs, you don’t know what kind of face you’re making as you exhale the pressure out. “Welcome, Leon.”

“Where the hell have you been until this hour? Why didn’t you pick up? You can’t do this, you can’t just not answer when you’re out and I’m going insane over what could have happened—”

“Okay, dad,” you snort. Your head is down as you maneuver around him like some jester while he is talking his head off. Fumbling with your bag for your keys, you squint up at him through the blurriness that doesn’t clear from your vision no matter how much you try to blink it away. “Like you pick up my calls properly.”

(Leon looks like hell from what you can focus on — a wave of dark circles under his eyes, unkempt hair that still looked frustratingly pretty, a special kind of distant, sharp look, small bruises on his neck dipping downwards and disappearing into the skin covered by the t-shirt underneath the jacket and tiny cuts on his face, smell of the hospital, a unique blend of antiseptic and cleanliness with a faint medicinal undertone. But, oh well. Doesn’t he always, when he comes back from his trips? It’s not your problem anymore. It isn’t. He’d figure it out. He figured it out by himself, always.)

The set of his lips is firm, creating an almost imperceptible grimace. “Jesus — ugh. Have you been drinking?”

“Wow, Captain Obvious.”

Leon drops the ridiculous interrogation — for now — about what you’ve been up to in your private time private to you when the activity in question is clear as day, and puts a hand on your upper back when you wobble after finally getting your keys out. “Is everything alright?”

A stuttering laugh slurs from you at the perpetrator feeling concerned after ransacking everything in the scene of the crime that was your life. “I don’t think that’s a conversation I want to have with you…” You keep missing the keyhole. Just go in. “In front of my house… At three in the morning…”

His hands hover over yours, unsure, not wanting to cross a boundary and eliciting battery acid to sour your stomach, but also making you notice one of them was bandaged as if there was a huge gash in the middle of it. “Here, let me help…”

You swat him away. “No, I have it.”

“Don’t be stubborn, give it here.”

“I can do it on my own, thank you very much.”

“Listen—”

Click.

“A-ha.” You turn your head to where he was but find out he has moved, and then you actually find him at the other side of you, (embarrassing, you weren’t that drunk) and you don’t let the awkwardness of that deter you from flashing a triumphant smile, acting way more sober than you were. “What, you think I can’t function without you or something?”

The shadows over his face move in gloom almost, you’re imagining things. “That’s not what I—”

You push forward without any consideration for what he has to say, entering your house, staggering as you kick your shoes off, fatigue draped over you like a weighted blanket all of a sudden. “Doooon’t care.”

“Hey!” He shouts after you while the only mission objective you have in mind is getting to your bed, stalking through the hall like some zombie and getting farther away. “You’re just gonna leave the door wide open?—”

“Just close it before leaving!” The wave of your hand is slow and heavy in the air, your eyes half-closed already, it’s all instinct guiding you to the bedroom. “Too tired. Just gonna tap out.”

“You have to lock—” But you’re not listening, nor responding anymore, and he curses. “Shit.” There is a brief silence in which you find your bedroom door and tumble in, and he chooses that moment of happiness to ask a question when any input has faded from your perception. “Hey, I’m coming in, okay?”

Meanwhile you have soared through the air and landed on the dreamily soft mattress of your bed, limbs spread out like a starfish, enjoying the silky coolness of the covers against your face.

And he's still yelling, still back at the entrance, his voice is like a fly buzzing in the distance. “Are you listening? I said I’m coming in.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you murmur sleepily, to no one in particular. The room becomes a hazy blur as exhaustion and intoxication intertwine, pulling you deeper into the comforting embrace of slumber. The words of concern and exasperation from Leon are distant, as if filtered through a thick fog that blankets your senses.

There’s a window of opportunity of silence in which you’re a bird not burdened by the weight of existence and floating upward into the hands of a pleasant state of blankness, and then there his voice is again, closer this time, in the room, and you haven’t even heard him sneak in.

"You're really gonna regret not taking your makeup off in the morning when you see the stain it leaves," Leon softly chides, and despite talking to you, he sounds like he doesn’t want to wake you up, a vocal fry in his low and soft tone, and you could sleep listening to it honestly, if he just wasn’t this persistent..

With a drowsy sigh, you mumble, "Be quiet, I'm... sleep," your words slurring together.

You physically feel Leon's eyes linger on your face, his gaze gentle but heavy, the same weight when he wants to say something so badly but is holding back. He reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek lightly, a silent gesture of care and it makes you jump at the unexpectedness of it, looking up at him with one cheek squished against the bed and see that he’s perched up on the edge of your bed, no idea how he can sit lile that well-balanced. "You really should be cleaning up first," he persists, worry evident.

There’s something else there — but your brain is slow to keep up, it’s like trying to open an image on Internet Explorer and it’s loading streak by streak, pixel by pixel. But even in that state, your emotions know that touch shouldn’t be given to an ex of all people, you can’t even hate how it instantly has you cozy and comfortable and safe, your response coming out as a hum, consciousness drifting further into the depths.

"That'll be one hell of a hangover," Leon tries once more, the way he speaks is so pleasantly smooth and dulcet.

Your mood instantly shifts when he disturbs you yet again. “You have to get up.”

Growing slightly irritated, you murmur, "Can you not nag me first thing after coming back, please? I'm going to sleep. You can pack up your belongings all by your lonesome and get outta here."

Leon's shoulders slump ever so slightly, understanding and resigned. He knows better than to press the matter further, realizing the futility of trying to reason with a half-asleep mind.

"Right..." he concedes, his voice softening with acceptance.

"Right," you affirm, your voice trailing off as sleep claims you once more.

You think you sleep successfully.

For a while.

It could have been half an hour or just a few minutes before he startles you awake once more. He stands over you, slightly long blond hair falling over his forehead and those striking ice blue eyes narrowing slightly with concern, he’s so pretty in the gray darkness. He brushes his hair away with a distracted gesture. “At least get up and change. You’ll feel much better.”

“I'll feel much better if you just let me sleep, oh my god,” you reply with a hint of drowsy annoyance, your voice muffled by the pillow you've pulled over your head.

He sounds like he’s arched up an eyebrow. "You're not getting any tonight. In less than an hour, you'll be spending the rest of the night in front of the toilet, throwing up," he says, huffing.

You peek out from under the pillow, meeting his gaze with a mock glare. "Yeah, yeah. Leave me alone." You pull the pillow back over your head in a half-hearted attempt to block him out. It’s your shield against him

With a small smile playing on his lips, he reaches down and gently tugs at one corner of it. "Don't say I didn't warn you.”

You resist for a moment, and there’s an unexpected tug of war, but the warmth of his hand and the concern in his eyes are too inviting to ignore. Slowly, you relent and slide the pillow off, allowing him to see your face. "Then don't say I told you so. I'm just tryna catch some Z's, goddamn.”

"Okay," he concedes, a bit sad. With a soft sigh, shifting to move from the edge of the bed to sit closer and more comfortably, his hand resting on your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

Head having found its way back under the pillow again, you wave him off. "Okay. Now, shoo.”

You seize the silence for a moment, enjoying the tranquility even if it's interrupted by Leon's presence beside you.

His concern only adds fuel to the fire.

"Are you sure everything's alright? You're not a drinker," he questions, with the familiarity of someone who once knew you intimately.

"Oh m—” You shoot up to sit cross-legged on the bed, irritated beyond belief. “Alright, you've successfully acquired my undivided attention." Your arms cross defensively over your chest, drawing out our swords. "So, spill the beans, what do you want? And before I can drift into the blissful realm of sleep, what exactly must I accomplish for your satisfaction?" you add, dripping with sarcasm.

His spine straightens, you don’t know if he did that to look bigger than you, but he’s tentative, usually composed demeanor faltering slightly. "I'm just worried."

Play cold, was it? You didn’t even need to try. It came naturally. "Okay. So?"

"So?” His eyebrows can’t go any lower. “What's going on with you?"

Your anger simmers just below the surface, and you can feel your frustration boiling over. "What's going on with me? What is this, a ketchup?"

"Ketchup?" he echoes, blinking, clearly puzzled by your choice of words.

"Catch-up. You know what I mean. Why are you trying to catch-up with me?"

The question that follows is icy. "Am I not allowed to ask you about your well-being?"

"Oh, you care about that now?" Your words are little unexpected presents for him, wrapped with venom. The anger inside you starts to spill out, and you can feel yourself losing control.

There's a pause, and you almost regret the harshness in your response. As you glance over at him, you notice a flicker of hurt in his eyes, a vulnerability that he rarely displays. The sight only serves to stoke the fire of your anger as he gets worked up too.

Leon's cold exterior is a shield, protecting both you and himself from the intense anger that simmers just beneath the surface. You can see it in the way his jaw flexes.

"That's... the most ridiculous thing to ever come out of your mouth—” He raises his arm and then wrenches himself off the bed, back to you, running a hand down his face. “No, you know what. You're drunk, I shouldn't... I'm not picking this fight with you," he says, his voice firm and controlled, there’s strain behind his words.

"Yeah, you're picking girls instead.” The bitterness in your voice makes it difficult for you to hold back the torrent of the real emotion behind it all. “From private airports,"

His head turns your way, hand hanging in the air in front of his face. "What? What are you talking about?" His profile is to you, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

You take a shaky breath, threatening to spill over, like porcelain all tumbled over inside the cabinet and the only thing holding the disaster off is one single door. "Nothing apparently. Everything's nothing to you. Like nothing. President's daughter. Nothing. Biggest spoof of this year yet. Nothing."

His eyes widen with realization, fully turning around, and you can see the gears trying to turn with the wrench you’ve just jammed between cogs. He struggles to find the right response, caught off guard. "Wait. Ashley?—"

You scoff. "It's Ashley to you now, is it?"

Leon's stoicism remains unyielding, and it infuriates you even more. It's as if he's completely missing the point, focusing on technicalities and trivialities instead of acknowledging the elephant in the room. He starts to inquire, his voice professional and overly serious that he might as well be talking to a stranger. Where did you get this information? Can't be paparazzi. Nobody knows—"

You slide off the bed, swaying as you start walking up to him, first sentence coming out as if you’re singing. "Eeeeveryone will know tomorrow. President's daughter with her bodyguard. The new Rachel and Frank. Didn't know you were Secret Service by the way. Can't believe I learned it from my workplace instead of the man, the myth, the legend himself—"

He steadies you by your shoulders as you reach him. "That's enough," he interjects sharply, the coldness returning to his tone, clashing with his hold.

"Bold words from a boytoy—" you continue, not willing to back down in the face of his attempt to silence you.

"Stop talking," he commands, teeth gritted, patience wearing thin.

With a deep breath, he steps away, whipping out his phone and walks hurriedly towards the door. His demeanor shifts from cold and collected to urgent and focused as he makes a call. "Hunnigan, this is Kennedy. Sorry for calling in the middle of the night. We have a problem."

The overwhelming surge of emotions, combined with the numerous drinks you've consumed, takes a toll on your body, and you can no longer ignore the urge to be sick. Half-encouraged by the way Leon brushed you off, you stumble to your feet, feeling unsteady and disoriented. Your vision blurs as you make your way to the nearest bathroom, desperately trying to reach it in time. The cold tiles of the floor feel unforgiving beneath your feet, and you're grateful for the support of the walls as you try to steady yourself.

Finally, you make it to the toilet just in time, and without warning, you bend over and empty the contents of your stomach into the bowl. Each heave feels like a release of all the pain, anger, and disappointment that have been building up inside you. The room spins around you, and you close your eyes, trying to find some semblance of stability.

Leon's conversation in the hall becomes background noise to you as you struggle to regain your composure in the bathroom. The noises you've made reach him, and he finally realizes that you're not in your room anymore.

His footsteps are approaching fast. "Gotta go. Update me on it tomorrow. Yeah, got it. I owe you one.”

He enters the bathroom, and you're immediately filled with frustration and embarrassment at his intrusion. "Hey," he says, all that squabbling only for him to show concern.

You snap, your anger fueled by the discomfort of being caught in such a vulnerable state. "Get out, I'm vomiting my guts out for fuck's sake, why did you come in!?"

Leon ignores your protests. "Sshh, I got you," He moves closer and starts rubbing your back, trying to provide some comfort.

Despite your best efforts, another wave of nausea hits you, and you vomit once again. The embarrassment only intensifies, and you feel the heat of humiliation rising to your cheeks.

"Let it out. It's gonna be okay," Leon says reassuringly, his hand continuing to draw shapes on your back in a soothing gesture.

Your voice gurgles at the back of your throat, making it difficult to speak clearly. "No."

"I know, I know," he murmurs, his voice filled with understanding. He was just angry with you.

"Why did I drink that much?" you whine, feeling regretful and sick, wiping the tears away from your face.

He tries to lighten the mood despite the seriousness of the situation. "Don't I know?"

Not caring anymore, you rest your cheek on the toilet seat. "I swear I'm not drinking again.”

Leon stays with you, his presence a comforting anchor as you finally finish vomiting. He puts his hands in your armpits, trying to help you stand up.

"Alright. Up you go," he encourages gently, trying to get you on your feet.

But you comically lower yourself back down onto the cold bathroom floor, finding solace in the cool tiles beneath you. "Noooo, I'll just lie down, let me just..."

He begins to outright nag. "No, you can't sleep here,"

Your body is protesting any further movement. "I'm so tired."

"Let's get you to bed."

"This is my bed.”

"You'll get even more sick if you do that.”

This time, he doesn't bother getting your cooperation. With ease, he lifts you up, effortlessly carrying you to your actual bed. Despite your protests, you can't resist his strength, and you're grateful for the relief of being off the floor.

You find yourself lying on your bed, surrounded by the familiar comfort of your sheets and blankets. The world around you still feels a little hazy, but Leon's presence is a grounding force, providing a sense of safety amidst the chaos.

He tucks you in, ensuring you're warm and comfortable, and you can't help but feel a small twinge of gratitude despite the lingering anger and hurt.

"Rest now," he says softly, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

You nod, too tired and overwhelmed to say anything more. As your eyes start to drift shut, you feel Leon beside you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to be comforted by his touch.

iv. You step inside your cozy little flat with a heavy heart and a head full of the hangover from last night's events and the busy day you left behind in the dust. But all thoughts catch in your throat when you see that familiar silhouette slouched into your armchair, your favorite novel resting open across his lap. A flood of mixed emotions hits you – annoyance at finding him still there uninvited, happiness that he's still here, and anger at the conflicting emotions he stirs within you.

"Welcome back," he says, his voice unnervingly calm. You notice the way he fidgets with the corner of the book. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of distress or discomfort.

You remember how you practically teleported to your workplace this morning, wanting to avoid confrontation and the shame of having been witnessed going green from jealousy and in such a vulnerable state, believing he’d be gone when you came back, along with every trace of him. "Why are you still here?"

He sighs, placing the book on the coffee table and rising from his seat. He comes over to take your bag from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. "Hop in the shower for now. I couldn't prepare a bath because I didn't know when you'd be home."

"Leon, why are you—" you start to question, but he cuts you off sharply.

"Later," He impatiently runs a hand through his slightly tousled hair, face showing his annoyance. "Go get refreshed. Have you had anything to eat?" he asks, trying to shift the focus away from the uncomfortable conversation.

"Not really..."

"I figured. Made you some food. It's just sandwiches, but they're decent," he says, his voice softening slightly as he tries to be helpful despite your reluctance.

He sets your bag aside to its designated place with gentle care, as if afraid to disturb you further.

"I appreciate the effort, but—".

"I said later. Now, go.”

With a heavy sigh, you decide not to push the issue for now, not when he’s being snippy with you. There's a part of you that wants to scream at him to leave, to get out of your life and stop playing with your emotions. But there's another part that appreciates his presence, his care, and his support in this moment of vulnerability.

This is getting so complicated.

In the end, you find yourself complying with his request and heading to the shower, trying to wash away the physical and emotional weight of the night.

