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pucksandpower · 25 days

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Find Me Again

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Alexandria, 30 BC

The scorching Egyptian sun beats down on Alexandria as you hurry through the bustling streets, your sandals slapping against the warm stone. The air is thick with tension — whispers of Octavian’s approaching army have the city on edge. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the stolen moments you’ll soon share with Lando.

You slip into a secluded alleyway, heart racing as you spot his familiar silhouette. Lando’s face lights up when he sees you, though worry creases his brow.

“There you are,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You melt into his embrace, savoring his warmth. “I’m sorry I’m late. The palace has been in chaos with all the rumors flying about.”

Lando’s arms tighten around you. “It’s true then? Octavian draws near?”

You nod against his chest. “I fear so. Cleopatra grows more desperate by the day.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His dark eyes search yours intently. “Come away with me,” he pleads. “We can leave the city tonight, find passage on a ship bound for Greece or Cyprus.”

Your heart aches at the longing in his voice. “Lando, you know I can’t abandon my duty to the queen. She needs me now more than ever.”

“And what of my need for you?” Lando’s voice cracks with emotion. “Each day I’m torn between my loyalty to Rome and my love for you. I cannot bear the thought of you in danger when Octavian’s forces arrive.”

You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. “My brave soldier,” you murmur. “Always trying to protect me. But I’ve survived far worse than regime changes. We’ll find a way through this, as we always do.”

Lando leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I wish I had your optimism. Every time I close my eyes, I see visions of you lying lifeless amidst the chaos of battle.”

A chill runs down your spine despite the oppressive heat. “Don’t speak of such things,” you chide gently. “We make our own fate, remember?”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. I just ... I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. Promise me you’ll be careful, my love. Promise you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe.”

“I promise,” you whisper, sealing the vow with a tender kiss.

Lando responds eagerly, drawing you closer as the kiss deepens. For a blissful moment, the world fades away and there is only the two of you, lost in each other’s embrace.

A distant shout breaks the spell. You reluctantly pull away, both breathing heavily.

“I should go,” you murmur regretfully. “Cleopatra will be wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

Lando nods, though he doesn’t release you from his arms. “When can I see you again?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Three days from now, at sunset. Meet me by the lighthouse?”

“I’ll be there,” he vows solemnly. “Be safe, my love.”

With a final lingering kiss, you slip from his embrace and hurry back towards the palace. Your heart feels lighter despite the looming threats, buoyed by Lando’s love and the promise of your next rendezvous.

But fate, it seems, has other plans.

The next few days pass in a blur of mounting tension. Cleopatra grows increasingly erratic, oscillating between grandiose plans to seduce Octavian and talks of ending her own life. You do your best to comfort and counsel her, all while stealing moments to daydream about your upcoming meeting with Lando.

On the fated evening, you’re helping Cleopatra prepare for bed when she suddenly fixates on a basket of figs brought by a servant.

“Ah, how fitting,” she muses, a strange glint in her eye. “Did you know, my dear, that the Egyptians that came before us believed figs to be the fruit of the afterlife?”

A chill runs down your spine. “My queen?”

Cleopatra waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I was simply contemplating the cyclical nature of life and death. Come, help me into bed.”

You obey, tucking the sheets around her with practiced ease. As you turn to leave, her hand darts out to grasp your wrist.

“Stay with me a while longer,” she implores. “I find I cannot bear to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

Your heart sinks, knowing you’ll miss your rendezvous with Lando. But duty wins out over desire. “Of course, my queen. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Hours pass as you sit by Cleopatra’s bedside, listening to her reminisce about better days. Just as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, a commotion in the hall startles you both fully awake.

“What’s happening?” Cleopatra demands, sitting up.

Before you can answer, the doors burst open and a breathless messenger stumbles in. “My queen,” he pants, “Octavian’s army has breached the city walls!”

Cleopatra’s face hardens. “So, the end has come at last.” She turns to you, her gaze intense. “Fetch me the asp.”

Your blood runs cold. “My queen, surely there must be another way-”

“Do not argue with me!” She snaps. “I will not be paraded through Rome as Octavian’s prize. Now go, quickly!”

