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zstartrixxx · 21 days ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

ˡᶦᵒⁿ ᵏᵃᵐᶦⁿˢᵏ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐꜝʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: "[...] You were the person who hugged him and pulled him away from the reality he faced every day. And that's why he loved you. [...]" 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: between heavy and distressing themes (which are particularly my favorites), we always find a little gap to write something more cute and comforting; i think that perhaps, if walter "lion" kaminski's life wasn't as fucked up as it is in the movies, or in this case, given the whole central plot of the film, he would have this little life: continuing to get beaten up by someone else? yes, but with someone who loved him and cared for him and had fun with him. anyone who watched the film will see a strong reference to the film in the middle. i was listening to "my kind of woman" by mac demarco and "amor, meu grande amor" | "love, my great love" by angela ro ro (brazilian singer, by the way i recommend looking for the english translation of the entire song!!!) while i was writing this piece, it gave the whole function a vibe. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: established relationship; it's pure fluff (maybe a lil bit of angst & melancholy) but I SWEAR that in this one there is more joy, happiness, a warm heart, love and passion, to lighten a busy and full day, idk... long live the magical world of fanfics, right!? 𝐖𝐂: +2k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖫𝖨𝖮𝖭 𝖪𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖲𝖪𝖨 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 | 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"see me in your eyes, on my washed face. come to me without knowing, if i am fire or if i am water." (love, my great love, angela ro ro.) | listen this song when starts in the fic.

"What's this nasty bruise on your face?"

Lion lifted those gentle, doe-like eyes to you through the shadows, his expression lost as his hands tightened on the car's steering wheel. You stared back with questioning eyes, your hands reaching to cradle his face still damp from when you'd dashed through the drizzle to his car. Past six already, the sun long set in this season—your favorite season of icy winds, hot chocolate, and nights wrapped together under blankets, toes touching, breathing the same warm air while listening to the rain outside.

He gave a strained smile, suppressing all the emotions blooming inside him as your fingers inspected the fresh three-stitch wound above his eyebrow—still raw and stinging from tonight's fight.

In the car's muted lighting, your faces illuminated by the red and blue neon from the 24-hour laundromat and Chinese restaurant next door, everything felt abstract and disconnected from reality to Lion. You glowed under those flickering colored lights, eyes wide with worldly concern, that telltale bite of your lower lip he knew meant: 'You're hurt bad, Lion—I told you to be careful!' even though you knew asking a fighter to be careful was pointless. With a delicate shake of his head, Lion gently removed your hand from his forehead, giving it a soft squeeze:

"It's nothing, my love. Just the spoils of victory."

"So you won?" You exhaled deeply, relaxing your tense body into the Kaminski brothers' car—a vintage 1970 Impala, outrageously red with a black top; obviously older brother Stan's choice who loved "classy, elegant things"—in other words, anything that would make God and the whole world take notice. Lion nodded, digging into the pocket of his dark sweatpants that still carried the fresh citrus scent of his post-fight shower, his bangs slightly damp at the tips. He pulled out a wad of cash—a roll of hundred-dollar bills—flashing a genuinely proud smile. But all you could see were his reddened, slightly swollen knuckles. His voice grew more animated:

"Got extra for the knockout this time. Thought we might celebrate or something. What do you think?"

You studied him head to toe—his shy beauty, that characteristic gap-toothed smile with small lateral incisors between the central ones and canines, his eager yet serene violet-hued eyes (tinted red from the outside lights) waiting for your answer. How could you possibly refuse him?

"Sounds perfect! Any place in mind?"

"No... Wanted you to choose. Anywhere's fine with me."

"Hmm—" You nibbled your index finger, watching raindrops slide down the windshield, people moving about in the laundromat—just another ordinary rainy Thursday. Arms crossed: "—honestly I don't want typical rainy-day stuff. Want something different."

"Like what, rainy-day stuff?" he asked, genuinely curious, leaning back in his seat and pocketing his fight earnings, absently scratching at a healing bruise on his cheekbone on the same side as his stitches.

"Oh, you know... Like going to a restaurant or grocery shopping, loading up on snacks and staying in. I want something different..."

"Grocery run sounds nice actually, loading up on snacks, staying in bed..."

"But didn't you just tell me to choose?!" You barely contained your laughter, jabbing a thumb at yourself while Lion shrugged his narrow shoulders beneath his navy blue sweatshirt. You rolled your eyes:

"So indecisive," you teased, mentally scrolling through locations you'd texted him about (messages he'd seen but never replied to). He preferred his laptop—watching endless fight videos or just sitting across from you with Ash in his lap, silently watching you talk for hours. That quiet kindness that made you feel so loved.