You come back after a while to find him sprawled on the couch, his body tense, and his glare fixated on the ceiling. As you enter the room, he notices you lingering and propels himself up, sitting upright with a stiff posture.

"Come sit," he says, his voice low and controlled, motioning towards the empty space beside him.

You gingerly take a seat, facing him, his fingers drumming slightly on his thigh.

You try gauging his mood. "You're being weird. What is this about?"

"I said we'd talk, didn't I? We're talking," he replies, his tone guarded, his fingers now interlocking tightly, as if trying to contain his emotions.

You feel a bit uneasy under his scrutinizing gaze. "Okay. What about?"

"That was quite the stunt, you know? Don't ever do that to me again,"

Confusion clouds your features as you try to decipher his cryptic words. "What? Do what?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

He sucks in a sharp breath. "Stop playing dumb," He leans forward slightly, his body language becoming more intense. "Don't ever not pick up my calls in a situation like that, in the middle of the night when I can't reach you or find you. I was about to go searching for you myself—fucking hell."

You try to process what he means by searching for you himself. "How would that even work?"

His lips press into a thin line, and he lets out a deep exhale, the tension in his jaw becoming more pronounced. "You'd be surprised how good I am at finding people." He alludes at something you have no idea about, his voice edged with frustration, shifting his weight, manspreading, hands coming on his thighs. Assertive. "Now, again, pick up my calls. Especially at night if you're out on your own.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your own defensiveness mirror in your body language. "I'm not obligated to do that." You were safe, you knew how to keep yourself safe, what is he going on about?

Leon's eyes narrow, and he leans forward, one hand gripping the edge of the couch as if trying to anchor himself in the conversation, the other waving sharply between you and him. "Is this a joke to you? I was fucking worried sick," he spits, his voice tinged with restrained emotion, eyes burning, swallowing hard, trying to compose himself, his fingers tapping nervously against the upholstery. "This concerns your safety," His voice catches slightly. "Do you have any idea what kind of danger you were in? What if something had happened to you, I—-!" He pauses, his voice cracking with emotion, closing his eyes and taking a second to slow down. "A drunk woman walking all by herself after midnight without any protection—-" he continues after, eyes darting around the room, searching for the right words to convey his feelings.

Your shoulders are squared, chin lifted defiantly, a gesture of strength despite the turmoil inside. "I can take care of myself." You sniffle and look away in agitation, not wanting him to see you as weak or incapable.

"Oh, bullshit," he fires back, voice rising. "Don't take this personally, but you don't stand a chance against a man while piss drunk."

You raised an eyebrow, not willing to back down. "And now you're exaggerating. It was a safe bar just around the block—-"

Leon’s smiling but there’s nothing humorous in it. He points a finger at you, then. "Don't be a brat to me right now. I am serious," he says, tone shooting down. "I need you to acknowledge how stupid this was of you and never do it again. For yourself. Go out and drink however you like, whenever you like, with whoever you like, but be safe. Understand?"

“No.” You barely stutter it.

He’s right.

You can’t take that he’s right.

This topic has to be dropped.

“What do you mean no?”

“Just leave it.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. You shrink from the barely held back glare he shoots your way. “Not until you agree to do as I say.”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere, stop being so obstinate and drop it, please."

“Oh, you don’t understand, do you? No idea whatsoever how angry I am with you.” His voice is dangerously low, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll make you understand.”

With practiced ease, he wraps an iron grip around your waist, pulling you near. Your heart leaps against the wall of his chest as his arm encloses you in his hold, cradling you safely within its grasp. A swift intake of air catches in your throat and your whole fips upside down, an arm secured around the swell of your ass as you’re dangling upside down from his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. And just like that, you find yourself being taken away, carried effortlessly and unceremoniously towards the bedroom, taking in breath the freshness of Leon’s cologne and just how wide and strong his back is. Before you could utter or comprehend another word, he was already setting you down upon the plush surface of your bed – his commanding presence towering above you on all fours. His formidable frame pressed against yours, pinning you to the bed while a fervent expression of lust and veiled anger stared unabashed into your very soul.

Leon reaches down to undo the buttons of your bottom, deftly popping each one apart until they slide to the floor at the foot of the bed. His warm fingers caress your legs as he drags your pants away from your body and tosses them aside, exposing your bare feet and ankles which begin to curl under the duvet at the base of the bed. Your knees are parted further by the pressure of his palm cupping your inner thighs and guiding them wider apart, allowing him room enough to climb astride you where his weight presses heavily into the bed beneath you both.

“Only stupid thoughts behind those pretty eyes, huh? I’ll just have to fuck you dumb to the point where you just get it.” Beneath your panties, his large, roughened hands cup your sex — hot, slick flesh twitching and yearning toward fulfillment without shame or embarrassment. It only heightens the pleasure when he rolls his thumb against that little knot of heat, dipping down to rub slow circles around it — prodding with lazy delight. Even when his attention falls elsewhere to trace the curve of your belly and navel, your ardor rises despite such restrained attentions. You are lost to longing; helpless as a feather caught in a cyclone of wanton desire.

Leon's hand glides down, descending with lethal intention. With a silent growl born of frustrated passion, he breathes out, "So goddamn wet for me." He burrows into your jugular vein with a probing kiss, seizing your heartbeats hostage, but you have no complaints about how much the simple action arouses your heated body.

There’s no oral, so he has to use lube for this, coating his fingers, and he doesn’t look like he’s about to have sex, it’s like he’s off to a battle.

His anger is something you didn’t know would spur you on this hotly, each hard look shooting directly into your crotch.

Two digits delve into the depths of your awaiting cunt, sliding in seamlessly, filling you completely. Yes!

Your thoughts become hazy, the edges of your mind as raw as exposed nerves, consumed by a surge of heat that flows thick and slow like molten lava.

Delicately, the heel of his hand weighs upon your throbbing and hardened clit, providing a tantalizing pressure, while his fingers work you up and up, knowing just how to hurl you toward the edge.

You could come like this. If he just keeps going the way that he is now, you are so close.

However, this time, he opts to prolong the experience, deliberately massaging his fingers deep within you, unhurried yet uncontrollably thorough. It's as if he intends to extract every last drop of pleasure from your willing form.

You find yourself gasping for precious breath, your arousal flooding you with an intensity you've never felt under the coldness behind his piercing blue gaze. “Please,” you say, body instinctively curving towards his touch, and he eases on the pressure, making you softly whine. “No, more.”

“More? Alright. Like this?”

That sounds dangerous. You should read the moderated vexation, but you don’t.

And then he ups the intensity.

The immense pleasure overwhelms you, rendering you powerless in its wake. Your legs involuntarily jerk, your toes curling as they make contact with the sheets, there’s a frenzied urgency in the way grind against his palm, desperately craving that elusive climax hovering magnetically close but just beyond your grasp.

You teeter precariously on the edge of release, the climb to the impending orgasm has you trembling with anticipation, it’s just a final push away, and Leon is delivering it with flawless precision...

Until he isn’t.

His hand retreats, the fullness of his fingers slipping out of you, leaving behind an agonizing emptiness that your core clenches pathetically around. You're left yearning, aching for more, and you’ve been mercilessly dunked in ice water by a torturer, extinguishing the flames of ecstasy that had been building within you.

Your dumbfounded gaze remains fixed upon him, your breath perpetually caught in your chest, causing a painful tightness. His pink tongue comes out to lick his fingers, drenched in your ever-present slickness and the flavored lube, and the digits disappear behind his sensuous, kiss-reddened pink lips. A tremor courses through your chest, leaving you to pathetically inquire, "Why?"

“You know why.”

You adjust on the sheets, shifty, restless, trying your best to come back down and ignore the biting pleasure sinking like a ship. So he was really doing this.

And you were going along with it despite everything, craving everything he could give you.

“Now, look at me. Look at me,” he demands, gently turning your face towards him, his fingers still moist with your essence. “You know how this ends. Other than that, no means yes. Stop means keep going. Don’t means do it. Wait means continue. Struggling just tells me you like it.”

He generously allows you time to push him away, to draw the line and declare your unwillingness to continue this path.

"Leon—"

"What is your safe word?" he cuts you off, tone both commanding and measured. His eyebrows are low on his forehead, staring you down so hostile one would think you’re his enemy, chest broad, like he’s seconds from attacking.

"Rookie."

He kisses your temple. So loving against his cruelty just now. "Very well.”

It’s gone back to tumbling in bed together again, all two of you are capable of is avoiding whatever it is that you want to say and conveying the frustration through touch instead.

And he’s punishing you.

With all intents and purposes, Leon normally isn’t like this.

You didn’t know he’d snap just like that when all you did was a little push.

Leon's intensity and intimidating demeanor may seem at odds with his surprisingly indulgent and caring nature towards you. While his usual serious and frosty exterior can be off-putting to others, there is a different side of him — one that shows deep affection and thoughtfulness, albeit elusively. He runs on giving you whatever you want at the end of the day.

The first you noticed this was late one evening two years ago when you’d managed to snuggle up to him without him getting all stiff, as you sat together in the dark living room and watched a movie together, Leon's intense gaze softening as he observed you. You'd grown accustomed to his serious expression, but that night, you could see the faintest hint of concern in his eyes. You had yawned, feeling the exhaustion from a long day, and rested your head on his shoulder.

"You should get some rest," Leon said quietly, his voice hoarse and rough, yet gentle. "I can handle the rest of this."

"I'm okay, really," you replied, trying to suppress another yawn.

Leon's semi-frown had deepened as he reached for the quilt draped across the couch. Without a word, he had wrapped it around your shoulders, tucking it in snugly up to your neck. "Better," he said with a hint of satisfaction.

The small gesture had warmed your heart, knowing that despite his gruff demeanor, and tendency to not say anything, he genuinely cared for your well-being. As you had drifted off to sleep, he had remained by your side, watching over you in his silent but protective way.

In the following days, little surprises had started appearing around the house the more he came around. A new book you mentioned wanting to read, a set of cozy slippers, or a favorite snack tucked into the pantry. You had wondered where these gifts were coming from, but whenever you brought it up, Leon brushed it off as if it's nothing.

Yet, the repairs and chores he undertook in secret had been perhaps the most endearing. You had noticed the creaky door was now silent, the loose cabinet handle was firmly fixed, and the kitchen faucet no longer dripped. He would never mention these tasks, as if they were just a natural part of his day and you would think to yourself, It’s great to have a man around actually, wow. And it had nothing to do with the sex.

Another evening for example, after you had finished a hearty dinner, you had gotten up to clean up, but Leon had waved you off. "Relax," he’d said gruffly, "I've got it."

You’d decided to watch him from the threshold, curious about how he went about his chores, feeling weirded out by this busy man maneuvering around your kitchen like a housewife. He’d washed the dishes with care, meticulously drying each one before placing them back in the cupboard, cleaned the counters and even swept the floor with a focus when there was no need to.

He wouldn’t accept one praise or thanks for it, and you’d understood a bit late that this was his way of showing the affection he couldn’t with words.

It seems that the only context in which Leon feels comfortable enough expressing it is within sexual encounters; perhaps because the boundaries surrounding such actions are already defined. In these moments, his attention remains focused solely upon generating and maintaining your pleasure. His own satisfaction comes secondary to ensuring yours. And he finds control in it, pushing deep inside and striking rapid fire peak after another until you lay quaking beneath him, other times his ministrations fall closer to tenderness than intensity until even their quietest whispers roil across every part of you leaves you squirming through his attentions regardless of approach.

The thought alone puts you in the most compromising position possible: surrendering your body over to someone who just might leave you in ruins afterwards but whose mercy still tempts you nonetheless. There are times when his touch is harder than others and at other times, it's nothing short of achingly loving.

It’s hard to think straight whenever Leon is taking care of you. How could one possibly find it difficult to let go when you’re being spoiled by the best? Him and this whole arrangement had been giving you a lot of second thoughts while it lasted but you can never deny that every single time you collided together, it always ended in some form of relaxation and satisfaction with the help of the man who has proven that he knows what makes you feel good.

Even though he's not capable of saying his feelings out loud.

But that's never stopped him from making sure that you get all the spoils that he'd never allow anyone else to have in their lives. Maybe he liked to spoil you more than anything because he couldn’t give you much more. Maybe he felt a need to give back to you for staying silent and not wanting anything out of him.

He's a gentle man. Kind. Looks like a jawbreaker but is mushy inside.

You've made a mistake and he’s not going to let you off even if you say sorry.

Enthralled by this all, you don’t want him to.

As the anticipation crackles in the air, Leon's hands remove your ruined underwear, sliding them down your legs, leaving them discarded around your ankles. His hands travel up from your ankles to your calves, sensual in his caressing, and the way he touches the back of your knees has your core twitching, beginning the curling again.

Leaning down against you, his lips press languid, teasing kisses against the tender flesh of your breasts, interchanging between suckling, licking, and half-bites that you want would be stronger as one hand comes up to pay attention to the neglected one, giving you whiplash with the power behind his occasional squeezes and the punishing tugs and flicks on your nipple.

You don’t know how many minutes pass as he overpowers you and stops you from squirming and closing your thighs for any god-sent friction as they become the only things he pays attention to. It starts stinging at one point, aching sweetly that you want him to both keep moving and keep going.

“Stop, come on, please…”

“Why should I? I’m having a good time.” You can practically see the nipple that pops out of his mouth sizzle with soreness. “There you go again, saying stupid things.”

Oh, he’s mean.

He, somehow in a way that adds to the gratification, wrings a nipple that draws a yelp out of you. “My stupid girl. Acting like you’re not getting off on this when you know how to stop me.” With deliberate intent, his mouth embarks on a seductive exploration, trailing butterfly kisses along the path of your stomach. “Don’t use that mouth of yours other than making pretty noises for me, yeah?”

Each flick of his tongue against your hips sends a jolt of desire coursing through your body. Your legs instinctively respond, parting wider, asking for his touch.

There, just before the pinnacle of your thighs, he pauses, holding himself above you, his closeness tangible. He bites down on them, leaving temporary teeth marks this time, and you jolt upward against his mouth, but can’t properly move to satisfy yourself, your tiny moan eliciting a dark laugh from Leon. “That’s it, keep those sounds coming.”

The tip of his nose nudges against the delicate apex of your sex, provoking a surge of anticipation that consumes you. The whine for him to do something comes close to fly out of your throat but you know he’d do the opposite, so you lay there, hands coming down on his taut, strong shoulders and —

He’s still dressed. You didn’t even have a break to notice.

You’re zapped out of your head by the soft, warm breath rolling along your hypersensitive clit to your slit. It's a provocative, nowhere near enough of a drag, a delightful torment that he dangles in front of you. And then, he finally succumbs to his desire — your desire, his mouth descending upon your throbbing pussy and you can’t stop the drawn-out whine of satisfaction. “Oh my god! Yes, keep doing that, just like that, please!”

The sensation is overwhelming, a convergence of his roughened jaw tensing as he skillfully works you open. His tongue, slow and obedient, is a slick slide through your wet folds. He hums into you, the vibrations resonating deeply within your being and your legs attempt to clamp around his head, only to be stopped by the metal band that are his arms holding them down, and he bathes you in soft, slow, torturous caresses, parting you further, making his tongue delve in.

He doesn’t give you what you want. Not this time.

The pace of his relentless pussy-eating remains excruciatingly slow, as if he savors every moment, every lap of his tongue against your delicateness like he’s sipping up a beverage. The fusion of pleasure and pain are crackles that don’t explode into completion, pushing you to the very limits of your endurance.

In your desperate quest for release, your fingers instinctively scramble to clutch and tug at his soft hair, knowing that Leon relishes in the sensation, praying that he will reward you for doing that somehow.

The anticipation throwing a tantrum within you reaches a fever pitch, your entire being a symphony of quivering muscles and trembling limbs. Your body tenses like a drawn bow, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable crescendo. It wraps around you, about to release the arrow, while your gasps and squeaks fill the air.

You’re there, you’re finally there, finally.

