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cercandodiscrivere · 5 months ago

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Quod fata ferunt | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.3k

tags | @self-shipping-doll13

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, blowjobs, porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side.

Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core.

gifs by @batty4steddie

Geta is worried.

You don’t blame him; you understand.

You were present when he decided upon Acacio’s fate: all it took to turn the common people against their rulers where good words and a fleeting display of gentleness among foes – which ultimately meant nothing. Greater men have begged for mercy within the walls of the Colosseum, their distressed cries ignored by the spectators.

No, it wasn't pity that stirred the crowd: the anger had been simmering in their minds before, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to release itself.

A single withered leaf can ignite an entire town if placed upon an open flame.

Geta understands the significance of this – so he is worried.

It is an uncommon occurrence, which in turn worries you.

He paces around his chambers, twisting and turning the rings on his fingers – gold and gemstones and colored glass that send shimmering hues throughout the rooms.

The same hand he is torturing now condemned a man just moments earlier: and even as it happened, you couldn't help but wonder if Acacio would be the only one to bear the brunt of fate.

“You did what you had to do” you try.

There was no specific reason for why you were taken – dragged – to his quarters, other than the fact that you happened to be near him when the rebellion broke out. Amidst the chaos, two praetorians seized both you and Geta as their comrades protected Caracalla and Macrinus.

Oh, it was an incredible privilege to be invited to witness the fights from the imperial pulvinar: and yet, if you hadn't been busy serving wine to your domine the exact moment the revolt started, you would have likely been left to be trampled over by a raging mob.

Three other favorites of the Emperors were also present, but you haven’t seen them since. They weren't present in the chambers where the twins and their arms-dealer discussed what had occurred. None of them came running when Caracalla erupted into screams, nor when he stormed out of the chambers followed closely by Macrinus.

Alone with your master, you watch as he paces back and forth.

The argument with his brother left Geta in an even worse state, if that is possible. His mind seems to be pulled in two different directions, the distress visible on his face.

He knows some of the words spoken by Caracalla may hold truth, despite being laced with the poison of his illness.

Could he have made a mistake in his decision?

The Gods themselves communicate with him in ways that you could never comprehend – not with words, but through the sacred blood he shares with them. Did he misunderstand their wishes?

Even in his divine state, he may not be immune to the burdens of human existence. After all, despite sharing the same sacred lineage, Caracalla's mind is still plagued with flaws.

“There was nothing else to do” you say again. You feel a bit useless as you parrot his own words back to him, but in this delicate situation you fear saying anything that could be taken as an insult.

Geta is a pleasant companion and a passionate paramour – for those who know how to handle him.

From a young age, you have been taught how to play the lyre. Over time you lost the quick skilled fingers needed to captivate an audience, but the lessons learned still serve you in other ways.

In untrained hands, the instrument produces nothing but a jumble of harsh and unpleasant sounds: only those who have mastered it can create a tune that leaves others yearning for more.

During your initial encounter with Geta, you likened him to a lyre; a rather silly comparison, perhaps, but figuring out how to please him in order to gain his favor felt much like learning to strum the strings at the right moment.

And what a masterful musician you’ve been with him.

Still, the Emperor possesses the fiery temperament of a powerful man not accustomed to receiving criticism. He is quick to boast and show anger - but just as quick to calm down and become merciful again.

I play a lyre made of splintered wood, you think, but quickly push the image aside before a smirk can form on your face.

"You made the right decision" you repeat as you stand up, trying to infuse your voice with comfort.

Your movement catches Geta’s attention. He stops in the middle of the room, lingering, but not quite still. His hands continue to fidget and twitch: he looks at you as if he had completely forgotten of your presence.

Taking advantage of his confusion, you approach him and gently place your hand on his tense arm. “The praetorians are fulfilling their duty. Has any crowd ever been able to sway them?”

There have been past attempts at rebellion by the common people - their leaders too weak, too consumed by hunger to have the chance to succeed.

When Geta finally speaks, he does so while grasping your hand, his gaze fixed on the windows once again. “They listened to that poet’s words. That has never happened before.”

You refuse to acknowledge it, but he is right. It is not uncommon for gladiators to captivate audiences with their skillful use of spears and brutal displays of violence – but never with peace messages or pledges of liberation.

In another life, the man’s perspective would have seemed almost convincing. In this one, you've witnessed far too many good-willed revolutionaries meet a violent end.

“Gentle words can’t win a battle” you gently stroke his cheek, tilting his chin towards you so that he focuses on your face instead of the chaos happening outside. “Gladiators tend not to live long” you add to further placate his mind.

Geta’s eyes move, following your gentle guidance. He leans in and presses his lips against the inside of your wrist, sending shivers down your spine from the warmth of his breath on your skin.

Being the favored one of an Emperor came with many privileges, one of them being able to see his most human side. Under all their power and their might, even powerful ruler are still men at their core. Still, in moments like this one – when he stares at you with such vulnerability and openness, as if your voice is the only thing worth hearing – it becomes harder to contain your feelings to a level deemed acceptable for your position.

“The Gods have spoken through you” you reassure him once again, this time shifting just enough so you can pull him towards the lectus. “To attack you is to declare war on the deities themselves.”

“My brother…” he starts, but his voice fades. His eyes are shrouded in shadows once again; crammed amongst the pillows, he appears almost like a scared child, lying down but still far from being at ease. You gently twirl his ginger locks between your fingers, feigning a calmness that eludes you.

“He is scared” you murmur. You search for words that are reassuring yet respectful; it doesn't matter how much Geta favors you above others, you would still find yourself in the dungeons if you showed Caracalla any less devotion that what his status demanded.

“The mob is loud, but screams are nothing to arrows and swords” as you talk, you gradually lower yourself onto your knees in front of him, never breaking eye contact. “The praetorians are loyal to you and you only, no pretty words can change that.”

He hums, a quiet sound. “What about your pretty words?” he smirks.

A mischievous grin creeps onto your face as you play with the delicate hem of the elegant ivory palla draped over his tunic. “All I say is for your satisfaction.”

From this angle, with white paint masking his features, he bears the same daunting presence as the marble figures that decorate the halls: a god once again, towering over his most devoted disciple.

“All I do, is to please you.”

It’s eerie how greedily his gaze seems to follow even the slightest fraction of your movement, yet he remains seated on the cushions without making a single motion. His breath escapes in short puffs, tickling your forehead.

Now it's your turn to take control: this is the moment when he abandons his all his titles and becomes nothing but a man.

You remain on your knees between his spread legs, lightly tapping your fingers against his inner thigh - but still, he does not budge.

The challenge in his eyes is unmistakable, as if he's daring you to do something - anything - without his assistance.

As you press your lips against his clothed cock, he lets out a loud grunt, as if there was no fabric between your kiss and his skin. The noise goes straight between your legs, but this evening is not meant for you.

You continue to tease him, kissing your way up and down his thigh, deliberately avoiding his erection. To his credit, he tries his hardest to stifle his groans as best he can, but you can sense his muscles tensing and his patience wearing thin.

You want to consume him. You tug at the fabric of his tunic; this time, he doesn't hesitate and quickly moves into action, removing his own clothes until his hips are bare.

He begins to mention something about comfort, gesturing towards the luxurious pillows that surround him - but you're already nuzzling at his exposed thigh and the words die on his tongue. With one arm slipping beneath his knee, your body presses closer to his, the other hand running along his skin, hot and damp with sweat.

It’s intoxicating how you can make Geta shudder even when you’re taking your time with it. Sometimes, you've questioned whether it's expected of you to just pleasure him as soon as he asks – but in truth, you enjoy taking your time, savoring the sound of his soft moans.

Mouthing at his pale skin, dragging your nails down his legs with enough strenght to leave a trail of soft red marks. You plant a kiss on the head of his cock, pleased to see that precum is already forming at its tip. You eagerly lap at it with your tongue, paying no attention to the way your actions cause him to grip the cushions of the lectus until his knuckles turn pale.

He lets out loud groan as you engulf him completely in the wet, slick warmth of your mouth. His legs shake on either side of you, his hips thrusting forward as your cheeks hollow, tongue curling as you suck him.

He keeps moaning, seemingly unconcerned about how desperate he must sound. Under different circumstances, he may have been more conscious of his tone. Perhaps, if your meeting had occurred after a triumphant war victory or a grand celebration in his honor, he would be as confident and arrogant as you are are accustomed to - but now all he craves is comfort, and you’re sucking him into oblivion.

Tracing the tip of his dick with your tongue causes him to bite down on his lower lip in response; licking along the underside has him closing his eyes and sigh. Your favorite moment, though, is when he's in so deep your chin rests on top of his balls - and he can't help but release a deep, raw moan of pleasure as he tries to thrust more into you.

You can tell he's already close just from this.

You peer out from under your lashes, eyes filled with longing, only to catch Geta's gaze fixed upon you with adoration. His mouth hangs open in a silent whimper, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows saliva. There is no being more magnificent than him in this right moment, neither god nor mortal.

Without warning, his hand shoots out and grabs onto your hair as you become more frantic. You whine, a mixture of pleasure and pain as his fingernails digs into your scalp, and he responds with even louder noises of his own.

His cock rests on the back of your tongue as he lets out rough and guttural groan and empties himself inside your mouth. His head falls back, his eyes fluttering closed.

You swallow it all, ensuring his eyes are back on you before nonchalantly wiping the cum from the side of yout mouth and licking it off your fingers.

Exhausted, you lean your head against his leg and close your eyes.

Geta's breathing is still uneven, but the haze of satisfaction is not enough to make him lose awareness completely – not when Caracalla comes back into the room, shouting.

"Get out!" he growls. The harsh order is directed towards you, still kneeling on the ground, but his gaze is fixed solely on his brother.

In the past few months, there were times when he had lost his temper. Servants, concubines, hosts: everyone was subject to his outbursts of rage – but those were short-lived explosions, like fires on wet sticks.

Caracalla's skin is now covered in red blotches, visible even through the numerous layers of makeup on his face. Whatever words Macrinus exchanged with Caracalla during their private conversation did not seem to have a soothing effect on his temper.

“Get out, leave!” he screams again, pacing back and forth in agitation. This time, Geta helps you to your feet before nodding towards the entrance. His expression is serious once more, a confident facade to hide his underlying concern.

You are dismissed.

A chill runs down your back: you have witnessed the anger of the ill Emperor before, but never in such a furious state. Caracalla is yelling, Geta stands with his hands raised in surrender.

A moment of panic overwhelms you - even greater than the fear induced by the riots outside, but you quicly manage to calm yourself and take a deep breath.

Just as you approach the door, you catch sight of Macrinus once more. He watches the twins from afar, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if ready to intervene at any moment.

He's a strong man; he'll have everything under control.

With that last comforting thought, you turn away and leave.

#emperor geta #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x reader #geta x you #gladiator ii fanfiction

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cressidagrey · 7 months ago

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It's a Love Story - Chapter 5

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“Where’s Az?” Mor asked as Nesta and Cassian entered the dining room at the River House.

“Busy,” Cassian said with a shrug, as he pulled out the chair for his mate, greeting the rest of their family with a smile.

Mor cocked her head, a small frown appearing on her face. "Busy?" she repeated, a note of curiosity in her voice. "What's he up to?"

Busy. That had been Azriel’s answer to nearly everything after Koshei. Busy.

Even quieter than usual. Keeping away from all of them…and Cassian still heard that one sentence echo in his head. Better me than you. Like somehow Cassians life was worth more than Azriel’s.

Azriel was just being noble and self-sacrificing as usual, right? Cassian knew that his brother didn't really think that way, didn't really believe that his life was worth less than anyone else's. But still, the words haunted him. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, somewhere, he had let Azriel down. That he hadn't been there when his brother had needed him the most.

Maybe he should have tried to talk to him...when it all went down… but then he hadn't realised what exactly was even going on, until Nesta had flatly laid it out for him one evening. Azriel had gotten over Mor only to fall in love with Elain...and that hadn't ended in his favour either.

Cassian grimaced just thinking about it. Azriel deserved to be happy. Azriel deserved a mate that loved him, a female that fucking adored him…and instead his brother had fallen not just for one, but two unavailable females.

And Azriel hadn’t complained. Not once. He had never let it show.

He always kept his emotions hidden under that stoic mask of his, like he was afraid of letting anyone see how much he was hurting. Cassian knew that Azriel would never ask for help, that he would never admit that he needed someone to talk to. But that didn't mean that he didn't need it.

Cassian just wished that he could find a way to get Azriel to open up, to let him in…that wouldn’t involve beating him to a bloody pulp.

Azriel acted like everything was fine. Azriel acted like he didn't care. Cassian knew that it was a mask, knew that it wasn't the truth...but Azriel liked to pretend it was...and maybe it was better to let him pretend.

It wasn't like he was hurting anybody with it, right? He was doing his work just as well as he always did...and if he wanted to spend his free time reading Sellyn Drake books, maybe they should just let him do that…maybe it made him feel better.

"Maybe he's seeing his secret girlfriend," Cassian drawled.

Mor snorted at that suggestion. "Please," she said with a roll of her eyes. "As if Azriel would ever have time for a girlfriend, let alone a secret one."

"You would be surprised," Cassian muttered under his breath. Apparently Azriel had time for reading Sellyn Drake novels while locked into his room, after all.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mor wondered. "He has been...distant lately," she said with a pout.

Cassian could only stare at her. Mor couldn't be serious right now, could she?

Of course, Azriel was distant to her. Mor had fucking broken his heart and trampled on it to top it off. And Cassian had helped her with through the years. He probably owed Azriel an apology for that as well.

And still, Azriel hadn’t complained. Azriel hadn’t called them out. Azriel had taken it silently. Had even congratulated Mor when her Mating Bond with Emerie had snapped. Had been painfully polite, making painfully sure that he didn’t cross any lines, didn’t make Emerie uncomfortable in any way.