With a heavy heart, you hurry to retrieve the venomous snake from its hidden chamber. Your hands shake as you return, presenting the basket to Cleopatra.

She reaches for it eagerly, but pauses. Her eyes meet yours, softening slightly. “My faithful friend,” she murmurs. “You have served me well. I release you from your duties. Go, find that Roman boy of yours and flee while you still can.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You knew?”

Cleopatra’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “I’ve always known. Now go, before it’s too late.”

Torn between duty and desire, you hesitate. In that moment of indecision, everything changes.

Cleopatra reaches for the asp, but in her haste, she knocks the basket from your hands. The snake falls to the floor, immediately striking at the nearest target … you.

Pain explodes in your ankle as the asp’s fangs sink into your flesh. You cry out, stumbling backwards.

“No!” Cleopatra wails, lunging to catch you as you fall.

The world begins to spin as the venom courses through your veins. Your last coherent thought is of Lando, waiting faithfully by the lighthouse. As darkness closes in, you pray he’ll forgive you for breaking your promise.

Hours later, Lando fights his way through the chaos of the conquered city. He charges into the palace, heedless of the danger, desperate to find you.

When he bursts into Cleopatra’s chambers, his worst fears are realized. Two bodies lie motionless on the floor — the queen and beside her ...

“No,” he chokes out, falling to his knees beside your lifeless form. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lando gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as sobs wrack his body. “You promised,” he whispers brokenly. “You promised you’d stay safe.”

But promises, like empires, are so easily broken. As the sun rises on a new era for Egypt, it sets on this chapter of your shared story. Yet even as this life ends, the seeds of the next are already taking root, waiting to bloom in another time, another place.

For true love, like the mighty Nile, cannot be contained. It flows ever onward, carving new paths through the landscape of eternity.

Pompeii, 79 AD

The ground trembles beneath your feet as you race through the chaotic streets of Pompeii. Ash rains from the sky, coating everything in a ghostly gray shroud. All around, people scream and push, desperately seeking escape from the fury of Mount Vesuvius.

“Lando!” You call out, your voice hoarse from the acrid air. “Lando, where are you?”

A hand suddenly grabs your arm, yanking you into a narrow alleyway. You whirl around, ready to fight, only to find yourself face to face with Lando. His usually immaculate toga is torn and stained with soot, his dark curls matted with ash.

“Thank the gods,” he breathes, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”

You cling to him tightly, savoring his familiar warmth amidst the chaos. “We need to get out of the city,” you say urgently. “The mountain — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Lando nods grimly. “I know. I’ve been trying to make it to the harbor, but the roads are completely blocked. It’s madness out there.”

Another tremor rocks the ground, stronger than before. Pieces of masonry rain down from the surrounding buildings. Lando shields you with his body as you both press against the alley wall.

“We can’t stay here,” you say once the shaking subsides. “It’s not safe.”

“Nowhere is safe,” Lando replies, his eyes haunted. “But you’re right, we need to keep moving. Come on, I know another way to the docks.”

Hand-in-hand, you dash back out into the crowded street. The air grows thicker with each passing moment, making it harder to breathe. You pull the edge of your stola over your mouth and nose, squinting through the haze.

Lando leads you through a maze of side streets and back alleys, avoiding the worst of the panicked crowds. But with each turn, your hope dwindles. The mountain’s fury seems to be growing by the minute, raining down fire and ash with terrifying intensity.

As you round another corner, you come face to face with a wall of rubble blocking the entire street. Lando curses under his breath, pounding his fist against a fallen column.

“It’s no use,” he says, defeat creeping into his voice. “Every path to the harbor is cut off. We’re trapped.”

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Then we’ll find somewhere to wait it out. The gods won’t abandon us. We just have to have faith.”

He turns to you, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Even in the face of certain doom.”

“One of us has to be,” you reply, managing a weak smile of your own.

Another violent tremor shakes the ground, nearly knocking you both off your feet. In the distance, you hear the ominous rumble of collapsing buildings.

“Quick, in here!” Lando shouts, pulling you towards a sturdy-looking stone building. You duck inside just as a fresh barrage of burning rocks pelts the street where you were standing moments ago.