Your thighs quiver uncontrollably as his grip is a vice around them, your stomach folding over itself inside in an uncontrollable frenzy, you’re being hurled toward the finish line with such speed intensity that it borders on pain.

Amidst the whirlwind of sensation you forget yourself. Your words dissolve into an incoherent babbling, your fragmented pleas begging for him to continue, to drive you to the brink of rapture and beyond. “Please, please, pleaseplease, almost—"

Each deliberate movement of his mouth, each calculated stroke of his tongue, sends waves of wax-hot ecstasy surging through your body.

Your senses are consumed by frustration and desire, the need to unravel in orgasmic bliss peaking to an almost unbearable level. It feels cruel, unjust, to be held in this suspended state of euphoria, teetering on the precipice of ecstasy without being allowed to take the leap.

And then, he takes all of it away.

What.

The maddening unfairness of it all engulfs you, rendering you speechless, frustrated beyond measure. It's a torment that cuts deep, leaving you trembling with unfulfilled desire. The ache within you intensifies, a cruel reminder of the pleasure withheld, and you find yourself helplessly grappling with the sheer agony of being denied what feels rightfully yours.

“No, nooooo,” you can’t help the pathetic sob. Want to slap his hand away when it comfortingly nestles against the apple of your cheek. “Fuck, this is so unfair!”

As you tremble like a leaf on the edge of frustration and craving, pulled back as the void you wanted to jump in getting smaller and smaller, caught between the pining for release and the ache of denial, Leon's voice reaches your ears like a calming balm. His soothing coos and the gentle stroke of his hands at both sides of your hips is a momentary respite from the overwhelming intensity. “You're doing so well. I’ve got you, sweet girl, you're okay, it'll pass.”

It’s his fault that it has to pass.

It angers you. He's only sweet to melt you like butter and take advantage of that again to fly you up only to make you fall, and catch you halfway so you won’t shatter into pieces.

He kisses up your stomach and peppers your collarbone and shoulders, but when he wants to capture your lips, you turn your face away, trying not to cry, attempts to push him off, futile. “Asshole, no, get away from me.”

He licks a stripe through the outside of your ear instead, and you buck your head toward the touch, ticklish. “Have to be one.”

The ache within you thrums, pricks of a thousand needles not hurting quite in the way you need, each one a reminder of the pleasure you crave. And he denied. You try to turn away, crawl out of the bed. So this is what you get for slipping up and wanting some dick. “Fuck you, let go of me...”

You only manage to flip on your belly when he presses down on you again, still clothed. He knows just how to soothe and alleviate the sting that prickles all over, kissing your nape. “Can’t. Sorry.”

Shivers go down your spine as he plants more kisses on your back, hooking an arm in front of your waist, palm pushing down on your navel and dizzying you again as he pulls you back to him. “You are not sorry—!”

His soft lips, like a healing touch, press against the corner of your shoulder, providing temporary relief as the ache subsides as his hands glide like soothing, cool velvet against your flushed, neglect-irritated skin.

He keeps doing that for a while, until your chest isn’t heaving anymore, and you’re face down, ass up on the mattress, comfortably floating in a state of bliss.

But just when you think you might it’s over, his thumbs peel open the lips of your pussy, and he blows on it to ignite stomped embers, compelling you to arch into his mouth, the dull ache blossoming from flavorless into ready for the ripe sweet. .

Leon shames you. “What’s that? You want more again?” You feel his fingers tracing alongside the outside of your entrance, not diving inside, teasing. “You know what to say.”

It’s all you’ve been saying this far, and you can’t think. “Please. Please!”

“Wrong answer.”

From then on, lost in a haze of pleasure and desire, the notion of time dissolves into insignificance, unable to tether you to the constructs of the world outside of his torture.

With each frustrating high you want to stop building, there comes a devastating low that starts to leave tears burning behind your eyelids until your vision blacks out. Leon skillfully takes you by the hand, a villain in a knight’s shining armor, rolling that boulder up the hill, only to let it come tumbling down to the bottom before it can reach the peak, watching blankly as you crumble.

It happens three more times before you lose all bodily control, knees unable to hold you up anymore, and he rolls you on your back again, sweat leaving the sheets so wet they could be transparent, and at the same time, you can’t focus on anything other than what’s going on between your legs, details blurring in your sensory overload, the world around you fading into a peripheral existence, the thick smell of arousal in the air suffocating.

In this state of surrender and exquisite agony, the pleasure ebbs and flows, slowing down, maintaining the heat that just isn’t burning enough. Any resistance that once flickered within you has now faded, leaving you utterly surrendered to Leon’s will as he moves you around like a ragdoll to his liking, a leg thrown over his shoulder and the other spread wide by an iron grip seizing the back of your knee.

You’re about to break. You don’t know how many times it’s been. “Fuck, Leon, please, please just let me go, let me come, please, I can’t anymore, I can’t, I need to come, I’m gonna go insane—please, please!”

"You're gonna go insane? You don't know what insane is," he states with a low rasp in his voice, his words laced with a sadistic edge. "Should've been there yesterday to see me."

Whining in response, you manage to release a series of broken pleas. "No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, fuck, please stop, please!"

He doesn’t care. It’s like he’s made of stone.

The raw intensity in his gaze, the thin ring of blue around the black pool of his pupils threaten to swallow you whole as he props himself up above you, the muscles in his arms bulging and tight, veins prominent. “What are you sorry for?”

An apology is what he wanted from the start, and you no longer care about the reasons behind it. You’re well past dignity and shame, the desire to come overrides all rational thought that you think you would start jumping on his cock the moment he asked you to. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I apologize, okay, just, ugh…"

"You know, I don't think you need to come that badly," Leon snarls, his lips curving upwards in a cruel and cold smile. He raises himself onto his knees, distancing himself from your desperate reach.

"No!" you cry out, a high-pitched noise of denial. Your hand stretches out towards him, desperately grasping at empty air. "Wait! Wait! I do need to come, you can't do this to me, I can't—!"

But he ignores your calls, the smile having fallen into something blank again. "Just so you know, you asked for this." He swiftly undoes his belt, causing his trousers to fall around his narrow hips and then pool around his legs. "Don't be a baby and take it."

He turns away momentarily, allowing you to feast your eyes upon the carved muscles of his arms and back as he removes his shirt. Naked before you, his skin adorned by bruises and lighter-toned scars of old and new alike.

All of them, so attractive.

“Told you I was gonna make you understand.”

You don’t hear him. Not really. Your focus narrows solely on the figure of Leon looming just ahead like an incubus haunting your dreams. The sight of his glistening, pre-dripping cock the object of your attention, instilling a hunger within you that eclipses any concerns or inhibitions that might have lingered within your mind.

"And you don't even seem close to it yet.”

However, your desperate desire overpowers any semblance of understanding at this point. The unadulterated need for him, for his stretch in you, consumes your thoughts, leaving little room for comprehension.

Suddenly, Leon's strong fingers encircle your ankles, and with an unforgiving yank, he pulls you closer, drawing you beneath him. He nibbles on your calves, smoothing your ankles, staring you down, so fucking hot and sexy, before the weight of his body covers yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, intensifying the expectation that drums inside.

The swollen tip of his cock hovers at the entrance of your slick folds, teasing the threshold of pleasure. You brace yourself, preparing for the inevitable penetration and the sweet stretch that will follow. Yet, it eludes you, leaving you uncomfortably longing for his deep, satisfying intrusion.

Driven by desperation, you roll your hips upward, searching for the angle that will guide him inside you. Confusion dances at the edges of your consciousness as you struggle to comprehend the delay, unable to understand why he hasn't already plunged into you, fulfilling the ache that pulsates within your body.

It seems like you’ve forgotten again what game he was playing with you.

“Want something, sweet girl?” Leon gazes down at you with the shadow of a smirk, reveling in your writhing form beneath him. It's evident that he takes pleasure in this power dynamic, flourishes in the control he holds over your desires. Fucking asshole. How long is this going to continue? “I'm listening.”

Panting and needy, you respond with an indistinct whimper. “Please.”

But Leon refuses to let you off the hook easily. His demand is clear. “Yeah?”

Fuck this guy. Oh god.

“Leon, please,” you can’t stop the tremor in your voice, both from desperation and the building fury.

“I hear you. Tell me what you need.”

So he could deny you it again?

The widened smirk on his face matches the wickedness in his voice, it's as if he celebrates the torment of restating your hunger all the way back up, taunting you. “I won't know if you don't tell me.”

As the words “You. You. I need you, Leon, I want you. Inside me, please.” emerge, your voice a delicate, unplanned balance of pleading and exasperation, Leon's eyes light up, gleaming with a potent blend of pride and an urgent hunger that surpasses mere desire.

The look that graces his face is captivating, drawing you deeper into the vortex of intimacy that swirls between you as Leon offers a husky, excited affirmation, “There’s my girl.”

Without hesitation, he surges forward, impaling you with his throbbing cock, and you’re gone, not even in your body anymore.

The initial glide of his length penetrating your depths transports you to a realm of unparalleled ecstasy. Waves of sweet, electrifying ache surge through your being, igniting pleasure that radiates along every nerve ending. Your thighs quiver and strain as they envelop his hips, nearly overcome by the torrent of blazing heat that overflows from your core. The stretch burns and stings so fucking good.

“Fuck,” you hiss, nails scraping red lines down his back. “Just like that, please, yes, so good. Move. Please move!”

Unable to contain the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins, your body instinctively presses up against Leon's, breasts crushed against his chest, shockwaves from your nipples shooting straight to the pool filling up in your stomach, responding to his presence without conscious effort.

Displaying his infuriating control, Leon allows you a brief moment to squirm around his cock, savoring the desperate feeling of connection, and stills.

Your hands instinctively find purchase on his shoulders, yearning to keep him close, to maintain the blissful fusion. A chaste kiss to the corner of your jaw follows.

And then, with a force that leaves you gasping, he withdraws almost entirely, threatening to sever the connection you crave and perhaps walk away again and you’re fucking terrified. Panic stirs within, and your hands tighten their grip on his shoulders, desperately clinging to the pleasure he provides, his warmth, his presence. You don’t even realize your breathing has gotten frantic.

His gentleness peeks through the blinds, a twinkle in the night. “It’s okay, it’s okay, calm down, you’re okay. I’m not going anywhere. Shit,” he curses, coming down to capture your lips in a consoling, soft tangle for the first time that day, and it almost erases all the shit he pulled on you today.

Almost.

Without warning, Leon thrusts himself back in with an intensity that makes your mind spin. The brain-melting, reason-flaying pleasure that ravishes you in that moment is so riveting, so overwhelmingly good, that your vision darkens, the world falling away. It's as if the very cosmos bear witness to the electrifying union, as you swear you see novas, their brilliance shimmering in your obscured sight.

With unyielding determination, Leon continues his relentless assault, driving himself into you with harsh, deep thrusts that leave you breathless. The pace is unforgiving, hard and fast, each movement becoming a seismic wave of pleasure that crashes through your entire being. The intense sensations cascade, spreading from deep within, coiling tightly around your being like a snake, tightening the knot of bliss that constricts with every stroke.

You can feel the peak of your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure on the precipice of eruption. In a desperate quest for completion, you arch your body, meeting each of his thrusts with an eagerness that borders on desperation.

He notices. Of course he does.

Leon's hips press deep into you, holding there in a maddening stillness. It's almost enough, a flick of your clit away, so close that you can taste it, imagine it.

He denies you.

Again.

It slips away like sand through your fingers, surfacing in an anguished sob that escapes your lips.

As tears stream down your face, they merge into fat blobs and flow in heavy currents, distorting your vision. The profound sense of loss tightens its grip on your body, overwhelming you to the point that you fear losing consciousness.

The intensity of everything building within you becomes a terrifying force, leaving you petrified of surrendering to it fully, as though it may make you disappear entirely. The trembling that envelopes you is no longer connected to pleasure; it is a tremor borne of fear and vulnerability.

Your body stiffens involuntarily, breaths coming in shallow and rapid puffs. The room spins around you, blurring into a chaotic mess. Your voice, shaky and filled with desperation, falters as you utter your safe word, the syllables escaping your lips like uncontrollable vomit. "Rookie...shit...rookie, I'm gonna pass out. No more. No more."

He’s out of you immediately, everything coming to a halt.

With genuine concern etched upon his face, Leon's voice pierces through the chaos, calling for you through the momentary ear ringing, but you can see his eyes now filled with compassion.

He’s back.

His strong arms wrap around you, providing a secure embrace as he takes in the depth of your distress. He holds your cheeks and checks on you,shaking you a bit he doesn’t get a response, and relaxes only when you nod, he leans in, peppering your tear-streaked face with soothing kisses, his tender gestures offering comfort and solace.

But your alarms rise that he might start again reflexively, and try to push him off, and he takes that hand in his, kissing your palm, your wrist, your fingers, slow and one by one, murmuring softly, tone tranquilizing. “No more, alright? No more. It’s over. You’re safe.”

Amidst the emotional turbulence, Leon's reassurance remains steadfast. "I got you. I got you, you're okay," he whispers softly, his voice a warm blanket enveloping you. His unyielding support gives you strength to navigate the overwhelming sensations that had consumed you moments ago. The affection, warmth against the ice you went through with him is so comforting. "You did so good, sweetheart. You were amazing. I’m so proud of you."

His praise resonates deep within, calming you down significantly, that his anger isn’t out to get you.

With a gentle touch, Leon encourages you to sit. He instinctively reaches for a glass of water on the side table, offering it to you with care. "Here, take a sip. It'll help," he murmurs, his tone filled with tenderness, communicating his desire to provide you with the necessary aftercare, allowing you to physically and emotionally recenter yourself.

Sitting behind you and taking you between his legs, Leon hugs you from behind, thick arms engulfing you in the safest of embraces, ensuring that you feel his presence as a steady support. His hands encircle your trembling shoulders, offering a reassuring hold. "Hold onto me. I'm right here," he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody amidst the residual chaos of your emotions.

He gets you to lean back against his chest, making you aware of how it puffs up and falls down. "Breathe with me, okay? C’mon, feel me breathe." His words act as a gentle guide, coaxing you toward a calmer state of being, unconsciously synchronizing your breaths with his. “There you go. Doing so well.”

The moment he feels you’re not digging your fingers into his forearm around your middle anymore, he whispers, “More water?”

Your throat is so dry. “Yes please.”

He doesn’t let you take the glass, bringing it to your lips himself insead. “Drink slow,” is a gentle order as your own hands wrap around the cup over his. “Anything you need? Bath? Shower?”

“I want to continue.”

“Are you sure?”

“I need to fucking come Leon, I can’t sleep today if you let me go like this.”

“Alright, okay. I did say anything you need. How do you want it?”

“Comfortable.”

“Wanna flip over? Here, hug these.” You’re handed a couple pillows to keep holding to prop your upper up a little, and he slips one underneath your hips, angling them in a comfortable position. “There. No need to lift your hips.”

You can just rest your head on the pillows like this, it’s designed to make you stay still. “You’ll lie on top of me?”

“I won’t crush you, don’t worry. Leave it to me. You can snooze a bit if you like.”

“Funny.”

Your eyes flutter closed as Leon lowers himself onto you, his weight pressing down on your lower half. He's careful not to push too hard or hurt you in any way. Instead, he holds himself above you, giving you space to breathe and relax. You feel his warmth emanating from him, the moisture of his breath fanning your nape, as he slowly settles over your body, making himself as close to you as possible. It's an intimate act that makes you flush with embarrassment, but you find yourself enjoying how secure and safe it makes you feel, the whole body pressing down on you is delectable, like some weighted blanket. You mewl into the pillows as he slips his cock in, not punishingly languid and calculated this time, but slow, gentle, and sweet.

“Comfortable?”

“Hmm,” you exhale.

As Leon begins to move inside you, you take a deep breath and hold tightly to the pillow beneath your cheek. His movements are deliberate and measured, not harsh not to toss you up the bed, each stroke sending waves through your entire body. You can feel your muscles being kneaded with desire as he works his magic between your legs.