"Just leave him be," Cassian said with a shrug. "He's reading Sellyn Drake novels, he'll be fine,” he waved her off.

Rhys nearly spit his wine over the table and instead started coughing violently. "Azriel is reading Sellyn Drake novels?!" he asked Cassian with an incredious stare.

"Apparently he has trust in Nesta's taste of literature," Cassian answered easily.

Mor raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Sellyn Drake novels?" she repeated, eyeing Cassian like he had gone mad. "Since when does Azriel read those kinds of books? He's not exactly the...romantic type."

Or maybe there just never had been a single person that had appreciated that side of his brother. Who knew what Azriel actually was into.

Elain and Mor weren’t similar in the slightest after all.

Cassian shrugged. "Maybe he's expanding his horizons," he said with a grin. "Or maybe he just wants to see what the fuss is all about. After all, Sellyn Drake is...surprisingly good. Or so I've heard, anyway." He gave a sidelong glance to Nesta, who simply rolled her eyes at him.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhys play absentmindedly with the stem of the wine glass. There was something there...between Rhys and Azriel that Cassian couldn't quite put his finger on. Some kind of tension...some kind of...something.

But lately, it had seemed like that tension had only been getting worse. Like they were both holding something back, like they were both waiting for the other shoe to drop. Cassian couldn't help wondering what would happen when that tension finally snapped.

***

"Winnowing or flying?" Azriel asked Sky as they stepped out into the icy early winter air.

"I...I can't...fly?" Sky answered haltingly, looking at him with these devastating blue eyes. They were beautiful. Not a light blue, not a teal, not bordering on violet…just beautiful near cobalt blue. She probably would match his siphons, he reflected weakly.

"I'll fly, I'll carry you," he gave back with a chuckle. She stared at him like he was insane, her cheeks reddening.

"I...I...you...can...can't carry me. I am too...heavy," she mumbled. Now it was his turn to stare at her.

Azriel couldn't help but scoff at that. "Too heavy?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm an Illyrian warrior,” he told her drily. “I could carry a full-grown male into battle if I had to,and I have dragged full-grown males off the battlefield…I can carry you.”

Azriel couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Was she...was she seriously trying to tell him that she was too heavy for him to carry? She just so reached the middle of his chest! She definitely wasn't thin...her body was covered with soft flesh and lush curves, every inch of it soft and inviting...but even if she weighed twice her weight, he would easily be able to carry her. She would probably weigh next to nothing to him.

And yet, he could sense the insecurity in her voice, the way she didn't quite believe that he could carry her.

He stepped closer to her, placing his hand gently under her chin and tilting her head up so that she was looking directly into his eyes. "You are beautiful," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and sincerity. "And I don't care how much you weigh, I can carry you. I want to carry you. Because you are mine and I will always protect you, no matter what."

Her breath hitched at that, and he could see the warmth spreading through her cheeks as her heart began to race. She looked up at him with those stunning blue eyes of hers, her lips parted slightly in surprise and wonder. "You...you really mean that?" she whispered, her voice soft and shaky. "You...you don't mind how big I am?"

Azriel chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, sweetheart, I don't mind," he said gently. "I think you are absolutely perfect just the way you are. And if I have to carry you to prove it, then that is what I will do." And without another word, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest as easily.

She squeaked as they shot up in the sky and then she laughed, the sound bright and beautiful

They soared through the sky together, the wind blowing through their hair and clothes as they flew. The City of Starlight sprawled out beneath them, a beautiful tapestry of color and light. Azriel held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his, the sound of her heartbeat pulsing in rhythm with his own. He knew that he could never tire of this feeling, of having her in his arms like this.

Sky looked up at him with a smile, her eyes shining with happiness and excitement. "I love this," she breathed.

How very fitting it was for the female that called herself Sky to love flying.

"Good," Azriel said softly, his voice full of warmth. "Because we can do this anytime you want, sweetheart."

They soared higher and higher, until the city below them was nothing but a sparkling sea of lights. Azriel was in his element up here, his wings powerful and graceful as they sliced through the air. He could feel the wind whipping through his hair, the cold night air stinging his skin. But he didn't mind, not with her in his arms. In fact, he felt more alive than he had in months. Years, even.

He flew a loping circle over Velaris, towards the Lake House the shadows had purchased and he thanked them mentally for their foresight. He couldn't very well bring Sky home to the House of Wind...but here...he could take her. It was private and safe...and if the expression of her face was anything to go by, she loved it.

He angled his body towards the Lake House, gliding towards it with expert precision. As they approached, Azriel saw the soft glow of the lights in the windows, the gentle sway of the curtains in the breeze. The lake glittered in the moonlight, the surface of the water undisturbed and serene. It was the perfect place to bring her, a place that he felt she would love just as much as he did.

"You live here?" she wondered, wonder in her voice as she took in the sight.

Azriel felt a warm swell of pride in his chest as he landed smoothly on the deck of the house. "Yes," he said simply, his eyes fixed on her face, watching as she marveled at the house. "I wanted a private place," he admitted. "Somewhere quiet and peaceful, where I could escape from the chaos of my life for a little while.I haven't been there long though, it’s still a work in progress…" he warned her. More like 2 hours before he had met her. "But I love it."

He set her down gently, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment before he stepped back. "Come on," he said softly, holding out his hand to her. "Let me show you inside."

The shadows skittered inside as soon as he opened the door, like a bunch of little busybodies, rightening the curtains there, fluffing pillows on the couch...It seemed to amuse Sky though. "You must ne...never have to deal with a mes...messy kitchen," she teased him

Azriel chuckled at that. "No, the shadows don't like when things are out of place,” he admitted.

It wasn't a lie. But then he didn't like it either.

Like a moth pulled to the flame, Sky was pulled towards his bookcases, fingertips tripping over the spines as she hungrily read the titles.

Azriel suddenly hoped that the shadows had put something other than Sellyn Drake novels in the bookcase, because otherwise he was going to look like a fucking stalker.

He watched with a mix of amusement and apprehension as she examined the bookshelves, his heart pounding in his chest. *Please,* he silently pleaded to the shadows, *please tell me you didn't leave those Sellyn Drake novels on the shelf.* Because if she saw those, it would be disastrous.

The shadows seemed weirdly frozen in place.

"You read Sel...Sellyn Drake?" Sky asked him, sounding delighted and shocked at the same time.

Azriel groaned inwardly, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. "I...yes, I do," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I...There is...I...I need to tell you something."

"Te...Tell me som...something?" Sky asked, turning towards him, these big beautiful eyes staring at him.

"I...It wasn't a coincidence that I was in that bar tonight," he told her, watching as she stared at him. "The shadows told me to go."

"The...The shad...shadows?" she asked him, looking utterly shocked.

"I...I told them...a few weeks ago...to...find me somebody that....that I could love...somebody that I could make happy. A wife," Azriel admitted. "You were the one they picked."

She stared at him, her mouth falling open slightly. Azriel braced himself for her reaction, not sure what to expect. Would she be angry? Scandalized? Horrified that he had sent his shadows to find him a wife?

She stared at him wide-eyed. "You...You as…asked yo…your sha..shadows to fi…find you a wi…wife?!" she asked him, repeating his words back at him.

He could feel his cheeks reddening but nodded nonetheless. "...are you angry?" he asked her weakly.

Sky stared at him for a moment, but then she shook her head. "No, No...no, I'm not," she repeated again, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm...I'm flat…flattered, actually...Though...though I am cu..curious what it…what it was about me that...made…made them pick me," she admitted.

For the first time in his life, his shadows talked to somebody other than Azriel. *We thought you would treat Master like you treat your cat,* the shadows told her brightly.

She blinked at the bunch of shadows that had gathered in front of her.

"You...You...You want me to...treat Az..Azriel like...like a cat?" she asked them incrediously.

Azriel spluttered, his cheeks burning with mortification. He hadn't expected the shadows to be so blunt, and the idea of her treating him like a cat was...well, it was absurd, to say the least. He wanted her to be his mate, his equal, not to treat him as if he were some kind of pet.

"No, no," he quickly interjected, trying to salvage the situation. "They...they don't mean it like that, Sky. The shadows have their own...unique way of looking at things. Please just...just forget they ever said that."

Sky fixed him with a look. "What do you mean?" she asked the shadows.

*You love your cat,* the shadows said quickly. *You buy him ridiculous overpriced Tuna, and you let him sleep in your bed and you scratch him behind the ears. You even knitted him a sweater!*

Azriel winced, feeling his embarrassment and mortification rising even further.

"That...thats not important," he mumbled, feeling like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting from embarrassment. "The shadows...they have a habit of exaggerating things. Just...please, don't take them too seriously. I'm not expecting you to treat me like a cat, I swear."

Sky looked at him, then at the Shadows, then at Azriel again. She seemed to be lost in thought, clearly trying to decipher what the shadows meant.

"You..You want your mas…master to be tre…treated...well?" Sky finally asked the shadows, her tone of voice serious. "You pick…picked me because I...be..because I was nice to my cat?" she asked them curiously.

*You are so kind,* the shadows said softly. And so pretty. And we knew you would treat Master well and wouldn't judge him.*

Sky blushed at the compliment.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as the conversation shifted away from the whole "cat" thing. He had to admit, the shadows were right. Sky had been nothing but kind and considerate towards him since they met, and he was grateful for that. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

"Look...I apologize for the shadows' behavior," he said to Sky, his voice soft. "They can be a bit...blunt, sometimes."

"I…I un…understand where they are com…coming from," she said nearly thoughtfully. "They just...want to see you hap…happy?" she said carefully and he nodded.

"Yes."

"Though they…they don't seem to have much of a sense of boun…boundaries," Sky said with a laugh. "You hid in my apartment didn't you?" she asked the shadows.

Azriel cringed as the shadows seemed to twirl in agreement. He had hoped that particular detail would have gone unnoticed, but he should have known better. Sky was too observant for her own good.

"Yes, they did," he admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry about that. They...they have a tendency to go where they please."

Sky still mustered the shadows that were twitching in front of her

"I…I prom…promise to t…treat your ma…master well." Sky said seriously. "He's my mate."

Azriel felt his heart skip a beat at her words. The sound of that word coming from her lips made his knees weak.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and taking her hands in his. "And I promise to treat you well too," he swore fervently.

"And I'll…I’ll even knit him a swea…sweater," Sky continued, looking at the shadows.. "I…I don't know if he likes Tu…tuna, but I'll…buy him some… sweets."

He couldn’t help but laugh at her words, feeling a surge of affection for her that was almost overwhelming. "Sky," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "You don't have to do any of that for me. Just being with you is more than I could ever ask for.But...if you are willing to knit me a sweater, I surely won't say no to it," he added with a laugh. "And maybe you could try scratching me behind the ears too, just in case the shadows are right."

He meant it as a joke, but there was a part of him that was secretly delighted by the idea of her spoiling and doting on him. Maybe, just maybe, the shadows were onto something after all.

"And...who knows, maybe I'll develop a taste for Tuna," he added, grinning playfully. "As long as it's the fancy kind, that is."

He kissed her forehead gently, holding her close for a moment longer before finally pulling away. "But Sky…you don’t have to do all of that…Just being with you is enough."

She smiled up at him, beautiful and blinding and he couldn't help but kiss her.

As his lips met hers, Azriel felt a wave of warmth and tenderness wash over him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he deepened the kiss. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the shadows, not the world outside, nothing but her.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, resting his forehead against hers as he caught his breath.

"You…You can absolutely sleep in my bed with me," she whispered. "Or I'll sleep in yours," she offered, a grin on her face... and that was all he needed to hear, as he picked her up again.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #It's a Love Story

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octuscle · 9 days ago

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Georg Meier might have been a brilliant engineer, but as a person, he was an asshole. No one in the office liked the pedantic career climber who would trample anyone to get ahead. His colleague Karel could hardly believe his luck when he saw that Georg hadn’t locked his computer before heading to the meeting. And he was still logged in to LinkedIn. Jackpot!

Karel uploaded the Chronivac add-in to LinkedIn. Then he got to work tweaking Georg’s resume. His mechanical engineering degree from Munich, topped off with a DEng from Aachen, turned into a vocational training as an auto mechanic—completed top of his class, of course.

Meanwhile, Georg was at the flipchart, presenting Karel’s ideas on fuel injection optimization as if they were his own. Suddenly, his mind went blank. And why the hell was he wearing coveralls instead of a suit?

His elite high school diploma from Schloss Stein became a basic secondary school certificate from Feldmoching-Hasenbergl. Georg asked if he could sit down. The others in the working group stared at him in disbelief. Karel updated the date of the diploma to 2023. Georg had only recently finished his apprenticeship and was hoping to start his master technician training at Audi soon. He knew it would take a few years, but Georg was hard-working and ambitious—like many who grew up in underprivileged neighborhoods and were trying to make something of themselves. Still, he felt uncomfortable in the sleeveless shirt, with greasy hair. If only he had known he’d be interviewed today.

Karel also changed his place and year of birth: Mladá Boleslav, 2005. When he clicked “Save,” the Chronivac add-in automatically rewrote the rest of Jiří’s life. First a striker for the FK Mladá Boleslav youth team, then for SpVgg Feldmoching. After a move to Ingolstadt and a torn ACL, bodybuilding became his hobby instead. Native language: Czech. Fluent in German. Basic Russian and English.

Jiří breathed a sigh of relief when Karel entered the room. Karel had known his dad from the Škoda plant in Mladá Boleslav and had brought him to Audi. Karel was a mentor and advocate. And someone he could speak Czech with—though not right now, that wouldn’t look good.

He beamed from ear to ear when the meeting lead told him he could expect some good news. He looked just like his LinkedIn profile picture. If Jiří could get his master technician title by the time he turned 25, it would be a dream. Maybe he could even start an engineering degree through distance learning someday. That would make his parents proud. And Karel too, of course.