As your eyes adjust to the dimness, you realize you’re in some kind of workshop. Half-finished statues and blocks of marble are scattered about, coated in a fine layer of ash that has sifted through the cracks.

“A sculptor’s studio,” Lando muses, running his hand along a nearby bust. “Rather fitting, don’t you think? To spend our last moments surrounded by art meant to outlast us all.”

You shoot him a reproachful look. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.”

He sighs, pulling you close. “I admire your spirit, my love. But I fear this time, the Fates have other plans for us.”

As if to punctuate his words, the ground gives another violent lurch. The air grows even thicker, filled with choking dust and sulfurous fumes.

“It’s getting harder to breathe,” you gasp, fighting back a coughing fit.

Lando guides you to a relatively clear corner of the room, helping you sit on the floor before settling beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side.

“Just try to take shallow breaths,” he instructs, his own voice strained. “Like this, see?”

You nod, focusing on matching your breathing to his. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your labored breaths and the distant rumble of the mountain.

“Lando?” You whisper after a while.

“Hmm?”

“I’m scared.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. I am too.”

“Tell me a story?” You ask, your voice small. “Like you used to, when we first met. Remember?”

Lando chuckles softly. “How could I forget? You were the most stubborn student I’ve ever had the misfortune of tutoring.”

“Hey!” You protest weakly, managing a smile despite everything. ��I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh no?” He teases. “Who was it that insisted the Odyssey would be vastly improved if Odysseus had simply asked for directions?”

You laugh, the sound quickly dissolving into a cough. “Well, it’s true! Twenty years to get home? Penelope should have moved on.”

Lando shakes his head in mock dismay. “Such disrespect for the classics. I clearly failed as your tutor.”

“Never,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “You taught me far more important things than dusty old stories.”

“Oh? And what might those be?”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You taught me what it means to truly love someone. To find a home not in a place, but in a person.”

Lando’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he leans down to kiss you softly. “And you, my darling, taught me that life is meant to be lived, not just studied. You brought color to my world of scrolls and stone.”

Another tremor shakes the building, sending a fresh wave of dust raining down on you both. The air grows thicker, each breath a struggle.

“Lando,” you wheeze, gripping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to die.”

He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Promise you won’t leave me?” You plead, your vision starting to blur.

“Never,” he vows fiercely. “Not in this life or any other. Wherever our souls go next, we go together. I promise.”

You manage a weak nod, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. As consciousness begins to slip away, you’re struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Lando?” You murmur, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, love?”

“I think ... I think we’ve done this before.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “What, died in each other’s arms while a volcano erupts? I think I’d remember that.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, not exactly. But this feeling ... like we’ve known each other forever. Like we’ll find each other again, no matter what.”

Lando is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Maybe we have. Maybe we will. I’d like to think so.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

As the world crumbles around you, you cling to each other. Your last thoughts are not of fear or regret, but of the love you share. A love so powerful it transcends time itself.

And as this chapter closes, another waits to begin. For some bonds are too strong to be broken, even by death. Your souls are destined to find each other again and again, weaving an eternal tapestry of love across the ages.

Salem, 1692

The air in the Salem courthouse is thick with tension and the bitter scent of fear. You stand before the assembled judges, your wrists bound tightly with rough rope that chafes your skin. The crowd of onlookers murmurs and shifts restlessly, their faces a sea of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Lando sits among them, his face a mask of anguish as he watches the proceedings. He wants nothing more than to rush to your side, to shield you from the madness that has gripped the town. But he knows that any show of support would only damn you further in the eyes of the court.

Judge Hathorne’s voice rings out, silencing the whispers. “The accused will step forward.”

You take a shaky step, raising your chin defiantly despite the terror coursing through your veins.

“You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” Hathorne intones gravely. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” you declare, your voice stronger than you feel. “I am no witch, merely a midwife and herbalist. I have done nothing but help this community.”

A snort of derision comes from the crowd. You turn to see Goodwife Putnam, her face twisted with malice. “Lies!” She shrieks. “I saw her dancing naked in the woods, consorting with dark spirits!”

“That’s not true!” You protest. “I was gathering herbs for my remedies, nothing more!”