"This feels so good," you hum, craning your neck as best as you can to try maintaining eye contact with him, to see how he’s doing.

Leon is holding back.

You hear a deep rumble coming from him, almost like a purring sound as he rolls his hips into you like gentle sea waves hitting the shore, you can feel him getting harder and swell inside, pulsing. His fingers gently caress your skin, tracing lines across your arms and shoulders before coming to sneak underneath your torso and loosely cup your throat. Slowly, he begins kissing and nibbling on the sensitive area behind your earlobe, sending shivers through your entire body. In response, you arch your back slightly, pushing against him in search of something you barely understand yet desperately crave, feeling the way the plane of his stomach spasms in rhythm with his thrusts.

Leon grasps your waist firmly, pulling you impossibly closer to him, rubbing himself along your curves until your whole body sings with sensation. This is it. This is nice, warm, rolling like ribbons of thick caramel. All at once, you feel like you are drowning in a syrup of desire and sweetness that seems impossible to escape. And yet, somehow, you never want out. For now, right here and nowhere else, all that matters is the soft touch of Leon's hand over yours, fingers lacing with your own, guiding you deeper into a world where only he exists.

“Feel like sleeping yet?”

“As if you ever let me sleep…” Can anyone be fucked into sleep when every single cell is alerted to this degree?

The hand around your throat travels up a little to tip your head back so the crown of your head can rest on his shoulder and he has better access to mark up your neck “Still wanna come, sweet girl?” He nips at the path along your jaw. “Be nicer to me.”

There’s no space left between you and the bed from his weight for him to stimulate your clit, so Leon goes for a position change, making you sigh in disappointment as he slips out of you for the moment.

Your heart leaps at how he combs his damp hair. He looks like a completely different person when his hair is slicked back, and it stays that way because of how wet the strands are from sweat.

Taking charge, Leon gets you to lie on your back, positioning your body in a way that maximizes comfort and intimacy. He gently guides one of your legs to extend straight while bending the other at the knee, lifting it up for ease of access. With careful precision, he positions himself alongside you, lying on his side.

Drawing you closer, he slips his hand under your head, creating a makeshift pillow of support. His arm bends at the elbow, allowing his hand to rest on your breast, his touch gentle and attentive. The warmth of his body pressed against yours generates a sense of security and closeness, and you can reach to cling to his nape and kiss him like this.

His other hand finds its place on the thigh of your bent leg, providing stability and further fostering a sense of connection. His left leg aligns itself along the length of your extended leg, while his right leg is carefully positioned, pushed in between your lifted leg, cock nestled against your pussy, his hips restless, grinding against you.

“Ready?”

He actually lets you grind back, and you can cry from relief. “Yeah.”

“I’ll go slow.”

“Just make me come, please.”

As he releases his hold on your breast, his hand rises to gently tip your chin, guiding your focus back to him. His warm lips meet yours in a languid, passionate kiss, expressing the depth of his desire. Slowly and deliberately, he eases himself into you, letting you feel every inch of his girth and length. The sensations overwhelm you, and your moan mingles with his as pleasure blossoms between you.

His little whiny grunt does something to the ache in your stomach. “Doesn’t feel great to be left hanging, does it?”

“No, no, fuck," You're refusing, but a roll of his hips manage to hit a good spot inside you, and the thought is an aborted prompt in your head. "Yeah, right there…” You open your eyes to find him drinking your bliss in, and remember what you were going to say. “I’m sorry, ah, god, I’m so sorry.” You manage between gasps and moans, your vulnerability and remorse mingling with the intense pleasure. “I was just drunk and I didn’t want to talk—”

In the heat of the moment, Leon's hand skillfully navigates your body, moving downward to the sensitive area where you're connected. His touch expertly pulls up the hood of your clit, allowing his middle finger to press against it with unwavering pressure, all the while continuing his thrusts into your wetness. His question suggests he'll only move if he gets the answer he wants from you. "Will you do that to me again?"

Your hands fly to his forearm, an instinctive response to keep him exactly where he is, lost in the throes of pleasure. "No. No, never, never again," you assert, begging.

With a hint of satisfaction, Leon acknowledges your response, affirming your words with admiration. "Yeah? What will you do, then?" he groans, low and needy. The electricity between you lingers in the air, everything reeks of sex, humid and hot, charged with a sense of possessiveness and mutual longing.

Leaning into the pleasure coursing through your body, you find it difficult to form coherent words, but manage to respond. "Gonna answer all your calls," Your gasp cracks with a particularly strong thrust. "Stay saf-e!"

With his fingers still expertly circling your sensitive, hardened nub, fulfilling your desires, spoiling you with what you need, Leon finally gives in to his own need. He devours your lips in desperate, sloppy kisses, immersing you in the chaos of passion. Breathless and lost in a haze of pleasure, he shares fragmented sentences in between the urgent connection of your mouths. The mingling of your sighs and gasps intertwines. "Just need you to be safe," he murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and longing. "Need to know you're okay. Don't leave me out like that — don't — fuck, fuck, fuck!" He bites back a grunt that threatens to become a high-pitched moan. You feel him shudder. "You take it so well, so fucking perfect for me," he downright growls. “Shit, I’m close.”

“Almost there, almost, don’t fucking stop, please!”

His voice, accompanied by rapid panting, is raw and husky. “I’m right here sweet girl. Come for me. You need it, don’t you? You’ve been dying for it all night. Break. Come all over my cock. Give it to me—ah god!”

The overwhelming intensity of the moment makes it impossible for you to form coherent words in response. Instead, hold onto him for an anchor in this hurricane as every fiber of your being vibrates, coming close to something, rising, close, close—.

When release finally washes over you, it's a torrential wave that transcends your wildest expectations. The pleasure explodes, the light shining first and the sound spilling forth afterwards, blasting your senses in a cacophony of rippling ecstasy. The experience is chaotic and overwhelming, all the more devastating from having been built up for so long.

As the waves of pleasure ebb and flow through your body, you wait for a moment of respite, hoping that the intensity will gradually subside. However, to your surprise, Leon's rocking maintains the pace, pushing deep into you without slowing down. Your attempts to get away from the overstimulation is vain, as the intensity only escalates. Pleasure intertwines with a sense of urgency and biting, sensitive ache, leaving you unable to catch your breath, unable to control the uninhibited and primal sounds escaping from your lips.

The fullness takes on a new dimension. The line blurs between whether this is a second orgasm or if your initial release has never truly ceased. The pleasure is heightened, potent, whetted, cutting, and you’re lost in the abyss of ecstasy that keeps dragging you down, you’re convulsing around his length uncontrollably.

In this overwhelming state of sensory overload, you cry out Leon's name, mingling with whimpers and moans, meanwhile, undeterred by your sensitivity, Leon relentlessly continues with his powerful strokes, chasing his own peak, ending up making you slide toward the edge of the bed with one final, powerful ram, then he bursts into you, his shout strangled, and it feels as if the moment stretches out indefinitely, his body winded like taut wire and heaving beside you, release seemingly endless, shuddering gasps rattling his ribcage.

After what feels like an eternity, Leon finally stills, his body collapsing. And he pulls you into a hug with post-orgasmic trembling hands, and breathes into your hair as you bask in the afterglow.

Leon's affectionate gesture leaves a path of mellowness in its wake, and you find yourself leaning into the softness of the moment. His lips part from yours, but instead of pulling away abruptly, he lingers for a moment, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ll be right back.” And this time, when he pulls away, it’s not anxiety-inducing that he’ll leave you hanging, and you can relax.

As you lie there, wrapped in the comforting cocoon of warmth and post-coital heaven, the world around you blurs and fades at the edges, you can’t keep your eyes open to wait for Leon, but keep fighting the pull of sleep as it gently tugs at your consciousness. Every fiber of your being craves the soothing embrace of slumber, and you end up surrendering to the honeyed drowsiness.

A gentle blink and Leon is there again, his caring eyes fixed upon you, looking so, so young. In his hands, he holds a warm, damp towel, and you watch with a mix of admiration and affection as he moves with fluid grace to gently wipe you down. His hands look like they’ve been made to handle stranger violences, but they are tamed for you. With every tender stroke, he murmurs quiet praise and affection, his voice a soft caress that wraps around you like a warm blanket, and you drift off listening to the velvet smoothness.

You begin to stir, not knowing how much time has passed, slowly awakening from your deep sleep, when you become aware of gentle movements and moving about nearby. As you open your eyes and rub the lethargy away, you find the door of the bathroom that adjoins your bedroom open, the aroma of fragrant bath oils filling the air. The soft glow of candles casts flickering shadows that are visible from where you are, creating a serene ambiance that envelops you.

Leon comes into view, standing by the bathtub, somehow able to tell right away you woke up, a caring smile playing on his lips. He has taken the time to prepare a luxurious bath for you, filling the tub with warm water and adding petals that float delicately on the surface. The room is filled with a sense of tranquility as he pours some scented bath oils and swirls them into the water, their fragrance enveloping the space.

“You’re up. Morning, night owl. Rest well?” As Leon strides toward you with a towel hanging from his hips, the steam from the bath clings to his glistening, bare upper body. Your eyes instinctively drink in the sight of him, as if they can never grow accustomed to the sheer beauty in front of you. His presence is a work of art, his form seemingly sculpted from the smoothest marble, exuding an aura of strength and grace.

You sit up, the soreness pulling at your muscles, vagina basically weeping with ache. A good kind. “I slept like a log. I wish I never woke up, though. Ouch.”

There’s nothing apologetic in his hoarse laugh.

Your gaze roams his physique, appreciating every chiseled detail, never tiring of the sight. The way his biceps bulge in the sleeves of his clothing, or the way the fabric stretches over the expanse of his chest, captivates your attention endlessly.

“Prepared you a bath.” Gently, he extends his hand, inviting you to join him in the soothing embrace of the tub. “Hopefully that’ll help. Need a ride?”

You allow him to princess carry you, blushing like a schoolgirl, feeling the warm water caress your skin as he lowers you into its embrace. The groan that comes out of you is sinful.

Leon unravels the towel around his hips and slips right behind you, legs bracketing yours, careful your lower half doesn’t touch his but you can lean back to his chest, presence exuding a sense of serenity and comfort. Leaning against the smooth tub's edge, he reaches out with tenderness, slowly taking a washcloth and soaping it up. With delicate motions, he begins to wash your body above the water, his touch almost lulling you to sleep once more..

He breaks the silence, planting a kiss at the crown of your head. "This feels nice, doesn't it?" he murmurs, his words carrying a warmth that matches the water surrounding you.

You nod, relishing in the intimate connection forged by this simple act of tenderness. "Yes, it does," you reply softly, gratitude filling your voice. “Thank you, Leon.”

He hums in response. You can feel the soft smile on his lips when he presses a delicate kiss against the nape of your neck, leaving a lingering warmth that resonates through your entire being.

You don’t know what the hell this is.

But you want all of it.

“Ashley isn’t like you to me.”

God, you could evaporate from shame and make the water boil over. He remembers you going off on him because of that. Oh no.

His chin rests atop your head, drawing you closer. “I was tasked to save her when she was kidnapped—”

“Hold. Hold.” You twist around to look at him, the water around you rippling, petals swimming. “What do you mean you were tasked to?”

He answers like it’s a road trip for a festival to the next state. “I was sent to Spain for that. On a mission.”

“Mission.” You’re searching for any sign of being fucked with. Leon looks weary all of a sudden, jaded, zoning off, it’s like the circles under his eyes deepen to show you. “Like. An agent?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re an agent? Like a federal agent or a secret agent?”

“A special one.”

“Oh, fuck.” The pieces fall into place. His skilfulness in fighting, his built body, the scars and bruises renewed between absences, the inability to relax and just be in crowds. The White House. PTSD. Nightmares. You had an inkling. Just thought he was a bodyguard with an obvious military background, though. Never would have thought it went as deep as this. You sink a bit into the water. “So that was it.”

He gets you to lean on him again, wrapping his arms around you, perhaps, seeking comfort.

He’s spilling all the beans, there’s no reason not to probe further, albeit with care for what would be a sensitive topic for him. “So she was kidnapped?”

One arm draped under your arm, coming up to hold onto your shoulder, Leon’s fingers begin tracing shapes into your skin, his other elbow is propped up against the side of the tub, wrist resting on his bent knee. “Yeah.”

“They sent you? What, like some one man army superhero?” His chest lowly rumbles with a laugh. “Oh my god, you’re serious? That’s what you do?”

“You knew before you came to me.”

“I had theories, but… Spy stuff? For real?”

He hesitates before answering, forehead nestling on your shoulder and nuzzling. “Not spy stuff. I work with bioterrorism.”

Your mind is rapidly trying to generate information and remember global events. “Bioterrorism… Like. Like, in Terragrigia? Monsters? Zombies?”

“And those who make them,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, damn… That sounds tough… I’m sorry.” You have no idea whatsoever how to respond to that. It’s so heavy that it hangs heavier than the steam in the bathroom, and he sounds thoroughly spent just by talking about it —

“Don’t be. I’m trained for it.”

But he still gets hurt. You see him hurt all the damn time. Miserable and sleepless and depressed.

“Stop getting sad, please?” Leon kisses your neck, adoring, damp hair making you ticklish. “I promise, it’s all fine.”

You can’t stop thinking about it. And you just heard of this now. You’ll never be able to sleep sound the way you did oblivious to the world ever again. “It’s not fine.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

“You fight monsters. How can you say that? I know it’s wearing you down—”

You can’t see his face, but know he’s smiling to reassure you despite the fact. Tired. Tired. “That’s just how it is. Every field comes with its baggage. I’m okay. I have you.”

Oh, that’s… That’s big, actually. Your face heats up. Saying that is nothing to him, but hearing it is enough to make you jittery.

You allow your logic to carry you to the blatant conclusion to get away from the feeling, playing with one particular petal in your grasp. “All of that is confidential, I assume.”

Water sloshes around as he bends his other knee up as well. “Very. That’s why they got rid of that one guy who came after Operation Javier.”

Your movements still. He’s talking about the senior you’ve looked up to and came across the legacy of after his suicide.

A shiver shakes you. Leon hugs you tighter. It was suicide.

Suicide.

Got rid of?

They killed him? The government?

“Does… does that mean, if I—”

He’s short in his answer, like he doesn’t want to talk about this out of all things he’s revealed. “Yes.”

Your first encounter with Leon replays in your head. It was in a playful and straightforward meaning you’d taken the, ‘You know how this ends’ icebreaker, he was fucking talking about being offed? “So, you saved me?”

His answer is more unsettling. “I helped reroute you.”

All this time, his subtle meddling and intervening to guide your attention to other fields were to keep you from getting killed and not out of flirtily invested interest?

Oh, god.

“You saved me. I could have died.”

He’s not particularly grateful to receive your thanks. “You’re welcome.”

You’re still imagining things. All the ways they could have set up a self-inflicted death on you. You push out a whooping sigh. “Holy shit—”

“Hey. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” His hold is grounding and safe, and he means what he says, talking like some goddamned hero and you actually feel somewhat okay. “Nobody knows you were looking into it.”

“No found hanging at home headlines for me… Yay…”

He tilts your head to stare you in the eye, the intense, determined look eliciting butterflies in your tummy. “Don’t be scared. Seriously, I’m here. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll protect you.”

You blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Like Ashley?”

Leon kisses the tip of your nose. “I don’t think of her in the way you think I do. We’re not like that.”

You’re positive you can’t hide the way you perk up at that. “Would have been crappy of you to ask me for dinner if you were.”

He’s supposed to laugh at you, but it doesn’t come. “Yeah. Dinner…” There’s a brief silence. “So, when do we go?”

He has some absurd, untimely, irrelevant responses to things sometimes.

“We’re talking about dinner, really? I just confirmed you were a monster-fighting super agent and two whole years suddenly make sense and you’re talking to me about dinner?”

“...Do you want to go or not?”