AI pic created by @ki-kink

#male tf #muscle tf #smart to dumb #age reduction #race change #racial tf #chav tf

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menshoesintheface · 4 months ago

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#trampled #bd/sm slave #asics gel #dominated slave #bd/sm master #gay bear

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dolicekiss · 11 months ago

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Cherry Tree

PAIRING: Johann Struensee x Princess!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: SMUT (18+ only, mdni) age gap (reader is nineteen, Johann is in his 30s as his age isn't specified in the movie), unprotected sex, body worshipping, oral (female receiving) fingering, slight food play, teasing, forbidden romance/affair, exhibitionism, praise kink, cold shoulder (reader is a sassy little princess), angst, fluff, johann is completely whipped for reader, just overall cute and sad shit because i bawled my eyes out watching a royal affair and johann deserves a happy ending.

SYNOPSIS: You were not fond of the new physician hired for your father, the king as the man led him astray, especially from your mother to brothels. So you always gave him the cold shoulder, not missing a chance to disrespect him but what you didn't know was the man was already attracted to you, stealing glances from you and finding you endearing everytime you insulted him.

You watched your father, throwing a fit, drunk in the hallway of the palace while your mother watched, drowning further in the humiliation of being married to such a hopeless and destroyed man.

Alongside stood Johann Struensee, and two new faces you didn't deem important. You couldn't hold back the quip that settled like poison at your tongue when Johann had told your mother that they were merely having fun. Having fun while humiliating her in brothels.

Your fingers scratched against the parapet, watching it unfold.

“I don't think the queen is interested in what a mere doctor has got to say, Struensee.” Everyone's attention shifted to you. They all knew how bold and fierce of a princess you were, your mother's pride and joy. The kingdom’s rebellious little princess. Just at the age of nineteen, you'd already mastered the art of raw manipulation.

Knowing that docile little women were trampled underneath the foot of court men.

Struensee’s gaze found you standing at the parapet from above and he smiled, his wrinkles appearing. Then he nodded his head and went silent, disappearing along with the king somewhere. Your father didn't care much for you, since you were a girl. Producing an heir was the only thing that mattered and he'd already done that.

Relieved himself of his duties to indulge in alcohol and prostitutes.

Your mother sent you a look of sadness but also a nod of appreciation, leaving for her chambers. The night passed by like nothing while you stirred in bed, clouded by thoughts on how to get rid of Struensee.

He clung onto the king and that displeased you.

Tomorrow came by and you were prepared for the day, to roam around the halls of the palace but you found more solace in the massive gardens. Filled with flowers and all sorts of fruits. Dressed in lace and net, you headed for breakfast. Everyone else was already situated at the table, including the man you despised.

As you sat down on the chair, in front of Johann’s, you began your breakfast. The conversation happening at the table was of no interest to you but then your father, the king spoke up. Catching everyone's attention.

“Johann will be becoming a part of the court soon enough.” His tone cheerful, as if everyone was pleased with the idea as much as he was.

Your fingers tightened around the metallic fork, stabbing it into the egg. It was an act you wished you'd done to Johann instead of the egg — biting down the inside of your cheek. Your mother was a frail woman, she didn't like the idea of Johann joining court but she couldn't do much to oppose it.

You, on the other hand, smiled.

“Forgive me for my words, but the court is full of respectful and renowned people.” The sound of metallic utensils colliding against one another stalled. “Johann Struensee is only a doctor, he would do the court no good.”

Your father thought but laughed out, pointing his finger at you. Everyone else stared at the scene unfold as Johann also joined in the king to laugh along, fuelling the anger that boiled inside you like a damn volcano.

“What would a woman know about the court? Eat your breakfast, stupid girl.” You sucked in your cheek, glancing at your mother who looked at you with an apologetic look. There was a voice inside you telling you to raise the fork and stab Johann with it.

But with your poorly containerd rage, you stood up from the seat. “I am sated.”

You left the room but not before throwing a vicious glare at the man with dirty blonde hair, who stared back at you. With a smug of victory on his face. Upon entering your room, you tossed your gloves off and kicked your shoes off.

Angered and irritated.

Hating the way your breasts felt plush against the tight corset. Having such feminine thighs or a cunt, which changed the way people saw perceived you as. Your word would have mattered if you were a man, if you possessed a fucking cock and not the parts which made you a woman.

There was a knock on the door and when you allowed the person in, it was your maiden.

“Doctor Johan Struensee wishes to enter your chambers, Princess.”

You wanted to tell her to forbade him. To abandon him from entering your chambers ever but you couldn't let him win by expressing your anger so you nodded. When you felt his presence, you turned around on your sock cladded feet and smiled at him.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Struensee?”

Your tone venomous and sarcastic.

Johann returned your smile, knowing very well it was fake. He didn't like how your father had spoken to you as he was a firm believer of women deserving the same respect as men did. Though voicing out such daring opinions could lead to his execution. Even if you had expressed your distaste against him, seemingly believing he was a bad influence to the king, he still thought you deserved respect.

“I apologize.” He said, firmly and you blinked on confusion.

Why was he apologising?

Your smile stayed tight. “And why are you apologizing, Doctor?”

He took a step closer, shrinking the space between the two of you. You didn't know if it was your mind playing games with you or if Struensee’s gaze had lingered to the pink hue of your lips. “I'm aware of the crown Princess’ distaste towards the King’s friends, specifically me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and oblivious to you, Johann inhaled a sharp breath when your plush breasts nearly spilled out from beneath your tight corset. Pinkish color decorating the skin. You turned around from him, walking towards the books decorating your wooden shelf.

“Then you should not be here, Doctor. I'm very against the idea of you being on court, knowing you're the one who influences the royal highness to visit brothels.” Your voice was sweet but it was laced with a poisonous warning. Your delicate fingers ran across the books and Johann closed his eyes.

Mind taking him to a different place, imagining just how your fingers would look entangled with his.

This was immoral and a crime.

You were the Princess and he was a mere Doctor, twice your age too. There was no way you'd give in to him or even consider him attractive. He was here to apologize, he reminded himself. To be reprimanded by you for laughing along with the King at his humiliation of you.

Instead you were enticing him unknowingly.

“A man cannot be influenced by anyone if he swears loyalty to his woman.” Johann’s words made a bitter frown to cease your features. Even before his arrival, you'd known of your father's indulgence in women outside his marriage. In a way you only wanted to blame someone and seeing how Johann only increased your father’s visits to the disgusting brothels, he was the perfect vessel.

You scoffed. “I don't understand. A cunt is a cunt, no matter who it is attached to.”

His eyes widened at your choice of bold and immoral words. He knew you possessed ferocity and boldnesd, both perfect to rule over the kingdom but he didn't know you had such a filthy tongue too.

Johann was impressed and in complete awe.

He suppressed a smile. “How much power and resistance can it take to stay loyal to a woman? You men have and will always find ways to disappoint us women throughout the history.”

You hated the idea of serving under a man, obeying his every command and dealing with the non stop disrespect. You wanted to be queen, to fix the laws set by your ancestors and to rid people of this delusion under the pretense of religion.

Johann found himself more attracted to you now, seeing you in a different light. Before you were only a little girl who threw fits because she disliked him but now, you were a woman with big dreams and strength.

“I'm impressed, Princess.”

You looked at him, with a fake smile. “I wish I could say the same for you, Doctor Stuensee.”

A chuckle nearly slipped him. He soon excused himself from your company, leaving your chambers. The whole night he thought about you, how delicate you were but also strong and resilient. Having lived between women who were docile, weak and often easily silenced, you were a breath of fresh air for him.

— ♡ —

Your maidens had dressed you up. In frills and lace. The stupid, endless routine boring you to death. Denmark was a beautiful country and you wished to explore it yet your gender did not allow you to. You skipped breakfast, not wanting to face your father or Johann, aftwe the humiliation he'd caused you and headed for the garden. You grasped onto your book and dismissed your maidens for a moment of solitude.

Away from all the bickering and banter of royalty.

You sat on a cemented bench, parting open your book to read it. The birds sung in beautiful, minor chirps and the sound of the water droplets falling from the tip of leaves was comforting to the ears. Next to you was a cherry tree and you reached out for it, plucking a fresh cherry and plopping it into your mouth.

Almost moaning at the taste of how delicious ripe and fresh fruits were.

Continuing to read your book and enjoy the fruit, you soon lifted your gaze up to scan the area and found Struensee situated on a bench far away from yours, eyes fixed on you. You were slightly taken aback but covered it up nonetheless.

He too had a book in his hand and you squinted your eyes, to find the same book you were reading in your hand.

The fact that you both shared the same taste slightly bothered you, but you shifted your attention back to the ink stamped into the biege paper.

Your curiosity though, would get the best of you from time to time as you'd raise your gaze and steal glances from him. Only to find that he did the same, raising his eyes from the contents of his book to admire you. Johann had always found you beautiful, if not endearing.

He saw it that you cared about your people, that you wanted to do more than just parade around in beautiful dresses with maidens tending to all your needs. Born a girl was a curse, you saw it that way always and Johann was aware.

You plucked out a cherry and instead of plopping it into your mouth, you bit on it and traced it along your lower lip. Its juices leaving a red trail over your rosette lips. Johann watched you with a penetrative gaze, his adams apple bobbing up and down. Catching onto the little act done under lost thought.

The juice from the cherry dropped down your chin, leaving a messy trail and you giggled at the ticklish coldness of it. Not paying any mind to the man that was drinking you in like cherry wine.

Before you could delve deeper into what your book had to offer, Johann stood up to his feet and made his way towards you. You stared at him for a moment before finally scooting away.

An invitation for him to sit next to you.

“I did not know you were a fan of such books, Princess.” He commented and you let out a soft laugh, for the first time dropping your cold demeanor. The sugar from the cherries had definitely affected you.

You licked your lips, wetting the cherry tainted skin. “Love stories are a foreign concept for someone like me. It is best to read about them and forget.”

“You don't believe in love?”

You shook your head, teeth digging into your lower lip. He caught onto that and his fingers curved around the bench, tightening. There was so much self control he could possess after all. Being a man didn't help either.

“I'm nineteen. They will soon marry me off to someone I don't even know and I will face the same fate as my mother did.” Your tone was soft, different from your usual cold tone, sadness lingering underneath it. Johann understood you, but didn't feel you as he could never feel what a woman felt.

Johann’s eyes dropped to your hand and he almost held it. He stayed silence, watching as you reached for a cherry and bit into it, the juices squirting and making a mess over your lips. He couldn't accuse you of purposely enticing him but fuck, you were such a gorgeous girl.

He wanted nothing more than to claim you as his.

“Would you like some, Doctor Struensee?”

Instead of answering you, his hand moved on its own accord. Reaching for your small delicate wrist, fingers trapping it. He brought it to his lips and your breathing became uneven the moment your fingertips coming in contact with his lips. Johann’s gaze swallowed yours, while taking a the cherry into his mouth. You flinched when your fingers felt the inside of his mouth, teeth running over your skin.

Then he let you go.

A turmoil had been caused inside you.

He watched as your plump chest rose up and down, noticing the attraction swirling like wildfire in your darkened eyes. Johann knew he was playing with fire. You could tell anyone, get him executed for daring to hold your wrist.

But instead you stood up and left.

Running out of the garden, leaving behind your book and georgette scarf.

— ♡ —

You were in the garden again, late at night.

This time searching for your book by the bench, sneakily hoping no one would catch you. The bustling of bushes caught you off guard and when you stood up straight, it was Johann.

In his hand was your book and georgette scarf.

“Looking for this, Princess?”

You blinked your eyes. “Yes, I must've dropped it.”

You reached over to take a hold of your book but he pulled it back, leaving you confused. You blinked and reached for it once more, this time around more firmly but Johann only smiled, taking a step back from you.

Johann found you completely captivating. There was not an ounce of makeup on your face, skin bare. Your silky night gown exposed your shoulders and reached your ankles, covering most of you. No longer were your breasts plumped up and Johann wanted to unveil them. Expose them to his gaze, to his touch.

Your hair cascaded down in beautiful waves and he sharply took in a breath.

“Doctor, I am in no mood to be playing games. Hand me my book right this very instant.” You took a step forward but because it was dark, your foot rolled over a branch and you lost balance — finding yourself right in his arms.

Johann held you, staring down at you, lips shuddering from the proximity. You swallowed tightly and Johann noticed that, your gaze following his lips. An urge to crash your lips against his took over you and you'd almost leaned in but then you pulled back from him, fixing your hair.

You stared at him.

He returned it.

And then the curtain of patience cand crashing down. He closed the distance between the two of you, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss desperate and impatient. Your hands found his nape while he feverishly consumed you.

You didn't care for the customs of your family anymore. Ever since you'd left the garden, you thought about Johann. This time not to get rid of him but to meet him, to satiate this hunger of yours that he had awakened within you.

His hands flew to your silky night dress, aggressively slipping it off you meanwhile your fingers moved skilfully underneath his loose white shirt, trying to slip it off him. Johann held your face with both his hands, tongue battling with yours. He'd claimed you like no one had.

The fact that you two were indulging in such a daring act out in the open where anyone could see you, it only added more to the thrill of it all. Johann broke the kiss, pulling apart but before he could say something, you already pushed against him. Occupying his lips again.

You were inexperienced but well aware of what happened between a man and a woman.

Teeth colliding with teeth, tongue producing saliva and lips becoming wet, the kissing sounds were drowned out by the sound of the river. Mother nature coming in hand to help you both conceal the debauchery perfomed in its grasp.

Your fingers tugged at his roots, your body going flaccid against his. He could feel your breasts and he groaned in your mouth at the contact. His own shirt was discarded and he laid you down on the grass, holding your body gently.

You finally tore from him, in dire need of oxygen.

“This is wrong.” You whispered, staring into his eyes. “So wrong.”