Judge Hathorne raises an eyebrow. “And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on the night in question?”

Your heart sinks. You had been alone that night, as you often were when foraging. “I ... I was alone, your honor. But I swear on all that is holy, I am no witch.”

A ripple of whispers sweeps through the crowd. Lando’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort of remaining silent.

“Very convenient,” Hathorne remarks dryly. “Goody Putnam, you may continue with your testimony.”

The woman stands, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills you to the bone. “I’ve seen her speaking to animals as if they could understand her. And just last week, my cow’s milk turned sour the very day after she visited our farm!”

“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Milk spoils, it’s a natural occurrence. And I often speak to animals, as do many others. It does not make me a witch!”

But your protests fall on deaf ears. One by one, your neighbors step forward with increasingly outlandish accusations. Every misfortune, every unexplained event is laid at your feet.

“She cursed my crops!”

“My child fell ill after eating her bread!”

“I saw her flying on a broomstick!”

The claims grow more absurd, but the judges nod solemnly at each one. You feel the noose of suspicion tightening around your neck with each passing moment.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lando leaps to his feet. “This is madness!” He shouts. “You’re condemning an innocent woman based on nothing but gossip and superstition!”

All eyes turn to him. Judge Danforth fixes him with a steely glare. “Master Norris, you will remain silent or be removed from this courtroom.”

“I will not be silent while you murder an innocent woman!” Lando retorts. He turns to the crowd, imploring them. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re tearing our community apart with these baseless accusations!”

A murmur of uncertainty ripples through the onlookers. For a moment, you dare to hope that reason might prevail.

But then Abigail Williams, one of the young girls at the center of the witch hunt, lets out a blood-curdling shriek. She points a trembling finger at you. “Her specter! I see her specter tormenting me even now!”

The other girls quickly join in, writhing and screaming as if in the throes of possession. The courtroom erupts into chaos.

“Order!” Judge Hathorne bellows, pounding his gavel. “Order in the court!”

As the commotion dies down, he turns to you, his expression grave. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. Unless you confess and repent, I have no choice but to find you guilty of witchcraft.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You know that a confession might spare your life, but it would mean living a lie. And worse, it would lend credence to the madness gripping Salem.

“I will not confess to crimes I did not commit,” you say quietly but firmly. “I am innocent before God and man.”

Judge Hathorne’s face hardens. “Then you leave us no choice. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. Lando’s anguished cry rises above the din. “No! You can’t do this!”

He rushes towards you, but is quickly restrained by two burly constables. “Let me go!” He shouts, struggling against their grip. “She’s innocent!”

Your eyes meet his across the chaotic courtroom. Despite everything, you manage a small, sad smile. “It’s alright, Lando,” you call out. “Be strong. This isn’t your fault.”

As the guards move to lead you away, Lando breaks free and rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands, his eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll find a way to stop this,” he vows. “I won’t let them take you.”

You lean into his touch, memorizing the feel of his hands on your skin. “There’s nothing you can do, my love. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Don’t let them take you too.”

“I can’t lose you,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

“You won’t,” you whisper fiercely. “Not really. I don’t know how I know this, but I swear we’ll find each other again. In another life, another time. This isn’t the end for us.”

The guards roughly pull you apart. As they drag you away, you keep your eyes locked on Lando’s, drawing strength from his gaze.

The next few days pass in a blur of fear and desperate prayer. You cling to the strange certainty that had come over you in the courtroom — that somehow, someway, this is not truly the end for you and Lando.

On the day of your execution, you walk to the gallows with your head held high. The crowd that has gathered is subdued, some already beginning to question the justice of what’s happening.

You scan the faces, searching for Lando, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Your heart aches at his absence, but you understand. It would be too painful for him to watch.

As the noose is placed around your neck, you close your eyes and think of Lando. Of his laugh, his gentle touch, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hold onto these memories as the world falls away beneath your feet.

Your last conscious thought is a promise — to find him again, no matter how long it takes.

Miles away, hidden in the woods, Lando feels the exact moment you leave this world. He collapses to his knees, a wordless cry of anguish tearing from his throat. But even in his grief, he feels the echo of your final promise.

