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hellishjoel · 6 months

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delicate - chapter one: someone new

3.4k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

summary: Sarah decides it’s time for her dad to start dating again. Joel isn’t sure he needs to, but decides if it’s for Sarah, he’s willing to give it a go. After a few failed attempts, he finally stumbles across someone new.

A/N: This is the first chapter of a new fic co-written with @thetriumphantpanda - we’re both so excited for you all to finally read what we’ve been working on. You’ll be able to find the masterlist on both of our Tumblrs, and we’ll be taking turns in posting chapters, so if you want to keep up to date with posting, please make sure you’re following us both!

warnings: Joel being terrible at dating apps, mentions of being a single parent, flirting, rom-com vibes, allusions to more mature themes but nothing explicit as of now, foul language, mentions of food & alcohol, Sarah & Tommy being menaces.

“Dad, have you thought about settling down soon?”

Joel had nearly just sat down at the dining table, a warm bowl of chili stinging his hands as he set down a glass of water with a quiet huff.

“Am settled down.” He grumbled, diving straight into the warm bowl with ferocity.

Sarah sighed quietly and circled her fingertip over the rim of her water glass.

“I mean,” she tries again, “settled down with someone.”

Sarah knows this is a weird topic to bring up over dinner. She can see it in the way her father stops chewing on his food, his water glass halfway to his lips now frozen midair.

Since she was a small girl, her father’s world revolved around her. She put the sun in the sky and the smiles on his face. He put her through years of soccer practice and clarinet lessons, drove her across the state for tournaments, and made her favorite dinner when it was her birthday. She was his little girl.

Sarah knew she had a very loving father, always lucky in that regard, but that love felt a little lost when she started attending university. All she could think about was leaving her dad in an empty house with no one to cook for, no one to bug about cleaning their room. He didn’t have anyone besides Uncle Tommy. And Sarah was sure that was the last person he wanted to spend his free time with.

Fresh from graduating with a bachelor’s degree in biology from Texas State University, Sarah opted to live at home for a year in the hopes of saving up money for med school. And perhaps she could complete the side quest of finding a potential date for her dad.

Joel clears his throat and wipes his hand on a paper towel, smearing it a reddish-orange from the chili.

“Don’t need anyone else when I’ve got you, peanut.” He gave a lopsided smile and continued eating.

Why would she ask something like that? Why was she thinking about finding someone for him?

Joel thought of himself as an independent man. Never went looking for love, going on about his business, so why start now?

Sarah looked unsure of what to say next, wanting to push the conversation and letting that uncertainty fill the air between them.

Joel sighs, his spoon sputtering in the bowl and listening to it clang around the rim.

“You don’t gotta worry about me, kid. I’m fine on my own.” He insisted, shrugging casually.

“Uncle Tommy and I were talking about you, more specifically about you dating-”

Joel buried his face in his hands, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh as he ran his hands down his face, calloused palms scraping against beard stubble.

“Sarah, what did I tell you about talkin’ to Uncle Tommy? Take nothin’a substance from those conversations.”

“Dad, please.” His little girl was frowning now, desperate puppy dog eyes searching his own. “How bad would it be if Uncle Tommy and I put you on a few dating apps, y’know? You could meet a nice woman, take her out for dinner, do whatever you want, but you can’t not try anymore.”

Joel snuffed out a scoff, quickly dialing it down once he was receiving daggers.

“Peanut, ya just… you get to a certain age where you give up on that type of stuff. Love n’all. M’an old dog, been outta the game for too long.” Joel returned to his dinner, thinking the conversation was done and over with.

Sarah let out a heavy breath through her nostrils and crossed her arms. “Dad, we’re finding you someone, or at least we’re going to try. You can’t just-just shrug off your feelings!”

Sarah’s chair scraped backward, standing up suddenly and commandeering the room.

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. What happened with Mom was a long time ago. You can’t shut off trying to find love. I saw you go on two dates when I was growing up. Two! You can’t say you’ve tried, you can’t say you don’t want it, everyone wants to find their special someone. And you,” she said with wide, frantic eyes. “You are not done trying. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Joel sat in silence as Sarah retrieved her bowl of chili and glass of water, fleeing up the stairs to her room. He sat back in his chair, shifting his jaw from side to side in thought.

Guilt festered in his chest. Seeing Sarah so adamant about something like his love life was telling it was something she thought a fair amount about. She worried about his happiness, his life alone.

Though he thought a life of solitude worked well for him, he couldn’t deny that small part of him that wished he had someone to share the little moments with. Sarah wouldn’t be living at home forever, and she would never be replaced in Joel’s heart, but maybe she was right that it was time for him to start trying again.

“Okay, so I downloaded Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, eHarmony, and Farmer’s Only.”

Sarah paraded around Joel’s smartphone, downloading different online dating apps left and right while he watched helplessly beside her on the couch. He could feel a headache spark in his temple already.

“M’not a farmer.”

Sarah simply shrugged and opened up the first app, Tinder. “True, but we’re trying to keep our options open.”

Joel sighed and leaned back into the couch cushions, hearing the front door open without a knock. His brother, Tommy, paraded inside, a six-pack of beer in his hand and a jean jacket in the other.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Joel asked as he saddled his hands on his knees and pushed himself off the couch, eyes narrowed on his younger brother.

“What? You think I would miss Sarah putting you up for auction?”

“Hey,” Sarah said defensively, disliking that her Uncle Tommy was making fun of her genuine attempt to find Joel a woman. “Don’t make him feel bad. It took several hours of convincing just to get him to hand me his phone.”

Tommy sneered and plopped down into Joel’s recliner, cracking open a beer despite it only being late afternoon. Hell, he might need one too.

“Okay, Dad, focus. We need to fill out some of the Tinder prompts.” Sarah patted the section of the couch beside hers, Joel joining her after a few grumbles of resistance.

“Prompts? What sorta prompts?” He asked, craning his neck to look at the phone screen she held up in her hands.

“Prompts to get to know you better. You know, like, what are your likes and dislikes, what are you looking for in a relationship, where would you want to take someone for a first date,” Sarah continued the list until Tommy’s chuckle broke her concentration.

“Ain’t Tinder for hookin’ up with chicks?” Tommy asked, making Joel’s head snap to Sarah.

“Sarah, the hell are you doin’ to me?”

“It’s not just for hookups, dad-”

“Yes, it is.” Tommy snicked, making Sarah glare at him.

“C’mon, we’re trying everything to see what sticks.”

Joel felt rather hopeless about the whole ordeal. They added pictures, and Sarah crafted answers for his prompts. He didn’t really know what the hell he was doing with the whole left, right, swiping action. At one point, he expanded the age search by accident and didn’t realize it the next morning until he got a very forward message from a young woman.

Hey, good looking ;) you look like a big man in more ways than one, if you catch what I mean… how about you come over to mine and show me a good time, I bet we can make it fit if we try hard enough.

Joel storms into the kitchen, shoving his phone at Sarah’s face, “Take that damn app off,” He demands, “It ain’t for me.”

“What did she say to you?” Sarah snorts, taking the phone from him, Joel watching as she holds her finger on the icon until it wobbles.

“That ain’t for you to know,” Joel shakes his head, “Just delete the damn thing off my phone.”

He watches as Sarah presses the cross in the corner of the icon, making a mental note of how he can delete the rest of them later when she’s not watching, she hands his phone back to him, taking a sip of orange juice, whilst he pockets the phone.

Despite his first attempt at dating apps failing horribly, he was intrigued. A lot of the women out there were beautiful, some with children of their own from past relationships just like him.

Joel was trying to watch the first Dallas Cowboys pre-season game with Sarah when his phone buzzed with a notification. It was just one of those that stated he had potential matches out there on Bumble.

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, flicked his eyes up to the television screen, and clocked he wasn’t missing anything before he opened his phone.

A few profiles later, he landed on a woman he found with a nice smile. He read through her profile, even letting out a quiet chuckle.

Sarah’s eyebrows were drawn together with curiosity, watching her father smile goofily at his phone.

“What’s goin’ on with you? You’re scaring me.” She teased as she pushed herself off the couch and leaned over his shoulder to see he was actually on one of the dating apps. A small sense of pride filled her.

“I like ‘er. Got a nice smile, funny too.” Joel affirmed with a nod. He swiped like he was directed to, but then there was nothing.

His face fell, smile and happiness swirling down the drain as he grew frustrated.

“How the hell do I message ‘er?” He asked, neck craning as he held up his phone to Sarah, his silent way of asking for support.

“You can’t message women first on Bumble. They have to like you back and message you first.” Sarah said with a shrug, snagging her dad’s beer from his hand and taking a quick swig.

Joel was only scowling in disappointment and frustration. “Y’mean, I can’t even talk to ‘er? I can’t be a proper gentleman and make the first goddamn move?”

He grunted in annoyance, swiped back his beer, and threw up the glass bottle to drain the last of its contents as he deleted the app. “Sick of these damn datin’ apps already. None of them are worth a damn.”

Sarah sighed quietly and found her way back to the couch, nervousness settling inside of her. He wasn’t a very disagreeable person, in fact, her dad was neutral about a lot of things. What did he want to have for dinner tonight? Anything was fine. Which movie did he want to watch? He didn’t care, said she could pick. So why was he finding so many excuses with the apps? Not even the women, but the apps.

Part of her thought about him trying to find a woman the old-school way, but he was maybe too out of the game to brush up a conversation with a random stranger. He might fail miserably, but maybe it would help with his confidence. He only had a few apps left, ticking off one by one.

Joel stared at the ceiling, encapsulated by the slow-circling fan overhead. Darkness laid a dark veil over his bedroom, a sliver of moonlight being cast through the window. His head laid back into the pillows, jaw ticking from side to side as he lay wide awake. He lightly scratched his chest, feeling the dark hair that clustered at his sternum as his head rolled to the side and read the digital numbers on his clock.

Another sigh left his parted lips. It was late, far too late for someone who worked the early mornings to be awake. At least tomorrow as Friday.

His phone vibrated gently on his nightstand, a little chime he wasn’t accustomed to. He plucked his phone from the charger and squinted at its brightness, sitting up on his forearm to read the text. It was a message from a woman on Hinge. They had matched.

Joel grunted and stared blankly at his lock screen until it went black with inactivity. No. Just go to sleep, Joel. Forget about it. He set his phone on the bed and laid on his side, digging his cheek into a pillow and forcing his eyes closed. Well, what was she doing awake at this hour?

He opens his phone, clicking on the ‘H’ icon with its tiny red notification dot. He pays no mind to reading the message yet, instead clicking onto the mystery womans profile. The first picture is one of her wrapped up in a big coat, plaid scarf wrapped around her neck with a bobble hat and something warm clasped in her hands - it looks like she’s in a big city from what he can tell from the blurry background behind her, but he notices how happy she looks - big grin plastered on her face that reaches all the way to her eyes.

Scrolling further down her profile, he finds the first prompt ‘Best Travel Story’ - her answer reading about a time she’d been hiking with her family. She likes the outdoors Joel thinks - something he and Sarah also enjoy, but he shakes his head before he thinks too much about a third person he can take hiking. There’s another photo then, clearly taken in the summer - she’s in a lovely dress, sitting at a table with a young boy on her lap, perhaps a nephew? He tries not to imagine that he’s stumbled across another single parent, what good luck that would be.

Joel doesn’t make it much further down her profile - just to the section with all of her basic information. She’s around his age, shorter than him but not by much, she’s got a yes next to drinking, but a no to smoking and drugs, and she works in marketing. A steady job, he thinks. He’s praying, silently, that when he clicks back to her message, she’s sane.

Good evening Joel! Sorry for such a late message, I’m a slight insomniac. I love your profile, you seem lovely! How are you doing this evening? (Or this morning depending on when you read this!)

The corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile. A slight insomniac who thought he was quite lovely. Her words, not his. Maybe asking Sarah for help on his profile wasn’t such a bad idea. His fingers twitched above the keyboard, but he was unsure of what to say next.

Joel sat up in bed, about to shove the covers off his lap and ask Sarah for help, when he took another look at his digital clock. It’s too late to wake her, he thinks. He’ll have to craft a response on his own. He dreads it, words never really being his strong suit. Would he look creepy if he replied this late back?

Looks like we’re both slight insomniacs. Besides being unable to fall asleep, my evening was fine. How are you doing tonight, ma’am?

Joel sighed and stared at his response, picking it apart and cursing under his breath. Now, he was wide awake.

Ma’am? Way to make me feel 101… charming though, I like it ;) I’m doing okay, thank you. Just enjoying the only peace and quiet I get before I go to sleep. What’s keeping you up then, Joel?

Joel’s face crumpled, pushing a hand through his hair after reading his response over and over again. He meant it in a gentlemanly way, not to make her feel old. He really screwed the pooch on that one. Nipping at his lower lip, he tried again.

No offense intended ma’am, I’m just a Southern man is all. Don’t mind about what’s keeping me up, I want to know about you. You don’t get much peace and quiet until midnight? How’s that?

None taken, just not used to someone being a gentleman on these things - normally at this point someone would be asking for a picture of my tits so you’re doing well so far. It’s usually my son that keeps me up, he’s been asleep a while but I only get so much time to clear up after him, so midnight is me time once that’s all done. You sure you don’t wanna tell me what’s keeping you awake?

Joel’s smile only grew larger as she responded, and rather quickly, too. He imagined they looked quite similar right now. Different towns, different houses, both curled up in bed and staring at their phones, waiting for the other to reply. He wondered if she was smiling like he was, trying to push away an undeniable flutter in his stomach. Making him feel like a damn teenager.

His face softened at her response. My son, she said. That boy on her profile, with chubby cheeks and a toothy smile, a head full of hair, and glee all over his face, was her son. She was a mother, just like he was a father. He wondered if she saw the young woman in his pictures and knew that was his daughter, Sarah. How could he subtly drop the hint?

Those aren’t gentlemen, just boys. Sorry to hear they were wasting your time. I understand your limited personal time. When my daughter Sarah was young, my alone time consisted of sitting in the truck during her soccer practices and after she went to bed. It’s not easy. What’s keeping me up is partially Sarah’s fault. She’s the one who urged me onto Hinge. I don’t really know what I’m doing, to be honest. Just know a pretty flower when I see one.

Is Sarah the young girl on your profile? She’s beautiful if so, you must be so proud of how she’s grown up. Well Joel, you don’t seem clueless, you’re keeping my attention pretty well, especially calling me pretty, I might be blushing. What made her decide now was the time for you to start dating?

He’d never admit it if anyone asked. But it looked like he still had that Southern charm, you never really grow out of it. He reached over and plucked the string to his lamp, sitting up against his bedframe and sipping on a glass of water as he read over her reply again and again. He had a fondness for the way she complimented his baby girl. She got extra points for that.

Yep, that’s my Sarah. She’s going to med school next year, couldn’t be prouder. I suppose she graduated from college and thinks she knows everything now. Thinks I need a love life. I think she’s felt this way for a while, but she knows I’m stubborn. What’s your son’s name? Looks like a good kid.