Johann nodded and went back to kissing you, pulling onto your lower lip with this sharp teeth. You could feel his hands dropping down, fondling with your breasts. One hand fitting over the two — thumbs flicking the hardened peaks back and forth. Your back arched off the grass, feeling its pointy tips prickle your skin a little.

Johann leaned down, face hovering right over your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth and to conceal your sounds, you forced your palms over your mouth while staring down at him. Feeling his wet tongue lap at your nipple, as he sucked on it and nipped around it.

“Doctor, please.” You pleaded, oblivious to what you were begging for.

He pulled back with a pop and stared at you, his darkened pupils reflecting your desire for him. “Call me Johann. I need you to say my name when I'm buried inside you, my beautiful Princess.”

You nodded your head. Heat pooling into your stomach at how hoarse voice, the embers delivered right to your moist cunt. Your hands reached for his face, wrapping around the ridges of it, fingers flicking his strands back to their old position.

“You're so pretty.” You complemented him, running your tongue over your swollen and red lips. Johann nearly lost all restraint, dropping his face between your thighs. Brawny hands slithering over your them as he buried his face deep into your cunt.

“Princess, remember when you said a cunt is a cunt no matter who is it attached to.” Johann recalled your words and you panted in anticipation. “I think it matters, Crown Princess as I have tried to fuck many cunts to satiate my hunger for yours.”

Your lips fell apart a little, a soft gasp of shock leaving you. Before you could register his words and how he was fucking other women to fulfill his desire for you, Johann had commited to bringing you otherworldly pleasure. His tongue running up and down your virgin pussy, catching a taste he knew he'd become obsessed with.

Your hips wormed on the grass, teeth sinking into the side of your hand to prevent you from screaming. Chills dressed you up under the dark, sinful night as Johann continued devouring your cunt. Flicking your swollen clit with his licentious tongue, then circling it around.

Your one hand snuck into his hair, pulling and gripping while the other bled from all the harsh biting.

“Johann. Johann, I feel weird. It all feels weird.” You cried out his name like a mantra, in soft little whimpers and barely audible whispers. If anyone were to find out about this, you'd both be done for. You'd be exiled and Johann would face a fate worse than yours.

Yet he was risking it.

Just to get a taste of you.

Butterflies flooded in your stomach when your foggy mind registered that.

Your abdomen was being pinched and nipped at from all the overwhelming pleasure but more was yet to come when Johann slid his fingers inside your virgin hole. One finger and you were gasping like he'd slid his cock inside you.

He looked up at you, the moonlight illuminating his beautiful features and the gloss over his lips told you it was your arousal that had branded him. “My doll, just let it go. Don't hold it in, okay?”

You nodded.

He began to finger you. Curving the digits in a search for that spot of yours and when he earned himself a cry straight from your throat, Johann realized he found his crown princess’ sensitive spot.

So he hit it, repeatedly, feeling the jelly spot with his fingertips. All while you released muffled whimpers of desire, abdomen tightening and reflexing. Your hands desperately cupped his face, a plea of silence in your blurry vision.

“Kiss me, please. Need you to kiss me, Johann.” How could he deny you when you were asking with such politeness, staring back at him with blown out pupils and a sweaty face. Flesh raw and flustered.

He crawled up and captured your lips in a tight lock, swallowing all your whimpers when you came all over his fingers. His moving fingers coaxing more sounds out of you, only to drink them like a thirsty man who'd found an oasis in the middle of a desert.

“Princess, are you with me?” He saw how out of breath you were, staring above at the sky which sparkled with stars.

“Y-Yes.” You responded, still in a daze from the raw pleasure that surged through you like waves of electric.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, arms circling around you. “Do you wish to go further, Doll? Or shall I st—”

“Doctor you talk a lot.” You said, gaze finally focusing on him. Your bare breasts heaved up and down, in attempts to inhale as much oxygen as you could. “Fuck me before I change my mind. Before I condemn you to the pits of hell for laying a hand on me. Before I forget how good you make me feel.”

Johann pressed his tongue against the inside of his mouth, forming a bulge on his cheek and chuckled. He pried your legs open, revealing your glossy pussy to him.

“Your wish id my command, Princess.” Johann’s comment made you let out a subtle smile. Johann maneuvered his cock into your hole, feeling it tight just when he slipped in his thick cockhead.

Your thighs reflxed, hole clenching.

“At ease, Princess. You have to let me in.” He whispered, arms wrapped around you. He held you, slightly lifying you up from the grass as he slid into you slowly. Inch by inch. Your tears spilled at the stretch and how much it burned — feeling like it'll incinerate you.

You were still gripping him tightly, not allowing him in and the man grunted at how tight you were. It was obvious you were a virgin and he'd taken that virtue from you, feeling guilt spread in his heart but something dark also followed along.

He'd taken you.

Claimed you.

“It hurts, Johann.” You whimpered out, tears profusely decorating your face like fallen pearls. The man nodded his head, acknowledging your pain. He placed kisses all over your face, distracting you and the moment he felt you loosen up, he pushed all the way in.

Your body jerked. Arms tossing themselves around him. Clinging to him tightly as you felt him stretch your walls past their limits. Is this what it felt like sleeping with a man? Johann’s cock was thick and he did not lack when it came to length. It was too much to bear but your wanton helped you deal with the pain.

“See, all the way in. Are you okay, my doll?”

“Yes. Just continue, please.” Johann obliged and pulled out, only to forcefully thrust back inside. Your arousal helped slick his cock as he slid in and out of you. His growl was low and slipped right into your ear.

Johann held you while he fucked you, thrusting in you like he was claiming you. He loved how tight you were and as the cloud revealed the moon, he witnessed the blood of your virtue in the form of a ring around his length.

“You're like the moon itself. So beautiful and so heavenly, Princess.” Johann grunted, his hips stuttering into yours. His hands roaming down to caress each curve, each beauty spot and each part of you. You were blessed by the gods in such immense quantity, it was difficult to ignore.

Johann saw a goddess laid before him, not a human. A powerful beauty who had him on his knees by just mere stolen glances. You felt it too, the way he caressed you. Held you and felt your skin against his own. Appreciation oozing out of his actions.

As he delivered solid strokes into your cunt, driving himself deeper and abusing your sensitive area. “My pretty fucking Princess. If you'd asked me once, just once that you wanted this. I would've followed you myself into your chambers, would've taken you right then and there.”

Your body twitched. Cunt throbbing and walls gripping him tightly at his words. The idea of him taking you by force was supposed to be immoral and repulsive but maybe that is what you liked, enjoyed. Found delight in. Johann slipping into your chambers and taking you while you slept.

The idea didn't vex you, as it should have.

“Johann—my god. Just, keep going. Please keep fucking me.”

He couldn't explain how much he loved it when you moaned out his name. Your voice like a siren song, calling him to his doom and Johann would willingly follow you to the depths of the roaring sea.

Just the way your fingernails dug into his back, searing down and leaving him bloodied. You were a fucking feline, in heat. Leaving him covered in marks like some wild animal.

If anyone were to find out that their dear Princess was this disgusting, they would banish you forever. Practicing such debauchery and sinfulness.

The same feeling from before greeted you, but this time more intense, more strong and all consuming. Your body surged forward into the grass as Johann fucked himself into you deeper, to the point you could feel the man in your womb. Oh how fucking good it felt. To have him caress such deep, intimate parts of yours.

“Johann, Johann— It's happening again.” You sobbed, tightly holding him. Arms and legs both wrapped around him. He buried his face in your neck and left kisses all over, while encouraging out your release. You descended to heaven for a moment, feeling your soul leave your body when you came over his cock.

Johann felt you tremor in his hand, holding you down as you sobbed and tightened around him. The man hissed at how tightly you were sucking him in and after a few snaps of his hips, he too came. His seed filling you to the brim, staining your virgin walls with its thickness.

Your sobs died out, turning into little sniffles as your sensitivity heightened. Johann laid on top of you, but his weight was supported by his elbows. He dragged his face out of your throat and looked at you. Seeing how fucked out you were.

Face sweaty and saturated, swollen lips parted and chest rising up and down. You slowly flit your across over him and hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his chest. There was no regret, no guilt. You would do it again in a heartbeat.

“Princess?”

“I'm fine, Johann.” You responded, kissing his shoulder, dragging your nails down his spine to leave more marks.

The man pulled out of you soon causing you to gasp. He grabbed your night dress from the grass and pulled it down your head, fixing your frame. His big hands pushed back the hair from your face and his lips pressed over your nose, affectionately.

You couldn't stand up but when you did, you grabbed your book. Johann attempted to wrap the georgette scarf around you but you pushed at it, shaking your head. Getting on your tippy toes, you brushed your lips over the shell of his ear.

“Keep it. Keep it so when you recall back to claiming the Crown Princess’ virgin cunt, you use this to fuck your hand.” Your voice was drowsy, a sultry whisper and then you pulled back, disappearing into the bushes.

Leaving Johann Struensee completely obsessed and in love. He couldn't wait to enter your chambers.

#mads mikkelsen #Johann struensee #a royal affair #mads mikkelsen x reader #johann oneshot #johann struensee one shot #johann struensee smut #smut #fanfiction #hannibal #mads mikkelsen smut #polar #duncan polar #hannibal lecter x reader

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skatergayerfurt93 · 1 year ago

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❗️Caution, 18+ ❗️

Fun with my feetslave at home. German language, short trailer.

#gay #skater #dcshoes #sneakers #sneaker #feetporn #foot soles #lickable toes #foot sniffing #sniff #bd/sm master #trampling

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sweets3rial · 1 year ago

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i wanted it to be you. (II)

ch. 1 // ch. 2

di!leon x fem!reader

summary: when Leon thinks things are too late, he gets a friendly reminder that things are never too late.

tags: angst/comfort, happy endings, fluff, wedding ceremony, marriage, vows, talks about future, small mention of overbearing in-laws, reader having many second thoughts, drunk letters/vows, Chris and Claire Redfield mentioned, runaway bride, panic/anxiety attacks, Leon loves you, time skips, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya' tap it)

warnings: panic and anxiety attacks

word count: 10.3K (yikes srry ya'll)

“my dream house?”

“yeah, tell me.” he urged, bumping your hip with his. you looked up into the sky, pondering his question. it was a good question. you’d never thought of something like that before. you were so used to your two-bedroom and one-half-bathroom apartment.

“well, i want lots of greenery. like plants in every corner and in every room.” you began, using your spoon as a little wand as you spoke. “i also want a lot of warm lights, to give the house a nice welcoming vibe to it,”

he hummed, nodding as you finished each sentence. “i like earthy tones or nude tones, nice soft couches, and a stone fireplace. a big living room and a large dining room- y’know how in those movies where the rich sad family gathers for dinner and it’s very awkward and quiet?”

his eyebrows furrowed, “you want something like that?”

you chuckled, “no, but i want my dining room to look like that just less … sad.”

“i see, it’s like those where the father is at the end and the mother at the other end,”

“exactly,” you smiled wider. you picked a cherry floating atop your frozen yogurt, taking it by the stem and bringing it to his lips. he opened his mouth with an audible sound, wrapping his cold lips around the fruit and plucking it off the stem.

you flicked the stem out of your fingers and onto the street where it’ll be swept away in the wind and trampled on by those who walked by.

“i want a large backyard, with either a poo or just a large field of grass.” you smiled at the thought of walking out onto your porch as an old feeble woman to enjoy a cup of coffee as you stared out into your backyard to watch the sun set or rise. or even watch your future kids play with the family dog.

you never wanted to have kids. just the thought of splitting yourself in half while pushing out new life sent chills up your spine. but sometimes, the idea of holding a child to your chest and watching it grow. the idea of listening to them laugh and play, watching as they discovered new interests and learned new things, and being alive to discover the person they will become, doesn’t sound too bad.

“i want a balcony, one that stretches from one side of the house to the other. that way i can sit outside and i don’t know enjoy a nice cigarette.”

a laugh erupted from his chest at the thought of you only wanting a balcony to smoke a cigarette. but then that image warped into him watching you from the door smoking that cigarette. the wind blowing in your hair, the sun kissing your skin, your clothes flapping against your skin.

he imagined you’d be wearing a baggy shirt, maybe one of his shirts. the wind blowing up from the balcony would cause your shirt to cling to you. to your curves and the dips of your body, the purchase of your hips, and the slim of your waist.

you’d turn to him with your elbows leaned up against the railing behind you, cigarette between the plump skin of your lips as you beckoned him over to join you.

“i had a friend,” you started, interrupting his small daydream.

“her parents had this master bedroom. when you walked in, to your left was a sliding door that led to the balcony overlooking her backyard, and then to the right was a couple’s bathroom,” you sighed at the memory, you envied her.

one, because her parents were happily married and slept in the same bed. two, because she had a big house with a large backyard. and three, because she was happy. she lived luxuriously in her big house, she was spoiled, and her parents doted on her. her life was perfect.

yours, not so much.

“her mom occupied one sink with her makeup and her jewelry, and her dad occupied the other with cologne and little figures,” you gulped down a lump in your throat, looking up at him to see him already looking at you. you could see the sad look on his face. the look of pity and sadness, it left a stab in your heart knowing that you probably ruined his night for him.

“i want that.” your words left your throat with a small croak. you weren’t just talking about a couples bathroom with a jacuzzi bathtub but also to be happy. to live in a large house, to be happy with your future husband and kids, to enjoy luxurious jewelry and clothes.

his heart hurt at the look in your eyes, the yearning and the hope. he could see the pain as you spoke about your friend, even if you were smiling as if it was a good memory. he wanted to say, i can give you that.

he wanted to give you that. not only for you but also for himself, that way when you beckon him over as you smoke your cigarette he can join your side. his daydream began to play again; as he joined your side, you’d put your cigarette out and wrap your arms around his torso with a sigh.

he could smell the shampoo in your damp hair and the lotion you lathered onto your skin — along with a hint of his cologne from the baggy t-shirt that belonged to him. the wind was nice and fresh, a cooling breeze along with the warm morning sun. he’d shut his eyes and hold you to his chest, slowly swaying you back and forth as he enjoyed the warmth from the sun along with the warmth from your body.