“I want Indian food.”

v. With coffee cups in hand, the warmth of the beverages provides a welcome contrast to the cool morning air, and you and Leon stroll along the sidewalks, enjoying the chorus of chirping birds. The city is still relatively quiet, with only a few passersby hurrying along, and you cling to the serenity of the moment shared with him. You don’t expect Leon to surprise you with a steaming cup of coffee after leaving you alone for a few minutes, the aroma of roasted beans wafting up to your senses. "Here, your favorite," he says, handing you the cup.

"Thanks," you say, taking a sip of your coffee, which is sweetened and creamed to your liking.

Leon, however, raises an eyebrow playfully. "Sweet as dessert, huh?" he teases.

You grin, knowing that he prefers his coffee black and strong. "Well, I like a little sweetness in my mornings."

“Poor choice in companion today, then.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grimace while smiling, hitting him lightly on the side.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the crisp scent of the city, creating a comforting ambiance, and as you sip on your morning coffee, you relish the warmth of the cup in your hands and Leon's presence next to you. He is still wrinkling his nose at your choice of drink but silently enjoying the simple pleasure of walking together in the early morning light. The quiet intimacy between you two feels cozy, and you are almost tempted to reach for his hand, but something holds you back. The moment feels delicate, and you don't want to disturb the magic that surrounds you, wary of him still.

As you reach the metro station, the automated announcement chimes, indicating that the next train is about to arrive. You quickly finish your coffee, savoring the last sweet sips, while Leon looks on with amusement-hid fondness.

"Just in time," he says, glancing at the approaching train, deeply contemplating something, the wind coming from the train making his blond hair dance in the air.

The station is still relatively empty, with only a few early risers waiting for the train. You hug Leon tightly, not wanting the morning to end just yet, well aware you’re giving him mixed signals.

But this time, it’s different. This time, you know he wants this.

"I had a great time," you whisper, looking into his eyes.

His e cups your cheek, thumb gliding over your cheekbone. "Me too."

He is thinking again, staring at you in that kind of way, and his gaze shifts to your mouth, Adam’s apple bobbing. You step inside the train, and share awkward waves with him despite being an arm’s reach from each other.

About ten seconds before the doors begin to close, Leon leans in, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss, licking outside your lips. Your heart misses a beat, the surroundings fading into the background as the moment feels suspended in time. “Too sweet. As expected.”

So he just wanted to taste your coffee—?

Then, with a soft yet confident voice, he says, "I love you. Have a nice day," barely audible over the train's announcements.

You freeze.

Huh?

But before you can respond, the doors close shut, leaving you dumbly staring at him smiling beautifully through the glass, and the metro lurches forward, leaving you shell-shocked, heart pounding, and narrowly able to keep your balance. You clutch a pole nearby for support, your mind reeling with the revelation that has just unfolded, the bombshell he’s just dropped on you.

As the metro picks up speed, you press your hand to your lips, still tingling from the unexpected kiss — from the confession.

His frame is getting smaller, his face giving way to something vulnerable as he watches you quickly drift away with the train, as if he has just set free a piece of himself he had kept guarded for so long.

Too sweet. As expected.

He was! He was—!

You remember the words of the lady in red just then. Think about it carefully. How do you want this to end?

Fuck.

Happy.

You want it to be happy.

[tiredfox64]

It’s Natural Instincts

Prior notes: Some silly creature wanted more of this and I won’t say who caused I don’t know if they want me to put them on blast. But hopefully I have fulfilled their desires. This is a part 2 of It’s Just Natural.

Pairing: Rain (MK1) x Umgadi! Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: NSFW, blowjobs (yay)

Ever since that little…incident, let’s just say Rain has been having a difficult time keeping you out of his mind.

Like it’s hard…

I’m talking like waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming about you, only to find a mess in his pants. He just can’t get those moans out of his head. The way his name slipped past your lips made him burn up and his blood rush.

Because of this, Rain hasn’t been leaving his room quite as often. Even when the Empress calls for him he makes it quick before returning to his room. He can’t risk seeing you and act like he never saw what he saw. He doesn’t know if he will be able to hide his boner.

So he stays in his room where he can be alone with his mind. And right now his mind ran wild as his hand ran up and down his cock that was already leaking precum.

════ ⋆☁️⋆ ════

Rain would imagine it’d be your first time ever. He would be honored if he was your first. To teach you what two lovers can do in bed.

He would finger you to help stretch you out. He would leave kisses anywhere he could. On your neck, lips, face, anywhere he could. The wetter you get the more excited he would be. His neglected cock won’t be able to take it anymore that he pulls you in close. The tip would be pressing against your wet folds. And then…

════ ⋆☁️⋆ ════

Ah, someone’s at the door. Poor Rain, his fantasy was just getting good.

He had quickly look like he wasn’t up to anything before going to the door. He was shocked to find you standing there. You looked pretty serious as you held your spear. Must be something important.

“The Empress is requesting you, Rain.” You said

“I will get to her soon.” He wasn’t trying to be rude but he was struggling to keep himself together in front of you.

“No, she wants you now. That’s why she sent me. She wants me to escort you right to her.”

Of course, this won’t be easy for Rain. He sighed deeply before grabbing his staff. The walk to the Empress’ throne room was a bit of an awkward one.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

The Empress was not happy with Rain. She pointed out to him how he was lacking in his duties as if he were distracted. It was true since he was distracted by the thought of you. She told him to pull himself together or there will be consequences.

You felt bad for Rain. You weren’t sure what was going on with him. You just knew he was acting different. But you couldn’t catch that this was after your little fantasy session in the woods?

You were escorting him back to his room, looking at him with concern as his head was down. He was trying his best to not get a boner while you were standing next to him. Your moans kept echoing in his mind. The sound of your voice saying his name as you cum. Uh oh, that blood is starting to rush. Hold it together Rain, hold it toget-

“Woah! Alright! Time to get your head out of the clouds.” You yanked him close to you by his wrists.

He didn’t even realize it but he was about to walk right into a pillar by accident. He really was lost in his mind. But his concern for that went away fast as there was something else of great concern.

When you pulled Rain in you were surprised to feel something poking you. At first you didn’t know what it was till you looked down. It was so obvious he was hard. You’re not dumb you know what that means. You looked back up and Rain had this shocked yet horrified expression. But he made the move to grab you and drag you into his room before slamming the door shut.

“I’m horribly sorry but I have been hiding something from you. It was wrong of me I know. But I followed you the other day after we were done training. And I saw you touching yourself. I heard you moan my name.” Rain started spewing out his confession.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You’re horrified to know that you were caught masturbating by the person you were fantasizing about.

“Ever since then I’ve been unable to stop thinking about you. I hated thinking about you in such a lewd way. It doesn’t feel right. No matter what I did I couldn’t stop myself or feel relief. I tried my best but-“

“Would you like me to help you?”

There was a silence that came over you two. Now how would you be able to help him? You’re just an Umgadi. You only know how to fight and protect the royal family. What could you do to help Rain? Well actually, you might know a thing or two. You just have to go off of your natural instincts.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You can’t stay in Rain’s room for too long. Others will get suspicious of your whereabouts and go looking for you. You want to give Rain the best but it might have to be rushed a bit.

Rain’s hands clenched at his bed sheets. He tried his hardest not to moan too loud as your tongue swirled around the tip of his cock. Your hand was pumping it as your mouth did most of the work at the tip.

Your pretty eyes stared up at him, hoping for approval. Every time you heard him whimper you felt such pride. Your heart was beating fast with each burst of pride spreading throughout your chest.

Rain has no clue on how you managed to be good at this. He doubts you ever broke your vow of chastity before. Maybe he was just so sensitive and deprived that no matter what you would have done it would have him feeling euphoric.

That look in your eyes though. So innocent while doing something that was against your vow. Eyes that begged for approval, and Rain gave you that.

His hand went to the top of your head. He was petting you in a loving way. That just made you more passionate. You put your heart into it. You took him in as must as your could. The feeling of his cock against your tongue was satisfying to you. An act you never thought you would ever commit was happening now and you were doing a fine job.

Rain was really struggling to not cum before but now he really had to. His hand gripped your hair tight before asking you to do something.

“Open your mouth…please.” He begged.

He asked and you obeyed. You opened your mouth up, sticking your tongue out as his cock lied against it. Perfect timing. Rain watched as his cum filled your mouth up. He will never get that image out of his head and he doesn’t want to. Especially when you looked at him the way you did. So happy just to be with him and fulfill his needs. In a way you fulfilled yours as you finally had an experience with him.

Yup, Rain is feeling relieved.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

He really didn’t want to let you go. He wish he could have you stay with him for as long as he wanted. He wanted to pleasure you as well. But unfortunately you had to go before others got suspicious.

Rain was not afraid to kiss you all over your face. Your love for him grew more in that moment when you felt his lips against yours. You sadly had to cut it short but you promised him that you will return in secret.

You snuck out of his room and made your way back to the training grounds where you were supposed to be practicing with the other Umgadi. You arrived just in time. Ah, but something seems off. Tanya is looking at you strangely. Did you forget something?

“Fix your hair. You know we have to look organized and prepared.” She ordered you.

Ah, that’s what it was. Rain messed your hair up by accident.

You bit your lip as you tried to fix your hair up. Smooth it out and such. But messy hair doesn’t mean they all know what you did. Your secret is still safe. Play it cool and be careful. You want your new relationship with Rain to be a good one. Can’t have others trying to intrude on your business. Or knowing that you just broke your vow.

Yeah…you are quite the troublemaker. But what can I say, it’s just have nature goes and you were following your instincts.

After notes: I don’t wanna register for classes next semester the selections are terrible (;o;). They have a writing workshop for fanfics BUT NOT ONE FOR DRAMA OR FILM WHICH I NEED. Im only halfway through and I’m ready to throw in the towel. Welp that was my rant hope y’all are enjoying yourselves. I have way too much Rain in my drafts so imma try to spread it out evenly. Been doing so much with him but it is that bad…nah. Adiós!

[xielianlover2]

Okay. I need to talk about Xie Lian. This is gonna be a bit rambly, jumbled, and unedited because I am kinda sleep-deprived right now.

Out of every fictional character I’ve read about… Xie Lian stands out as possessing the most remarkable mental fortitude and resilience I’ve ever seen. He’s such a brave and stubborn man. He’s, well… a diamond in the rough. 

I always thought him to be really mature for his age in the flashbacks. He was what, only around 16-17? And then after he descended down to save his kingdom, he was around the mental age of 20. He was barely an adult. Yet he had his whole kingdom’s fate on his shoulders, and the way he was treated was beyond horrible. 

That’s the problem with getting assigned the role of a leader… a general even. The number of deaths, their successes, their losses all fall upon the one who had the most status, most importance. So many people blamed Xie Lian for the fall on Xianle, but really, none of that was on him. Xianle was gonna fall either way due to all the politics and strife. But my goodness. To put all that blame on a child??? It’s so despicable. 

It made me terribly sad to see Xie Lian blame himself for what happened to Xianle and his people, when they were the ones who put him on a pedestal and did nothing to help ease his burdens. I think Xie Lian has natural charisma and could be a good leader, however he does not have the heart for it. He cares too much. He’s the type who wants to save everyone. He doesn’t like or want to see people suffer, even those considered his enemies. 

Xie Lian suffers a lot. He goes through so much, goes to unimaginable suffering constantly for 800 years. However, the core message of the series is that Xie Lian, as an individual, has the power to decide his own fate. He has the power to decide to remain pure at heart in the face of immeasurable suffering and to not give into Bai Wuxiang’s manipulations.  

His suffering can’t even be put into words. To be blamed for a whole kingdom dying. To blame himself for the horrifying Human-Face disease. Then he was banished and cursed and hunted by the Yong’an’s people. He became extremely depressed on top of trying to survive and take care of his parents each day. Mu Qing helped a lot, but he too eventually left. He resorted to stealing, which went completely against his morals. He was cornered by 33 Heavenly Officials, who humiliated and bullied him, Mu Qing being one of the people involved as well. All the while being haunted bu Bai Wuxiang, who’s truly a sadistic, unredeemable monster. Then he was brutally stabbed fatally hundreds of times in the most horrific way possible and the recovery-time was just two months of pain with the monster who made it all happen keeping him for company. Then Feng Xin left because Xie Lian changed too much, was too hurt and numb and lashed out. 

Then his parents left him too in a way. And Xie Lian probably blames himself for that. So at that point, Xie Lian just craved death. But he couldn’t even die because of the cursed shackle. 

But still. Still. Even after going after Lang Ying and having Wu Ming burn down the palace and could release the Human-Face disease all over the Yong’an kingdom.

He still chose to pin himself on the ground outside with the same sword that killed him hundreds of times… and waited for three whole days for one, just one person, one samaritan to help him. He still had a dredge of hope in humanity. In people. Because in the end, Xie Lian is an empathetic and kind person. He believes and has hope in people- because he is a pure-hearted person himself, and has to believe there are other people like him out there. Because he can’t be the only one. (He’s not, but a person like him is one out of millions.)

And deep inside he starts to believe Bai Wuxiang’s words when he come on the third day to convince him that this test/social experiment he was doing was pointless. That it is all so hopeless, and these people aren’t worth living, not after how much Xie Lian suffered at their hands. 

But all it took was one person. He was waiting. To be proved wrong. He wanted to be proved wrong, even after everything. That truly… I don’t have words for how amazing that is. 

And then. Even after 800 years of having literally nothing. 800 years of loneliness, suffering, and depression. Being nailed through the heart and buried alive for an undetermined time. Just so he could save more people again. He still remained the same. So pure of heart. So sweet and kind. He even asked for his second shackle to take away his luck so other people more “deserving” than him can take it. 

He still has his problems. His mental health is terrible. He’s very depressed. He chose to stay in a coffin for what could be a hundred years because of self-flagellation probably.

He has no self-esteem, except he’s so interestingly contradictory. He loathes himself, but he also believes he’s completely right. If Xie Lian had to do everything over again, I have no doubt he would do the same thing, except the second-time, maybe blame himself less, because he knows deep down what he is doing is right. He has a simple, but strict moral code. All he wants to do is the right thing. That means saving the common people. Interfere and help if he sees someone suffering. If he can save one person, he will save one person. If he can save a hundred people, he will save a hundred people. 

What a stubborn, beautiful person. 

Book 8: “I won’t! I won’t I won’t change!”… He’s been pent up for far too long. It was as though he’d been waiting for a chance like this all these years, and tears rolled as he screamed. “I won’t change! Even if it’s painful, even if I die, I won’t change, I will never change!”

And he didn’t. He has more than proven that he won’t change even if he died a hundred times. He won’t change even if he died a million times. Even as a young adult, he stood in front of a whole village of people after experiencing what is it like to feel stabbed fatally hundred of times already and was ready to do it all over again willingly. With even more people, even a whole kingdom of people.

Insane does not even begin to cover it. What an extraordinary resilient and compassionate person. 

Xie Lian is truly… something else. Something beyond words. He is also the only type of God I would willingly pray to. 

I understand why Hua Cheng would go to any extent for him. 

[cherriemybaby]

best friends dad! this will probably have two parts or a few extras and i love them!

you and harry spend a night together after a fight with your best friend aka his son!

warnings:smut, oral f to m and m to f, some body issues (talked about deeper in part two)

wc:3000+

you and ben had been bestfriends for as long long as you can remember but that’s it just two close best friends so when he told you he was in love with you.. 30 seconds ago? two hours ago? you weren’t sure all you knew after he muttered out those words you stood staring at him, waiting for that cheeky smile he always supports after telling you a funny joke and then you would both crack up. but that smile never came and his expression never faltered. He just looked at you so.. lovingly? was that it, was he really in love with you and you somehow didn’t see it for the past 6 years.

other friends would joke about it saying how there’s no way you didn’t feel it or apparently didn’t see it when he looked in our direction. but in your eyes you were brother and sister but you know saying that to him would be hurtful and you didn’t want to lose him over this even though you know everything will change once you open your mouth and finally get the courage to respond so instead you stare for a good minute before he breaks the silence

“are you okay.. did i scare you- fuck i shouldn’t have said anything i promised myself i wouldn’t but i just thought maybe you would feel the same i mean you’re always giving me the eyes and telling me how bad the dates you go on are and i just thought it was a hint that you wanted this too”.

ending his rant you look at him a little different this time, he thought you were giving him signs? you were notoriously known for being overly honest, only one or two times did you keep secrets from him. but those things are out of the realm of you two, how do you say “oh yeah i’ve had a huge crush on your dad for the past 6 years and that’s why my dates go horribly” but back to reality you still couldn’t believe what he said

“you thought i.. i mean why would i do that i tell you everything” and yeah maybe that everything was a little over stretched but you couldn’t say that so you stated a broad oversight of what you let him in on.