Smart and beautiful, you must have very good genes Joel. That’s incredible though, I can imagine how proud you are of her. Well, I for one am pleased she’s pushed you here, you seem a really nice guy Joel. My son is Noah, he’s seven so full of beans, I’ve never known anyone have so much damn energy!

And you seem like a real nice woman, ma’am. Sarah had so much energy at seven, that’s when I put her in soccer to run all that damn energy out of her.

His fingers hesitated, typing out the message but not quite pressing send. He liked her. He liked how sweet and funny she was. Plus, she understood what it was like to have a kid, someone who would always be put first.

Since it’s technically 12:57, are you doing anything tonight? Is having a drink okay for a slight insomniac?

Well, thank you very much Joel. I have a feeling Noah and Sarah would have gotten along well if they were the same age, he’s just started soccer practice for that very reason. And, lucky for you, Noah has an evening with his grandparents tonight, so a drink sounds lovely. Just let me know a time and a place.

His heart was thumping in his chest, a tired little grin on his face as he offered to take her to The Aristocrat Lounge on the North side of Austin. They settled on seven, enough time for Joel to get home, shower, and convince Sarah to help clean him up a bit. A daunting feeling pressed into his chest, making his breath snag tight in his lungs. He was nervous, those strange butterflies still fussing around. He shoved them down, persistent on ignoring the feeling.

It’s a date. Try to get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, ma’am.

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xx-kitsune-xx · 5 months

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Fatal Allure

Leon x Reader

Summary: To save the country from a devastating war, your parents promised their only daughter's hand in marriage to the first prince of a rival country. Ignoring your own fears, you face the future you were fated to have. You only hoped that the heir to the throne would not turn out to be a monster.

Warnings: Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage, Porn with Plot, P in V sex, Loss of Virginity, a tiiiiiny bit of angst in the beginning, no use of y/n This is also my first time writing smut so... yeah, you have been warned

Word count: 4.8k

Also on Ao3!

As you looked into the mirror, you could feel your heart tighten. You looked… mesmerising. A beautiful lady looked back at you from the mirror. Perfectly pinned up hair, adorned with crystals, impeccable make-up and the beautiful gown befitting the future queen.

You looked like the perfect bride. Or you would, if your reflection smiled. You sighed and smoothed the material of your dress one last time, before someone knocked at the door.

“My lady,” you heard a woman’s voice as the door opened. It was one of your servants, Claire. The young woman had only recently joined the palace staff, but you had grown very fond of her. Being close in age helped you get along. “It is time” She said, offering you a sad smile.

For a moment you wondered if she knew what was going on in your mind. If she could read the thoughts of running away and never coming back from your face. If she did, you were glad she didn’t try to comfort you or offer any words of wisdom. You had enough of the latter from your mother. If you heard one more ‘you’ll learn to love him’ you’d become violent towards the person who uttered the words.

With a final sigh, you nodded and followed the servant out of the room. With each step, the weight of your duty grew.

An arranged marriage was hardly the future you had imagined for yourself. You had always imagined true love, someone who would sweep you off your feet and promise you the world. Someone you could trust. And here you were, about to marry the future king of the neighbouring country. Though you hardly considered it a marriage, despite the words of everyone around you. ‘Royalty always marries this way’ they said, or ‘I met your father once before we got married! And we are happy!‘ – something you wanted to argue with, because apart from official events, they spent barely any time together.

But the sweet words and assurances that you would be happy, you knew this was no ordinary arranged marriage. It was a peace offering from your parents, who were losing the war. A last resort to save themselves and their country. And they didn’t even ask!

You clenched your fists as anger once again seeped into your body. You could still run. Or try to embarrass your parents during the ceremony, to show your defiance. What would happen if you simply said you wouldn't marry the prince? Would he start the war again? You didn’t exactly know what he was capable of – after all, you only knew him for his achievements on the battlefield!

“My lady, are you well?” the sweet voice of your servant brought you out of your trance. It was only then that you realised you had stopped walking, only a few steps from the doors of the wedding hall.

You looked at the poor girl and the guards standing behind you. No turning back now. You met the servant's gaze once more and offered a smile. Once behind this door, you would have to start looking like you wanted to be here. You might as well start now.

“I am” you replied briefly, walking the rest of the way to the door. You straightened up as someone put a bouquet of flowers in your hands. You stopped yourself from turning around to see who it was, but suspected it was one of the guards. Somehow the thought of one of those big men walking all this way with a wedding bouquet for you amused you. So much so, that when the door opened, the smile on your lips was an honest one.

Music began to play and everyone turned to look at you, but you couldn’t concentrate on them. Your eyes were fixed on your future husband. A pit in your stomach deepened as the reality hit you. This was now your future. No a bad dream or an ill-conceived joke. In a few hours life would never be as it was.

The walk to the altar was faster than you had hoped. It seemed that it wasn't true what they said, the time did not stop in stressful situations. It rushed, like it couldn’t wait to get to whatever you were most afraid of at the moment.

You looked around, muting whatever the priest was saying. Everything looked dreamy, and if you were here of your own free will, you would deem it beautiful. The venue was out of this world. Your eyes swept over the decorations, the guests and then landed on your future husband. He looked puzzled, and for a second you wondered whether the same expression was on your face.

The silence enveloped the room and you could only wonder if the time had stood still. No one moved or even whispered as your future husband took your hands in his, offering you a light squeeze. The ceremony went on, but neither of you seemed to be paying attention. The prince never took his eyes off of you, whispering words meant only for your ears.

“I promise that I will respect your wishes and give you freedom.” He began, offering you a gentle smile. “You do not deserve to be trapped somewhere against your will.” You couldn’t help the exhale that escaped your lips as he straightened up again, seemingly trying to focus back on the ceremony.

But you couldn't think of anything else but his words. ‘You do not deserve to be trapped somewhere against your will’. It pained your heart to know that he wasn't mistaken about your feelings about the whole situation. Worse, he was here against his will as much as you were. Once again you felt the anger at your parents' plan.

But deep inside, a small flame of hope ignited in your chest. Although you could only judge him by the couple of words he whispered, a small promise he made. But he seemed… reasonable Unlike most of the princes you've met. Well… mostly unlike your brothers, who would be happy to be in his place – not to marry you of course (not that the marriages between family were unheard of, but this was never such a close family), but just to marry a good-looking woman who couldn’t exactly say no.

“I do.” Leon said, gently slipping a ring on your finger. You realised you spaced out again, this time doing your best to actually focus on the ceremony.

“Do you…” The priest turned to face you now. “…take Leon Scott Kennedy as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?”

You practised saying I do precisely for this moment, to not hesitate. To not show so many people that you were not sure about this marriage. But when it came to it, the words stuck in your throat for a moment.

Feeling everyone’s eyes on you, did not help.

“I do.” You finally answered as you placed a ring on Leon's finger. You swore you could see the priest smile. With the pause you took, he probably wasn’t the only one who thought you were going to say no.

“I now pronounce you man and wife!” He said, sounding more excited than he had throughout the whole ceremony. “You may now kiss the bride.”

You could feel the expectation of every guest, their eyes glued to the two of you. Waiting. Impatience was almost palpable in the air. You realised that up until this point you hadn’t really thought about this part of the ceremony, or… other duties you would have after this wedding.

Leon’s eyes were as full of uncertainty as yours – probably not how either of you had imagined your first kiss to happen. But slowly, giving you the opportunity to pull away, he leaned in. Though brief, the softness of his lips was reassuring in a room that was bursting with excitement. You couldn’t blame them, royal weddings were rare enough – one between two countries even more so.

As you pulled away, Leon held your hand tight and led you down the aisle you had previously walked to him, sealing your fate once and for all. As you walked, people threw the most unusual things at you, to ensure a happy marriage – from rice to flags.

Leon helped you into the carriage, following soon behind you. It was not until the doors closed that the excitement of the guests subsided. Even after the carriage started moving, you still held hands, a faint smiles on your lips.

“Thank you” you said, breaking the silence. “For what you said. I also do not wish for you to be trapped by our parents’ schemes. And… I do hope we can…” you lacked the right words, as ‘love each other’ seemed too heavy for the moment. “…come to understand one another.”

“You need not thank me, dearest” he replied quietly, a smile on his face. “And I meant what I said. I wish for you to feel safe and respected around me.”

≻──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────≺

The rest of the ride was spent mostly in silence. But for the first time since you'd found out about the marriage, it wasn't an awkward one. There would be time to get to know your now husband. Preferably after the whole celebration – for now, you were just happy to believe that Leon wasn’t a bad person.

When you arrived, he helped you out of the carriage and led you inside of the palace where the wedding reception would take place. You took in the sight of the castle, and like everything you saw today, it was gorgeous. Being in another country meant different architecture, and you couldn't help but admire the big towers and high, rounded ceilings. And for a brief moment, before the joyful cheers of guests drowned out your thoughts, you wondered how long it would take you to get used to the new scenery.

The ballroom’s floor cleared around the two of you, and in an unnatural silence, everyone waited, their eyes glued to the newlyweds. Leon didn’t hesitate to follow tradition, as he took off his cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders, proudly showing everyone present you were now a part of his family and his to protect.

“My dear wife” Leon said, holding out his arm to you. “May I have this dance?” he asked as if it wasn’t tradition for you to have a first dance. The small gesture still warmed your heart, and something told you that he wouldn't push if you refused.

Still, you gently took his hand and let him lead you to the centre of the dance floor. Slow music played around you as Leon placed his free hand on your waist. He twirled you around the dance floor, his deep blue eyes never leaving yours. This could have been worse, you thought to yourself, offering your husband a smile. Though the future might prove you wrong, you were almost… glad, to have Leon on the other side of this arranged marriage. Many girls in your situation married brutes who only wanted them for their bodies. But Leon seemed like a good man. Respectful. You hoped he would still be during what happens after the whole wedding. You swallowed thickly, all of a sudden worried about certain duties expected of newlyweds.

Gradually, more people joined you, and you tried to silence the worrying thoughts, to push them deep into the back of your head. After all, respectful or not, it had nothing to do with it. There were traditions! Disgusting traditions where someone thought it was necessary to make sure the couple consummated their marriage.

“Are you okay?” Leon’s voice snapped you out of your unpleasant thoughts. Were you so obvious?

“Yeah, sorry, I was just… thinking. Or rather trying not to” you answered, letting out a small chuckle. You were quite spectacularly failing at that. Your husband raised his eyebrows, silently asking if you wanted to share whatever was troubling you. You sighed, losing the smile you had tried to put on earlier. “I just worry for the night we are to spend after the wedding.” You confessed. This time he was the one to chuckle.

“Darling,” he whispered, pulling you closer. Close enough for his lips to be right next to your ear. “I promised to respect your every wish, did I not? If you do not wish to spend the night with me, you will not be forced.” His voice made you shiver. Filled you with an unfamiliar warmth. Warmth that you attributed to satisfaction with the answer, mixed with relief.

The two of you swayed for another song, before slowly retreating to your table. Your chairs looked more like miniature thrones than actual chairs, only matched by the actual throne of Leon's father.

“You’d think he would give you the spotlight on your special day” you joked, making your husband chuckle.

“Careful, he might hear” he said in a rather joking manner, though you couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to he said. You both looked over to where his father was. He looked rather… bored. Sitting on that throne on an elevated platform, it was no wonder. His wife’s seat was empty, and there was no one else seated beside the current king and queen. You frowned at the distance between the king and his people. The rest of his family even.

“He’s always like that” Leon spoke as if he had the ability to read minds. “Just let him be. I think he prefers to be left alone” he shrugged and with that, it was the end of that conversation. You turned your head away from the king and turned to face your husband. A small frown was present on his face.

“How about, when you are king, we won’t sit on a platform and like statues?” you offered, noticing the corners of his lips lifting slightly. He nodded and swiftly changed the subject.

The rest of the night went smoothly. You danced, ate and celebrated like newlyweds would. You even got to learn a little bit more about your husband. Everything was going well until your mother got up.

When it came to your parents, she was always the one doing the talking, with your father agreeing to whatever she was up to at the moment. You were pretty sure it was the same with the arranged marriage. She had him wrapped around her finger.

“Your Grace” she began. It wasn’t often that she used titles with others, even kings. That was enough of a sign to know that you wouldn't like the words that were about to leave her mouth. “There sure was a lot of talking today, the prince wrapped my daughter in a cloak, but they have yet to be husband and wife! A key needs a lock!”

The king looked at her, then at you and Leon. He sighed, but smiled nonetheless.

“Then, let us bed them!” he exclaimed, and the whole room cheered. The guests began to gather around the two of you, excited to carry you to the bedchambers and watch as the newlyweds consummated their marriage. You held Leon’s arm a little tighter as some of the men began to lift you up.

You were glad for his quick reaction. Leon did not let go of you, keeping you close to his side. Much to the confusion of the guests.

“My dear people” Leon raised his hand, stopping anyone who got too close. Your feet slowly met the ground again and you forced yourself not to sigh with relief. “While honoured traditions must be respected, trust that my duties to my wife will be fulfilled.” He moved to leave a soft kiss in your hair. “We wish to be alone.” his voice was no louder than a whisper, but with the silence that had fallen upon the crowd, you were sure it had more impact than a harsh order for them to retreat.

All eyes were on the king, awaiting his decision. You'd say he looked annoyed, but that might just be his resting face. He rather dramatically sat back down on his throne, and you swore you saw him roll his eyes.

“If it is their wish” was all he said as his answer. Though a little unhappy, the guests offered understanding smiles and congratulations, before walking away to let you go about your way.

Leon smiled at you, before sweeping you off your feet himself. The people cheered one last time, before he carried you out of the ballroom and through the palace halls. The walk was silent, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth you’d felt ever since Leon kissed your hair earlier. It was a protective gesture, something you hadn’t lacked in your life with your father, brothers and all the guards they considered necessary for your safety. But this time… this time the gesture tingled in a nice way, so much so that you wished to experience it more.

You focused on Leon again as he gently placed you on the bed and went to close the door. When the old entryway clicked shut, he turned to look at you, taking a few moments to admire you. The dress pooled around you, shimmering in the dim light of the candles.

Without a word, you extended your hand in Leon’s direction, inviting him to come closer. He hesitated for a second, before walking over to you and squeezing your hand. It was warm and a little sweaty, and you wondered if he was just as nervous as you were.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with” Leon assured, crouching down in front of you. His hand clasped yours in a gesture of understanding. “We can just go to sleep and figure it out later.”

It was your turn to hesitate. Though you couldn’t be sure if it was hesitation or if you just got lost in his eyes for a moment. So close to you, his face lit only by the flickering light of the candles, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

You didn’t want to.

Without a word, you leaned closer to him, lips hovering over his as you gave him a moment to pull away. But he didn’t.

“What if we… don’t go to sleep?” as you whispered, you could feel his hand squeeze yours a little tighter. Leon didn’t answer. At least not with words. He closed the remaining distance between your lips offering you a kiss. It was soft, a little hesitant at first, as if he was afraid you would pull away and slap him.