“that sounds nice,” he looked down at you, “peaceful,”

you smiled up at him, licking your sticky lips, “yeah, it does,”

your smile slowly faded as you began to doze off, he was very … pretty. the way his dirty blonde hair framed his face so perfectly. golden strands that are soft like silk and fluffy like cotton. his eyes, how they gazed into yours, pulling you in deep like the tide of the ocean and drowning you into his being.

they say the eyes are the window to the soul. when someone furrows a brow, you can tell their soul is confused or troubled. when a tear swells you know their soul is sad. when their pupil dilates you know their soul is in love.

there is a ring around his pupils, a ring of blue — the color of his irises. his plump lips are agape, sucking in breaths and letting them go. his lashes flutter with every blink, his eyes trailing every inch of your face, taking every detail of you into memory.

you did the same. scanning over his dimpled cheeks, his high cheekbones, his strong brow bones, his long lashes, the tips of his cold ears, and the window to his soul. all of it.

“you’re so beautiful,” his words came out almost in a drunken whisper. his brain wasn’t able to process any word that left his mouth until it did.

the blood that pumped into your veins instantly ran to your face. your cheeks heating up as your eyes widened, you looked back down at your melted froyo — hoping that taking a bite would hide away your hot cheeks. “thank you,” you mumbled trying to fight back the smile creeping up onto your sticky lips.

“of course uh- back to your dream house-“

“oh right! um-“

------

a living room with comfortable couches and a coffee table in the middle sitting, in front of a large stone fireplace. a kitchen with off-white cabinets, black tile floors, and an island with black marble counters and a deep sink. a dining room with a large table with seven chairs and a runner underneath.

plants, everywhere. in the front, in the large backyard, hanging from the roof, in every room, and in every corner.

large windows that faced the sunset and sunrise, casting down their warmth and triumph into the house to illuminate every corner without a single flip of a light switch. warm lights, in the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the hallways, everywhere.

a patio out front and out back, a balcony that stretched across the back of the house. five rooms, a guest room, three kids’ rooms, and a master bedroom. a master bedroom where when you walked in, to the left were the sliding doors to the balcony, and to the right a couples bathroom and a walk-in closet.

though, it wasn’t a home. there were drapes over the furniture to keep them from collecting dust. there were no plants just empty corners. the windows were shut and no one lived there.

the rooms were empty, with nothing but carpet and walls. it wasn’t a home. it had no life, no family, no giggles and happiness. it was simply just a house.

“sir, i just need you to sign here and then we’ll lease the house.”

he straightened his posture and blinked away the dryness in his eyes. he looked over at the man, he was about his height. he wore a fancy suit, his mustache was nice and jelled up, his hair slicked back and he smelt of expensive cologne.

he took one last look around the house, his heart aching. if he closed his eyes, he could hear you in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and listening to your music or your podcasts. he could hear your voice calling him from your bedroom. he could hear a dog maybe the giggles of children. but that was just a figment of his imagination.

he was standing in the middle of a house. your dream house. the one you told him about so many years ago. back then, he would’ve said ‘i can give you that’, but he hesitated. would that have made you stay? if he said he was putting all his money into building this house for you.

buying the furniture and the tiling and marble necessary to make it happen. hiring construction workers to add on a balcony and a back porch. would all his effort … would it have made you stay?

“who’s getting married?” the realtor asked, pointing at his boutonniere with his pen. he blinked, once again brought out of his daze.

“uh my … ex-girlfriend,” he grumbled awkwardly. the realtor jumped back a little, a small strand of his slicked-back hair falling out.

“oh,” was all he could say as he too joined him in looking around the house. the real estate agent could tell that this man wasn’t looking to live here by himself, there were so many rooms, rooms for a family. a couples bathroom and a shared walk-in closet.

the realtor sighed, looking up at the man. his eyes were bloodshot red, most likely from crying or being up all night. the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy. he was holding a flask of whiskey and his posture remained slouched.

“Mr. Kennedy,” the realtor clicked his pen and hooked it back onto his suit pocket. he stuffed the paperwork under his arm and puffed out his chest. he was losing business by doing this but he’d rather see a man happy to sell his house rather than sad to sell his house.

“i was young once,” he began, standing next to Leon as he dozed off. “i too had a girlfriend, she was the girl of my dreams,” the man chuckled at the memory.

“we were young and very, very stupid,”

Leon’s head slowly turned towards the man beside him, he found that the realtor was looking out the window with a smile on his face which caused his mustache to turn upwards.

“i was poor and she was wild, i wanted to give her a proper life. so i worked and i worked to the point that i’d tire myself and i barely had time for her.”

Leon let his eyes fall to the ground, this story was sounding a bit too familiar to him. not having time for each other led to miscommunication and arguments all the time. it was not a story that he wished to retell.

“so she left me, one day i came home and she was gone.” the man sniffled a bit, watching a bird fly out of one of the trees that sat on the front lawn. the bird reminded him of her, his songbird, always singing and so loud. though, he loved it when she sang and tweeted like a bird.

her voice was always like music to his ears anyway.

“i crashed her wedding like a fool and she told me that she would’ve been happy getting married without a big ring and a big house. that she would’ve been happy with how things were,” the man let out a sigh, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“so, my word to you is…don’t let it be too late. if you love her and hopefully she still loves you then … make it work.” the man placed a hand on Leon’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. a sign of support for the young man since he too has been in Leon’s position once.

“it is never too late to be what you wanted to be,”

'i wanted it to be you.'

your voice replayed in his head. he could still hear the tears clogged in your throat and he could still see the look in your eye. he could still smell your perfume and feel your lips on his skin. it isn’t too late. he wasn’t too late.

Leon slowly began to nod his head, building up the courage to do something anything. he knew it was time to let you go, that it was over and done.

'do you still love me?'

'goodbye, Leon.'

those were the last words you said to him. he replays the sound in his voice every night and it keeps him awake at night. he tosses and turns, missing the warmth of your body and the feeling of your skin. he feels selfish, yearning for someone who wants nothing to do with him. someone who is getting married in a few hours.

but you aren’t just anyone. dare say, you are the love of his life.

“thank you, Mr. Gudzynski.” Leon smiled at the man, taking one last chug of the whiskey in his flask before making his way out the door. Chris stood there waiting for him, leaning up against his car with a cigarette hanging from his lips as he stared down at his phone.

upon hearing Leon’s foot crush the rocks beneath him, he looked up. he stomped out his cigarette as he blew out the last puff of smoke.

“how’d it go?” Chris asked, rolling his shoulders to let the sleeves of his suit adjust.

“did you just put out your cigarette on fresh cement?”

“i guess you sold it then,” Chris chuckled dryly.

Leon took a moment to reply, looking at the porch behind him. it was empty, just plain wooden slabs. he knew how much you wanted a patio, this was your house after all.

completely inspired by you. every corner and every detail of this house you had spoken to Leon years ago. he made your dream a reality, though you'll never know that.

“i couldn’t,”

Chris turned to Leon, his frame tensing up, “uh you what?”

“i couldn’t sell it, i just…” Leon ended his sentence with a shrug and much to his dismay, Chris nodded understandably.

“i knew you wouldn’t be able to,” Chris sighed, opening the door to his car.

“what?” Leon said with a lift of his brow.

“just get in,”

the whole drive to the church, Leon could feel his body growing heavier and heavier. he was nervous. unsure of what he should do or say? will he have the time? he was constantly wiping his hands onto his pants, trying to wipe the nerves and sweat away.

he was staring out the window blankly, bouncing his leg and biting on the inside of his cheeks.

’stop that,’

‘stop what?’

your fingers reached up to tap his cheek, ‘stop biting your cheeks, you’re making me anxious’

he stopped instantly, licking over the skin that he was just biting at. you sighed, standing in front of him as you fixed his tie. you worked with straightening the silk fabric and tightening it around his neck — not too much.

he looked down at you and his nerves instantly eased. your face was relaxed, your breathing slows, your lashes fluttered with every single blink, and god you were glowing. he couldn’t help but smile, he knew he had no reason to be nervous if you were right by his side.

and here you were; fixing his tie and smoothing out his suit.

‘you got this, it’s just a simple speech, we rehearsed it many times,’ you leaned up onto your tippy toes to place a kiss on his chin. ‘and i’ll be right in the audience supporting you,’

his lips curled into a small smile at the memory, he would’ve for sure embarrassed himself if it wasn’t for you being by his side. he remembers it clear as day, standing up on that podium as he received his award, his hands were shaking and his vision was blurry.

he was trying to read off of his speech but he couldn’t. that was until he found you in the room and then suddenly, you two were in the living room of your shared apartment. you were sitting on the couch with takeout in your lap. as he practiced his speech, you’d slurp your noodles or take a bite of your fried rice as you pretended to be a high government official.

once his eyes found yours in the large crowd, you smiled up at him mouthing the words; ‘you got this,’

“we’re here,” Chris sighed aloud. Leon looked up to see many familiar faces walking up the steps into the church, hand in hand and with smiles on their faces. all dressed in black suits and dresses, a simple and traditional color.

you were never a religious woman, you weren’t the type to go to church every Sunday or pray before every meal. but here you were getting married in a church, under the eye of god as if you hadn’t slept with another man just a few months ago.

your eyes were stuck on the cross hanging above you. the hairstylist you hired was busy touching up your hair, your makeup artist was powdering your nose and adding more highlight to your cheekbones consistently saying the same words, ‘make sure you smile that way you can really pop.’

you’d give her a small silent nod, whatever made her happy.

you haven’t smiled once. it was your wedding day. after months of trying on dresses, trying cake flavors, sending out invitations, and picking out bridesmaids. the day was here and you couldn’t smile. you’ve been sitting in this chair for hours, getting your hair and makeup done.

your bridesmaids would come in screaming excitedly while waving around bottles of champagne. you put on a fake smile with fake laughs and giggles but your mind was elsewhere.

you were thinking of a lot. your future after today, losing your last name, kids, and in-laws. but mostly you were thinking about him. it was hard, writing his name down on an envelope and sending it to him through the mail.

your fiancee, soon-husband, didn’t know about you and Leon. he believes you two are coworkers and nothing more. acquaintances or even strangers. he didn’t know the deep love you held for that man.

he was excited to see that you were inviting the other agents. he felt special. as if him being married to a D.S.O agent would make him a better tech or get him a promotion.

it was so hard sending him that invitation. most of the other invitations were given in person unless the guests lived far away. you wondered if he would come, part of you hoped he did and the other part of you hoped he didn’t.

“it’s almost time,” you looked to your side to see your uncle standing in the doorway. you chose him to walk you down the aisle, he’s been here for you more than your father. he was there for your daddy-daughter dances, for your graduation. elementary, middle school, and high school.

you stood up from your chair, smoothing out your dress. your dress was itchy and heavy, the pins in your hair stabbed your scalp with every movement, your makeup felt heavy and cakey, and your heels hurt. everything felt wrong.

“are you ready?” you looked at your uncle, a smile on his face as he looked at you. that was when tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head, suddenly you were a little girl again, crying to him when you didn’t get a toy you wanted.

your uncle’s face contorted with worry as he rushed to your side.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

you sobbed, throwing your head down so your tears wouldn’t ruin your makeup. you grabbed the back of your chair, trying to find your words and your breath but it was hard with the corset constricting your every movement.

“i can’t do it, i can’t go out there-“

“of course you can,” he reached over for a few napkins as his hand rubbed up and down your back, “i know it’s stressing, this is your big day, and your life is going to change after this.”

you shook your head again, pursing your lips together to keep another sob from leaving your lips.

“but this is the day you’ve been waiting for, you’ve stressed yourself out enough. after this, you get to enjoy your honeymoon and your house.”

you looked up at him, blinking away another tear. he smiled at you, taking the napkin to blot away the tears. you couldn’t help but think, only if he knew.

only if he knew where your heart truly lies. who your soul calls to. what you did, more specifically who you did. you couldn’t tell him. it was too late to tell anyone. what were you supposed to say? i slept with another man. quite frankly, the only man i’ve ever loved.

you’d be burned at the stake, by everyone in the church. especially, your mother-in-law.

so you sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight.

“okay,” you croaked, and you held the napkin to your tears. you hoped he wasn’t here, you really did. you knew if you made eye contact with him somewhere in the crowd, you would break.

so you linked arms with your uncle, standing up straight and putting a smile on your face. your uncle smiled back at you, giving your arm a small squeeze. your feet were already beginning to hurt and the minute the piano started your limbs began to shake.

your nerves were on edge, your palms were sweaty and you could barely control your breathing. you walked out of the small room you used to get ready and into the main hall. there were photographers, gasping at the sight of you.

gorgeous dress that made you look like a princess, the fabric along with your veil trailed behind you, leaving a path of your essence. instantly, camera shutters were beginning to go off. you gave the photographers a nervous smile and wave as you stood in front of the two large doors.

you looked up at the roof, naked baby angels danced above you, they were holding harps and chasing each other with smiles on their faces. clouds surrounded them along with doves. hints of gold were seen in the paint.

it was beautiful. architectural and just pure with grace. even if the paint was fading and cracking, it was the most beautiful thing you've seen today.

your uncle knocked at the doors, signaling whoever was inside that you were ready. when the doors opened you were met with gasps and the sound of people rising from their seats. you made eye contact with a few people both from your family and his.

you watched as a few covered their mouths in shock, their facial expressions softening in awe. you smiled at a few, keeping your head forward most of the time. your fiancee stood at the end with a wide smile on his face. his friends were giving him firm pats on the shoulder, demonstrating their support.

you smiled at him, pursing your lips as you let your eyes wander. to your left, in the second row, seated in the very first seat…there he was. he came. your face dropped upon seeing him, your knees suddenly felt weak, and a large pain erupted in your chest.

he stood with his hands folded in front of him. his lips were agape, his jaw hanging loose. his eyebrows were upturned in awe. your steps slowed a bit as you got closer to him. you wanted to see him one last time before it was too late.

in his mind, he was standing there at that altar instead of that bearded man. he was watching you walk down the aisle and you were smiling at him. you looked beautiful. god, that color always suited you. your makeup and hair were done beautifully, he’s never seen you this way — all dolled up.

it put his heart to a complete stop. he couldn’t focus on anything but you. your eyes were stuck on him as you passed by. he watched your smile fade as you both made eye contact and he felt a stab in his chest. for a second, he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t blink. he was just frozen in time.

as you walked past him, your head fell to look at the ground. Leon too looked away, continuing to bite on the inside of his cheeks, this time he could taste blood. he shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t watch this happen. he couldn’t. he couldn’t.

but he wanted to, today was special to you but it was the complete opposite to him.

he watched as you stood before your husband, a smile rising to your mouth as you gave him a small ‘hi’. Leon let his head drop to his lap, his leg was bouncing uncontrollably. he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t be here.

he was about to look up at Chris to tell him he had to go but he was interrupted when Chris put his hand on Leon's knee. when he looked at Chris, he was looking ahead. a toothpick between his lips and his eyes stuck ahead on you and your future husband.

he knew Chris was trying to convey something, probably 'calm the fuck down,' but also some type of support.