“i mean yeah maybe i just thought since you’re always looking at me and-“

you huffed “yeah i look at you like i love you because i do, as my best friend as my platonic soulmate i just always thought we shared those feelings and now i just dot know what to do”

the look on his face made everything real he was mad? upset? hurt? all of the emotions and probably ten others

“i can’t believe- they all saw it and i just- whatever y/n honestly whatever i can’t do this right now” he began towards the door of your apartment you wanted to stop him and ask who said what but you just couldn’t bring yourself to move, instead he slammed the door on his way out and you crumbled completely a mess on the floor not knowing what just happened or how you lost the most important person to you.

you sat there for a good amount of time before you hear your phone ding twice and you get a knock at the door, wiping your tears. You stand and look through the peephole in the door, it's harry.

you gasp slightly before grabbing your phone to check the messages which are in fact also harry first asking if you’re okay but second asking if you were home.

your mind is rolling you have no idea why he is here or what he wants, he asked if you were okay but maybe he came by to defend his son? had he seen the “looks” ben convinced had been so obvious, you didn’t know but you knew you had to face the music so you opened the door and were met with harry looking distraught?

“what- what are you doing here, did ben tell you i’m sorry harry i really didn’t know.”

he let you finish before pushing through the door and gathering you in his arms, a bag you now noticed was in his hand, peaking out of the top was light pink daisies, your favorite. “it's not your fault , he started, ben doesn’t know what he was saying i’m do sorry he said that to you and made you feel in the wrong, he called to tell me on his way home from here and i wasn’t thinking i just jumped in the car and made a trader joe’s pit stop”

you pulled away from him slightly to look up at him your brows furrowed, he wasn’t mad, he came over to comfort you? looking into the bag a bit deeper you saw the flowers and your favorite soup dumplings as well as your favorite off brand chips, you looked up at him again now he looks anxious as he awaited your response to it all.

harry you just, why did you do all of this, i guess i was expecting you to come in and give me a lecture about how to treat your son and you just, you brought my favorite things and” he cut you off

“i know how much you love him as a friend and it wasn’t fair of him to say what he did, thankfully he wasn’t in front of me because I would have punched him right there.. i mean he was awful he was so rude saying you’ve been leading him on and i know you, the real true flower loving, soup dumpling loving girl who’s been his biggest cheerleader for years and trust me i know how he feels i would have a crush on you too” he smirks at that while blushing slightly

maybe you’re in a state of shock when you retort, i know how having a crush on one of you always makes me feel special.”

and while maybe this doesn’t feel like a crazy thing to say just hours ago you admitted to one of the styles men that you didn’t have a crush on him so your truth speaks loudly throughout the air making it your turn to blush.

harry doesn't seem scared or shocked by this as he responds “well yeah i mean if we’re telling the truth i’ve always had quite a bit of a crush you”

stepping out of the hold he has kept you in you look down embarrassed by also excited? did he just admit what you’ve kept hidden for so long. at this he gently picks your head up into his palm and swipes his thumb over your lip, it's not much but its enough to make your breath feel heavier. The lust and want in your eyes must be apparent because one more good look at your and he’s leaning down to kiss you. you melt into it as you feel every nerve ending react to him and for the first time in your life you feel the once imaginary fireworks.

he drops the bag on the floor and moves to take off his coat, his mouth never leaving yours, he reaches down to your hips pulling you further into him as he deepens the kiss, squeezing you tight in his grasp the slight pleasurable pain has you gasping allowing him to incorporate his tongue which moves against yours perfectly making you whither which each flick it has in your mouth. you reach your hands out tugging at his shirt, only leaving his mouth astray for a moment before you pounce back onto him jumping up so he could carry you. he walks backwards slightly before pulling away and smiling, “i was thinking i could be sexy like the man in the movies who magically knows where your room is but all i see is you and three closed doors and i believe walking us into the toilet may turn you off a bit” you laugh loudly throwing your head back “ last door on the right “

he nods curtly with a small smile and it's times like these where you remember just how much you like him. every time you would enter his house and he would take your coat and insist you sit immediately, never wanting you to lift a finger while in his company and while nice he sadly raised his son to be the same which made earlier all the more difficult and with this in mind your heart stops.

you can never go back from this, it’s not that you don’t want it, it's that you absolutely do and you know you can never go back, if ben found out i would kill him especially after his recent confessions, but you shake those thoughts away as you look back at harry carrying you to your bedroom and you know when that door opens and all of your fantasies come alive you won’t care about what’s right and wrong just that the man in front of you will make doing all of those bad things feel so right, so much so that you might be convinced it’s all good but definitely not pure.

he pushes the door open and steps in, kissing you again for a moment before sitting on the bed making you straddle him, harry reaches down and grabs the bottom of your shirt to tug it up and over your head leaving you more breathless before and well now shirtless.

he begins kissing down your neck and just like that all of your thoughts of ben and the argument drift away as if it never happened at all.

“harry” you whine out as he continues sucking and kissing all of your pressure points he somehow has found, a low sound, a growl? a moan possibly escapes him

“hearing you moan my name that way is making me crave you more somehow and i know now more than every i don’t want you moaning another mans name ever again” the sudden possessive tone he has turns you on more, reaching down you begin to unbutton his pants before pulling the zipper down in a swift manner.

“get me out baby i wanna see what you look like with your mouth stuffed full”

you audibly whine as you pull him out he’s large to say the least, at least 7 inches with a pretty pink tip that’s already leaking for you. you lean in and put him in your mouth, just the tip at first

“fu-fuck baby, please give me more of your mouth you’re so warm i might not last long” you want to giggle at that because he already looks so fucked out and you wonder how long it’s been for him, but you do as he commands while taking him deeper until your nose is almost touching him.

he whines and gasps, wrapping his hand tightly around your hair before murmuring ‘m gonna fuck your mouth is that okay sweetheart” you hum around him since your ability to do much else has been taken away

he starts off slow, guiding you up and down is cock but before long he’s moving you faster, deeper, so so deep you think it's the best thing you’ve ever felt, you’re getting drenched without stimulation. he groans deeply and you know he’s almost there

he looks down at you, pausing your movements momentarily, “is it alright if i finish in your mouth, i can pull out if you’d like just want you to be comfy”

it would be sweet if his cock wasn’t down your throat, so instead you pull off for a moment looking into his eyes, “yes please wanna taste it” he takes a breath before leaning down to pull you into a kiss

“okay m’gonna finish if you keep talking like that, get back down there and finish what you started” you giggle for a moment leaving one last peck on his lips then slowing sinking down to your spot in between his legs.

taking him back into your mouth, you suck hard wanting his come down your throat, with other guys you never felt this urge and want to see them come undone so deeply but with harry all you want is for him to feel good so you continue sucking and licking him so deep in your throat before he’s finishing for you

“fuck angel please m’righ there right there for you just keep going please” his words turn into a mingle of whining and begging all the way through his orgasm, you pull off when he’s down before sticking your tongue out to show him the mess then bringing it back into your mouth to swallow the rest and sticking it back out to show him just how well you took it all.

he groans at this lifting you back up into your straddling him again “you’re so fucking hot i think i might get hard again” you giggle at that “so proud you baby took me so well, i think you deserve a treat of your own” your heart falters a bit at this, you loved your body.. well it's a temple and it keeps you protected and all of those things but there’s hesitation about someone you’ve waited for seeing you like this, would he be disappointed?

the look on your face must tell the whole story as he grips your face in his hand forcing you to look at him “this is about you okay? i would love to see you and i mean all of you but i’m only going to do what you’re ready for, what you’re comfortable with. how bout we lay down for a bit and relax maybe talk maybe put on a record and just enjoy each others company”

you smile at this, as you’re pretty sure you’ve never wanted something more than to just lay in a bed domestically with harry after a long day and listen to a record. so that’s what you do, for probably an hour you laugh and lay and talk about everything from music to tv shows and don’t forget the animals you want once you’re out of a ten foot apartment. and it feels nice, it feels right.

a break in the conversation comes before harry is caressing your leg, your thigh more like it and somewhere in the conversation you decided to take off your jeans because they were uncomfortable right? definitely not because you wanted to slowly start taking clothes off, maybe to tell him you were ready, maybe not? okay yeah definitely you were trying to send signs.

so back to him caressing your thigh, to make it more obvious you slowly spread them allowing him to stroke deeper, closer to your spot that aches so so goodbadgoodbadgood you can’t tell anymore.

he chuckles lowly “I can tell what you’re doing baby, just tell me what you want and i’ll give it to you” . You look up at him trying to find the words to describe the ache and the need but all you say is “touch me please?” this elicits another chuckle “where” he whispers “my- umm my pussy” he takes you aback when you feel a light slap on your inner thigh

“you’re missing something little girl try again” you whine “touch my pussy harry” after a moment his hand in the air like a warning you whisper “please”

“good girl bunny knew you were my good girl” you want to smile but instead of happy it makes you crave him more. he slides himself down further on the bed before coming face to face with your heat, he wraps your legs around his neck before tracing an outline slowly, teasingly around your panty line

you huff loudly earning another slap “be patient let me enjoy this okay?” you nod not wanting him to back away and decide to no longer pleasure you how you want

he finally after a lifetime grips the top of your underwear slowly dragging it down your body and finally throwing it off the bed.

he leans in getting closer to your pussy until he finally places a small kiss right atop your clit, you whine tugging at his hair , urging, begging for more.

finally his teasing tops and he dives in enjoying tasting you, you feel foolish for believing you could come already but it's been a long time, too long, way too long. as he continues you feel your orgasm getting closer.

”harry please i’m right there, just need to come - fuck!” you yell out as you come undone for him, he licks you up until you’re shaking from overstimulation.

smirking to himself he runs into the bathroom to grab a towel to wipe you down and before leaving a kiss on your inner thigh, you whine slightly and he playfully bites down. you lay back watching him go back into the bathroom, although you should feel bliss and have no thoughts, you have every thought. would this happen again? was it a one time thing? so when he walks back in, you don’t notice too caught up in your own thoughts.

”what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours” he whispers while laying down next to you, pulling you in for a cuddle

you sigh, “i know i shouldn’t be thinking about what this means but i just want to know where your head is, i mean if its a one time thing that's okay, i guess i always thought of you more than that but i would understand if-“

he cuts you off with a peck, looking into your eyes. “its not a one time thing for me i’ve had a crush on you forever, lets worry about it in the morning yeah?”

you smile up at him letting yourself relax slightly as he pulls you in farther and you drift off to sleep, you'd figure it out in the morning, right?

[darling2411]

I guess we’re best friends?

images are from Pinterest, I do not own them.

Mick Schumacher x reader

Word count: 745

Summary: They’re best friends now?

Warnings: none

ⓘ It’s been a while, let’s see how this goes and if I am going to ever finish this series :0

“Mick!!!” You exclaimed “where are you?!”

“I'm right here.” He responds from behind you and you spin around with a grin on your face. “Hi”

“Hi [y/n]” you look up at him. Gosh he’s really beautiful, he looks like an angel, your angel. “In your text you asked me to come meet you. "What's up?”

“I wanted to ask you if you would like to go to dinner this evening with me and Emma ? We wanted to celebrate the beginning of the new season, she thinks it may bring luck.”

Emma? He wanted to have dinner with you and Emma? As in his girlfriend Emma ? You frown “Well as much as I’d like that I don’t want to intrude, also Meave and l have plans for girls night tonight, so no, but thank you for inviting me Mickey.” You stand up on your tippy toes and plant a kiss on his cheek before you leave the Haas motorhome. Your mind is racing, she wants to celebrate because it will bring luck? He doesn’t need luck and celebrating before something happens most likely won’t bring good luck, it will probably only attract negativity!

Gosh you didn’t even really know her and you already didn’t like her. And why do you feel like you could throw up when you’re thinking about him having a nice romantic dinner with his girlfriend? ‘I probably just ate something bad this morning…’ you say to yourself.

Mick watches you walk away.

And like always with every step you make you take his heart with you.

It’s wrong that he feels like this, you're his best friend, nothing more, and he’s in a relationship with a woman he really likes just not loves.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Maeve?!" You shout as you walk through the door into your apartment that you share with your best friend “open the wine, we will need it!”

“Oh shit” you could hear her swear as she scrambled from the couch and slithered into the kitchen to open the red wine you keep restocked for exactly these kinds of moments.” What did he do?” She asks you. Sometimes you think she’s able to read your mind.

You sigh” let’s sit down.”

She nods and both of you grab your wine glass. When you’re settled on the couch she looks at you expectantly but before you can even begin to tell her how horrible your life is right now you bring your glass to your lips and take a big gulp.

“Alright, I just wanna start by saying that I don’t know why this feels so wrong and I have no idea what it means but heinvitedmetodinnerwithhisgirlfriendandihatedtheideasomuchiwantedtopuke.”

Meave stares at you blankly and then starts to laugh. “Excuse me, what did you say? The beginning I understood but then you started speaking so fast not even Spencer Reid could’ve kept up with you.” She sent you a meaningful look “tell me again, nice and slow alright?”

“Mimimi it wasn’t that bad” you huff.

“Not that bad?!" Babe you talked faster than Usain Bolt runs!”

“Hey!”

She laughs” come one now, tell me”

“What I said is that Mick invited me to dinner with his girlfriend and I hated the idea so much I wanted to puke. Like I said before I’ve got no idea why I disliked this so much, I mean she seems pretty nice…”

“Pretty nice?!" She stole your sweet angel Mick!”

You sigh sadly “How could she steal something that was never mine to begin with?” You take another sip of wine and Meave copies you before answering.

“Never yours? Girl are you blind? He looks at you like you yourself created the sun and painted the sky. He is so one hundred percent in love with you, you both are, you’re just too afraid to admit it.”

“Well he has a girlfriend now, I can’t just steal him away. I mean it was different once, two years ago I could’ve easily made a move but now? Now he’s an important part of my life. If I tell him and he leaves me I could never come back from it. “

“Oh sweets, I’m so sorry, but I still believe that he likes you and that everything will turn out like it’s supposed to.” She hugs you tight, your empty glasses long forgotten on the living room floor.

“Well then I guess we’re best friends?”

“For now” Meave whispers.

Taglist

@meaganjm

@cosmic-w0lf

[sortasirius]

Another day, another episode I’ll have to put myself through again because I was too stressed out and I know I missed a ton.

But in the meantime, here are my buddie centric thoughts, I’ll do another post on just Buck:

This is the first time that we’ve really had Buck in a life-threatening situation in front of the whole team that they could rush in to immediately. The crew wasn’t there during the tsunami and they couldn’t just run in when he got crushed by the truck because of the bomber, so to see the reaction from all of them about this horrible freak accident, it was something else.

We’ve seen Buck lose it twice when Eddie nearly died (buried alive and shot) and that desperation that he showed is mirrored in a way with Eddie. Screaming Buck’s name, the parallel of Eddie trying to drag him back onto the ladder, the same way Buck dragged Eddie under the rig when he was shot. Two sides of the same coin.

Eddie trying to take over compressions from Chim before Bobby has to actually rip him away and tell him he’s driving.

“We’ll do our best.”