Slowly, he became more confident and deepened the kiss. All the emotions you had before were now released as you shared this moment. His hand found it’s way to rest on the back of your head as he rose from the floor and gently positioned you to lay on the bed. Leon hovered over you, holding his weight up with one hand, the other still in your hair.

“Are you sure?” he asked, concern visible in his eyes. “If you think that you have to– “ you didn’t let him finish, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for another kiss.

“I want to” you assured him, almost rolling your eyes. He gave you plenty of time to protest, and still put the energy into asking whether you were certain it is what you wanted and not what you felt was your duty as a wife. “You’re too good for your own good, dear husband.” You giggled, your hand resting on his cheek. Though the constant reassurances slowed the whole process, it made you want him even more. So caring for his new wife.

Leon sighed and nuzzled his cheek into your palm, planting a soft kiss on it. His fingers ghosted over your body, still hesitant to touch you. A touch you longed for, needed more with every stroke of his fingers that actually touched you. But just as soon as they touched you, he pulled away even faster, as if your skin burned him.

“Sweet husband” you said, taking his hands in yours, stopping his pointless wandering around your body. You brought them both to your mouth and kissed each of them. "You have asked me a thousand times if I am ready," you whispered, moving your gaze from his hands to his eyes. "So let me ask you now. Do you want to be intimate with me, dearest?”

Leon looked shocked by your words, but as soon as the shock wore off, he nodded quickly, desperate to assure you of his own willingness.

“Yes! I- I do! It’s just…” Leon bit his lip “I do not wish to hurt you”

You wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t, of course, being so sweet and cautious, how could he? But you had the impression that words would not work in this situation. So instead you moved his hands, placing one of them on your breast and the other on your hip. Leon froze, before finally squeezing the flesh under his palms. He was cautious at first, but warmed up to the feel of your body under his. Suddenly it was as if a switch had been flipped in his head and he was all over you, trying to cover every visible bit of your skin with his mouth. You could feel his hands growing bolder, clutching at the dress when it started to get in the way. He quickly grew annoyed with the material and turned you onto your stomach, his hands working to undo the corset. Or rather trying to, because Leon cursed under his breath and started fighting with the garment.

“You have to be slow” you giggled when he yanked on the corset particularly hard.

“Beloved, I will not hesitate to take you in that dress if it’s not off your body soon” he groaned, stopping the war with your dress for a second. You didn’t doubt his words and fortunately he didn't have time to prove his honesty. The dress tore in the back, leaving you both stunned. To be honest, you hadn't expected him to use so much force - you hadn't thought it would be so easy to tear such good quality fabric! When the maids fastened the corset, you thought they were using immense force to squeeze your poor insides, and they weren’t even close to damaging anything. Just how strong was he?

“Sorry” he murmured. Apparently his regret wasn’t strong enough to stop him from pulling the gown from your body. A shiver ran down your spine when it was gone. You felt… vulnerable. Excited.

“Don’t worry, I ‘m nit planning on getting married again any time soon” you chuckled, turning back on the bed. Facing him felt even worse somehow. Now you could see the way he looked at you, the hunger in his eyes.

“Good” his gaze flickered from your body to your lips. “Because I want you only for myself, my beautiful queen” with that, Leon closed the remaining distance between you and took your lips in a tender kiss. The world fell away as you sank deeper into the kiss. Once you parted for air, you gazed upon him, now completely bare in front of you.

He chuckled when you tried to look away, a little embarrassed.

“No need to be shy, dearest” his hand was on your cheek, slowly turning your head back to him. Leon smiled at you and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

At first he began to move slowly, his fingers trailing up your thigh, stopping when he reached your clit. You let out a nervous sigh as he massaged you gently. For someone so seasoned in combat his fingers were surprisingly soft and gentle when they caressed your body.

“Relax for me, darling” he whispered, feeling your body tense up. Closing your eyes, you tried to take a deep breath.

He was everything. Slow and caring. Yet, the unknown still frightened you, even if Leon was your husband, one couldn’t just forget years of pestering about the importance of staying innocent.

Leon kissed your temple, whispering sweet nothings and promises against your skin. It worked like magic, calming down your mind enough to allow you to relax the tense muscles. His lips then trailed lower to taste the sweetness between your thighs, coaxing sweet gasps and sighs from your lips until you bucked desperately against him.

“H-husband, wait–!” you tried to plead through moans as the unknown warmth began to spread through your body. But your words only seemed to spur him on. Soon you were writhing underneath him, moaning his name out with a hand tangling into his hair as you came. Leon didn’t stop for a while, easing you through the overwhelming feeling.

When you stopped trembling, Leon was back up next to you. You didn’t see the way he wiped his lips before he leaned down to kiss all over your face. A soft giggle escaped your lips at the ticklish sensation.

“May I?” your husband asked, between the kisses. His hand was already back on your thigh, slowly pushing them apart.

You placed one hand on his chest and the other around his neck and, without breaking eye contact, moved your legs to wrap loosely around his waist The silent approval didn't go unnoticed by him, making a smirk appear on his lips.

“Stop me at any time, dearest wife” in this compromising position, his promise to respect your possible change of consent warmed your heart, successfully ridding you of any remaining hesitation. With your nod, he positioned himself at your entrance and paused, once again searching your eyes for permission, before sliding inside with a groan. He was slow, ignoring his own need for pleasure as soon as he heard a gasp leave your lips.

The stretch burned unpleasantly, causing you to wince in pain. Still, you didn’t try to stop him. You didn’t have to, he noticed your pained expression and came to a halt.

“You’re doing amazing” he whispered, kissing your wet, tear-filled eyes. The kisses spread around your face as he continued to whisper sweet encouragements until you relaxed once again.

With another nod he moved again, sliding in until he was all the way home. A sigh of pleasure escaped his lips once your hips met. He took a moment to take in the situation, calm himself down as he admired your beautiful form beneath him.

In his eyes, you were a goddess, beautiful and radiant. If the evening you spent together was any indication, you were everything he could ever want and more. He could already see how your future might unfold. As he stared at you he prayed to the gods above for you to stay by his side – a rather silly request, given that the two of you had just got married. Yet he wished it was what you wanted of your own free will.

“Dearest?” you snapped him out of his daydream, no sign of displeasure remaining on your divine features. You looked rather hot and bothered by Leon’s pause.

He chuckled, whispering an apology and placing a soft kiss on your lips. His kisses trailed down your neck as he moved his hips backwards. A motion he stopped when only the head of his cock remained inside of you, teasing you, before moving back in again. Leon set the most unhurried pace, simply extending the pleasure you experience.

Soon the room was filled with the sound of your joined whimpers and the slapping of skin against skin. The warmth began to grow faster the quicker Leon moved.

“I don’t need the universe when you’re in my arms, beloved” he breathed out, your gasps and cries thrilling him beyond measure. "My glorious queen…" Leon gasped against your lips, capturing them once more as passion overtook you. Your legs tightened around his waist as if seeking to meld into one, and Leon let go of any remaining restraint with a groan. His motions grew deeper, quicker, more eager.

You cried out in unison as you came together, holding each other tightly. Spent and sated, Leon kissed your flushed cheeks, caressing your body with gentle touches.

You didn’t move, letting Leon worship your body with kisses. They were just what you needed. Almost unconsciously, your hand found it's way into Leon's hair, slowly stroking it. It felt heavier than usual.

“Beloved husband” you murmured as your eyelids fell. You couldn’t fight the sudden wave of tiredness that washed over you. He stopped showering your body with kisses, instead he settled down next to you in the bed. His hand wrapped around your waist as he covered you with a blanked.

“Rest, dearest” he whispered. Your unspoken need for closeness was satisfied by a gentle tug that pulled you flush against his body. Amidst the warmth of the blankets and Leon’s body the consciousness slowly began to slip from your body, lulling you to sleep.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil leon #resident evil #arranged marriage #royalty au #smut #resident evil smut #re leon #leon kennedy x y/n #leon x you #leon smut #leon kennedy fanfic

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radiocrypt-id · 1 year

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Elody is tragic, I think, in a way that feels very close to home?

She's a woman that met someone interesting and strange and became friends with him, happy to have a friend around, since her parents are too sick to be in her life all the time. She was a little girl forced to grow up so fast, to take every type of class and feel the weight of her station on her shoulders every day, growing closer to the time she has to step up and take over, desperate to be deserving of the title. Desperate to do her parents proud.

And she's got this friend now, this sweet, gross little frog that talks and says he's a prince. His story is a strange and sad one, one she maybe can't fully understand but offers what support and sympathy she can. If she even believes him, I'm not sure she really does. And he's funny. He makes her laugh, reminds her of the fun of the world, encourages her to take care of herself and enjoy things as often as possible, reminds her to be young and happy and live freely. And she needs that. She needs someone to look her in the eyes and tell her it's okay to be a kid. It's okay to play with her ball in the woods and it's okay to sing and dance and get dressed up and do the fun parts of being a princess. He brings her joy that she hasn't had in a long time. She loves that about him, how fun and silly and clumsy he is, it's charming. She falls in love with that silly frog.

But then Snowhold comes. They have no allies, their armies are failing, their people are dying and she's up all night going over maps and strategy at a table of advisors and generals and is so stressed and trying so hard. But her silly frog is still a silly frog. He thinks about balls and good food and safe castle walls. He tells her to relax, enjoy a meal, gossip about the nobles, have fun. He hasn't changed. But she's being forced to change. Now that silly levity isn't charming and fun, it's frustrating. She doesn't have time for games and can't see how hard he's trying to make her smile. She needs a Prince, a man to stand beside her at the war table and talk tactics and look for ways to save their home and people. She needs a fighter, a hero. But Gerrard has never been a hero, he's a frog. Elody was the hero. She saved him. And she's so exhausted by being the hero. She's always taking care of someone else. She just wants to be taken care of. She just wants help. It's hard to love someone the same way in times of trouble. It's hard to find the space in all the stress and work to love Gerrard the way she did when they met.

Elody does still love him though. She does. It's a painful sort of love, in believing that he's never going to change and be what she needs him to be, in that she's always going to be the hero for him. But she loves him. She carries a shield with a lillypad on it, she wields a mace with the golden ball as part of it, she's actively carrying him with her. She's thinking of her silly little frog and hoping he's safe, where ever he's gone to hide and when it's all over, when she's saved everyone and made everything better, she'll go find him again. And then she can take him to a ball, like he wanted. She wishes he was different, but doesn't think he'll change.

Imagine what she'll find, when they meet again? Her silly little frog is still silly and clumsy and thinking about her constantly, but he's a hero now. He fought and died with his friends. He's twice upon a time. He's been Outside, in The Lines Between. He's a fighter now, he's brave, he's friends with death itself. He's a commander, great at group tactics, vital to their group. And he's got a couple kids around him, that he's exhausted by but loves in some way. He scolds them and encourages them and he's kind of a dad? And he's been looking for her, not hiding. He's been trying to find her since he left, regretting leaving her behind but really not sure how he would have helped. And he loves her, god he loves her. Even as he turns into a frog from her falling out of love with him, Gerrard loves Elody. He loves her enough to be brave, to learn the things he never got a chance to learn before, to take care of others.

Elody is so loved, and she has no idea. She loves him enough to take care of everything by herself, holding onto what parts of him she has space for during this horrible time. But Gerrard loves her enough to die trying to find her.

She has to be his hero, she never had a choice in that, but unlike most cases in life, he's trying to be her hero too, and she has no idea.

#neverafter gerard #neverafter #d20 neverafter #pinocchio neverafter #dimension 20 #elody of greenleigh #princess elody #neverafter elody #gerard

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josiesullysblog · 1 year

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His Prize

~AGED UP Neteyam x Na’vi reader

~DarkNeteyam, explicit content, CNC?? Characters aged up to, 22

~Proofread?- no

~Summary-Neteyam is in love with [Y/n], although they aren't in a relationship.

~Note-Everything that happens is consensual!!! Wanted to make that clear before you read, hope you enjoy it!!

***

Neteyam loved a good challenge. He loved being able to showcase his talent, loved hearing the praises everyone would say, “Wow Neteyam you're so advanced for your age!” or, “I think you might be better than your father!” whatever compliment it was he thrived off it.

Neteyam at a very young age understood that one day he’d become the leader of his clan. His father always said, “A strong leader always has a stronger woman behind him,” he took these words into account. He knew if he ever wanted to be a great leader, better than his father he’d need the perfect mate.

He thanked Ewya that his parents never arranged a mate for him, allowing him the freedom to pick his own. Although his parents did push a certain girl. Kya was cute, she was everything a man would want in a mate, submissive, and always did what was asked of her, but Neteyam didn't want that.

He liked fighting, he wanted to break his mate and watch the fight leave their eyes as he finally claimed them as his, he wanted a prize. He’d, of course, treat them with the respect a woman deserves to have, but he knew no girl here would put up any fight. They’d willingly want to come to him, they’d fall to their knees begging for him. This changed when he met you.

You were like a firecracker. Always had something slick to say, never let anyone step all over you, it was a match made in heaven. Neteyam was going to break you, make you regret meeting him, but at the same time save you. Save you from your boring life and show you the real world.

“What are you looking at?” you gave him a stank look, and he smiled, “You,” you just laughed as you got up, “i’m too bad for you, I wouldn't want to taint Toruk Makto’s golden boy.” you walked off swinging your hips.

Neteyam's smile deepened, you truly believed you were worse than him? This was going to be fun.

You were bored. You had the same schedule every day, nothing new, and you were longing for something. Anything to finally make you feel content. You longed for something, and Neteyam was going to make sure you knew it was him.

“Hey, Teyem,” Kya smiled at the boy. Neteyam’s eyes were on you, he watched as you made bracelets, “hi, Kya,” the girl blushed. Usually, the boy only said hi and then left but today he said her name, “I was wondering if you needed help with anything!”

Neteyam looked at her, “Anything?” her breath hitched, “anything,” it came out as a whisper, “Hm, aren't you a good girl always trying to help everyone,” his eyes examined her. Her breathing had become irregular, and her mouth was slightly open. Neteyam would be a fool not to notice how the girl was obviously sexually attracted to him.

Neteyam’s eyes fell back on you, “what do you know about her?” Kya looked at you, “[Y/n]?” the boy nodded, “she’s lazy, she never does anything always moping around,” Neteyam wanted to cut the girl's tongue off for speaking like that towards you, but he wasn't stupid.

A girl like Kya was always noticeable in a group. She was often the leader in situations and if he were to kill her people would notice. But a girl like Kya was also a whore. He saw the way her eyes lingered on his brother or other hunters.

If Neteyam were to make a dumb decision and get with her, she’d be tainted. Ruined by someone else because Neteyam knew Kya was no virgin. But [Y/n], although she claimed to be worse than Neteyam, was fresh meat.

Nobody dared mess with her, she always had a rebuttal. Nobody wanted her because she was a handful, perfect for Neteyam. “I see,” Neteyam stood up and placed a hand on the girl's back, “Thank you, Kya,” he then walked away.

Kya’s eyes lingered on you, what could you possibly have that she doesn't? She wasn't afraid to admit, she wanted Neteyam for his title. Imagine her the next Tsahik, she understood she’d need to put an act on. But Neteyam was always looking at you. She had to get rid of you, make Neteyam understand it was her he wanted.