Then it came to you, the perfect place.

-`♡´-

"When you said party, I didn't know you meant a senior citizens' dance," Lion whispered in your ear, his calloused hand enveloping yours as you guided him into the familiar bar-restaurant. You laughed over your shoulder:

"This was my grandma's favorite spot. They've got great music."

An 80s synth track played as Lion sniffed the air—fried food, mothballs and something sweet he couldn't place. The space allowed for dancing between scattered tables, with deflated balloons clinging to the ceiling and few patrons—unsurprising for a rainy Thursday. You stopped mid-floor, feeling him hover behind you like an obedient puppy, eyes full of contentment just being near you. Your movements so synchronized that when you tugged his hand forward, Lion immediately enveloped you in a hug, kissing your cheek:

"So what now? Stand here? Get a table? Talk about our day?"

"No, I want to do something else." Your decisive tone carried you to the wall-mounted jukebox, its yellowed lights glowing as Lion's eyebrows rose in curiosity.

At the vintage machine, you scanned the extensive playlist–rockabilly to blues–when Lion's finger tapped the glass, leaving condensation streaks as he pointed. You read aloud:

"'Yes Sir, I Can Boogie' — seriously?!" You turned to see his mischievous smirk. Your grin matched his sincerity as he pulled a worn wallet from his pocket, feeding coins into the machine above you:

"Baccara it is."

"Let's boogie-oogie!" you sang, pressing the selection as the machine whirred. Wrapped in each other's arms, you waited for the first notes. Facing him, still holding those scarred yet impossibly gentle hands, you started swaying as Lion stepped back toward the dance floor. The synth beats swelled around you as you half-sang, half-whispered:

"Mister, your eyes are full of hesitation—" You pointed playfully as Lion crossed his arms, tapping his foot to the bass. Shoulders shimmying, you continued: "Sure makes me wonder... If you know what you're looking for." One eyebrow arched in challenge. Lion's radiant smile warmed you as he stepped closer while you sang: "Baby, I wanna keep my reputation!" Just as his hands found your waist, spinning you back against him, hips swaying together as he joined in: "I'm a sensation; You try me once, you'll beg for more..."

"Ready for the chorus, love?" you asked, shoulders rolling as Lion's hands gripped them, the music swelling into that elegant, sophisticated refrain that made your whole body thrum. Your voices merged:

"Oh, Yes Sir, I can boogie! But I need a certain song. I can boogie, boogie woogie all night long!"

"Clap now!" Lion laughed as you faced each other, nearly shouting the repeating chorus, moving like shadows of your weekend living room dance sessions. Lion danced surprisingly well—maybe from boxing flexibility, or that magic hidden beneath his rough exterior: a soul that loved music, dared to hope, and craved gentle touches to his wounded hands, slow kisses on bruises, and long protective hugs.

Seeing him this happy—despite the fight's damage, the fresh wound above his eye, the exhaustion of predawn runs—yet always waiting for you with open arms, made you realize his importance in your life. Your heart swelled with that syrupy, almost suffocating love—passion glowing in your eyes for this tender, reserved man who looked at you not just with desire, but devotion. He cherished your rambling, your silly jokes, your dances, even your arguments with Stan. And you reciprocated by keeping him close—in your lap, your gaze, your kisses.

He accepted it all with equal patience and longing—whether sitting together on the Impala's hood in comfortable silence (your souls conversing without words), or returning battered from fights, bloodied but peaceful knowing you'd be home waiting—worried but tender, tending wounds while exchanging secrets in those intimate moments of shared blood, sweat, tears and pure love.

Now Walter looked into your eyes, laughing as he pulled you close. Beyond the adrenaline rush, you felt warmth spreading—from dancing and from overwhelming affection.

When the song ended, he kissed you breathless—all laughter and panting lips:

"Still the best dancer."

"Silly—" Your retort was cut off by his teeth nipping your lower lip, his burning gaze, those inseparable hands. The hug that followed fit perfectly, his fingers carding through your hair before pressing a kiss to your forehead—a seal of peace, love, serenity, everything he could give.

"Wanna dance to another?" he murmured into your hair between kisses. You squeezed him tighter, feeling your heartbeats synchronize through layers of clothing—alive and happy. Smiling into his embrace like a nest, you answered:

"Wanna get out of here." Tilting your head up, noses brushing. Lion smiled, wincing slightly when his eyebrows lifted—making you both laugh. His voice was sweet as his gaze:

"Let's blow this joint then!"