Chris knew today was hard for Leon. with each passing day that the wedding got closer, Leon has been sulking and slacking off during training. his flask was his best friend and so was his bed.

Chris was the only one who knew how deep Leon’s love ran for you. Chris was there during the nights Leon would stumble around drunk and depressed. he gave Leon a hand when he was at his lowest. he helped Leon get rid of his addiction. he got Leon a therapist.

he did a lot for Leon when you two split, same for you. Chris was like the older brother you never had, he was supportive and kind. he was always understanding. you were able to confide in him comfortably. you could sob on his shoulder and use him as a punching bag instead of Leon.

Chris saw both of you at your lowest points and he brought both of you back.

he did so much to bring you two back together but here he is; watching one get married while the other watches with tears in his eyes. Leon kept his head down, unable to face you and watch the scenery before him. the priest prompted you two to begin your vows and he was first.

there was a nervous smile on his face as he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. he unfolded the paper, his eyes flickering between you and the speech before him. he cleared his throat, facing the crowd.

“first and foremost, i want to thank everyone for being here; friends and family.” he cleared his throat once again, looking towards you. it made Leon’s stomach twist with jealousy as you smiled at him so lovingly. he also couldn’t stop admiring how beautiful you were. pure innocence and grace, well he knew you were far from innocent.

“and most of all my gorgeous wife-to-be,” your smile dropped into a simple lift of your lips. but slowly, you began to look around the crowd. your eyes landing on your family, your in-laws, and then Leon. from there, you stayed fixated on him.

you haven’t seen him so polished in so long. his suit was nicely tailored, sleek back with a white brooch. though his tie was crooked and he was chewing on the inside of his cheeks. his frantic leg bouncing stopped once he made eye contact with you. his body froze in a way, his breath caught in his throat.

he smiled at you, gently. the look in his eyes spoke for him, ‘you look beautiful,’ he said.

he tried to keep calm, for you. even though he was on the verge of a heart attack. even if he was terribly heart broken, he needed to be happy for you. today is your day.

you smiled back at him even wider, shying away from him with visible heat in your cheeks, ‘thank you,’ you said back, smoothing out the skirt of your dress. your fiancee’s speech fell on deaf ears, you were paying attention to everything else but him at the moment.

Leon sat right in your field of view. at the other side of the aisle, in the second row, towards the very end of the bench.

you sucked in a deep breath, your lips falling agape as you kept eye contact with him longer. suddenly, the feelings you wished to bury. the ones you’ve been trying to bury for years were coming back. it was like slowly drowning. you can see the surface still but as you sink deeper and deeper, it becomes blurry and you are forever trapped in the ocean beneath you.

his kisses, his touch, his love, his passion, his laugh, his smile, his hair, his teeth, his nose, the hair on his arms and legs, the scar on his shoulder, the mole on his neck — it was all coming back. he was coming back.

the happiness you felt when he would wake you up with gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder. the joy you felt walking into the kitchen to see him there making coffee, he hated coffee. he hated the feeling it left on your tongue. the bitter taste and the smell of your breath after taking a sip. he hated coffee but he still made it.

it made him feel like a normal person living in an apartment with his normal girlfriend.

the comfort you’d get when he’d hug you. the excitement you felt when he’d come home. the small things he did that aroused you to the point of insanity. the arguments…you even missed the petty arguments. arguments never lasted long. Leon hated arguing with you.

it would usually end up with him sleeping on the couch that night. then he’d wake up with a heavy weight on top of him. of course, it was you. or it would end up with him throwing you over his shoulder and locking you both in your shared bedroom together.

even if you two argued, you refused to be away from each other.

you were woken from your daydream by the wave of chuckles around the room. you joined in subconsciously, blinking your dry eyes and averting your attention away from Leon. meanwhile, he was gripping the pants of his suit with butterflies in his stomach. he couldn’t shake off this feeling.

the feeling of loss. the feeling that maybe it was too late.

your fiancee had finished his vows, folding up the paper and storing it back in his pocket. you looked up at you, a blush on his cheeks and sweat brimming at his forehead. you could see he was nervous, he was shaking — constantly rocking back and forth and itching at his beard.

you reached into your bra, pulling out your vows. you were so unprepared. you wrote your vows probably a few nights ago, drunk one too many drinks and elbow-deep in a bag of your favorite chips.

the minute you unfolded the paper, you knew you should’ve read it over.

‘To my beloved, Leon…’

you swallowed a lump in your throat, nervously looking between the paper, your fiancee, and Leon sitting in the crowd. you were drunk and wrote vows to the wrong man. no, it was to the right man. Leon was the right man. he always has been.

“um, to my beloved, future husband,” you began, your voice trembling and your throat aching. you read over the first line and you instantly felt tears swell up in your eyes, “i miss you, um,” your eyes flashed over to Leon.

“i miss you even if you’re right next to me. no words can summarize how much i love you, how much i burn and yearn for you every passing minute … every passing day.”

Leon felt his heart break into a million pieces right then and there. your eyes remained on him, only looking away to glance back down at your vows. were you … reading these to him? Leon swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyebrows upturning as he tried to hold himself together.

you were making up things as you went, your words completely different from what was really written down:

“i am glad to have you by my side,” i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

“i am blessed to wake up to you every morning and suck in a deep breath of your essence and your being,” i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

“i was broken when you found me but you pieced me back together, slowly and patiently,” you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

a tear slipped down your cheek, you were beginning to choke up the more and more you read. it was getting hard to make things up and say those instead of reading what you wrote down. a full page confessing your every feeling and thought to the right man … to Leon.

tears continued to fall.

‘i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i saw you, the emotions running through me i couldn’t comprehend. i wanted to run, i wanted to turn away because i knew if i approached you it would be bad. but my body made its way towards you anyway.

i love you. i always have and i always will. i wish i could hold you again. i wish i could go back. they say to never open the closed doors of your past. fuck not opening closed doors, your door never closed.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.’

‘do you still love me?’

his words rang in your head like an alarm. you were looking down at your paper, vision blurry with tears. you could feel the weight of your tears falling onto the sheet as you sat there in silence. a small sob left your lips as audible whispers rang throughout the room.

you folded the paper in half, shaking your head as you looked up at your fiancee.

“i’m sorry,” was all you said as you took a step back. your body moved before you could process anything. you ran down the steps, lifting the skirt of your dress with one hand while the other held your love letter with a vice grip.

you ran down the aisle, towards the large doors. your throat was on fire and as you burst through the wooden doors, you finally let out a singular sob.

everyone in the church stood and watched you run out, looking between you and your fiancee abandoned at the altar. the whispers became louder, and gasped erupted through the room. your fiancee stood at the altar looking at his feet, completely still.

his mother ran up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she threw a million questions towards him. he stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground below him. he couldn't believe it and neither could anyone else.

Leon looked back from you running out the door towards Chris standing behind him. his face was painted with worry, his eyes wide and eyebrows scrunched together. Chris nodding his head towards the door, signaling Leon to go after you.

“go, she needs you,” Claire said from behind Chris. Leon nodded silently, a heavy breath leaving his lips as he ran after you.

he was second to burst through those doors after you. he looked right and left, panicking. what happened? what was wrong? he knew he shouldn’t have come. this was his fault. if he didn’t come, you would be running out of this church with your husband on your arm. not like this.

those vows. they weren’t for your husband. he knew that for sure. your eyes were stuck on his, he watched with agony as tears slipped past your pretty eyes and down your cheeks. god, he hated seeing you cry more than anything. he just wished he could scoop you up in his arms and coax them out of you gently.

a sign against the wall that read ‘garden’ caught his attention. the sign pointed to the left and Leon was quick to take after you.

he knew you well. he knew you loved gardens and flowers, always plucking them from the ground or from their bush and sticking them into Leon’s hair. you once mentioned to him how when you’re troubled you tend to turn to nature or your bed. you’d take walks, sit outside in the sun in silence. you’d brush your fingers against the soft petals and leaves.

your bed was nowhere in sight so he ran in the direction of the garden.

he made way down the steps into the garden, loosening the tie around his neck. he shut his mouth, listening to your voice over his beating heart and his heaving breaths. he could faintly hear sobs coming from his right. his head snapped in the direction of your cries, his heart breaking as he spotted your heels on the ground.

they most likely slipped off as you ran away. he sucked in one last deep breath, trudging through the grass of the church garden to pick up your heels. the garden was beautiful, tall bushes acting as walls to a makehsift maze.

white roses were planted everywhere. the grass was healthy and warm, tickling at his ankles. bees buzzed around the bushes, hopping from flower to flower. birds chirped in the trees, singing melancholic tunes on this beautiful afternoon. or pretty drastic afternoon.

as he walked further into the maze, he caught eye of you. your back was turned to him, you had sat down on a bench in the middle of the maze and in front of a marble statue. he stopped in his tracks, gulping down the lump in his throat which somehow made his presence clear to you.

you turned around surprised, eyes wide and a small gasp leaving your lips.

when you caught eye of him standing there, holding your heels with one hand and the other tucked in his pocket. you felt tears welling up again, though you hid it away with a dry laugh.

“how cliche huh? runaway bride.”

he didn’t answer, making his way closer and closer to you. he rounded around the bench, getting down on one knee in front of you. he took your right ankle into his hands, rubbing at your soft skin.

Leon tried to ignore the damp paper in your hands — your vows. he was curious, what did they really say?

he slipped on your heel, continuing to draw circles onto your skin.

you watched him, inhaling deep, trembling breaths and gripping the edge of the bench with all your might. the tension was thick, so thick to the point neither of you could breathe.

“say something,” you sighed out.

“i don’t know what to say,” he croaked out, his voice stuffy and hoarse. he took a hold of your other ankle, slipping on the last heel.

“say that i don’t know, i’m stupid. i’m an idiot. i embarassed myself, i-“ you cut yourself off with a heavy sigh, dropping your head into your lap. there was a moment of silence, leaving you two stuck in an oasis of tweeting birds, rustling trees, and buzzing bees.

“look at me-“

“no,”

“please, baby look at me,” he practically begged. butterflies arose in your stomach and you shut your eyes, hoping you could shut him out. hoping the noise in your head would stop, just hoping everything will quiet. “i need you to look at me.”

that was all it took. you slowly looked up from your lap and at him. once you met his gaze, you felt like you were that young girl again. that young girl walking down the street after a dinner date, eating froyo in freezing weather and talking about your dream house.

“you’re not an idiot, you’re not stupid, you’re perfect. you’re so perfect,” he sighed out. “why’d you run?”

you shook your head, “i couldn’t do it, Leon, i-“ you stopped yourself to suck in a deep breath, but it felt so constricted. your head was pounding, everything felt heavy and you were so dizzy. every thing was falling down. you felt like you couldn’t breathe or think, your head was spinning and your knuckles white.

you gripped at your chest, nervously playing with the pendant of your necklace but at the same time trying to tug it off. you felt like you were choking, your vision began to cloud with tears but at the same time you felt like you were losing consciousness.

“hey, hey,” he came to sit next to you, instantly wrapping his heavy arms around your shoulders to bring you into his chest but still giving you room to breathe.

his fingers began to loosen the ribbons to your corset. his movements were stable and calm. “breathe with me ‘kay?" he soothed, "in and out, just how we always did,”

you nodded, gripping onto his suit, “in”

you shut your eyes and took a deep breath in. “good, what’s one thing you can taste?”

“um my lipstick,” you said, as you both exhaled.

“in,” he rubbed your back with one hand while the other held you firmly against him, “what are two things you can smell?”

his voice was getting deeper and quieter. slowly, your body began to relax. you could breathe again. you focused on your surroundings, naming off the first things you could. “the grass and…” you paused to let a deep breath out, “you.”

he wasn’t going to lie, your reply made his heart jump a little bit. he tightened his hold onto you, burying his nose into your hair. “in.”

as he took a deep breath in, he was bombarded with the smell of your shampoo and hairspray, “what are three things you can hear?”

“birds, wind and your heart beat,” you whispered to him as you let out another deep breath.

“in,” another deep breath in, “almost there, what are four things you can touch?” he could feel your body loosen up as you began to feel around him. your eyes were shut and your body began to go slack against him.

“your suit, the bench, and a button,” another deep breath out.