You played with the water in front of you. You were at peace Pandora was so big, and you thought it was sad you might never get to see all its wonderful parts. You were so gone, you jumped up when you heard sudden movement behind you.

“Who's there?” your heart raced as your eyes searched for something moving, “didn't mean to scare you,” Neteyam came out with his hands up. You rolled your eyes, “If you're here telling me I need to go back you have wasted your time.”

He laughed, “i’m not here for such things,” you looked at him, “Then what are you doing out here?” you didn't believe him. You convinced yourself that you could read anybody, but you found it difficult with Neteyam. “I could ask you the same question.”

You huffed, “I asked first,” the boy came closer, “have you always had such a mouth?” your eyes widened, “have you always been so intrusive?” the boy shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Well, I won't be answering any of your questions,” you turned away from him, “a girl with a mouth like yours needs to be tamed.” you turned to him before charging toward him, “You have no right to say I need to be tamed. I am not some toy-,” he cut you off by putting a hand on your throat. It was a gentle yet firm grip, “let me go.”

It was times like these when you remembered your place, that men's strength was no match for you, and no matter how strong you thought you were they could still overpower you. “Why should I? I’ve been here for only minutes and you’ve been nothing but rude toward me.”

You fought in his grasp, “You know if you really wanted me to let go, you’d fight harder.” The boy's grip became harder, “I know you have more fight in you, but I think you like this.”

His smile was wicked, “you like being helpless at the disposal of me,” you shook your head, “then fight,” you tired but he held you tight. “What I thought.”

You didn't want him to know, that this secretly turned you on. He was the only person to put you in your place, it was rare for anyone to do that.

He let go of you, letting you fall to the floor, “I bet if I were to open you up right now, you’d be wet.”

You coughed as you tried putting distance between yourself and the boy, “Don't run, you know you love this,” you couldn't lie you loved every part of this. You never expected Neteyam to be like this, he was so good at hiding this side of himself.

Neteyam bent down to your level, trailing a finger down your leg, “you're so beautiful,” your breath hitched, “so needy,” he laughed. “No, i’m not,” he looked at your eyes you still had a fire in them.

Other girls would give up by now, but not you. You were determined to fight till the end. “I love how you fight me,” he gripped your ankle pulling you in, “it makes it more fun for when I break you.”

“You won’t break me,” his grip became tighter as his smile deepened, “wanna bet?” his other hand traveled to between your legs, “your soaking.”

You fought back a moan, “There's no point in fighting now, baby,” he caught your clit causing a moan to slip out, “Give in to me, you never have to worry again.”

You threw your head back, “never,” Neteyam nodded, “I’ve always loved a good challenge,” he plunged a finger inside you, “so tight can't wait to fill you up!”

You started moaning, and you couldn't hold it back, “that's right baby,” he picks up speed as he feels you tighten around his fingers. He was going fast and you felt yourself coming near, “slow down,” if anything your words made him go faster, “After you cum on my fingers, you’ll do it on my dick.”

Your eyes widen, as you felt yourself let go. Your body twitched as he let go of you, “open wide,” he brought his fingers to your mouth. You moved his hand as you tried to catch your breath, but he grabbed your cheeks and pushed his fingers into your mouth. “See, it's not so hard is it?”

You choked on his fingers till he finally let go of you. He stood up, “Get on all fours,” you knew why he wanted you to. You shook your head, “That wasn't a request,” you looked into his eyes, “Please, just,” he laughed, “are you begging?”

You couldn't believe it yourself, “I just need time,” you said as you tried to stand up but he pushed you to the ground, “Play with your nipples.”

“What?” you looked at him crazy, “You heard me. If you want time you’ll listen,” it was such a humiliating thing to ask. Yet you still did it, “look into my eyes,” you looked at his eyes, “Look at you, such a slut for me,” you rolled your nipples as he degraded you, “I shouldn't be so nice to you,” he said causing a shiver to roll down your back.

“Please,” you said as he put his foot between your legs, “grind,” it just kept piling up. You did what he asked, “No one will ever see you like this,” you nodded as you felt yourself near, “I’ll give you a week, every night I expect you to edge yourself.” he got down to your level.

“If I find out someone else has touched you, or you’ve come without permission I will fuck you for everyone to see,” you nodded as he stood up and walked away, “be a good girl.”

You laid back thinking about what just happened. That boy was going to be the death of you.

Kya watched as you helped the elders put boxes away, “is that all?” you smiled at them, “Yes, thank you, dear!” you walked out deciding to head somewhere else.

Your mind kept going back to Neteyam. The way he handled you was such a turn-on, you smiled thinking back to it. You did as he asked, besides the no cumming part. What he doesn't know won’t hurt him, you thought as you walked.

As you were walking, a hand pulled you causing a gasp to leave your throat. “What the fuck,” you said yanking the hand away, “if you wanted my attention should've said my name like a normal person,” you looked up at your captor to see Kya.

Kya has an imaginary battle going on with you. Ever since you two were children she always tries to be better than you. She never wins although you don't care enough, you do think it's funny seeing her get all railed up.

“Kya what's your problem this time?” you rub the spot on your arm she yanked you by, it was definitely going to bruise. “Why are you spending time with Neteyam?” you couldn't help but smile. This was over Neteyam?

“Why do you care?” the girl’s nose flared as she spoke, “Please [Y/n], everyone knows me and him are expected to mate,” you shrugged, “I don't keep up with the local gossip.”

“Enough with your remarks! I’m telling you right now stay away from him,” you looked her up and down, “or what? You're going to kill me?” now you probably knew getting her all worked up wasn't the smartest thing but you were bored.

She gasps, “No, I won't kill you, but I’ll do something that makes you wish I did.” you laughed, “Can't wait!” you were starting to get under her skin, “you must be drugged him,” she said, “why would he want a girl like you?”

You didn't know the answer to that, why did he want you? “He obviously doesn't want you, Kya. Grow up fighting me won't make him want you,” she narrowed her eyes at you, “and he so obviously wants you?”

You looked at her funny, “Answer your own question dumbass,” she was becoming increasingly annoying, “I don't know what you did to him, but I promise you I always get what I want.” you turned around flipping her off, “whatever makes you sleep at night.”

The most annoying thing about you was, you didn't care. Kya’s threats were meaningless to you, she knew that. No matter what anyone said, it was like they went in one ear and out the other. She’d never voice this out loud but she was jealous of you.

You didn't need anyone's approval to be happy. Her whole life she’s been fighting for that number-one spot and you don't even try, yet you still got it.

Her parents push her every day to be this amazing girl, who gets all the guys and has all these friends. Your parents love you no matter what. She understood you both had different personalities, your personality was more carefree. You didn't listen most of the time, but Neteyam still wanted you. He doesn't even look her way.

You don't have all the friends she does, you seem happier alone though. You spend your time with the elders, always listening to their stories. She hated you so much she wished she was you.

“Teyem!” she giggled as she watched the boy. He seemed lost in thought but his eyes still looked at her, “Kya,” she smiled, “what are you up to?” he sighed, “Nothing,” Neteyam rarely had a moment to himself. He wanted to kill the girl for interrupting him.

He was imagining what faces you’d make as he fucks you hard. “We should hang out together!” that was the last thing he wanted, “why?” her face flushed, “to get to know each other better, last time we spoke you were asking about that girl-,” he smiled, “what girl?”

Kya smiled, “[Y/n],” She couldn't contain her happiness, maybe she was wrong, and he didn't like you. He sighed, “she's pretty cool,” Neteyam said, “pretty lazy,” Neteyam's head looked at her, “what else is she like,” he smiled at the girl.

“[Y/n] only does things when she feels like it,” Neteyam nodded, “I was just talking with her about how she doesn't deserve a boy like you,” Neteyam’s smile fell, “What?” Kya laughed, “She's so boring, I was only humbling her.”

Neteyam gripped her arm, “what did you tell her?” his gaze became hard. “Huh?” he hit her on the head with his other hand. He dragged her onto a tree. “You better hope she doesn't take your advice.”

The girl cried as Neteyam’s hand grabbed her neck, “Aw why so sad?” he smiled, “Did you touch her?” she shook her head, “No, Neteyam I didn't!”

“So, if I see her, she won't have a mark on her,” her mind goes back to when you were rubbing your arm, “Neteyam I didn't mean to! I was just trying to get her attention!”

Neteyam faked sympathy, “I bet, it was a simple accident,” the girl nodded but Neteyam’s grip got stronger, “let me tell you something,” he looked her up and down, “ever come near my mate again, I’ll rip you limp to limp,” he smiled before letting go.

“I’ll tell everyone! That you did this to me!” she cried from the floor, “did what? They all know you're a whore, these marks on you? They got there because you got too carried away after a fun night, and who are they going to believe? The whore or Toruk Makto’s son?” he smiled before walking away.

“They told me if I keep working hard, I’ll be ready before my birthday!” you smiled at your mother, “My little girl is growing up!” she wiped fake tears from her eyes.

You laughed till you both heard footsteps, “Good afternoon Mrs. [L/n]!” Neteyam said as he flashed a smile, “Neteyam! What a surprise!” you rolled your eyes, thankfully your mother doesn't see. “I was wondering if I could borrow your daughter for a little bit?”

Your mother nodded, “That's alright with me!” you stood up, “See you later mom,” You kissed her and walked ahead of the boy. “Such a good boy in front of others,” you said when the boy caught up to you, “always, my in-laws need to know their daughter is in safe hands.”

You looked at him, “In-laws? So soon?” he laughed, “Oh, you’ll learn with me I like to move quickly,” he nodded, “What if I said no?” he shrugged, “You won’t.”

“How do you know,” he smiled, “because i’m the best thing to happen to you.” you hated how right he was, “You always have to be right,” he nodded, “love a quick learner.”

Once you two were a far enough distance his persona changed, “last time we spoke I gave you two rules to follow,” you nodded, “yet you have a bruise on your arm,” he said which made you smile, “this wasn't from a guy, Kya just grabbed me to hard.”

“I said if I found out somebody else touches you I’d be upset, did I not?” you nodded, “no guy touched me!” he smiled, “somebody could be a girl as well, [Y/n],” you pulled your arm back, “it wasn't like that.”

He was this mad about Kya wait till he finds out you came this week.

“You still broke my rule, so now we're going to play a different game,” he gripped you, “it's called tag,” he smiled, “I’ll give you twenty seconds to run, and if I catch you I can do whatever I want you.”

You smiled, “And if you don't?” he sighed, “I’ll leave you alone forever.” you thought about it. “Deal.”

He smiled, “Better get to running, pretty face.” With that, you immediately booked it.

***

HEYYYYY!!! Hope you enjoy this story! So much fun writing about Neteyam in a darker light, hopefully, you all appreciate it!

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spidybaby · 1 year

Text

Be quiet, please

Summary: Kylian got a little too drunk and decided to share some information he isn't supposed to.

Warning: Slightly cursing.

Part two

"Princesa, do you want another drink?" Neymar asks you, noticing the glass in your hand is empty. "Please," you hand him the glass with a smile.

Your attention goes back to Melissa and Fayza, Melissa was telling you a story about her recent trip. From time to time, you turned your attention to the dance floor, Kylian was dancing with Bruna, she's trying to teach him some Brazilian dance.

You can't help but smile, dizzying off from the conversation with the two women.

The party was something Kylian wanted to do, not being a very party guy himself, he asked you to help him plan it. And if you were honest, you did an amazing job, all his teammates and their partners were there, his parents, his brothers and close friends too.

"I mean, that's good for me. What about you, y/n?" Melissa asks you. You turned back to her a little embarrassed because you have no idea what they're talking about. "Yes," you say, trying to save the talk.

Fayza can't help but laugh while Melissa just looks at you with a funny expression. "You have no idea what we're talking about," she says as she joins Kylians mother. "Sorry, I zoned out." The blush on your face only grows.

"Melissa was talking about meeting for breakfast tomorrow, just us and Lana," Fayza tells you. You smile really hard, loving how they always involve you in every activity they do. "I'll love to. Let's have brunch at the cute cafe we visited last time, " you suggested happily.

"Princesa, your drink, extra special for my good friend," ney interrupt the conversation handing your drink to you. "Miss Lamari, Melissa, would you like something else to drink?" He offered happy. Ney decided to be the bartender helper since he couldn't really dance because of his injury.

They thank him and accept the offer, ney goes back to the bar to prepare the drinks. "I was thinking," you say, pausing to drink a little of the cocktail. "Ky asked me to start planning the wedding, he wants to have a summer wedding and I want to ask you to help me."

The thought of your wedding with him makes you excited. Since he proposed back before the World Cup, you started saving ideas for dresses, venue ideas, and daydreaming of what everything was going to look like.

Fayza moves closer to hug you, excited at the idea of you finally joining the family as her sons wife. She helped Kylian with the proposal, helped him pick the ring, and practice his speech. She was the most welcoming woman on earth. Since day one, she was arms open to you, knowing as soon as she met you, you were there for the long run. She wasn't wrong.

"I can't believe it's been a few months since that, you know I love you like a sister, count with me on anything."

When you moved to Paris, you didn't expect to find love and a family that loved you and protect you. Not expecting any of that to go so well as it's going.

"Thank you, both of you"

You hug them easily as you were in the middle of them. Ethan walked close to the scene and asks what's going on.

"What's going on is that Melissa wants to dance, and you're taking her," you say, watching Melissa roll her eyes at you but accept dancing with her little brother in law.

Verrati and Marquinhos saw this and decided to invite you and Fayza to dance, accepting the offer you move to the dance floor. Some Brazilian music is playing, probably a request from one of the team guys. Loving to see Ney and Marquinhos break the dance floor with their moves, tonight only being Marquinhos.

Kylian saw that you and Marco were dancing and smiled. He was happy to have you, happy to see how you blend amazingly into his world, not thinking of anyone more than you to do it.

"Go, Kylian!" Bruna yelled as he got the steps correctly this time, after what it seemed like a whole night trying. "Go, Kyky. Go, Kyky. " Sergio and Pilar cheer for him. Antonella and Leo are trying to imitate the dance as bruna directs the whole choreography.

You took Ethans hand, dancing a little bit with him while Melissa and Marco dance together, Marcos wife lost at the bar laughing with Neymar. Everybody's having fun. Everybody's relaxing, forgetting about their worries for a moment.

After a good time on the dance floor, Fayza and you go back to your seats. You are tired from the workout you did in the morning, cursing yourself for it. After a few songs, Melissa frees herself from Marco, handing him to Bruna, and she accepts excited to teach more dance moves. It was her night, and nobody denied it. We just accepted it.

Kylian left the dance floor when his eyes and yours made contact, walking your way, you open your arms for him to get into them, embracing you while you kiss his cheek. "You did it amazing, amour. Such a dancer, " you smiled, pulling away from him,

You both laugh, and he takes a seat next to you and in the middle of Melissa and his mom. "Maman," he yells, a little more drunk than usual, something is not common in him, but tonight you're happy he's letting go, knowing he needs that "Je vais me marier." (I'm getting married) Fayza, and you let out a laugh. Finding adorable the way he's so excited about it.