“I’ll find you,” he whispers to the uncaring forest. “In this life or the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”

And so another chapter closes, the threads of your shared destiny stretching onward through time. The cycle continues, each life bringing you closer to the moment when you’ll finally break free of this endless dance of death and rebirth.

Yekaterinburg, 1918

The Ipatiev House looms dark and foreboding in the Yekaterinburg night. You pace the confines of your makeshift prison, the once-opulent rooms now a stark reminder of how far the mighty Romanovs have fallen. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps from the floor below sends a chill down your spine.

“They’re coming,” your sister Maria whispers, her eyes wide with fear.

Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A group of armed men file in, their faces grim and purposeful. Your heart nearly stops when you spot a familiar face among them.

“Lando?” You gasp, scarcely able to believe your eyes.

He meets your gaze, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions. “Grand Duchess,” he says stiffly, the formal title at odds with the intimate moments you’ve shared in secret.

“What’s happening?” You demand, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Why are you here?”

Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of the house, steps forward. “The Ural Soviet has decided to execute the Romanov family,” he announces coldly. “You are to be moved to the basement immediately.”

A wave of terror washes over you. “No,” you breathe. “No, this can’t be happening.”

Your eyes lock with Lando’s, silently pleading. For a moment, you see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he looks away.

As the guards begin herding your family towards the stairs, you manage to maneuver closer to Lando. “How could you be part of this?” You hiss under your breath.

His jaw clenches. “The revolution demands sacrifices,” he mutters. “Even from those we ... care about.”

“Care about?” You repeat incredulously. “Is that all I am to you now? After everything we’ve shared?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face. “You know it’s more complicated than that. Your family’s rule has caused immeasurable suffering. This ... this is justice.”

“Murder is not justice,” you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Before he can respond, you’re roughly pushed forward. The journey to the basement is a blur of terror and disbelief. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmare.

In the dank cellar, Yurovsky instructs your family to line up against the wall. You find yourself between your younger siblings, instinctively trying to shield them even as your own knees threaten to give out.

“Wait,” you cry out as Yurovsky raises his hand to signal the firing squad. “Please, spare the children at least. They’re innocent in all this!”

Yurovsky’s face remains impassive. “There can be no Romanov heirs left to rally around. The old regime must end here and now.”

You turn to Lando, making one last desperate appeal. “Lando, please. If what we had meant anything to you, don’t let this happen. Help us!”

For a moment, you see the Lando you knew — the passionate young man who spoke of creating a better world, who held you under the stars and whispered promises of a future together. But then the revolutionary mask slips back into place.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “But this is bigger than us.”

As the soldiers raise their weapons, time seems to slow. You think of all the lives you might have lived — the futures now forever lost to you. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, as if you’ve faced death with Lando before.

“Ready!” Yurovsky’s voice cuts through your reverie.

You straighten your spine, determined to face your end with dignity. Your eyes find Lando’s one last time.

“Aim!”

“I forgive you,” you mouth silently, even as tears stream down your face.

You see Lando’s composure crack, anguish flooding his features. He takes a half-step forward, as if to intervene, but it’s too late.

“Fire!”

The basement erupts in a deafening cacophony of gunshots and screams. You feel a searing pain in your chest as bullets tear through you. As you crumple to the ground, your fading vision fixates on Lando’s horrified face.

With your last breath, you whisper, “Find me again.”

Then darkness claims you.

Lando stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from your lifeless form. The smokey smell of gunpowder mixes with the metallic scent of blood, turning his stomach.

“Finish them off,” Yurovsky orders dispassionately. “No survivors.”

As his comrades move forward with bayonets, Lando stumbles back, retching. He staggers up the stairs and out into the cool night air, gulping it down desperately.

What has he done?

He’d believed so fervently in the revolution, in the need to sweep away the old order to build a better world. But staring at his blood-stained hands, Lando feels nothing but horror and soul-crushing guilt.

Your final words haunt him. “Find me again.” But how can he, when he’s destroyed any chance of a future together?

As dawn breaks over Yekaterinburg, Lando makes a decision. He can’t undo what’s been done, but he can ensure the truth isn’t buried along with your body.