“good, almost there, in.” you were prepared for this one, pulling back from the hug just a bit so you could look around your surroundings. “what are five things you can see?”

you looked up at him, your breath hitching in your throat and your knees going weak. even if you were sitting down, you felt like jelly — as if you would melt right through this bench. you opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out but a weak croak.

he whispered out your name, concerned. his eyebrows curling upwards and his eyes searching yours. the longer you stayed like this, looking into his eyes and breathing with him, the quieter it got. there was no more pounding and noise in your head. your dress didn’t feel itchy. the pins in your hair no longer stabbed at your scalp. the soles of your feet didn’t hurt.

it was all so peaceful. everything.

“i do,” you managed to croak out.

“what?”

“to answer your question,”

‘do you still love me?’

“i do, Leon, i do. more than you’ll ever know,”

you couldn’t read the look on his face, all you saw was a flurry of emotions. he searched your face for any hesitation or lie, anything to keep him from taking you away from here for good. something to stop him from being selfish and keeping you all to himself.

“i love you, Leon Scott Kennedy.”

To my beloved, Leon,

i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.

you’re my everything and you’ll continue to be for the rest of my life. i cannot breathe without you, i cannot think, i cannot function. my head is foggy. but when i see you it all becomes so clear. when i go to sleep at night and the thought of you crosses my mind i can’t help but smile.

i wish i still had that picture of you by my bed because it’s never enough to see you smiling in my head as i lay in the dark. the sheets are cold, this house is cold, my heart is cold. i need you Leon.

it’s too late to go back now. i can’t keep doing this to you. i’m sorry. i love you.

a heavy hand was draped over your waist, strong firm muscle pooling you into a brick wall of a chest. you smiled, placing your hand over the one on your stomach. light kisses were pressed to your neck and down to your shoulder. rough stubble tickling your smooth skin only prompting you to smile wider.

“good morning,” a hoarse voice spoke in your ear. you looked up at the clock on your nightstand, it read 12:16. you grumbled, turning over and burying your face into chest and muscle, draping your arms around his frame and intertwining your legs with his.

“it’s so early,” you whined, hiding away from the sun peeking through your balcony doors.

“baby, it’s noon.” more kisses were pressed to your face, slowly waking you up with each one. gentle and wet kisses, you smiled at the feeling, nuzzling your nose between his pectorals with a low groan.

“it’s time to get up,”

the sound of you faking a snore earned you a small chuckle, the chest you lay on bouncing up and down — shaking you awake a bit more. the hand on your back traveled further south, rubbing over the bare skin of your ass.

“i tire you out last night, huh?” he taunted, kissing over the love bites forming on your neck and shoulders. you nodded shamelessly, every single one of your limbs was sore and you could barely move an inch without wincing in pain.

“that’s unfair, you folded me like origami and you expect me not to be tired, let me sleep,”

“i'm sorry baby, but i’m not done,”

a smirk grew on your lips and all of a sudden the pain in your body was gone. you were flipped over onto your back, making you squeal out in surprise. you were met with a pair of blue eyes and a messy head of brown hair.

warm lips met yours in a heated frenzy of a kiss — full of flame and passion. you tangled your fingers into the head of messy brown hair, moaning deeply into the kiss. you lifted your legs and brought them up and around his waist.

you could feel his hard cock press against your inner thigh, a small groan left his lips at the contact and a needy moan left yours. his hand reached between your nude bodies, two fingers slotting in between your folds and a slow and languid pace.

the tips of his fingers found your clit, rubbing small and slow circles around the sore nub. your walls fluttered around nothing, craving his cock that throbbed against your thigh.

you failed to kiss him back as a small whine left your lips.

“so wet already,” he kissed your chin, “were you dreaming about me, baby?”

you couldn’t help but give him a large smile, “maybe,”

you watched a smile grow on his lips as he placed another deep kiss to yours. his fingers left your aching cunt, leaving you pleading for more. his hand glided up your thigh, making sure your legs were securely wrapped around him.

he pulled away from the kiss, kissing your nose and then the corner of your mouth.

“i love you,” he breathed out.

“i love you too…ah,” your voice faded away into a moan as he slowly thrust into you. a weak moan left your lips and your nails dug into the skin of his back. you were never used to the sheer size of him, even if he was given to you just a few hours ago here you are, gasping for air as you clench around him.

“so beautiful, taking me so good,” he praised with a small groan. his tip nudged against your cervix, practically knocking the air left in your lungs straight out. he kept a hand on your leg, keeping you as close to him as possible.

with each deep thrust, he watched your every facial expression, watching as your mouth dropped open into a moan and as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. he watched your lips try and form words, the only words you could moan out was his name:

“Leon,” you whined, dragging your nails down his back. he winced at the pain but he reveled in it, the way you’d claw at his back as he’d pound into you was better than any pain ever conflicted upon him. or when your teeth would sink into his shoulder, muffling your whines and moans.

the image only saturated his need.

you could feel his cock twitch inside of you and his hips began to roll against yours. still plagued by sleep, you buried your head into his shoulder, whimpering with each thrust. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, locking your ankles around his waist to bring him closer.

you loved feeling his weight on top of you, keeping you pressed firmly into the mattress, that way you had nowhere to run. not like you’d ever want to, the pleasure he gives you when he’s on top of you like this is inexplicable.

his arms underneath you, pulling you to his chest as he brought you up with him. both of your jaws dropped open, this new position allowing the tip of his cock to press further into you. you cupped his cheek, breathing in his heavy gasps as you slowly began to roll your hips down into him.

your breasts were pushed up against his, sweaty bodies sticking together and the smell of sex filled the room. soft and gentle moans slipped past your lips, your hands grabbing at anything in reach; his shoulders, his face, his arms, just him.

“you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, gripping the back of your neck and forcing you to look down at him. your lips met him in a frenzy, your cunt squelching the base of his cock as you rocked your hips against his faster — desperately chasing that high.

your stomach was burning with need, and every part of your body from your toes to your neck was on fire. you’ve never burned for someone like you do for him. his hips jolted up to meet yours and you gasped into his mouth which allowed him to slide his tongue against yours.

he was meeting you halfway with his thrusts, a gasp of pleasure leaving your mouth with every single one.

“fuck, it’s too much,” you whined as his lips traveled down your neck, biting down on your shoulder and your collarbones — he wanted to leave a mark.

“you can take it,” he heaved, “can’t you, baby?” he urged, as his teeth scraped against the plump of your breast. a shiver rolled up your spine at both the pain and pleasure, either way you nodded ecstatically.

“yes! i can take it,”

he smirked wider, his hips thrusting up faster. he watched as your tits bounced against his chest, your head rolling back which let your frizzy hair fall over your shoulders. his eyes were glued to the love bites decorating your body. the bruises and the redness growing on his skin.

the image of your body was now forever painted in his mind. your thighs wrapped around him as your hips ground down into his thrusts. your puffy cunt taking him so well, his cock sheathing inside of you and out again. your juices soaking the tuft of hair surrounding the base of his cock. your breasts bouncing and your ribs poking out.

“oh Leon, i’m so close-“ you whined, wrapping your arms around him. one of your hands running up the back of his neck and into his brown hair, the other wrapped around his shoulders with nails digging into his skin.

“let go for me, baby.” he egged you on, teetering close to his high as well. he screwed his eyes shut, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass, helping you meet his thrusts.

you buried yourself into the crook of his neck, muffling your loud moans into his skin. the sound of wet slapping skin only got louder, along with the sound of needy moans and the headboard banging against the wall.

the fog in your mind only got heavier and stars danced in your vision. your legs clamped around his waist as you came undone around his cock. stars danced behind your vision as you called out his name in a chant.

he wasn’t too far behind, biting down on your shoulder as he shot his seed deep inside of you. hot and thick, coating your gummy walls and painting you as his.

he continued pulling your hips down into his, slowly and carefully to help you ride out both of your highs. you slumped against him, completely worn out. all the soreness came back in a flash and your eyes felt heavy. but you smiled, draping your arms around his shoulders and allowing his softening cock to stay inside of you.

you turned your right, met with the bright light of the sun and the most beautiful view ever. the sun high in the sky shining down on a field of green grass. birds flew around in the distance, gliding in the wind and twirling in the air. you watched as they flew up and up until they were out of sight.

you pulled back from leaning on his shoulder, cupping his cheek and guiding him to look at you. his eyes peeled open slowly, his pupils contracting against the bright light he was exposed to before dilating again as he caught sight of you hovering above him.

he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling up at you.

“hi,”

you chuckled, “hi,”

he placed a deep kiss on your lips, sealing in the steamy morning you both shared. as he pulled away, he let his eyes stay shut for a moment, he wanted to mesmerize the feeling of your lips alone. he wanted to remember the feeling of your sticky body pressed to his. he wanted to remember the sound of your voice. he wanted to remember this moment. that way if he died tomorrow, he would be able to lay back and remember you.

“my body hurts,” you groaned, leaning back and taking him with you. as you both hit the mattress with a loud ‘puff’, he couldn’t help but smile.

“let me guess, you’re going to spend the whole time in bed,” he chuckled.

“what? i can’t enjoy my honeymoon? and my new house,” you smiled widely up at him. he cupped your cheek, smiling happily as he brushed your cheek. your smile faded as you nuzzled yourself into his palm, with a small sigh.

“you know, the moment i got home after that date with the froyo,” he began, licking over his dry lips. “i went home and began mapping out how your dream house would look,”

"really?" you smiled as you turned towards him, bunching the duvet up to your chin. he nodded and you gave him a small playful scoff, "and here i thought it was just a question,"

"well, it wasn't,"

your heart ached at the image of a young and blonde Leon sitting at his crowded desk, sketching out a house with the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his lip. you smiled at his confession, letting him plop down beside you as his arm wrapped around your waist to bring you against him.

“i was determined to make it happen,” he chuckled to himself, “i bought the property, hired construction workers, and interior designers. now that i think about it, i was so mean to them.”

you laughed at that, his story playing out in your head like a movie. you wondered how long it took and how much it all cost. though, he refused to tell you. he refused to tell you anything about the making of this house. you didn’t know about it until just a few weeks ago.

when he carried you out of the car bridal style with a blindfold around your eyes. he placed you onto the ground for a moment and you could hear the jingling of keys and the squeak of a door. when you stepped into the house it smelt stale, like wood and dust.

but when he took that blindfold off you were faced with something much better. you were face to face with your future — your dream. he mapped it out perfectly, just to your desires and nothing could ever be better. it was better than your dreams. so much better.

“the day of your uh other wedding,” he paused stifling a small nervous laugh as you giggled, “i was about to sell it. i was about to throw your dream away,” you frowned, both feeling guilty and saddened at the thought. he reached down under the covers, finding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“our dream…i was going to throw our dream away,” he laid his head down against the pillow, looking down at your hands as he ran his thumb over your delicate knuckles. “it wasn’t your fault, i just couldn’t stomach the thought of living or owning a house that was meant for you,”

“oh Leon,” you sighed.

“you didn’t know about the house, i never got to tell you and well it was too late to.”

you brought your joined hands to your lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles as you scooched closer to him. you didn’t go back to him because of the house, even if you did know about the house, you knew that you would have gone back to him for the sole purpose of being with him.

you could still be in that dainty old apartment and you’d be happy. you could be living in a studio apartment with him and you’d be happy. you could be living in a cardboard box with him and you’d be happy. as long as you were with him. home was where he was. Leon was home.

“the realtor convinced me not to, he told me a story similar to ours,” his other hand reached up, cupping your cheek and stroking the puffiness underneath your eyes.

“his story didn’t have a happy ending like ours but he told me, ‘it is never too late to be what you wanted to be.’” Leon sighed heavily, looking deep into your eyes. you looked at him attentively, eyes wide and eyelashes fluttering up at him. he smiled at you, finding the look on your face adorable, like a kid listening to a bedtime story.

“and well i wanted to be with you,”

your heart swelled with love and your features softened. you gave him a look of pure adoration, and every waking moment and every waking day you found yourself falling more and more deeply in love with him. from the moment you woke, to the moment you slept and into the dreams you inhabit, you loved him dearly.

your heart called for him in your strongest and weakest moments. your soul was tied to him and your every thought revolved around him.

Leon. Leon. Leon. he was all you knew and all you wanted. he was your dream, your prince charming, your fairytale. he was your everything. he held you in the palm of his hands and he didn’t even know it. from the moment you met and to this very moment now, laying in bed with limbs entangled — stealing kisses and whispering sweet nothing, you were his.

you wanted it to be him.

you wanted him to be your partner in crime. you wanted him to be your husband, your partner in life and death, the father to your children, the man you introduced to your parents, the man to give you his last name, the person you woke up to in the morning and fell asleep next to in the night, the sole owner of your heart and soul.

and now he is that. he is your partner in life and death, your husband, to father of your future children, the man you woke up to and fell asleep next to. he is that man.

“i’m glad it was you.”

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

tags : @xoxoloveless @luvrgreyy @ynsvnte @satinwithsilk @child-chomper1 @porcelain-sea-shore @stefoooo @spfoah @chesue00 @daervannafia @puppyina @prettyntxhee @leonkennedygvrl @altissia-09 @leqonsluv3r @yuiopiklmn @folksriddle @squazmine @its0214-am @xqlenkdy @belovedcloud @beafart (loved ur lil note btw! it made me laugh) @admirxation @neverg0nnagivey0uup @fancyyme @marymustdie @bloodstainedbandaid @jeonmochi99-blog

notes: if you wanna be on my tag list pls message me or fill out the form below (just to make it easier on me :D)

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author notes: MY GOD! pt. 2 is done and this shit is LONG! literally i did not need to write this much but i hope you guys enjoyed this one and tysm for filling out the taglist i was so surprised to see so many people wanted to be tagged in my work i thank each and every one of you ToT!!

also, summer is officially here for me so expect me to be active much more :D! - V!

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #death island leon #resident evil 4 #resident evil 2 #resident evil 6 #chris redfield #claire redfield

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itsgivingmami · 6 days ago

Text

Subject Matter

Rhea Ripley x photographer!reader

They tell me the masters have muses— and maybe so. But then what are they but muses to someone else. The first time I saw her I did not think— subject.