"I know, my love. I can't be happier for you, " she says, caressing his cheek as a love sign. She has the same thoughts as you, Kylian has a very pressured life, so it's good for him to let go and enjoy his youth.

Kylian recliners himself into you, his head into your shoulder, giving him access to your cheeks and neck, something he didn't take for granted, kissing you cheek multiple times. "Ky, stop," you pull away a little, not wanting him to start something he's not supposed to. Not in front of his mother.

"Tu n'aimes pas que je t'embrasse?" (You don't want to kiss me?) His expression turns into a hurt one, "Chérie, s'il vous plaît" (honey, please) he tries to kiss your cheeks again, but you move your face, making him pout harder this time "You weren't denying my kisses this morning while I was inside of you." You move your hand to his mouth, stopping him to finish his sentence. Melissa can't help but let out a loud laugh, Fayza laughs with her while shaking her head. "Amour, be quiet, please."

He takes his hand into yours and moves it, freeing his mouth. "Est-ce que je te fais de l'effet?" (Do I make you feel good?) He whispers into your ear.

You can't help the blush that creeps into your face. "Ky, be quiet," you whisper to his ear. "Why? maman sait ce qu’on fait" (mom knows what we're doing). With every single word of him, you can feel your face turn more red. Thankfully, the color of the lights helps you.

"Maman, elle m’a fait me sentir si bien ce matin" (mom, she made me feel so good this morning) kylian tells his mother, laughing casually, not caring a single bit about the meaning of his words. "Et peut être que je vais te faire sentir bien, ce soir" (And, baby, Ima make you feel so good, tonight) You try to hush him again, but his hands on yours difficult you the work.

"Oh Chérie, you're so drunk right now, " Fayza, who is enjoying the moment, knowing damn well she'll use it to mess with him later, tries to shush him. Melissa, on the other hand, is enjoying everything, not caring to make him stop but decide to help you. "Kyks, come with me, I want another drink," she says while taking his hands and pulling him off of you.

You stay there, ashamed that Kylian says that in front of his mother, deciding to drink your cocktail, looking at everything but the eyes of your future mother in law. "Y/n, Chérie, don't worry." She says, feeling your discomfort and laughing at how embarrassed you were. "But I have the feeling I know now why you wanted a brunch and not an early breakfast," she joked with you, which makes you laugh, you love the way she always makes sure you're comfortable.

You can't deny that even though you feel embarrassed, you lived for these moments. Yes, it was something you were going to be mocked about for a long time, but hey, it's the memories that count.

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infi8ity · 1 year

Text

IMAGINE THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING, your nerves are through the roof and your bridesmaids are trying their very best to calm them. every suggested method-- immediately shut down by a very frustrated and on-the-verge-of-a-mental-breakdown-bride. no amount of breathing exercises, ice packs, glasses of wine, or whatever the fuck helped.

how could they when nothing was going as planned? the photographer that you had booked months in advance cancelled last minute, on the way inside the building the wedding cake designers’ assistant tripped and dropped the expensive wedding cake your parents paid for, everyone was bombarding you with questions you didn’t have the answer to, the room was hot as balls and for gods sake you couldn’t-

“breathe, y/n. do the exercises we talked about.” your maid of honor says comfortingly to your reflection in the vanity where you perch.

“you look beautiful. everything will work out. just breathe. in and out. out and in.” she squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. for the fifth time, you obey her advice.

and for the fifth time, it doesn’t work. of course it doesn’t. you knew what, who, you needed— to calm you down. your bridesmaids did too.

you could feel a lump crawling its way up your throat and place a shaking hand over your belly. has it always been this hot in here? has this dress always felt this tight? you snatch your phone from the vanity dresser.

4:30 PM

27 MISSED CALLS.

thirty minutes before you were set to walk down the aisle and all 27 from your mother and mother-in-law combined. you stand, a little too quickly one might add-- and the room begins to spin. Hands reach out to grab you.

you shake them off and stumble your way to the door. your bridesmaids stand in unison. the maid of honor inches towards you wearily.

“y/n. please, it's bad luck if the groom sees his bride before the wedding.”

“and how much bad luck do you think it’d be if the bride jumped from the goddamn balcony?” you hiss, slamming the door in their aghast faces.

fuck. that was completely unlike you. you’d have to apologize to them later. but now, you needed to see him. your heart began to beat faster. louder. you could feel tears threatening to spill. his number was saved on speed dial and he picked up on the first ring.

“y/n?” his husky voice thick with concern was like music to your ears.

you clutched your chest tightly. “i need to see you right now please.”

“meet me at the gazebo.”

∞

he beat you there, of course knowing him he’d probably run there. the slight heaving of his chest and shoulders was of plenty enough indicator. the clack of your heels alerts him of your presence. when he turns, it seems as if the world slows. you don’t think you’d be able to formulate a sentence without choking up. so you two say nothing.

there you two stand, with nothing else in the world mattering but each other. all you can muster is a smile from ear to ear that he reciprocates and the strength to fight back sobs. for a few beats, he cannot find the words that were nearly applicable enough to describe your beauty in this moment.

and unsurprisingly, it’s him who cries first.

you break your intensive stare, exclaiming, “don’t cry! fuck! now i’m gonna-,” its as if the ball in your throat bursts. one second you were fighting to keep your composure and the next, well composure be damned.

his body slammed into yours as he pulled you in a damn near rib shattering hug filled with nothing but love as you wail into his arms.

“how can i not?” he starts through sniffles. “i’m marrying the woman i’ve loved for damn near a decade and you look-”

“don’t say beautiful,” you choke out.

“divine. alluring. stunning. lovely. radiant. exquisite. shall i go on?” he drawls, without skipping a beat.

“don’t let me stop you.” you joke, sharing a laugh. and perhaps its the nerves, or the wine and champagne or the fact that your wedding day was going to shit; you couldn’t help but laugh harder. confused, your fiancee laughs at your state. perhaps contagious, you both double over, shaking with laughter. wheezing, together you collapse on the wooden planks until your laughter dies down.

“what are we doing?” you say through an exhale of breath as you push yourself up against rails of the gazebo. your fiancé follows suit.

“getting married?” he says, serious.

you lightly punch his arm. “well duh. but why all of… this? this isn’t we wanted. or how we wanted it to go. we always talked about something simple and private.” you say, referring to the wedding guests.

“you’re right, its what our mothers wanted.”

“i don’t even like half of the people in there.”

“at least your mom didn’t invite your primary school bully.”

“she invited all four of them actually.”

“jesus.” he comments, scoffing.

a beat.

your groom takes your hand in his, squeezing lightly. “d’you wanna leave?”

you smile. “that’s the best fucking idea i’ve heard all day.” you exclaim. locking eyes with you, you grab his face into your hands and kiss him passionately. a kiss so fervent, you lose your breath. this man before you was your husband. till death do you part.

“i love you so much.”

“and i love you infinitely.”

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natalievoncatte · 8 months

Text

This was it, the moment of truth. The plan was going flawlessly, and in a few minutes, Lena would have what she needed to complete and launch Non Nocere. She was about to save the world.

(You mean your master plan, Lex’s voice snickered in her head)

Lena shook it away, as she had so many times already. When Kara glanced at her, Lena played it off as the cold. She was, after all, standing outside in the actual Arctic, brutally aware of how underdressed she was even in a heavy woolen coat and doubled up leggings.

Even here at the roof of the world, Kara was gorgeous. The sunlight glared off the ice and yet it only seemed to make her more radiant, her sun kissed skin practically glowing, blue eyes the color of the sea darkened by a distant storm.

“I’ll never understand why your cousin built this place here,” said Lena.

“He didn’t. There was an ancient Kryptonian outpost here from long, long ago, when my people were more expansionist. They abandoned any plans to colonize other solar systems thousands of years ago.”

Lena looked at her, damning her own curiosity. Kara, for her part, looked far away.

“Why?” said Lena.

“They decided they’d done enough damage to their own world.”

Lena blinked. Turning away, Kara inserted the key into the locking mechanism and unleashed a series of heavy grinding sounds as the doors parted.

Within, it was warmer.

(At last I walk these hallowed halls, a conquerer)

Not by much, though.

Lena drew in a breath and looked around, allowing herself a moment of unrepentant awe. The ceiling arched high overhead where the crystalline walls joined to form a peak, giving the Fortress of Solitude the air of a great cathedral. This gave a reference to the statue of a handsome man and beautiful woman, pressed side by side with joined hands and expressions of fear and hope as they gazed off into some distant star.

“That’s Jor-El and Lara, my aunt and uncle.”

Superman’s parents, Lena thought.

“Don’t your family have statues?”

“Kal-El created the memorial,” said Kara. “He didn’t know about my family until I told him.”

Lena huffed.

“I have a hologram of my mother,” said Kara. “It’s really just a computer interface. She doesn’t… I remember them in my own way.”

Kara cleared her throat, and Lena saw tears welling up in her eyes. A twist of pain turned in her stomach and her hand fell on Kara’s shoulder.

(That’s it. Play to her emotions. Use them like she used yours.)

“I hate this place,” Kara whispered.

Lena pulled her hand back.

“Why?”

“I thought I’d be excited to show you. There’s just so much I’ve always wanted to share, but this place is a tomb. When I’m in here, it’s like home, but not. It’s just a reminder of everything I’ve lost, and it makes me feel sick how much I want to go back.”

“Of course you want to go back,” said Lena. “It was your home.”

Kara let out a low, shuddering breath.

“It was, but it’s not anymore. I’ve lived on Earth now longer than I did on Krypton.”

She was looking up at the statues, or past them, perhaps. Lena couldn’t help but study her profile, the curve of her jaw and the soft lines of her face. How could someone who could crush coal into diamonds with her hands and kill with a glance be so angelic?

(Such an innocent face to hide such betrayal)

Lena swallowed, trying to still herself and tamp down the sympathy she felt.

“I envy him.”

“Who?”

“Superman. My cousin. He’s so lucky. He only gets the good part, the blessing from my uncle and the special heritage. For him, this place is joyful. It’s the answer to all his questions and full of strange wonders and joys. He tries to mourn them but how can he mourn something he’s never known?”

“I’m sure it must be sad for him, wondering what they were like.”

“He never knew them to disappoint him, either. It want his father that created Medusa. Sometimes I just wish I could forget it all. This place reminds me I don’t really have a home.”

Lena turned to her sharply.

Kara sighed. “My home is still out there. Argo, I mean. It’s basically a new Krypton. I could go if I wanted. Kal is there with…” she trailed off.

“Lois,” Lena added. “I pieced it together pretty quickly after you told me your identity. He’s Clark Kent, isn’t he?”

“You’ve always been too smart,” said Kara, and she sounded so genuine, so admiring, that it made Lena briefly wish she didn’t have to do this. That it had been real.

“I can’t go back there. I can’t be part of that society anymore, where people don’t get any choices in what they do, or…” Kara looked directly at Lena, dragging out the pause a beat too long. “Who they love.”

“What do you mean?”

“On Krypton, we had what I guess you’d call arranged marriages.”

“So you’d never have been able to be with Mon-El.”

“I wouldn’t have been allowed to choose him, no,” said Kara, “though thinking back, really thinking about it, I don’t think I would have in the end.”

Lena looked at Kara, who still stared up.

“Why?”

“We were only together because…” she let out a long sigh. “Because I don’t have a home anymore, not really. I can’t go back to my own people and I don’t belong here.”

“Of course you have a home, Kara,” said Lena, lightly touching Kara’s arm.

“You’d don’t know what it’s like,” said Kara, choking back a small sob. “No matter what path I take I have to kill part of myself. I can’t be Kryptonian and human, no matter how hard I try. The Kryptonian side keeps taking things away from me. I can never be my whole self with someone.”

Lena swallowed.

“Just look what it did to us,” said Kara, turning to Lena. “I almost lost you because of it, because of the lies I let myself tell.”

“Kara,” Lena lied, “I’ve forgiven you. We don’t have to re-litigate this.”

“Maybe you have, but I’ve never apologized to you properly. I’ve just been trying to smooth it over and fill in the cracks and I know how hard you’ve tried but it’s not enough for me to just let you do all the work.”

“Kara…”

“I was such an asshole,” Kara said, and Lena blinked. In any other circumstances, she’d have made a joke and chided Kara for her unusual profanity.

“I mean about the Kryptonite, but about other things, too. I shouldn’t have treated you one way while I was in the suit and another way when I wasn’t.”

“I’m still not sure which one was real,” Lena blurted.

(No! No, what are you doing? You have to make her think all is forgiven so she’ll take you to the armory!)

“They both were,” said Kara. “I was angry about the Kryptonite, and I was scared. I admit it, Lena. As much as I trusted you then and I trust you now, I didn’t know what to think. My best friend was making a poison that only hurts me.”

“I didn’t know it was you,” said Lena. “If I’d known…”

Kara swallowed.

“I know.”

“If I’d known, I would have come to you about Sam. I would have come to you about a lot of things, Kara.”

Kara tried to blink back tears and failed. Something about seeing her cry openly while wearing the suit made her seem so small and delicate.

“I wish I could be human,” said Kara. “I wish I could just be the person you thought I was and we could just be us.”

(Us? Lex snarled. You’re nothing more than a dog to her, that can be put down when she’s done with you!)

Lena’s throat tightened and tears stung her eyes.

“You know, when I was fighting Red Daugher, Lex’s clone of me…”

Lena looked at her sharply.

“I… I couldn’t beat her. I was losing. She… she killed me. My heart stopped. I was gone.”

Lena choked out a soft sob, unable to restrain it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I knew I couldn’t go. I had so much to stay for. I don’t know how I did it but I dragged myself back from the other side, I just… I thought of Alex and J’onn and all my friends and everything I have to live for, everything here, on Earth, my home. Even that wasn’t enough.”

“What was?”

“You,” said Kara. “I couldn’t go without making amends with you, or at least trying. You’re my lodestar. I’ll always come back to you eventually.”

(She’s just trying to keep you in line. It’s a lie. It’s always a lie, she’s all lies!)

“I’m glad. I need someone around to safe me from assassination attempt number 547,” said Lena. The joke turned to sand in her throat, her voice on the edge of breaking.

“I’ve spent weeks trying to think of a magic combination of words that will make it better, but there isn’t one, is there? I can only tell you how sorry I am that I did what I did and promise I never will again. I’m so sorry I hurt you. It’s the worse thing I’ve ever done.”

“Kara…”

(Just let her trust you. You’re almost here. Myriad is here. The answer is here. Fuck her sentimental bullshit. She-)

Kara slowly reached out and caressed the back of her fingers against Lena’s tear-stained cheek.

“It’s crazy how dying made me realize so many things.”

“Like what?”

“All the things I never knew I wanted to do, until I knew I’d never do them.”

Lena swallowed, hard, fighting the urge to lean into her hand and press the warm skin to her own.

“Like what?”

Kara leaned in, filling Lena’a space, and Lena was acutely aware that she was the only warmth in this frozen place. Kara’s other arm swept around her, Kara’s fingers spread wide across Lena’s back.