Over the coming weeks, as the Bolsheviks spread lies about your family’s fate, Lando works in secret to document what really happened. He gathers evidence, writes detailed accounts, and arranges for the information to be smuggled out of the country.

It’s a dangerous game. If caught, he’ll be branded a traitor to the revolution. But Lando no longer cares about ideology or politics. His only goal is to honor your memory and ensure that history remembers the truth.

Late one night, as he prepares to flee the country with his damning documents, Lando allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He thinks of your smile, your compassion, the way you challenged him to see beyond his rigid beliefs.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the empty room. “I failed you in this life. But I swear, somehow, I’ll make it right. If there’s any justice in the universe, we’ll meet again. And next time, I’ll protect you. I’ll choose you over everything else.”

As he slips out into the night, Lando feels a strange sense of certainty. This isn’t the end of your story. Somehow, someway, you’ll find each other again.

The wheel of fate continues to turn, carrying your intertwined souls towards yet another lifetime. But with each cycle, the bond between you grows stronger. Perhaps next time, you’ll finally break free of this tragic pattern and find the happiness that’s eluded you for so long.

Jonestown, 1978

The humid Guyanese air hangs heavy over Jonestown, thick with tension and the cloying scent of tropical flowers. You stand among the gathered crowd, your heart pounding so hard you fear it might burst from your chest. Beside you, Lando’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.

“This isn’t right,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the droning speech coming from the pavilion. “We need to get out of here.”

You nod imperceptibly, not daring to speak. Jim Jones’ paranoid ravings have reached a fever pitch in recent days, and you both know that even the slightest hint of dissent could be deadly.

“My children,” Jones’ voice booms out over the loudspeakers, “the time has come for us to make our final stand against the oppressors who seek to destroy our paradise.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. You scan the sea of faces, seeing a mix of blind devotion and barely concealed terror.

“Our Congressional visitors have betrayed us,” Jones continues, his words slurring slightly. “They will bring nothing but destruction. We have no choice but to enact our glorious revolutionary suicide.”

Your blood runs cold. You’d heard whispers of this plan, but had desperately hoped it was just another of Jones’ manipulative tactics.

“Lando,” you whisper urgently, “we have to run. Now.”

He nods, his face pale but determined. “Follow my lead. When I give the signal, we make a break for the jungle.”

But before you can move, you feel a vice-like grip on your arm. You turn to see your mother, her eyes wild with fervor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She hisses. “This is our moment of triumph. You will not ruin it with your lack of faith.”

On Lando’s other side, his father has a similar hold on him. The older man’s face is a mask of grim resignation. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” he says quietly.

You watch in horror as Jones’ lieutenants begin distributing paper cups filled with a sinister purple liquid. The bitter almond smell of cyanide fills the air.

“No,” you breathe, struggling against your mother’s grip. “Mom, please. This is insanity. We don’t have to do this!”

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. Your mother’s grip only tightens as she accepts two cups from a passing aide.

“Drink,” she commands, thrusting one towards you.

You shake your head vehemently, clamping your mouth shut. Beside you, Lando is engaged in a similar struggle with his father.

“You can’t force us to do this!” Lando shouts, drawing the attention of nearby cult members. “This is murder!”

Jones’ voice cuts through the growing commotion. “Those who resist are traitors to our cause. They must be made to comply, for the good of all.”

Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a group of Jones’ most fanatical followers. Rough hands grab you, forcing your head back. You struggle wildly, but it’s no use. You feel the cold rim of the cup pressed against your lips.

“No!” Lando cries out, fighting to reach you. “Leave her alone!”

But he too is overwhelmed, multiple hands restraining him as the poisoned drink is forced upon him.

The sickly-sweet liquid burns your throat as it’s poured into your mouth. You choke and splutter, but can’t prevent some of it from going down. Beside you, Lando’s muffled cries tell you he’s suffering the same fate.

As the hands release you, you collapse to your knees, coughing violently. Your vision swims, the world taking on a surreal, nightmarish quality.

“Lando,” you gasp, reaching out blindly.