I thought— salvation.

“When I have a camera in my hand, I know no fear.” — Alfred Eisenstaedt

There is a peculiar kind of hush that lives backstage—not silence, not exactly, but a quietness formed from restraint and ritual. It gathers beneath stage lights and travels between locker room echoes and ring ropes. You’ve learned to listen for it: the measured beat of boots on concrete, the clatter of belts, the crackling radios fizzing out last-second demands. But underneath all that, beneath the layers of motion and metal, there’s always a pulse.

Yours.

It syncs with the zip of your camera case, the hum in your lens, the snap of buckles tightening around your chest. This is your holy place—the breath before performance. The rhythm of readiness.

You’ve stood in pit lanes and photo wells, in greenrooms and behind barricades, pressing your eye to the viewfinder as chaos bloomed around you. You’ve been bruised by crowds, kissed by smoke, nearly trampled by bass. You’ve framed war and worship, skin and smoke, light and blood. Spent nights in countries you couldn’t speak the languages of and even a night detained at a protest.

You’ve never been afraid.

Until now.

Zayn hands you your schedule for the week—just a square of thick, almost smug cardstock—and says with a grin, “She’s yours now.”

You blink down at it.

RHEA RIPLEY — SHADOW COVERAGE. FULL ACCESS.

Your heart kicks once against your ribs. “Full access?”

Zayn shrugs, pulling the lanyard from his mouth like the words don’t weigh anything. “They want raw branding stuff. Candid. Long-form. Not promo—presence. You’re not shooting her. You’re following her.”

You pause. “She approved this?”

A scoff. “She didn’t say no. And with Rhea, silence is a good reaction.”

Your grip on the camera strap tightens. You nod, legs already moving—toward something you don’t fully understand, but feel in your chest like a dropped match.

—

You find her in the hallway—early morning quiet, where the world hasn’t quite remembered itself yet. The air tastes like rust and electricity.

And then she steps into view.

Rhea Ripley.

She doesn’t walk. She moves. Shoulders coiled, arms swinging with that lazy kind of danger. A black tank clings to the lines of her back, the curve of her spine. Her pants sit low, her hair still wet from the shower, curling like smoke at the back of her neck. One headphone dangles against her collarbone like a dare.

She sees you.

Doesn’t slow. Doesn’t blink. Just cuts her gaze across you like a blade and walks past.

Then stops.

You feel the air change.

She stands just behind you—close enough to feel, not touch. Not yet.

Her voice arrives like smoke.

“So this is the new stalker.”

You answer on instinct. “Photographer.”

She turns her head, just enough for her profile to come into view. Sharp. Sculpted. Unforgiving.

“No difference.”

And she keeps walking.

“Intention,” you murmur, “that’s the difference,”

—

You catch her again an hour later, crouched between rusted steel doors lacing up her boots. Her tank top lifts as she leans forward, revealing the carved lines of her stomach, the shadows that map her body like constellations of violence and grace. Her eyes are closed. Her breathing is slow. She looks like prayer disguised as flesh.

You raise your camera.

Click.

Stillness.

Click.

Then her eyes open—and pin you in place.

She doesn’t move.

“You always shoot without permission?” she says, voice level, unreadable. Before you can stammer something resembling an apology, she stands. Approaches slowly. Presses a single fingertip to the front of your lens.

The glass fogs.

“If you’re gonna watch me,” she whispers, “don’t flinch when I look back.”

Then she’s gone again. And you’re left clutching the camera like it’s the only thing keeping your hands from reaching for her.

—

That night, your laptop flickers through frame after frame—Rhea in motion, Rhea in between. The moments no one else sees. Not the brutality. Not the victory. But the breath that comes before.

Then you find it.

Her head against the wall. Eyes closed. A sliver of stomach revealed beneath her lifted shirt. Neck exposed like a secret.

You drag the file into a folder you don’t name.

And you return to it more than once that night, just staring.

Not because it’s perfect.

Because it’s hers.

The shift is silent.

She lets you in without ever saying it. Doesn’t tell you to go. Doesn’t tell you to stay. She tapes her wrists with her knees pulled up, shirt clinging in the heat, sweat already blooming at her collarbones—and she doesn’t hide from the camera anymore.

She smirks sometimes. But mostly, she just exists. Open and unguarded in the way that people forget they’re being watched. Except she hasn’t forgotten.

She wants to be seen.

Especially by you.

One night, your camera is still open on your screen when Zayn slides past behind you and mutters, “You’re falling.”

You deny it, of course.

But when you pull up the still—the one where she’s laughing at something off-camera, head tilted back, eyes soft like someone let the fight drop from her shoulders—you see it.

Not lust.

Not even obsession.

Longing.

—

It happens after a match.

Not just any match—one where she bleeds harder, breathes rougher, her body thrown like a prayer someone dared to catch. You don’t see the end of it, your body ducks behind the curtain before your brain catches up past the sound of Rhea’s body hitting the steel stairs ringside. You tense backstage, pacing in the dark, index resting on your shutter button like it’s the only thing grounding you.

Then she’s there.

Her silhouette arrives first, sweat-slicked and steam-hot, eyes blown wide from the crash of adrenaline. Her lip is split. One strand of hair clings to her cheek. She wipes it with the back of her wrist, but the blood just smears, staining her skin like war paint.

And still—she doesn’t look away.

Your lens is down. Hanging. Useless.

“You ducked early” she breathes. “You get it?”

Her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, threaded with smoke and vulnerability. You manage a nod, and know somewhere in your chest she doesn’t give a damn about the shot— just that you were there.

“I want to see it,” she says. “Later.”

I need proof.

You still don’t lift the lens. You just watch as she wipes her jaw, leaving a streak that gleams dark red beneath the hallway fluorescents. Her shoulder rises, breath hitching, chest falling like she’s trying to slow her own heartbeat—and maybe failing.

Then she tilts her head, eyes flicking down to the camera still resting useless in your grip.

“What—don’t want to shoot me like this?”

Another step forward. Her breath is closer now. It smells like heat and metal. You can see where her pulse jumps at her throat.

“Or is this not the version you want?” she murmurs. “Too messy? Too raw?”

You want to tell her it’s the only version that ever felt true.

But your mouth doesn’t move.

And something flickers in her then—softness, or sadness, you can’t tell. Her face doesn’t fall, but it flickers, and somehow that’s worse. Like watching light die behind a curtain you didn’t mean to close.

You lift the camera slowly. Quietly. Not for the photo.

But because it’s the only thing between you and reaching for her.

Click.

And her eyes stay on you even after the shutter closes.

—

“All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth.” — Richard Avedon

You’re editing again when she finds you. No knock. No warning. Just Rhea in the doorway, sweat-damp and shadowed by the low hallway light.

You don’t hide the screen this time.

She steps close, arms crossed. Casual, almost. But her eyes are sharp.

“I saw your old work,” she murmurs, nodding toward the collage of thumbnails. “Girls in windows. Girls in bathtubs.”

She doesn’t say it with scorn. She says it like she’s been studying.

“You shot them like they were dreams.”

“That’s what they wanted to be,” You tilt your chin. “And you?”

A pause. Then: “I’m not a dream.”

“No,” you whisper. “You’re the ache that comes after.”

Something flickers in her face. A line pulled tight.

“Careful,” she says, voice low. “You’ll ruin me talking like that.”

She leaves you sitting in the quiet laughing at the irony of her accusing you of ruining when she existed like that. You were honest with her, some women wanted to look like dreams for people they didn’t sleep beside yet.

You found forgot cameras aren’t always windows, they’re mirrors and when you look to them they reflect back what you’re asking for. You’ve had lots of women look at your lens to achieve something, not because it was yours.

Not like her.

—

“I really believe there are things nobody would see if I didn’t photograph them.” — Diane Arbus

The message comes after midnight.

Rhea: You up?

You: Yeah.

Rhea: Pool. No camera.

When you arrive, she’s perched at the edge of the glowing water. Her legs move idly making soft waves of the surface. The door closing echoes in the bleached silence around you both.

“I didn’t think I was going to like you,” she starts, you raise a brow at her with a soft questioning look, “don’t get me wrong they’re not all bad, talented and nice more often then not but,” she finally looks at you, soft blue lines from the water reflecting on her jaw. “At the end of the day it all comes down to a good photo,”

You begin moving towards her, the tile is cool against your feet and the grout is scratchy but it’s irrelevant as she continues—

”But you,” she looks up to the ceiling and blinks a couple times before swallowing, “ it seems like taking a good photo of me sits on the back burner to some other goal,”

“I want to know what you look like without the lens.”

Her mouth curves, but it’s not a smile. It’s a question.

“Does that scare you?”

You sit beside her. The warmth of her radiates into your thigh.

“No,” you say. “It scares the parts of me I didn’t know I didn’t want to lose.”

She doesn’t speak again. Just reaches out and threads her fingers into yours with a tight grip you match.

No heat. No hesitation.

Just gravity.

—

“When I photograph, what I’m really doing is seeking answers to things.” — Wynn Bullock

The next match is brutal.

She’s a force. Her body hits the mat with thunder. Her roars carry through the arena like a pulse. Every move is precise, punishing. You shoot from the edge of the tunnel, camera lens trembling from the sheer heat of her presence.

She wins.

Of course she does.

After, she finds you before you can find her.

She grabs your hoodie. Fist curled in the fabric. Her forehead nearly touches yours. Her eyes burn into you like they’re demanding something deeper than sight.

“You didn’t look away from me once.”

“It’s in the job description,”

“You weren’t looking from the viewfinder little one,” You don’t deny it— her voice roughens. “Next time you watch me, you’ll remember what I sound like this close.”

You already do.

Later, in a stairwell that smells like concrete and sweat, you scroll through the photos with shaking fingers.

Her face. Her fire. Her truth.

This isn’t documentation. This is devotion.

You whisper into the silence:

“I’m already in too deep.”

—

“You cannot possibly hit the shutter without leaving a piece of you in the image.” — Joe Buissink

Your phone buzzes.

Rhea: Stop editing. Come outside.

You don’t ask.

She’s waiting beneath a streetlamp, hair still damp, gear half-hanging off her shoulder. The glow slices her in half—part shadow, part starlight.

She doesn’t speak. Just lifts her hand and you take it.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that exists just before a kiss. Just before a storm. Your joined hands swing between you like something earned. She leads you through the dark to an empty parking lot, its edges softened by moonlight.

She turns.

“Show me,” she says.

You blink. “What?”

“The folder. The one you keep pretending isn’t there.”

You hesitate. Then pull out your phone.

She scrolls.

Stops at one—her against the hallway wall, the light bleeding red behind her, her mouth almost smiling.

“I don’t remember this.”

“I can’t forget it,” you confess.

She scrolls again. Finds the one where she’s bruised and open, post-match. Her collarbone shadowed. Her mouth cracked with blood.

She lingers.

“You weren’t taking pictures of me,” she says. “You were keeping me.”

She looks up.

“Can I keep you?”

You nod. Voice caught somewhere in your chest.

She steps forward. Closer than she’s ever dared.

The kiss is soft. And then—

A storm breaks behind your ribs.

—

She brings you to her hotel like you’re glass she wants to carry without dropping. The air smells like soap and skin. Her boots are beside the bed. Her shirt falls from her shoulders in pieces.

“You’re real,” she says, palm against your chest.

“So are you,” you breathe.

You undress each other like you’re building something new. Not desire. Not conquest.

Recognition.

Her teeth graze your neck.

“Mine,” she whispers.

Your body arches. Every nerve alive.

“Yes,” you say. “Yours.”

Not surrender.

An invitation.

—

“Photography is a love affair with life.” — Burk Uzzle

The morning is syrup-thick with gold. Her leg is thrown over yours. Her arm heavy across your waist. She smells like sleep and salt. Her mouth is at your throat.

You wake to her watching you.

“I didn’t dream you,” you murmur.

“No,” she says. “You’d wake up bruised.”

You laugh, soft and wrecked. Her mouth finds your collarbone.

The second time is different. Needier. Faster. Hungrier.

She flips you. You claw at her shirt. There’s laughter in the spaces between your gasps. A breathless apology when she bites too hard.

And you love every second.

You lose track of cities.

But she stays constant.

Sometimes, she finds you backstage and kisses your lips swollen. Sometimes she’s at your hotel room with takeout and a comfortable silence

You never ask what this is.

But both of you know.

—

One morning, you wake to find her standing by the window. Her back bare. Sunlight streaking her skin like brushstrokes. Her tattoos glow.

“Shoot me,” she says.

You do.

No posing. No lies.

Just her.

Then she turns, still half-lit, and gestures.

“Your turn.”

You hide behind the sheet. “No way.”

You allow her to crawl towards you and gently pry the camera away. You smile as she cradles it with more care then you’ve seen her handle anything before, your chunky camera suddenly looks dwarfed in her hands.

She takes a lot of pictures, most of them are a mess. Overexposed whites and random light glares when she moved to fast.

“Mami you know your closing the eye in front of the view finder right?” You teased her,

“Looking at you is more important,” she’d growled back.

But woven into the chaos is a few frames that make her chest tug. The light finally showing the way your hair shines, the angle of your shirt- her shirt- falling making you look delicate.

She has no idea if it’s technically correct or would be considered half decent at all but to her—she’s finally managed to capture what her eyes see.

Later she sets it as her home sceeen, the only place safe enough for such mastery.

—

“What you have caught on film is captured forever…” — Aaron Siskind

The crowd explodes and you grin proudly at the pop. You kneel in the tunnel with your camera strapped waiting for the smoke to clear. She steps into the lights like wrath wrapped in leather.

She doesn’t look at you.

Until she does.

She points.

Right at the lens.

Click.

You lower the camera.

Because you don’t need proof.

You already belong to each other.

—

“A thing that you see in my pictures is that I was not afraid to fall in love with these people.” — Annie Leibovitz

—

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