-`♡´-

"Maybe, maybe, maybe..." you mused absently. Lion watched with topaz eyes as he chewed his burger. The diner's yellow lighting created an intimate, cozy atmosphere—warm enough that you'd both shed your jackets. Lion wore his favorite white shirt with green details—the one he loved almost as much as Ash and you. When you trailed off, Lion finished your thought:

"Maybe you should quit that shitty job and chase your dreams? If so, I fully support that." He sipped his Coke Zero, the straw's gurgle filling your little bubble. You pouted, elbow on the vinyl table, chin in hand:

"But is it the right time? I don't want to rush..."

"No. Focus on your studies – I'll cover us. This stuff matters, and the last thing I want is you regretting missed chances. Besides..." He set down his half-eaten burger, straightening in the booth, arms at his sides, smiling tenderly:

"...more than anything, I want to see you as the happiest woman alive."

"You're not real," you melted, reaching for his hand, thumb tracing those thin scars. Lion gazed back, honey-sweet and melancholy under the golden light—like a gilded idol with his rattail hair, completely relaxed, embracing you with just his eyes.

His serene reply:

"I'm real. For you."

-`♡´-

That night seemed endless—though in truth, only fifteen minutes remained until midnight would usher in Friday. The empty streets became their private world, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony: right-left, right-left. Two hearts beating as one, breaths mingling, intoxicated by each other's scent. Lion's voice vibrated beside you, languidly outlining tomorrow's plans—a habitual ritual as natural as saying good morning. He listed fight preparations, tailoring work, then dared to voice his growing desire to join your life's abrupt changes. To start anew. Together, they harbored that hopeful yearning to escape their current world, to build something different, to end their days dancing.

Ahead, the red Impala waited. The air grew colder, prompting Lion to draw you closer. He opened your door, circled the car, and settled beside you. Silence enveloped them—comfortable, familiar. Their breaths intertwined. When their eyes met, Lion became your mirror: his blue eyes reflecting your soul, yours the shelter he sought daily. As natural as breathing, he cupped your cheek, fingers threading through your hair, tracing the warmth of your neck before drawing you into a kiss.

And he kissed you—deeply, hungrily. Inhaled you. Mapped your lips with his tongue. Cradled your face like something precious. Foreheads touching afterward, they exchanged fragile smiles, breaths heavy. Lion felt that sudden, overwhelming urge to cry—the kind that ambushed him at random moments. You held him firmly between your hands.

"I love you."

Your voices merged into a single echo. Slowly, you pulled back, smiling like someone who already had everything they needed. Leaning against the seat, you watched him with tenderness. Outside, the rain—briefly paused—returned in delicate droplets against the windows. Nestled against the door, your eyelids grew heavy with sleep.

And Lion watched you, his heart compressed beneath his ribs—so small, so overwhelmed with love. Was there ever a man who could love someone more than this? His lips pressed into a tight smile. Fingers absently tracing the bruise on his cheek, he relaxed his shoulders and simply admired you—his sanctuary—as you drifted into dreams.

"I hope you dream of me, princess...", he murmured, removing his hoodie to cover you, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. When he returned to his seat, he took a deep breath - the rain was getting heavier. He turned on the radio, lowering the volume—according to the host, it was already early Friday morning—and the sleep he'd been holding onto hours earlier, while waiting for you to finish work, had simply vanished. He sat there motionless, staring ahead, certain you were by his side, sleeping.

Lion felt so many things immersed in that moment.

It was a love so anguished it hurt his chest, yet at the same time calmed his frantic mind and chased away all fears of the future. It was his truth submerged among so many daily challenges, lost fights, spit blood. You were the person who hugged him and pulled him away from the reality he faced every day. And that's why he loved you.

He loved you so much that he could see that blessed light at the end of the tunnel with you by his side.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: all we want (and deserved) it's to be loved like this.

#[★] zstartrixxx #lion kaminski #lion kaminski x you #lion kaminski x reader #lion kaminski fanfic #walter kaminski #walter lion kaminski #this is kinda a spoiler lol sorry #but... i REALLY liked to write the dance scene #for me it's so walter lion kaminski coded #jungleland #jack o'connell fanfic #jack o'connell x reader #jack o'connell x you #[⋆♱⋆] zstar fanfics #[🦇] zstar jack o'connell #Spotify

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