His hand finds yours, gripping it weakly. “I’m here,” he manages, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

You crawl closer, fighting against the growing weakness in your limbs. All around, people are collapsing, some screaming in agony while others slip away in eerie silence.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, cupping Lando’s face with a trembling hand. “We never stood a chance against this madness.”

Lando’s eyes, clouded with pain, meet yours. “This can’t be how it ends,” he says desperately. “Not again.”

A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. “Again?” You murmur, confused.

He nods weakly. “I don’t know how, but I feel like we’ve been here before. Facing death together, unable to stop it.”

As the poison works its way through your system, flashes of other lives flicker through your mind. Ancient Egypt, Pompeii, Salem, Russia — each time, finding each other only to be torn apart.

“I remember,” you breathe, wonder mingling with the pain. “We keep finding each other, but we never get our happy ending.”

Lando pulls you closer, both of you shaking with the effort of fighting off the inevitable. “Next time,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Next time we’ll break this cycle. We’ll find a way to be together.”

You manage a small, sad smile. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, pressing a weak kiss to your forehead.

As consciousness begins to slip away, you cling to each other. The sounds of screaming and Jones’ maniacal laughter fade into the background. In these final moments, there is only you and Lando, and the love that has somehow endured across lifetimes.

“Find me again,” you whisper, echoing words spoken in another life.

Lando’s grip on your hand tightens fractionally. “Always,” he breathes.

As darkness closes in, you’re filled with a strange sense of hope. This tragic cycle can’t go on forever. Someday, somehow, you’ll find a way to break free and finally have the life together you’ve been denied so many times.

Your last thought, as you slip away, is a prayer to whatever cosmic force keeps bringing you together.

Next time, let it be different.

Next time, let us live.

And as your souls depart this tragic scene, unseen wheels of fate begin to turn once more. The cycle continues, but perhaps this time, with the weight of so many shared lifetimes behind you, you’ll finally find your way to a happier ending.

In the years that follow, as the horror of Jonestown is revealed to the world, two names are lost among the hundreds of victims. But your story — the story of a love that refuses to be extinguished — lives on, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

Monaco, 2024

The soft glow of computer screens illuminates Lando’s face as he leans into his microphone, his eyes darting between the chat and his game. “No, chat, I’m not going to sing the Baby Shark song,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You lot are absolutely mental, you know that?”

The door to his streaming room creaks open, and he glances over, his face softening into a warm smile as you pad in, wrapped in an oversized hoodie you’ve stolen from his wardrobe.

“Speaking of sharks,” Lando grins, addressing his audience, “look who’s decided to join us. It’s my favorite cuddly shark!”

You roll your eyes fondly at the nickname, a reference to your habit of playfully nipping at his shoulder when you’re feeling particularly affectionate. As you approach, Lando pushes his chair back slightly, making room for you to settle onto his lap.

“Come here, you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist as you curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. To his stream, he explains, “Sorry chat, the missus is feeling a bit clingy tonight. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, making him laugh. “What was that, love? The stream can’t hear you when you’re trying to become one with my neck.”

Lifting your head slightly, you repeat, “I said, don’t let me interrupt your gaming. I just wanted cuddles.”

Lando presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re never an interruption. Besides, I think the chat’s been asking for a cameo from you all night.”

You turn to face the camera, waving sleepily. “Hi, chat. Sorry I’m not more entertaining tonight. Long day at work.”

The chat explodes with greetings and well-wishes, scrolling by almost too fast to read. Lando chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze. “See? They love you. Probably more than they love me, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” you murmur, nuzzling back into his neck. “No one loves you more than I do.”

Lando’s breath catches for a moment, and you feel his heart rate pick up. Even after all this time together, simple declarations of love still affect him deeply. It’s one of the many things you adore about him.

“Alright, chat,” Lando says, his voice a touch huskier than before. “You’ve gone and made her all sappy. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”

You can’t help but giggle at his attempt to deflect. “Oh please, you love it when I’m sappy.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a grin. “But if I admit that, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

You snort inelegantly. “What reputation? Everyone knows you’re a big softie.”

“Oi!” Lando protests, poking you in the side and making you squirm. “I’ll have you know I’m very tough and manly. Right, chat?”