“Is this okay?”

(No! NO NO NO!)

“Yes.”

(You can’t do this! You killed me, Lena! You killed your only brother for her and she’s a liar and a-)

Kara kissed Lena the way she did everything: Fully and completely. As Kara drew them together, Lena tipped back just a touch, as Kara seemed to tower over her, surrounding her in a warm embrace. Their lips met softly, chastely. Lena felt like she was in middle school again. It was as if she’d been rewound back to before her first clumsy, lip-pinching kiss in a boarding school bathroom.

She wasn’t sure whether it was Kara who deeepened the kiss, or her. In the end, it didn’t matter. Kara escalated by degrees, pausing as if to murmur an apology at any moment. Lena grasped her like was the only solace in a raging storm, feeling those steel cable muscles flexing beneath her suit.

Then she squeaked in Lena’s mouth when Lena grabbed a handful of ass, and Lena giggled.

“Do you want this too?” said Kara.

(You killed me!)

Yes, Lex, and I would again.

“Yes,” Lena admitted, and it was as if some great heavy weight had fallen from her shoulders.

She threw herself into Kara, shivering.

“It’s cold in here.”

Kara pulled Lena tight, wrapping them both in her cape.

“Let’s get what we came for and go home.”

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diejager · 11 months

Text

A Fantasy

Pairing: YANDERE Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Cw: NSFW, DARK, non-con, dub-con, non-con drugging, somnophilia, creampie, possessiveness, obsessiveness, breeding, marking, blood, biting, Stockholm syndrome, tell me if I missed any.

Wc: 9.8k

(A/N): FYI, Tracer’s (Overwatch 2) the reader’s mentor.

Requested by : @oyasumimosura

What stood before you was a great field of devastation and ruin, burned and broken buildings that used to be warm homes, lively parks that were turned to ashes, trees and plants laid wasted around dilapidated cars with broken windows and bent metal. People, young and old, laid motionless on the scarred ground, burnt black or left intact in a pool of their blood. Some were holding hands, a family, friends, a couple. Others were alone, forgotten, and left to their sad deaths.

One minute you were rushing through a portal, behind your mentor and besides your teammates, the Cavalry, as she liked to say. Rushing through fights to protect humanity and omnics and its future. The mission was like the one yesterday, the preparation, the meeting, the briefing, and the deployment, but the fate of it changed. A portal malfunctioned, it sent you elsewhere, far away and lost. This wasn't your world, this wasn't your universe, but now, you were in someone else's universe, playing their game.

The clock had struck and time felt meaningless on the battlefield, the sounds of beating aircraft blades, the booming shot of guns and the shockwaves of grenades were all people could hear. Soldiers were the only ones left, fighting against the other side - the enemy, the traitors, the terrorists - until one came out victorious.

While purposeful, the deaths and ruin of this Occidental village were regretful, families shattered, memories lost, and homes destroyed. All you could do was run around, trying to find the source of those cries you heard. A little girl's, whose tears welled for the mother she lost in the tirade of war.

The longer you ran, the closer you got to her. The girl's purple shirt and jeans were dirtied with soot and ash, dark from what was left of her village. You blinked, fazing through time and space to get to her more quickly. Rounding broken walls and jumping over fallen debris, you left a blue trail behind you, blinking your way to the crying kid.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest when you got to her, recalling to your previous position with the girl, behind a brick wall. She clung to you, eyes red and swollen, lips bit red and her cheeks puffy. She looked like a seven-year-old child, alone, lost, and miserable without her parents or protection.

"Don't worry, love, " you used the words Tracer often used when she saved someone, her reassuring and calm voice. "I'm here."

Those zigzagging lines of light lingered in his mind, a shadow of a woman making her way through the abandoned town. The spring in her steps and the flexibility of her movements, jumping higher than any man should've been able to and changing directions so easily. She was fast, vanishing in a line of blue light and then appearing once more meters away.

Ghost saw her save a child, no older than an eight-year-old - or so he thought. A lone child on the battlefield was dangerous, a death wish for the kid if his enemies got to her first. Fortunately, the athletic woman got to the kid before anyone could, swiping her into her arms and disappearing in a blink. Seconds ago, she stood next to the pole, now all that was left was a blur of blue. She had disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

He picked at the memory constantly, powers, it seemed, were her thing, speed and agility of which no one should be able to wield, but she did and she used it to save a child. Although he admired that from a stranger, the question of her being a danger to them was still left unanswered. Whether she could be trusted or an unknown enemy that would tip the scales in the enemy's favour.

However, months later, after the war ended, there weren't any sightings of her, anywhere on earth, as if she had disappeared - again. He remembered her, though, the determined glint beneath blue goggles, her hair tied in a ponytail, flowing through the air, and her pretty lips.

She could still be in Europe, she probably was, or so he hoped. It would mean that he could run the chance of meeting her, to quench his gnawing curiosity. It would be difficult - near impossible - to find her in the millions living in Europe, but he would keep his eyes open, he had questions and he wanted answers.

He wasn't a believer per se, nor was he an atheist, he had a veto in what he put his trust and belief in. He wouldn't curse others for not believing in a God or gods, he wouldn't scoff at those who believed in them, and everyone had their rights. At this moment, however, the thought of God helping him had crossed his mind.

He had dared cross his limit, entering a small cafe - or a bistro, he wasn't sure - blocks from his flat. It was small and homely, the air was warm with the smell of coffee and tea and the place welcoming with the smiling faces of the cafe's workers.

He sat far into the shop, his back against the softness of the booth's couch, bored eyes observing his surrounding for any danger. Even off duty, the habits that ensured his safety still stuck to him, following him wherever he went.

The waitress, a young-looking woman, with striking eyes and hair pulled in a bun, walked his way. Her face looked familiar, lashes framing her pretty eyes, blushed cheeks and beautiful full lips. He knew those lips, and those eyes, and her build, short and athletic, but strong.

It was the child-saving vigilante he saw, only without her blue goggles and her tight bodysuit, blue and white that emphasized her muscles (it was probably made for usefulness, sticking to her body without any stray cloth when she ran, it made running faster and easier.). Wearing a chemise and black pants, instead of the standard skirt the other women wore, her shoes clicked as she approached him, hand pulling out a pad from her black apron's pocket.

He froze when her hand disappeared into her pocket, the items inside were unknown to him, and the content could be dangerous to him. He had to remind himself that she was a civilian at the moment, not an enemy vying for his head. She was safe, as long as she didn't attack him. He waited for her to speak, her pretty lips forming the words she wanted to tell him.

"Good morning, sir," her voice was melodic, soft and inviting. He craved hearing her speak to him with the soft lull of her tone. "Have you decided?"

Decided? What had she - you - meant by "decided"? Then he remembered he was in a cafe, people walked in to order food and drinks, to go or to eat there. He couldn't drift off like that, he couldn't disappear into the darkest depth of his mind. It was a dangerous place.

He cleared his throat, blonde lashes fluttering as he blinked, staring at your face. You were pretty. His words rumbled out, slightly muffled by his black mask: "No." He neither spoke more nor less, blunt as a hammer and sharp as a knife.

"Would you like more time to decide?" You were polite, smiling at him although his only spoken words were brash. He didn't want you to go yet, he just found you, heard and spoke to you,

"Anything you- uh... you recommend?"

You perked up at his question, seeing a more approachable change in him. Your smile widened, brighter than before as you listed off the menu by heart. Your optimism reminded him of Johnny's, expressively happy and grinning. The cafe - Ma's cafe, he learned from you - had its famously brewed tea latte, a mixture of earl grey and vanilla latte.

He took your recommendation, and you left with a skip, apron bouncing with each step. He watched you walk behind the counter, shuffling around with cups and the machine - he thought it was a coffee machine, those with pre-made coffee in its tank - meticulously, knowing well what he ordered.

You came back minutes later with a smoking mug filled with a milky brown liquid. It was fitting its name - London fog - with the white swirls that mimicked the fog that filled the cool, morning air until early evening when the sun started heating everything.

"Thank you...?" Ghost tried, wanting to know your name, you didn't have a tag on your apron.

You gave him your name with the smile you gave everyone, a customer service kind of smile that would assure that you wouldn't get any complaints about your service. He repeated your name a few times in his mind, memorizing every syllable and the way it sounded so well.

He wanted to repeat your name, whisper it lowly, but he had to make sure you were farther away from him, or you'd hear him obsessively call you. It rolled off his tongue amazingly, a perfect symphony with his deeper, raspy voice. He'll get to know you better, he planned on visiting more often, to learn your schedule and watch over you.

He pushed every intrusive thought back, bringing the mug to his lips (he had pulled down his mask to drink). It was sweet, slightly bitter from the coffee, but sweet nonetheless, perhaps a bit too sugary. He savoured the drink you made him, breathing the warm aroma of your mix. You'd made it, you had it, and served it. It was made for him, with your care and smile.

Ghost came by the next week, wearing the same black hoodie and dark jeans. He sat at the same booth and waited for you to walk by with the same smile as the prior week. You did, eyes wide with recognition when you caught him staring at you from the corner booth. You made your way to him with a grin, clad in a similar uniform and a serving tray under your arm.

"You came back," your calming voice reached his ears, giving him something to cling to in the cafe.

He liked habits, familiar things and usual occasions, but he hated the new and the unknown. They were dangerous, and deadly in his line of work. You expressed your gratitude at the tip he left you, way over the usual price other usual clients would.

"I never got your name."

He hadn't given you his name? That's right, he didn't for fear of people finding out his true identity, a broken man hidden under the mask of a monster - a Ghost. Trust issues stacked with insecurities and his introverted tendencies had made forming relationships much harder, making friends complicated with the backlash of his many blunt comments and irritated huffs, and letting people in from the fear of being betrayed, backstabbed, beaten and abandoned.

You were a vigilante, you saved a girl, you smiled at him and greeted him like you would a friend. You didn't shy away, nor freeze at the mere sight of him. You were new, but you were good - or so he thought you were. To him, you could be the achieved unachievable, a friend made from dust, a relationship formed from miracles and normalcy.

He blinked, mumbling lowly his name, low enough that it only reached your ears. You cocked your head downward, your smile widening as you repeated his name.

"Nice to see you again, Simon. I'm happy to see you again."

He nearly shuddered from hearing his name roll off your tongue, so melodically spoken. He wants to hear you call his name again and again and again, as many times as you could until he got sick of it (he probably wouldn't, he was already addicted to the way you spoke).

He dozed at your words, that you were glad he came back. He was glad too. He wanted to come by the day after his first visit, but it would seem too strange, perhaps dangerous to see him every day at the same spot, at the same time of day. He was a man of schedules, organized and neat planning.

He figured he would start by buying once a week for a month or two, then change it to twice a week for the following months, until seeing him every day would become the norm for you. He would kickstart the routine and make it a usual appearance in your life. He would make *him* a usual appearance in your life.

"Same as last time, Simon?"

God, he loved hearing you say his name. He simply nodded, he would make it his usual, a hut sweet, but enough to drown the bitterness in his soul.

The leaves turned darker, shrivelling and dropping dead to the ground. The mellow sky grew gloomy, and colder with each passing day until it dropped so low that Ghost had to wear a thicker jacket over his usual hoodie. Autumn was at an end and winter crawled ever so closer.

He was back from deployment, on a temporary leave to "relax and diffuse" as Laswell said. Everyone was back home, Price with his cigar and Nik, Gaz back home with his girlfriend, Soap with his rowdy family of seven and Roach went home to open arms and warm welcomes from his parents.

Ghost only had an empty apartment - or he used to, he moved to a house on the quieter side of town - and the cute, dazzling waitress that served at Ma's cafe. That's where he was going, he texted you before he left, letting you know that he was back and ready for a hot cup of London fog and brunch.

You read his message, replying with a "Copy that, Lieutenant". It became a running joke between you after he told you about his work, nothing classified or too detailed, but enough to let you know he was built to fight and survive.

The bell rang when he pushed the door, seeing you peer out of the kitchen once he stepped in. He was hit with a warm embrace, the cafe's heater worked well, warming the place and making it cozy enough to eat with only a t-shirt on. He gave you a nod, finding his way to his usual spot, the one he sat at for the past months.

How many months have passed since he first stumbled here? He couldn't remember everything became a blur when it was associated with you. His moments with you were warmer and calmer than at the start. You opened up to him, walls crumbling down and letting yourself build something out of it: a friendship with Ghost.

He liked being friends - for now. He had plans to make a move, to push farther, into unknown territory and try his luck. He had a feeling you'd say yes, he loved you so much and you showered him with adoration and smiles, you had to be in love with him, no? Of course, you were, he wasn't delusional, he was of sound mind, careful.

"Welcome back, Simon," you strut to him so casually, the same clothes, the same smile. "How was your deployment? Soap and Roach got into any trouble?"

He spoke fondly of his TF, they were his family, and he felt proud when he talked about them to you. He invited them once, and they all loved you as much as he did, you were sociable and easy to talk to. Though Price and Soap had the biggest effect on you, they reminded you of someone. You told him about your friends, chaotic like his TF, but a family. It sounded like an ops team, he wouldn't be surprised. He remembered the first time he saw you, it was still fresh in his memory.

"Soap stirred up some shite again," Ghost huffed, sloshing his shoulders to appear more relaxed in your presence, to make him seem less threatening than he was. "No casualties, everyone made it out fine. Bit bruised but alive."

"That's the main objective, no?" You chuckled at Ghost's indignified groans about Soap and Roach behaving like children high on sugar.

You stuck around longer now, gracing him with a bit of random chatter. He got to know about your days, your activities, your wishful thinking and your goals. He discovered something new every day, whether it came from your lips or from his own time.

You stood by his table until the chef rang the call bell. You winked charmingly and turned to get his order, he hadn't ordered yet, but he came by so often, ordering the same that the employees knew what to make when he walked through the door.

He liked the normalcy, where he came by once every two days when he was on leave. If the Task Force was sent on a mission, he could be gone a few days, a few weeks or a month. It always varied, but he made it work with his hate of the unknown, the unpredictable.

"Are you free tonight, love?" Ghost asked, eyes gazing from your hands to your lips.

He found that open-mouthed expression at his question. You seemed hesitant to answer him, thinking about your reply to the man who tipped you well and was as close as a friend to you; or perhaps you were simply shocked that he finally asked you out, and wondering if you had time for him.

You nodded, a smug smile replacing your shock: "How 'bout eight? I finish at seven tonight."

" 'S fine, eight at the bar down the street?"

"It's a date then."

His heart almost broke his ribs, beating wildly against its cage when the word "date" left your lips. He had a date with you tonight, he couldn't believe his ears. Perhaps you meant as a date between friends than one between lovers, but at that moment, all he could think was how your hands would feel between his, how your soft, plump lips would feel over his and how your body would feel against his, below and over him.

He dove into his delusional mind, imagines and dreams swimming freely, jumping from one to the other. He had dreams for once, a wish that he hoped you'd indulge, and a family he wanted but lost.

Everything seemed to go the way he planned, you waved at him when you saw him waiting outside the bar and giddily joined him. He found a quiet and mellow corner at the bar, a table pushed against the wall with two stools.