“Do better.”

The way Eddie is clearly about to lose it when they wheel Buck away, held up by the rest of the crew.

And then…Chris. Chris, who insists on seeing Buck, “I have to talk to him.” Yet another parallel of Eddie having to talk to Chris about what happened to Buck the way Buck had to talk to Chris about what happened to Eddie. How they both lose it when they talk about losing the other.

And you can see, when they’re in the room and Chris is asking questions, how Eddie is at a distance, and shakes his head at once point when Chris can’t see, never directly looking at Buck the entire time he’s in the room.

The most insane thing about this is that it’s the only time we see Eddie in Buck’s hospital room when he’s unconscious. We see everyone else in there repeatedly, but not Eddie. Why? They’re best friends, surely he would want to be there for him.

But the thing is, I don’t think he can. Looking at the scene with Chris, how he refuses to get near Buck’s bed, how he won’t even look directly at him, Ryan Guzman says it all without saying a word.

He can’t be in there, he can’t look at Buck because looking at him like that, with the tubes and the ECMO, it makes it real that he could die. That Eddie could lose him.

Plus, Eddie is a paramedic, he knows what an induced coma and ECMO mean, even more so when you take into account that Chim literally tells him when Shannon is dying that, if they intubate her, she likely won’t wake up. He’s reliving that all over again, grappling with the idea that Buck will never wake up, that he’ll never speak to him again.

I truly think the only reason he went in that room was because Chris demanded it. And it’s not because he doesn’t care or doesn’t want to, it’s because he can’t stand to think that he might lose him.

It’s so fascinating how similar their reactions are, but are marked by their distinct personalities. Buck goes to pieces, screaming and desperate, while Eddie shuts in on himself, so that not even Chris can really get through to him. Eddie trying to pull Buck up while Buck tried to dig Eddie up. Eddie keeps his distance when Buck wakes up, where Buck was there the moment Ana called.

This feels important, to finally have a similar moment for Eddie when we’ve had it twice for Buck, the idea of losing one another, reckoning with that potential grief, a window into what would happen to one of the other died. Truly haunting acting choices from Ryan, it made me see more than ever that Buck is truly number two in Eddie’s life, only behind Christopher.

[captain-mj]

hey idk if I missed what it stands for somewhere or smth but. rlly curious what ESU stands for in the GhostSoap Handler fic.

also,, 100000/10 fuckign,,, LOVING that fic so MUCH I am bouncing off the walls like the roommate's crackhead cat at 2am that keeps one from getting decent sleep

So this is the last chapter! ESU stands for Experimental Soldiers Unit (not the most creative but are most military names?)

Previous Parts

Soap gently helped Ghost into his tac vest while Ghost checked Soap’s gun. He went over every inch, making sure it was working perfectly.

Ghost felt a kiss be placed to the base of his wings.

There was a funny sense of finality that Ghost knew everyone around him must feel. Surely they had to.

Yet no one acted any differently.

It was a simple milk run. The only difference was Valeria was the target. It was fine. Normal.

Fucking… normal.

Ghost felt like he was on a tightrope. Soap was perfect. Soap was always perfect. But Jesus Christ he was tired. It ached. This longing to curl back up in his chair in Glasgow.

Graves’s words were going to him. But now, so were Alex’s.

“Simon, do you ever wish you could retire?”

“No.”

“I do. I think of one day never shifting back. Putting the wings away. Maybe just cutting them off so i can never be asked again.” Alex had seemed far away. Something had changed with him recently. Or maybe it was Ghost seeing it for the first time. “Can’t do it yet. Not while they’re still things to do. People to protect.”

Ghost hadn’t responded.

Alejandro seemed happy. Graves seemed happy. Was it something they were doing? Some secret?

Alejandro and Rodolfo got married. He saw the way they looked at each other. It was the way he looked at Soap when he caught himself in mirrors.

Why was that not enough? Why was loving Soap not enough to fix it? Fix him? Make him less tired?

But he did his job just like always. He sat quietly in his seat on the truck, listening to a Gaz and Price and Soap. They were talking about the mission, planning.

Ghost would go in alone and they’d ambush her. She knew they were coming so they expected a lot of fighting. It’s why it was important they stay and watch his back.

His nails dug into his skin. They were concerned about him. Price asked if he could handle it alone.

“Yes, sir. I can.”

Ghost went into the building, taking special care to be silent. Everyone else could get the enemies' attention. He just needed to find Valeria.

And he did. He found her with a hurt monster. A Damaged thing.

Nunez's wings were beautiful, but he had the same staining on his skin that Ghost did. Same curse.

Valeria looked at him.

He understood.

"I watched the military destroy Alejandro. Take men and return pieces of them. I just... couldn't let that happen to him. I stopped it in Los Almas when no one else did!" Valeria hissed at him, standing in front of Nunez. "It was selfish and horrible what they did. You defend them you..." She stared, slowly relaxing. "You..."

Ghost stared. He swallowed thickly.

"No, you get it."

Ghost hated her.

"If we're found, they'll take him away from me. They'll start experimenting on him again. Can you live with that?"

Ghost thought of an airplane.

"Go." He rasps. "Just go."

Valeria smiled and Nunez dragged her away, going faster than anyone Ghost had ever seen. And Ghost went out a different door.

He heard them realize Valeria was going South and Ghost started going North.

Simon knew he had to go home.

Hopefully Soap wouldn't be so mad at him.

His radio went off. "Simon. Simon, how copy."

Ghost took his radio off and dropped it on the ground.

"Simon. How copy."

Ghost listened to them try to call him back. He took off his vest and left it on the ground. His dog tags were left a few feet away from them.

He hoped Alex would leave soon. He deserved it. Gaz deserved it. To know his sweetheart would be coming home.

Ghost remembered his journey to Texas after Mexico. It felt similar. His feet bled. His chest convulsed. The little thing called his heart beating and fluttering randomly. It begged him to go back or lay down and die.

What are you without the military?

Don't know. I'll figure it out.

What are you without Soap there to hold your hand?

If I never let go of his hand, I'll never have to know.

Ghost found himself crawling into Soap's bed in Glasgow. He showered first, not wanting to dirty his sheets. Soap had been there recently it seemed but left again. His body sank into the pillows. Too large and bulky but it cradled him gently.

When he got up, he ate. He showered again. He stared at the walls before using Soap's computer.

First thing he did was snoop through emails to look at reports. They were about him. All about him. Where was he? Why was his gear left? Is he okay?

In one of Price's reports, there was a message at the bottom.

"I hope it goes well."

It was an odd phrasing. Just odd enough for Ghost to know it was on purpose.

Of course Price would know.

After a week of searching, life returned to normal. For them. Ghost was still in Soap's home. And after a lot of rest, he started to do stuff again. He started to look through more reports, but nothing was that fun. Then, he started to search the internet.

Ghost found his brother's old music. Silly teenage band music. He liked hearing his brother's drumming. The person singing didn't really matter. Just Tommy's drumming.

It led Simon down a rabbit hole. About his murder apparently.

There were videos upon videos about his family.

He watched every single one.

True crime videos. Women doing makeup and men making jokes.

it was nice, seeing his family together again sans his father.

Then, someone showed a picture of him in a bar, clearly drunk and hunched over. His body was already changed but the baggy hoodie kept it semi hidden.

"It's time stamped for 9:17."

"Time of Death was put at 9:19."

"How did he travel all the way home and tear them to shreds in two minutes?"

Ghost didn't do it. That night wasn't his fault.

The realization had him clawing at his skin and wailing until he worried the neighbors may call the cops. His head throbbed and his throat ached.

The black on his skin spread. It burned and ached and for once, Ghost decided it wouldn't be so bad to be half mad and feral. His brain hurt. There was so much heat on his body. Intense and furious.

A fever over took him. It felt almost silly. Like his emotions had gotten so harsh and bad that it gave him a physical reaction.

His body had an intense ache over it and it felt like the light blistered against his skin. Everything was hazy and out of focus, unable to focus on anything.

So Simon showered in the dark and he ignored that his skin felt so uncomfortable and that his feathers had started to fall out.

And then one day, he woke up, body incredibly sore from his fever but no more hysteria or fever. He ran his hands over his face, pausing.

His hands. They looked.

Normal.

No claws.

Just pink flesh.

There was a sound and he perked up. It didn't ring in his ears or go on for ages.

There was a click of a door and Simon went downstairs. His clothes hung off of him, no longer tight.

Soap.

Soap put his keys into the bowl. He looked exhausted. Red rings around his eyes.

Simon was stupid.

"Missed me?"

Johnny went for his gun before freezing. He just kept staring.

"Ghost?"

Simon stretched, for the first time in years not feeling the weight of wings and guilt on his shoulders.

"Just Simon."

"Simon."

"How about I make you a cup of coffee? Or food? I'm sure you're starving." Simon wanted to feel useful suddenly. It was an intense need to help that was interrupted by Soap kissing him hard. Simon only flinched back, worried his fangs would cut his lips. But there were no fangs. Just lips.

Simon yanked him closer and kissed him deeply, pulling him in closer.

Johnny pulled away and shook him. "You fucking disappeared. You fucking... You..." He kissed him again.

"I'm sorry. I waited here for you. I'm never going to let go of your hand."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it."

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK POV) • Chapter 2

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: slight cursing, anger issues, Jungkook doesn't know how to act, self hatred, bad decisions, he's still a simp tho, babe, lmk if I forgot something word count: ~2.370

a/n: Are you concerned that I'm avoiding writing the main plot or HR? Because I am :)

a/n 2: Please make sure to read the main story fully before JK’s POV to have the best reading experience!

series masterlist

The night was more horrible than the last. I didn’t sleep a wink, thoughts running wild with you, you, you. Your face, your voice, every fibre of my existence seems calibrated to you. It’s frustrating beyond limits. Truly just a stupid boy with a stupid crush. It’s more embarrassing than when I was twelve and had a crush on Catwoman. 

But I’ll make an end to all this. The resolve to ignore your presence is the master plan. Brilliant. 

So when I walk to the gates of the paddock and see you desperately waving and calling for me, “Jungkook!” I quickly divert my eyes and walk by, ignoring the sweat running down my temple. 

Do I feel bad? Yes. But do I feel worse and  regret my truly bullshit master plan when I see you walk into the meeting minutes later, smiling and chatting with Joongki? Absolutely! 

Jealousy claws at me, burning my insides as I watch you laughing with him. You’re my race engineer, not his…his…I don’t even know what you could be to him. Everything is absurd in my eyes. 

The sight of you next to Joongki makes me want to stab my eyeballs out. Oh, and don’t get me started with how livid I am with myself, for making the wrong decisions left and right when it comes to you. 

The irritation rises when you stand behind me, which wouldn’t be unusual, but since you’re so much smaller than me, it’s dumb to do that. So I turn, whispering, “Stand in front, dwarf.” I need to insult you somehow; perhaps if you don’t like me, my crush will fade. But as you frown angrily at me, your soft features unable to form real hatred, I can’t help but swoon over you even more. 

You step in front of me, your shiny hair catching my eyes immediately, looking so soft and inviting that I can’t resist playing with it. I twirl a lock around my fingers as Toto talks about something I’ve heard him say a thousand times before. It’s fascinating how you seem to take notes of every spoken word. Such a good girl. 

“Stop it!” you whisper-shout back at me, the irritation on your face making my heart melt even more. Like a little cute puppy who’s angry, I can’t take it seriously. So, I continue playing with your hair, needing to touch you somehow when you’re this close.

This time, you just let me, causing pure glee to swirl in my veins. Joongki and the fact that you’re my race engineer but not my girlfriend are long forgotten at this point. I really couldn’t care less at this p….

“And Jungkook,” Toto’s voice startles me into an early grave. Is he going to scold me? Oh god, he’s going to scold me in front of everyone for playing with your hair. “Your performance at the simulation yesterday was impressive. Keep that focus today.”

Oh, it’s not anything important. What a relief. “Will do, boss.”

I debate whether to start playing with your hair again, but instead, I slightly lean forward and tilt my head down to sniff it. It smells so good. Why do you smell this good? Is there not one flaw? 

“Understood,” you say in unison with Joongki, giggling! Giggling?! For real now?! I can’t take this. You can’t be close to Joongki. He’s a charmer. Well, okay, he’s married, but…but that’s not the point! To divert your attention back to the important things in life, obviously me, I tug at your hair again and look straight ahead. The sharp glare you send me is the result I wanted, and I’m fucking proud of it.

When the meeting ends, I exit the room quickly but notice too late that you stayed behind. I look back and forth, debating what to do, and decide to stay back. I need to find a strategy, and quickly. Should I make peace with you? Trying to befriend you? And then confess my undying love for you? You’re going to ignore my confession like you did years ago again and again. I think of more options, but eventually come up with just playing the bad guy for now. 

Playing safe. That’s good. 

When you exit the room seconds later, I muster the douchebag persona I use for women who annoy me to death and say, “Nice work in there, by the way.”

The “thanks” you say is void of emotions, so I need to add to it. “Let’s hope you can keep up during the training.”

I see a flicker of challenge in your beautiful eyes, and I know I’ve got you. “I’ll be just fine.”

As you walk away, I hope I will be, too. My emotions are a tangled mess of longing and frustration. You’re everything I want but can’t have, a perfect dream hovering just out of reach. How am I supposed to deal with this? How can I maintain the necessary distance when every instinct screams to get closer?  

This is going to be harder than I thought.

The next few hours stretch ahead, filled with tasks preparing for the training sessions, but my mind is stuck on you. My feet take me through the paddock, the familiarity of activity surrounding me as mechanics work on cars, engineers discuss data, and drivers confer with their teams. Yet, all of it fades into the background, my thoughts relentlessly circling back to you, searching for you. 

In the garage, I try to lose myself in the rhythm of preparation. There are tyres to inspect, telemetry to review, and endless adjustments to discuss. I throw myself into the work, hoping it will drown out the conflict inside me.  

But every time I pause, even for a moment, there you are, standing in your never wavering grace. I catch glimpses of you across the garage, conferring with Joongki or reviewing data on your tablet. You’re always composed, focused, and I envy your ability to keep everything so professional when I’m over here struggling to breathe. 

“Hey, Jungkook!” George calls, breaking through my thoughts. He’s leaning against the side of the car, a cheeky grin on his face. “So, what do you think of the new engineer? Pretty great, right?”  

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, she seems good.”  

He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder, again with more force than needed. “Come on, don’t be coy. I saw the way you looked at her during the meeting. She’s not just good—she’s incredible. We’re lucky to have her.”  

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s just...unexpected.”  Unexpected my ass, I got myself into this mess. 

“Unexpectedly good, you mean.” He winks, clearly enjoying my discomfort.  

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, sure. Unexpectedly good.”  

George wanders off, still chuckling, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I focus on the car, reviewing the latest setup changes and discussing them with the team. Yet, every interaction, every adjustment, feels colored by your presence.  

Finally, it’s time for the training laps. I pull on my helmet, the familiar weight settling around my head, and slide into the cockpit. The world narrows to the track, the car, the adrenaline surging through me. This is my escape, the place where everything else fades away.  

The engine roars to life, and I surge forward, the car responding to every input with precision. The track unfolds before me, a blur of asphalt and curves, and I push harder, faster, chasing perfection.  

For a very short time, it works. But then your voice crackles through the headset, reverberating in my skull and every cell with the simplest words: “Radio check.” And I fucking swerve the car. Please let no one notice this.

I clear my throat before confirming with a wobbly voice, realizing I’ll never be able to escape you or what I feel. “Copy, radio good.”

But I’m not. 

Qualifying the next day is a mess. Everything feels off with the car today, and I'm struggling just to keep it together on the track. I’m pushing it hard, trying to eke out every bit of performance, but it feels like the car is fighting me with every turn. The wheels slip, the engine whines, and the steering doesn’t respond the way I need it to. My frustration grows with each passing second, the car losing performance as if it's mocking my efforts.