The bartenders knew him, he drank here with the others, and they didn't bother him and served and usual. Some were surprised he brought a friend - a woman - with him but left him to his own.

You sat down and downed a few beers while he drank his bourbon. You spoke sporadically, hands waving enthusiastically with every word. Your cheeks were flushed, slightly pink and warm from the alcohol, but you were lively, animated and happy.

It made him happy, seeing you so mirthful around him, being able to let loose from your stricter atmosphere at Ma's cafe. Your tense shoulders were looser, your back relaxed from its ramrod-straight position and your voice felt more invigorated. The alcohol might've played a part, running through your system and making you bolder.

The first time always played well, just as he imagined, and the thing that solidified everything was your parting words: "Next time's on me, Simon!"

You drank together every week, from friends to drinking buddies, there was nothing more intimate than that, to trust someone with your drunk self and your loose tongue, spewing words and thoughts the second they crossed your mind.

That boosted his confidence, the feeling that he could confess, and tell you his deepest and darkest thoughts and wants. You'd know what kind of man he was, broken and messily put together, like a DIY project made by a child gone wrong. He had sharp edges and missing pieces, a cracked personality and dangerous thoughts. He was a SAS soldier after all, once you become one, you see some twisted shit.

Like the week before, you walked out together, your legs shaky but still able to walk home, accompanied by Ghost. He helped you to your apartment, his broad shadow looming over the door, silent as always. When your shaky hands were able to unlock the door, turning the knob and opening the door, you turned around to bid your drinking buddy good night.

Lips parting to say the words, until he cut you off, his chapped lips met yours. His gloved hands caressed your cheek, thumb rubbing under your wide eyes as he held you in place. His lips were warm and plump, but chapped, a scar running over it.

His eyes were closed, lips on you for a few seconds longer until he pulled away, a dazed look in his eyes. While he expected a reaction from you, he hadn't envisioned shock and sadness, one that made his gut plummet. He winced at your expression, unable to understand what he did wrong. He thought you loved him.

"I- Simon, I- I can't, I'm sorry," you hushed out sadly, head turned down to stare at your feet. You were unwilling to gaze into his disappointed - probably heartbroken - eyes.

"Why?" He rasped, voice hoarse as if he hid cried for hours, or was on the brink of tearing up.

"I just can't, Simon," you persisted, feeling much more sober than the last few minutes. His surprise had severed you up - willingly or unwillingly. "I don't mind staying friends, but I can't get too attached. I won't be here much longer."

" 'Cause you're not from here?" He scoffed, but it didn't hold any resentment or irritation, simply sorrow and distress. " 'Cause you're from another world?"

You whipped your head to stare at him, your mouth agape and fearful shock glazed over your eyes. How could he have possibly known? While your identity was fabricated work, you know how to make a believable fake ID, Genji's knowledge helped you. You stepped back, hand reaching for your door knob, unsure of what Simon would do to you now that the secret was out.

He turned and ambled out, shoulders slumped slightly without a word to you. His world shattered once again, God seemed hellbent on making his life a misery.

He stopped coming after your "altercation", you felt horrible, but you couldn't let your heart run wild when you know Winston would find a way to fix the portal in a year or two. One had already passed and you couldn't overindulge in this world's pleasures and leave when you got too attached.

Yet, grief at being relieved that he never appeared again clawed at you, he knew you weren't from his world. It was dangerous information, especially in bad hands, but you couldn't do anything about it. This world had different rules and standards, it worked differently and you weren't book-smart like Winston or Torb. You were a simple agent working under Tracer.

You did, however, regret letting Simon leave so abruptly, he was an amazing friend, the perfect drinking buddy and would probably be a caring lover, but couldn't risk it. Even if you wanted to text him, and apologize over and over until Simon would talk to you again, you knew how to respect people's boundaries. If he left so coldly, never passing by, texting or calling told you enough. He needed time to calm down and clear his mind.

You went back and forth between your home and the cafe every night, your original routine - before meeting Simon - felt alien to you. You'd been so used to seeing Simon at the back of the shop, a hot London fog in his hands and crepes on his plate with melting butter. It was foreign to see the spot occupied by another client, or the cold spot in your chest when it was vacant.

You disliked it. You hated it. The cold, the silence, you wanted to see him at least once.

Can we meet? Usual place. was the sudden text you received from Simon during your shift. It was dated today at 5:39.

Without a second thought, you replied, affirming the date and time, tonight, right after your shift on Friday. A weight was lifted from your shoulder, the silence from Simon was broken and he finally reached out to you. Your break to let him calm down had worked it seemed, the let him cool down and clear his mind.

It was late by the time you got to the pub, around nine. You had returned home and fixed up your depressed look for a more lively one, hoping it would make Simon feel better. You caught him at your usual place, head hung low and demeanour shut off from the world around him. You took hesitant steps towards him, he didn't look exactly sober from the number of cups decorating the table, nor did he look drunk, from his sharp, hooded eyes.

"Simon, " you greeted him slowly, nearly flinching when his brown eyes washed over your smaller figure. Chills erupted through the ends of your nerves, fingers twitching at the sudden burst of danger you felt from your friend. You had no reason to be scared, wary of his demeanour, but not scared or hateful. He'd yet to act out violently or malevolently.

He gave a curt nod, emotions bleeding through his eyes. He was a stoic man, but his eyes were extremely emotional, pain, regret, grief, hate and joy were some you'd seen flash in those pretty brown of his.

He had a whole bottle ordered in advance, the cap still tightly screwed onto the bottle's neck. He poured you a cup, of rum straight out of the bottle without ice or any accessories.

Thanking him, you sipped on your drink it felt hot and heady on your tongue, it burned your throat. You hadn't drank since you'd last seen Simon, weeks ago, and you could see - feel - its effect. You coughed slightly but still downed the rest.

"You wanted to see me?" Your question left an odd sensation on your tongue. He hadn't spoken a word since you walked in, always the brooding, silent menace. He stared, fixated on you or something on you, it was perturbed you.

"I wanted to apologize, love."

You missed that low hum in his voice, and the caring way he said you "love". You'd been used to it since most British you knew always called someone they cared for "love" or "dear", loving terms of endearment used publicly. Now, however, you knew it weighted, an undertone to its meaning, a special significance in his heart.

"Didn't mean to jump you like that," he continued, regret painting his rough tone. "It felt right; to me. Guess I was more plastered than I thought."

He was human and alcohol coursed through his system. It made him bold and erratic, he acted out without a second thought. You could forgive him for the influence his bourbon had on him; you were going to forgive him anyway.

Although you felt better with his apology, forgiveness for his sudden move wasn't what you prioritized. You wanted answers. How did he know? Was it a sudden, incomprehensible blurb that he spat in a spike of hate and pain? Or was it conscience wording from his drunk mind?

"Do you remember that night?" You lost your smile, pursed lips and hardened eyes at your questioning - interrogation of him.

"'Course I do."

"Do you remember what you said? About me coming from somewhere else."

He nodded, eyes levelled to stare straight at you, unwilling to hide or lie, he spoke honestly, "Another world, love. Didn't forget."

"How'd you know? I'm not exactly showcasing it to everyone in bright colours. So how?"

"Saw you save that girl, lil babe crying for her mother," his answer was slow and purposeful, giving you what you wanted to hear. He recalled the event that occurred months prior, everything aligned with your own experience. "We don't - can't - have shite like that, too developed and powerful. Nothin' like that's possible in this era. So I figured you weren't from here. "

His reasoning made sense, his wording was careful, and it seemed like he had time to think about it. The time you gave him had helped. You kept your doubts to yourself, questions you had that he probably didn't have the answer to. A way back; a way home; an escape. All things he had no answer to.

So your shoulders relaxed and asked Simon to pour you a second cup, to which he obliged. You drank and smiled, back to the trying times when you just started drinking with him, the unknown and the awkwardness that lingered in the air stung.

You don't remember how many cups you had, or how many bottles you finished. Did you even finish the first one? Did you get halfway through before your vision started blurring and your mind dazed into mumbles of incoherent words? Simon hadn't touched another cup since the world around you blurred, the corners of your eyes turning black and your movement slowed to a slur.

He paid for the drink on his tab, slinging your arm over his shoulder, hand holding your waist as he walked out. You were drunk out of your mind, but something felt different, you don't remember being this inebriated the last time you drank half a bottle of rum. Was there something else in it?

Simon dropped you in the back, buckling you in before he made sure you sat upright. He was close, his neck bare and sweaty, his musk smelled strong and heavy, smoke and gunpowder weighing at the back of your throat. Although your vision was faulty, you could see the tight muscle of his neck and shoulder tense as he worked.

His scent stuck to you as he closed the door and drove home, the air in the car smelling like him. Whatever had drained you, lulled you to sleep, taking comfort in the familiar warmth even if a small part of you started panicking.

He had you, in the basement of his house, soundproof and padlocked from the outside. Any risk was accounted for and any escape plans were foiled prematurely by his quick mind.

Ghost laid you beneath him, on the soft, plush bed he bought and built for you, queen-sized for the times he'd spend cuddling you. He had you splayed, body limp and limbs pliant to his every desire. He admired your sleeping form, how your lace fluttered lightly and your lips perked, thinking on the corners as if you were wincing - a duck face - and your peaceful expression. You were adorable.

Your shirt came off first, pulled over your head and thrown over his shoulders, then your bra. Without his gloves, your skin felt soft, hot to the touch. Kneading your breasts, he held one in each hand and felt the fat. You twitched and mewled faintly when he pinched your nipples, hardened by the cooler air hitting your drunk-induced heat. He kissed them, lips closing around your nipple and sucking loudly. He gave each one the same amount of attention, pulling off with a wet pop.

His fingers trailed the lines of your abdomen, strong and athletic, but not too burly like anyone in the army. He admired your figure, half-naked and unconscious on his bed, in his home. He kissed down your stomach as he took your pants off, sliding leg after leg out, leaving you only in your panties.

You were beautiful: your skin - soft, your hair - silken, your lips - wonderful to kiss, and your eyes - gems. You were breathtaking to look at, a treasure to his eyes solely. You were an unblemished canvas, unmarked by other men - in his mind - by sin, and your scars were trophies, won through difficult times. He wanted to be the one painting you, displaying you prettily for his eyes alone. Pieces of works were kept secret like Michelangelo's love poems and sketches.

His eyes wandered the expanse of your body, groaning when he saw the wet patch, your body had reacted to his caresses, your arousal turning the spot over your cunt darker, wet. He pushed his nose to it, breathing in the tangy musk. His fingers hooked under the string and ripped it off with a harsh tug. You wouldn't need underwear anymore once he was done with you.

Ghost's pupils dilated, wide, blown eyes as it keyed on your slick cunt. He adjusted your legs, moving them over his shoulders to have better access to you. He gave a testing lap, running the flat of his tongue over your rim, prodding your clenching opening and leaving at your pulsating clit.

You tasted delicious, he growled and dove back. Tongue circling your button, sucking loudly, lifting the protective hood to let it swell and throb. He held your hips tightly ad you squirmed and moaned, but you never awoke. The drug he gave you was potent, tested on bigger, stronger military men. It could knock them out, so it would pull a stronger reaction from you.

It weighed on his mind, that he resolved to drugging you and bringing you home to be able to show you just how much he loved you. He'd preferred if you were awake, he wanted your first time together to be wonderful - fantastic - in all ways, but you would've protested, fought him and left him once more. He couldn't risk losing you completely, it hurt.

He had no other choice and felt guilty, but he couldn't let his mind wander when he had you under him, ripe for the taking. He pushed his thoughts away and concentrated on you, his needy girl.

His tongue returned between your leg, cheek nuzzling into your sweating thighs. He alternated between sucking your button, lips enclosing around it, and dipping his tongue into you, groaning anomalistically at your tensing walls. He pushed his forefinger in, joining his ravenous tongue. His nose bumped your clit, jerking you each time.

A second finger joined the first and his tongue left to give attention to your neglected clit, pumping to the third knuckles and curling upwards. You arched off the bed, hips buckling into his open mouth as he stretched you open with a third finger. The sound was lewd and wet, loud in his ears.

His cock twitched, straining against his pants, the fabric tight and inflexible, nearly painful. He wanted to relieve the tightness, that burning ache deep in his guts, but his needs came second to yours.

He flickered his tongue and pushed his fingers deeper, curling and panting against you. You spasmed, legs closing around his head, squeezing him as you came. His fingers eased out slowly to savour the taste of your arousal, mouth covering your fluttering hole and slurping the slick that drizzled down your ass.

He loved how you tasted, sweet and salty, like a healthy, ripe fruit ready to be bitten into, juicy and perfect. He almost lost himself, dazed by your essence and his anguish; if only you'd accepted him early, you would've been awake and conscious of this act, and you'd be able to love and embrace him as he did to you. He wouldn't have to wait so long, in pain and regret, for not wooing you enough. He wouldn't have to feel so guilty.

Snapping from his hazed thinking, he lowered your legs and climbed off the bed to undress. He peeled his hoodie and shirt, which stuck to his skin by sweat, and he dropped his pants once he unbuckled his belt. His cock bobbed, slapping wetly against his navel before it hung heavily between his legs, the head achingly red and swollen. His balls felt heavy, and tight from all the neglect. They were big and full, ready to pump his seed into you.

He cradled you, pulling your legs over his elbows and slotting his hips to yours, his cock over your slit. He moved his hips, slicking his shaft with your juices, groaning at the wet warmth under him. When it felt slick enough, he dipped the tip in, your labia stretching to swallow his uncut head. The sound was downright filthy in his ears, the squelch and your strained moans.

He watched himself inch deeper, sinking into your depths with unrelenting hunger, panting and growling until he bottomed out, his balls sitting snug against your ass. His bulbous tip kissed your cervix, nudging it as he rolled his hips, testing how deep he could reach and how strong he could fuck.

He slowly pulled out, hearing the wet noise of his cock slipping out to the tip, and slammed in, his balls slapping the roundness of your ass. He rocked wildly, groaning each time he bottomed out, feeling the heat of your walls clench around him like a vice. Your spasming walls wrenched low moans from him, as often as you whimpered and mewled.

"Fuck- you feel so fuckin' good-" he pushed out through his clenched teeth, his cock twitching when you tightened around him.

Your legs shook, your back arching slightly and your voice keening loudly. He covered your body with his, lips meeting yours in a hungry and possessive kiss, tongue diving into your mouth and committing it to memory. His hand found your clit, thumb rubbing your sensitive nub, urging you towards your end.

Keening, you came, gripping him with a vice. He grunted, his pace becoming sloppy as he chased his peak after yours, breathing in your neck with dazed, hooded eyes. He swore, thrusting as deep as he could and came, his seed rushing to fill you.

"Fuck- fuck-" he gasped, rocking a few times into you, riding off his edge until he calmed down.

White globs leaked from your stuffed cunt, rolling down your ass and leaving a trail. His chest rumbled happily, bending down to kiss you slowly, soft and adoring compared to the last. He slid out when he softened, his cum oozing out of your gaping heat, the plug keeping everything in left.

He loved watching you full, oozing of him, asleep and satiated in the bed he bought for you. You were both coated in sweat and cum, hair sticking to your glistening skin. Your dishevelled and panting aroused him, his soft cock jerking upwards, hardening moments after he just came.

"We're not done yet, love."

You felt heavy and warm, a heat - a body - held you tightly, fingers carding through your hair and caressing your back. It smelled like sweat and smoke, a familiar musk. You opened your eyes, seeing a pale, burly chest, Simon's naked chest. You froze, body tensing, shoulders squaring and arms ready to push him back.

"Morning, love," his voice was raspy with sleep, deep and calm as he greeted you, his lips meeting your hairline. "Slept well?"

You frowned, legs moving, jutting out from between his knees as you struggled to free yourself. Your body felt sore, the peak of your discomfort coming from your heat, a pulsating and warm pain. You feared the worst.

When you looked down, you were covered by only a shirt, a big, dark grey t-shirt that smelled like Simon, it reached your knees. You winced, seeing your nakedness and Simon's pants hanging low on his hips, flashing the sharp dip of his navel and his sculpted torso. It left little to imagine, the red blemishes on your neck and shoulders, slightly faded from his careful handling and bruises the size of his fingers around your thighs.

"You-" you coughed before you could day anymore, throat dry and scratchy, alcohol dehydrated people faster.

"Drink," he held you up, back to his chest, arms slipping around you too comfortably to hand you a cup of water, cool and fresh.

He had expected this, he wasn't as delusional as he first seemed, and he was prepared. You took it, gulping it down carefully, counting the seconds - minutes - that would pass until the drug kicked in, if he had diluted any in your water.

He hummed happily, his chest vibrating as he wrapped his arms around you, nosing the collar of your neck, he placed fluttering kisses on your open shoulder. The collar of his shirt slipped from one side, exposing your skin. His teeth grazed you, teasingly nipping you with warm puffs of air.

You gulped, gathering whatever wits you still had after this whole kidnapping situation. Your mind was running miles per second, eyes gleamed over with tensions and tiredness, and your body sore from Simon's perverse affection.

"Where am I?" your voice was small, still raspy from - what you assumed - moaning and mewling.

"Home," he mumbled, latching onto your skin and sucking a dark spot.

Home? It neither meant your flat nor safety. It was *his* home, a prison he built for you. You looked around. You thought it better to get to know the place he decided to keep you captive, to learn and discover its secrets, anything you could use against or for you.

It was like a studio apartment, everything was open apart from the bathroom, it had a small kitchenette with a fridge (probably in case he left for a while, deployed in another country while he kept you here.), a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and a desk pushed to the side. He'd forgone leaving you with a television, a mobile device, a phone or a computer, all were risks of you getting out.

The walls were painted over, bare of windows and stairs lead to a door, locked from both sides. He locked you in his basement, beneath his house and every other neighbour's nose. No one would come to your rescue if you screamed. No one would hear your cries of anguish or your pleas for freedom.

He bit down, teeth pressing onto your skin, denting the scarred flesh with his teeth marks. You yelped, the area hot and painful, his strength leaving an almost skin-deep bleeding, fiery and red. It was irritated and swelled in seconds. He moved from one patch to the other, determined to mark up your shoulder before possibly moving on to the next one.

You squirmed on his lap, trying to free yourself from his restrictive hold. You gripped his hands, digging your blunt nails into his forearms. He scoffed, nuzzling the bites he made, tongue lapping at the bleeding lines.

"Ghost," you gasped, legs kicking and body struggling.

Clicking followed every kick, the distinct sound of metal rattling in a disorderly way. You looked down your leg, catching the cuff around your right ankle, a long chain kept you jailed in the basement. It was long and winding, enough to comfortably walk laps around your new accommodation but too short to reach the door.

You stared at it incredulously, the utter rage and disgust that burned in your gut that he planned to keep you as if you were a glorified pet or some sort of prize he scouted and obtained.

You knew he liked you before, it was a simple and innocent crush, like finding your first one and not knowing how to react. That, and the fact he was a soldier, scarred by time and marked by warfare made him so standoffish. You thought it was simple, but now, it was too late to forget, to not look, to let bygones be bygones.

He was obsessed, not necessarily sane, but not crazy either. He wasn't delusional, by everything he set up as a precaution, but he let his darkness fester, grow and crack the surface of his calm and stoic persona. He was still calm and meticulous, but it was a different kind, storming ideas for your imprisonment and wishes he wanted to make true. Ghost and Simon overlapped, neither good nor evil, he was simply letting the monster rage uncontrolled.

His pent-up emotions drove him to the edge, and your rejection pushed him over, tipping the scale of his sanity. That's how you ended up in your current situation, his hands wandering over your thighs, dipping between them and down to your knees. He still nipped at your skin, biting and pulling the collar down the other shoulder. His teeth sunk into the muscle between your neck and shoulder, warm fingers slipping under his shirt to knead your chest.

You winced, flinching when he plucked your nipples, pulling on them until you let out a pained whine.

"Stop-!" your hands followed his, clamping around his wrists and dragging him out, but he stayed firm, unmoving to your will as he twirled your mounds. "Fucking stop!"

He huffed, hands dropping to your lap. He mumbled into your bitten skin, groaning in complaints about not letting him care for you. His complaints came with hot breaths on your nape, mouthing the back, turning silent and unmoving.

His quietness was familiar to you, his penchant for sifting through his thoughts in utter silence. Then he moved, draping the covers over your body, tucking you in. He stood at your bedside, expression lighting in a gentle smile. Under the dim lighting of the room, he looked like a beautiful angel. A gold halo hovered over his blonde locks, framing his pale skin and warm, brown eyes.

He kissed your forehead, lips lingering a few seconds longer as he took in the calming moment. He had you, he had you in his home.

"How about breakfast? Fried eggs and bangers, how's that sound?"

The normalcy of eating breakfast in bed, to wake up and be greeted with a British breakfast made by Simon. He liked the idea of such normality, it was romantic, domestic even. To be able to cook for you and serve you the food he made, he'd eat at the table in the middle of the room, seated opposite from you.

He left before you could give him a piece of your mind, or your reply to his question. Fried eggs, you knew what that was, but *bangers*, what the fuck was that?

The stairs creaked lightly, bending under Simon's weight, but his steps were silent - dangerous. The lock clicked when it was unlocked, and he left you alone, the door locking behind him. Gone was your escape, gone was your freedom, gone was your life with the door locking before you.

Time seemed endless, it went by in a blink or in long, painful moments that left you angry. He hadn't given you a clock, and without anything technological (the microwave didn't have the time, whatever Simon had done, worked. Time never played on the four-letter screen.), you couldn't tell day from night, seconds from minutes and minutes from hours. Time dragged agonizingly slowly, the only clue was Simon kept a pattern: three meals a day, breakfast, dinner and supper before going to bed with his arms wrapped around you.

How long you've stayed here was unknown. You couldn't know and Simon didn't want to tell you. He changed subjects or glared at you until you dropped it or he decided to drop it. You had no link to the outside, no way of knowing if you'd been announced missing or if anyone was worried. Simon had cut all your connections to the world around you, just outside your reach, on the other side of these walls that confined you.

You desperately needed to know about your case, if they knew, if they filed a missing person report if they were searching for you. It pained you to be ignorant of everything but your small world, the things that happened in your small room. Everything you knew was Simon.

His horribly, soothing words in his deep voice, speaking into your ear or your hair, whispering his dreams and his hopes, his love and his adoration. His wandering hands, raking the tension from your shoulders, the knots in your back, your worry from your eyes and lips, and the pleasure - forced - he brought upon you.

Entertainment was brought through him, or through the books he left for you, most were erudite, both old and new novels. Bram Stoker's Dracula, The Silence of the Lambs and The Heart of Darkness were a few of the novels you'd caught on the bookshelf.

He also fed you. Most days, he'd stay until it was time to eat, he would leave - sometimes half an hour or a whole hour, it ranged between depending on the meal - and come back with warm plates. They always smelled good and they tasted better.

It surprised you how skilled he was in cocking, as he was in infiltration, sniping, abducting and killing. Perhaps he took the time apart from you to forge his plan, to learn to cook and to care.

You ate, slowly and contemplatively. He stared at you eat, always making sure you took the first bites before digging into his own plate. It weighed heavy in your gut, like a reluctant gift you were bestowed, and Simon made sure you ate everything.

You felt dazed, gone, after eating, as if a cloud washed over your mind that made you slower, and sluggish with everything you did. The food was drugged, you were aware of that when you first felt lethargic. It made you less testy, less bratty as Simon grumbled, you were more pliant to his whims and easier to move when you tried fighting him.

Though it eased the nausea that wracked your body in the mornings, the sudden discomfort in your abdomen and the heaviness that the ache gave. You rarely needed to move from the bed if the urge to vomit came up, Simon kept pills for that. If you did, he'd comfort you, holding your hair back as the content of your stomach surged upwards.

Your time spent with Simon was time spent organizing your thoughts, Winston was smart, engineering-wise, he was amazing. Then there was Mercy with her medical breakthrough and Torb with his ingeniously brilliant machines. If they came together, found what went wrong with the portal you went through.

Trace would be so worried if she wasn't already dead worried. She was a caring and responsible mentor, taking you in before and after the fall of Overwatch. Nearly twelve years under her and this was the first mishap. You spent nearly two years in Simon's world - you counted the time your could count, the days you spent working and enjoying life as much as you could in a different place - and your heart never stopped missing your family.

You missed Jack - Soldier: 76 - when he would openly laugh, and Gabriel, when he was still the man he was. You missed Tracer's fussing, blinking around with so much energy, and Reinhardt's proud standard when he loomed over his teammates with his Barrier Field. You missed them horribly, they were the glue that kept you hoping for freedom.

It happened when you nearly conceded to Simon's whims, bending to his will and words, letting his hands wander your body and feeling pleasure - genuine. His confessions were parroted, and his I love youwas returned.

You ate less, however, the lump in your gut grew by the days, weighing heavier and heavier. You had weird cravings, followed by nausea most mornings, gripping the toilet bowl with your head hung low. Simon held your hair back and rubbed soothing circles on your back, bemoaning about your pains and cramps.

He left a few times during your period of captivity, vanishing for long periods - usually a week or two - and had you manage everything on your own. He had cameras set up, watching your every move, connected to whatever device he decided to watch you.

He was deployed a week ago, his steps never walking to the door during the week, but now, you could hear his booming steps around the house. They were loud and intentional. Dread always filled your body when you learned he came back, he was clingy, handsy and obsessive when he came back, growling that he would burn down the world if couldn't have you; or that he was thinking about you - constantly - and that the video feed on his phone was never enough.

You picked up on his pace, hurried and panicked. They stomped around the house in search of something before it stopped at your door. Your ears perked on the clicking of the lock, straining to listen to his heaving breaths.

Crack

You jerked forward. Something behind you cracked, the loud cracking filled the air as you turned. A blue swirl cracked the shift in reality, like glass fracturing and breaking into pieces, it glowed with every line. It pulsed calmly, the swirls capturing your attention. You felt drawn to it, your hands twitching with the urge to touch it, to let your fingers swim in the infinite pool.

"(Name), are you there?" a voice called from the other side, small and feminine. It was dripping with worry and exhaustion. "Luv, are you there?" she cried a second time, a hand emerging from the portal.

You knew the voice, the warm, familiar voice that called out to you with love and compassion. A friend. A mentor. A family.

You reached out to it, hand inches from hers. Then the door to your cage burst open, his screams echoing in the basement. He hurried down the stairs as fast as he could, mask still on his face as he reached for you. His gloved fingers grasped the air for you, rushing towards you with immense worry and fear in his eyes.

Mere seconds behind you, his fingers grazed your back as you fell into the waiting arms of your mentor. He was too late, he fell on the vacant bed, watching the portal close behind you. He clutched the bending, the place you sat moments ago. It was still warm, your heat and smell still mixed into your sheets.

He spun lies about your absence, about your sudden disappearance from his world. You moved away after your breakup, you distanced yourself from him to make the move easier on your heart and his. The TF had accepted the excuse, solemnly nodding about your leave and wishing they could have said farewell to a good friend.

They moved on with life, still smiling nostalgically when you were brought up, but Ghost was left heartbroken. He knew something was wrong that day, the itch in his brain about something happening at home. That's why he was in such a hurry, in a panicked frenzy to get home - to get to you. He was too late though, seeing you being pulled into a portal. Dooming was the effect on him; devastation was the pain in his heart; shattering was the sorrow of his soul.

He poured everything into keeping you, only to lose you. Now, he poured every second of his life into work, never letting his mind wander to the bump on your stomach or the subtle relinquishment in your actions to him.

He was deader than dead, colder and more stoic than before. They saw the change, they understood, but never blamed you. Everyone had fallouts, Simon just had more than the rest of the world. That's why he played Ghost more often than before, building his walls higher and his appearance darker.

Yet somehow, Soap was enthusiastic enough to rope him into playing games on his console (he used to play more before finding time between deployments to jump into a match with the others). Overwatch 2, an evolution of the first made better. Soap promised it was good. His spiel about the characters having a profound background and the gameplay being fun. Ghost was doubtful, he and Soap didn't have the same definition of fun, they were associated with different things.

He liked Soap, though, so he humoured his sergeant. He downloaded it on his console, watching the white line charge until it became playable. Soap had mentioned a few names: Genji, Sombra, Reaper and Zenyatta, he even joked about Reaper resembling him, the skull mask and the dark drapes. He'd also gushed - like an over-enthusiastic gamer - about a new character, a woman, the sole student of this Tracer.

He scoured through the lists of players, eyes skimming over the faces before he spotted a familiar one. It was more cartoonish, drawn in gentle lines and beautiful shades. Your face, it was your beautiful face. He nearly dropped his controller, hands shaking and body heavy.

Was it guilt that washed over him? Was it pain that washed over him? Was it sorrow and melancholy that washed over him? Or was it his world that came crashing down on his shoulders?

The world dulled, his breath became stagnant and shallow as he stared at your hero. You were standing proud and fearless, guns held in your hands with a bright smile. He watched you emote, your character moving as it was coded. He scrolled through your skills and perks, some he remembered you use. You blinked and recalled, moving back and forth between time and space, breaking the fragile shift in the world.

Soap was right about the new hero, you were interesting and lovely. In a flurry of emotions, he opened up your biography - or a snippet of your backstory. Every word bled his heart, every act and every situation wracked his body with sadness. The more he read, the more his tears threatened to fall.

You kept your - his - child, a beautiful kid with his blonde hair and your eyes, a round, yet sharper face like his. You kept him, you hadn't aborted the child. You gave birth and he wasn't there. You took care of your kid and he wasn't there. You watched him grow and he wasn't there.

He cried, body closing on itself. His shoulders shook, his vision blurred and his face streaked with tears. A broken sob broke through his throat, restricted and pained with waves of emotion, deep and harrowing sadness of his loss.

"I miss you, love," he rasped, his fingers gripping his hair, nearly ripping out the seams. "I miss you."

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