“Come on, come on!” I mutter, gripping the wheel tightly, my knuckles white. The car feels sluggish, and I’m trying everything to coax some speed out of it, adjusting the throttle, tweaking the brake balance, but nothing works. I’m not hitting the apexes, and every lap seems slower than the last.

“Fucking hell! DO SOMETHING!” I shout, not realising it’s not Hans but you on the receiving end of the radio. The words are out before I can stop them, laced with desperation and anger. The realisation hits me a moment later, but there’s no time to apologise now.

When I finally cross the line and come into P5 instead of my usual P1, a bitter cocktail of disappointment and regret washes over me. I’m not just frustrated with the car or the qualifying session but with myself for yelling at you. I know better than to take it out on the team, especially not you.

And it’s the meeting afterward that’s truly tense. You're usually so confident, but today you're a shadow of yourself. I see it in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way you avoid eye contact. The mistake hangs heavily over you, and my chest tightens with guilt. 

While the others talk strategy and logistics, my thoughts spiral out of control. You should have been able to solve the problem with ease. You’re you. You’re brilliant. I’ve watched you for years, and I’ve never seen you fail like this or at all. Did I cause this? Did my yelling shake your confidence? Block you from solving the problem? I can’t shake the feeling that I’m responsible somehow.

Toto sends me sharp looks throughout the meeting, his silent warning clear. Even though I’m the star driver, mistakes like this can’t continue. It’s Formula 1, it’s drive to survive. Nothing less, nothing more. If we don't perform, it's not just you who’ll lose your job—I might too. The pressure is suffocating, the expectations from the team, my parents, the fans, the media—they all weigh heavily on my mind.

When the meeting finally ends, and everyone else has left the room, I linger. You stay seated, and I know my anger is ill placed but I can’t stop myself anymore. I close the door, my footsteps echoing in the empty room as I walk in front of you. The pressure of the whole season presses down on me like a physical weight.

You refuse to look at me, and something snaps inside me, causing me to loose the remaining control. “How difficult can it be to choose the right tyres from fourteen? Even a chimpanzee without a degree could have done a better job.”

You don’t even flinch at my words, but I instantly regret them. Your eyes finally meet mine, and I see the hurt you’re trying so hard to mask. I’m startled by the echo of my own father’s voice in my head, yelling at me when I was younger, and I hate it. I hate that I see myself in you. Before I can stop my dumb mouth from running, the next words slip out.

“I knew it was nepotism.” 

I need to leave before I hurt you more, before I break down completely. I’m disgusted with myself, and your next words cut through me like I deserve it. I hope the bleeding will drown my longing for you, for I don’t deserve you. 

Race day starts with Trish knocking at my door early in the morning, as she always does. We go through some exercises to prepare my muscles for the race, making small talk to distract ourselves from the tension. 

Then, her voice changes briefly, losing its usual chipper, high-pitched tone. “How’s it going with your new race engineer? She seems to be focusing more on her little dresses and heels than her job.”

Oh, she did not just say that. The hairs on my body stand on end, and I rise to my full height, taking Trish’s hand off my arm, where it never should have been at the first place. 

“She’s brilliant, and her work is exceptional. I don’t think it’s your job to judge someone in her position.”

Trish takes a step back, intimidated by my deep, low voice, but I don’t care. With every passing minute, I find her presence harder to tolerate. If she doesn’t change her attitude soon, she’ll have to replace her. Why didn’t I already do it? 

I think the day might improve after this, but as soon as I step onto the paddock, the reporters swarm, asking about my relationship with you, which I actively avoid discussing. Then, Toto and George pull me aside to lecture me on how to act towards you, as if I don’t know myself. It’s then that I think I’ve hit rock bottom.

But no, it’s when your sad eyes find mine just as I get into the car for the race. I push everything aside, focusing only on the task at hand. You and I work perfectly together during the race, and I think I’ve escaped the walk through hell and am now in heaven. I love driving, but I love it more with your voice accompanying me, guiding me.

In the final turns, I overtake the competition, your voice filled with pure glee flowing through my veins like adrenaline. I wish I could call you “babe” because that’s what you are to me. My precious, intelligent, beautiful girl cheering me on through the radio. 

We did it. Together.

As I slow down in my victory lap, I hope you hear the sincerity in my voice that I carry in my heart. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Babe.

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a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! what was your favourite part of this chapter?

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @jksusawife, @alessioayla

[deludedfantasy]

On Tesla, Rem, and Agency in Trimax

Volume 7 gave me a lot of Thoughts, especially about Tesla and her place in the narrative. She's such a tragic character and I'm obsessed with the implications of her existence, and how her death and Rem's motivate the twins in very different ways. Much more under the cut.

After volume 7, I’ve been thinking a lot about agency in Trimax, who gets it and who doesn’t. On a slightly related note, I’ve also been thinking about female characters and fridging, so let’s talk about two very important figures who motivate a lot of Vash and Knives’s actions: Rem and Tesla. 

On my first watch of Tristamp, the moment Rem died saving Vash and Knives, I went, “Oh no, not again.” That is the classic set-up for fridging a female character. You see her briefly, she declares her love for the main characters, and she’s dead within minutes, now providing our main characters with the correct amount of angst to fuel their actions for the rest of the story. That is essentially what happens in Tristamp. We do see more of Rem later and learn a bit more about her, but that vision of the perfect woman, the perfect mother, who was so unjustly murdered by Nai’s actions, remains constant. She doesn’t have a whole lot of agency. 

Part of the problem with fridging is it completely removes any individuality or agency from a female character. She’s basically an empty doll for the main character to project their emotions on and give the readers an easy explanation for their actions. A fridged woman doesn’t have any personality except being perfect and dead. 

From where we stand in Tristamp season 1, that’s all we have. But Trimax is another story entirely. It shows us Rem as a whole person. She’s very much so still the mother Vash loves and idealizes, but we learn there’s so much more to her. I’d even argue that’s part of why he loves her: because he’s seen her fully, warts and all. 

Her first scene in volume 6, during the birthday party, already starts shifting the narrative we’ve become used to. There’s something off about her, we can’t see her eyes. We get the feeling she’s hiding something. When she forces Vash and Knives to hide when the crew wakes up, we’re proven right. 

Volume 7 is when we really see her for the first time though. She’s not perfect. She let something horrible happen to a little girl. She’s a woman laboring under a lot of guilt and a lot of love. Everything she’s done for Vash and Knives has been because she hasn’t forgiven herself for what happened to Tesla. Her determination to keep Vash alive when all he wants is to die and the story she tells him about the blank ticket is a defining moment for her character and for him. We understand why Vash has based so much of himself around her, why he’s trying so hard to keep her memory alive. But it also makes it hit even harder that she sacrificed herself to save not just the twins, but the whole fleet. Her death suddenly becomes even more meaningful. She isn’t another woman shoved into a refrigerator; she’s brave, smart, idealistic, loving to a fault, full of guilt and shame and depression, but so very determined to do the right thing when she’s failed before. 

Now, compare her to Tesla. I talked a bit about this in my book club post, but I want to expand on it. We don’t actually meet her. Her ghost leads Vash and Knives to her body. We see her dissected body and learn about her through the researchers’ reports and Rem’s explanations. But we never hear her voice or her story in her own words. We don’t know what she wants. 

But Knives takes up his crusade and his revenge on humanity because of what happened to her. It seems like a pretty straightforward instance of fridging, but I don’t think it’s that, not fully. Because that’s the whole point is that Tesla never had a voice. 

Usually, when a woman is fridged, any actions taken in her name are seen as noble or at least understandable. But Knives’s motivations are deeply, deeply flawed (for many reasons). Despite his goals to free Plants from the tyranny of humanity and give them agency, many of his methods involve taking away agency from other Plants, including his own brother. By starting the crusade in Tesla’s name, he makes it hers. But we don’t know if that’s what she would have wanted! She was just a little kid. Maybe she would’ve wanted to visit those same horrors upon humanity that were visited on her. Maybe she would’ve just wanted to kill the scientists who caused her pain. Maybe she would’ve wanted to disappear and just live a normal life. We can’t know! And that’s the tragedy of it. 

Like I said in my book club post, she becomes a martyr for a cause she didn't know existed.

The absence of Tesla’s voice is so loud. She never had a choice, not when she was alive and not even when she was dead. We don’t know why she showed herself to the twins or if that apparition was even a ghost with some form of agency or a simply some sort of Plant impression that didn’t have an intent one way or another. But Knives decides that the legacy she will receive is of death and destruction and revenge. There’s something that feels so wrong to me about that. It feels like a continuation of Knives lashing out in fear and anger, not considering anything or anyone else. 

This isn’t to say that the way Vash treats Rem is perfect either. It’s not. His devotion to the idea of her and living up to her sacrifice are pretty flawed too. At the same time as he knows that she wasn’t perfect, she becomes something of an untouchable figure in his head. He’s living his life in penance for her sacrifice and shattering himself in the process. He takes her ideals to the very extreme and doesn’t leave a lot of room for nuance. It’s questionable whether Rem would’ve wanted this to be her legacy. But at least Vash knows what she would’ve wanted for him: for him to never give up hope, to see the world in all its glory and horror, and give himself the freedom to remake his future when all seems bleak. 

I really hope season 2 of Tristamp gives us more of Rem and Tesla, especially since there’s some indication that Tesla was still alive in Tristamp. Rem holds such an important place in the story of Trigun and I want to see the wonderful flawed version of her translated to the story Tristamp is trying to tell.

[purrplegyuu]

Cold | Choi Beomgyu

Index

Chapter six

Warnings: poorly proofreaded, refill chapter, mentions of sex, cursing.

Word count: 1.4k

Taglist: @arianap23e, @haatohwa

Trashy chapter. So sorry, just needed this chapter to connect what happens on next chapters so...

I also apologize for uploading it so late, I was at SEVENTEEN's concert and I was very busy (it was amazing omgggg T.T)

I'm not an english native speaker, so let me know if there's any mistake. Also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list.

After three days of our usual routine once again, I find myself locked in my room, thinking about why it feels so different. We have never been really close. I mean, we do have sex, however, we do not talk a lot, we do not even talk to each other every single day. I can easily think about many times where we didn’t talk to each other for more than a week. 

But something feels different in these three days.

He doesn’t look at me, while I do look at him. He ignores me when I try to talk to him. He even avoids me when we’re out of the house. This awkward aura every time we are in the same place is something really heavy, and I cannot deal with it the moment our parents forced us to go to a restaurant to eat dinner with them due to their mesiversy number 10. 

I do not like it to feel invisible. And that’s exactly how he makes me feel. 

“Honey, let’s dance” My dad says. After some cups of whine, his voice is starting to sound way softer and more dazed than usual.

He takes Gaeum’s hand with a shiny smile, walking towards the place all the couples are dancing. I look at her almost disgusted, expecting Beomgyu to do the same. However, he just looks at his phone, like he's been doing the whole time we’ve been here.

“I can’t deal with it” I say highly. He looks up, surprised by my voice tone. “I don’t like it” My voice sounds offended. 

“What?”

“This, you, the way you treat me” I say, looking directly at him. “I hate it, and I’m starting to hate you” He hums, looking like he doesn’ care at all. “You might not believe it,” I laugh ironically. “but I’d love to be loved”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to kiss you?”

“Maybe. Maybe it would be fine if you would kiss me more times than you fuck me” His laugh making me almost explode. However, I know our parents are close and I should be more silent than I am now. 

“Why-?” He tries to talk, but I interrupt him.

“Because I love you” He looks at me shocked. My voice breaks when I try to talk, but I keep talking. “I love you. And I know I shouldn’t because of our parents, but I do… and everything I can see about your feelings is hate. Fucking hate” He doesn’t bother looking around if someone is listening to us, not even our parents. I do not care either. 

We keep quiet for a few minutes, just looking at each other. I try to calm myself because I don’t want to cry.

“Beomgyu… do you hate me?” There’s some seconds of silent while everything happening around us is not even important. We don’t look around when the waitress asks if she can bring the dessert now, we don’t look around when a couple kisses in front of everyone–which makes everyone look at them like they have just made something horrible, except for us–, we don’t look around even when our parents are walking back towards us. 

“Yes” His voice never sounded so dark, his words never hurted so much, and I never felt that stupid before. 

I stand up, walking out of the restaurant while dad looks at me confused, asking what happened to me. But I don’t let him see how bad I’m crying right now.

[…]

“And I was actually thinking about packing the other one since it was way prettier, but Sunoo said I looked comfier on this one, right?” Everytime Jiwoo talks about the clothes she made herself, the excitement on her face makes her shine even more than usual.

Sunoo, on her side, just nods, slightly smiling at her. 

“Both of them are pretty” I say. She smiles looking at me.

“‘But…’” She knows I always have a second thought of everything.

“But I like the green one the most” I saw it before, when she invited me to her room some weeks ago. “I think that one was more artistic and, I don’t really know why, but I think this makes you look sexy” She laughs nervously.

“But she doesn’t need to look sexy. She just needs to be comfortable” Sunno’s annoyed voice tone, faking sympathy towards me like he’s always done it before. 

He doesn’t like me, I don’t really know why- However, he puts up with me just because my only friend is his best friend.

I look confused at him, then look at Jiwoo before nodding. “Y-yeah. Guess that’s right” He looks at me like I have just made it worse than before−even if I did anything−, and then looks down to his phone. “I’m going to the restroom” I say, standing up and running away from this awkward moment.

Soobin joins me on my way to the restroom, walking silently by my side. 

I look up at him asking “What?” I’ve never been really nice to no one since some time ago, but I’m sometimes especially mean to him; the sleeve of Beomgyu, or at least that’s what he looks like.

“Nothing, I’m just… going to the restroom” He says, right before we get there and I enter the girl's restroom, leaving him there alone. 

After I’ve washed my hands, I get out of there, finding him leaning against the wall beside the restrooms. “Now what?”

“Okay, I was lying, I’m sorry” He smiles gently, looking suddenly so cute, I almost feel bad for being so mean. Until he talks once again. “I’d just like to know if everything is okay between you and Beomgyu” I look at him annoyed, rolling my eyes. “He’s been acting weird lately. Sometimes he’s furious, sometimes he’s deadly quiet and… today he looks… sad? I don’t really understand how’s he feeling but he’s acting weird”

“I don’t know, Soobin, he never tells me what’s he feeling”

“Well, I thought you knew, since you’re his-” I interrupt him.

“Whore. Since I’m his whore, I should know, right?”

“His step sister” He answers, making me feel a little embarrassed. But then, I remember he knows even dirtier things about me, things Beomgyu might have told him about both of us since Soobin is his closest friend, and I just can’t feel embarrassed around him anymore.

I sigh. “I still don’t know” He looks at me like he’s scared of the way I’m treating him, and, in fact, I am treating him bad. That’s why I turn around to face him. His soft skin getting a little red as he notices me looking at him. The awkward silence making him scratch the back of his neck. “I think you’re kind and nice,” I say. “And I am sure we would get along well if the only things you say to me weren’t about Beomgyu”

He nods. “Fine, I promise not to talk about him anymore” We get to the chairs of the airport again, and he walks towards his friends while I walk towards Jiwoo.

Our fly is announced through the speakers, and we walk towards the plane, sitting on the places that were assigned to us. When Beomgyu walks through the hall by my side, he barely looks at me, walking towards his place while his friends follow him.  

We hadn’t talked since that night. When they got back home after the dinner, dad knocked up at my door for hours, and I just kept saying I was fine. However, he didn’t go until I open the door for him to see me. He hugged me tightly, and told me I didn’ need to tell him what happened to him, but I could do it if I wanted to. I saw Beomgyu in his Bedroom, looking a little bit worried, but not actually, since he just closed his door when he noticed I was seeing him.

After a few minutes, Jiwoo and Sunoo sit by my side. They weren’t supposed to sit there, but Jiwoo paid to the ones who do were supposed to in order to exchange places. 

“In some hours, we’re going to be in Greece” Jiwoo says. “Oh my god, I’m so excited!”