The stream erupts with a mix of agreement and playful disagreement, peppered with emotes and inside jokes. You watch the scrolling text with amusement, marveling at the community Lando has built.

“See?” Lando says triumphantly. “They agree with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure at least half of those messages were sarcastic, babe.”

Lando waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, I’m incredibly macho and not at all a softie.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. “Is that why you cried watching Up last week?”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s classified information, that is. You can’t just go revealing my secrets to the entire internet!”

The chat goes wild at this revelation, demanding to know more about Lando’s movie-watching habits. You can’t help but laugh at his mock-outraged expression.

“Sorry, love,” you say, not sounding sorry at all. “But if I have to put up with your sniffling during Disney movies, the least I can do is share the joy with your fans.”

Lando groans dramatically. “That’s it, I’m filing for divorce. Chat, you’re my witnesses. This is grounds for divorce, right? Revealing a man’s most intimate vulnerabilities?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “We’re not even married yet, you goof.”

The words slip out before you can think better of them, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Lando’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“Yet?” He repeats softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away. “Well, yeah. I mean, unless you had other plans?”

For a moment, Lando seems to forget entirely about the stream. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “No other plans,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”

The intimacy of the moment is broken by the chat exploding once again, this time with a flurry of ring emotes and excited keysmashes. Lando blinks, seeming to remember where he is.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, chat, I think that’s my cue to end the stream for tonight. Got some, uh, important things to discuss with this one.”

You bury your face in his neck again, half embarrassed and half thrilled by the turn of events. As Lando rushes through his usual sign-off, you can feel the barely contained energy thrumming through him.

The moment the stream ends, Lando spins his chair to face you fully, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did you mean that?” He asks eagerly. “About the marriage thing?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Of course I did. Lando, I’ve loved you for lifetimes. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”

Something flashes in his eyes at your words — a fleeting moment of recognition, as if some long-buried memory is struggling to surface. But then it’s gone, replaced by pure joy.

“Lifetimes, huh?” He grins, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better make this one count.”

As his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of rightness. After so many tragic endings, you’ve finally found your happily ever after. And this time, you’re not letting go.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips. “In this life and every other.”

Lando’s answering smile is radiant. “And I love you. Always have, always will.”

As you lose yourselves in each other’s embrace, the echoes of past lives fade away. This is your time, your chance at happiness. And you plan to make the most of every single moment.

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incognit0slut · 9 months

Text

The Last Laugh

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer is forced to share a room with his rival. This is part two of Lose Control but can be read as a standalone.

warnings: sexual tension, a lot of banter, female oral, edging, rough sex, unplanned creampie (is that a thing?) words: 5,3k a/n: someone requested a part two with a one-bedroom trope and since this is one of my favorite stories, I had to do it

...Thinkin' you're winnin' with all of your grinning but I got the last laugh...

"I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH REID."

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. Out of all the people in her team, why was she paired up with him?

According to Garcia, the only choice she had to spend the night in this remote town was with the person she least wanted to engage with. Did Garcia not know how much she had been trying to avoid him? How much she had been attempting to act as if the mere proximity with him wasn't making her lose her mind?

"Why not?" Garcia asked, handing her a key. "He's not that bad of a roommate, well, if you overlook his tendency to share random facts in the middle of the night, then he's really not that bad."

"Do you not hear yourself?" She steadied her gaze to her friend. "You want me to share a room with the person I hate the most?"

Garcia rolled her eyes. "You guys really should stop with this nonsense. You're both grown adults."

"I'll treat him like an adult if he starts to act like one." Her eyes drifted toward the man of the hour, standing at the other end of this old-looking hotel that seemed too close to falling apart, engaged in conversation with Luke. She then glanced back at Garcia. "Why can't he share a room with Luke?"

"Because I'm sharing a room with Luke."

She shot Garcia an incredulous look. "You're rooming with Luke? Since when?"

"Since always. We're buddies, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow and Garcia sighed. "Don't look at me like that, we're just friends. Besides, you and Reid are the only ones left without a roommate. Consider this your opportunity for personal growth or whatever."

"Personal growth? More like a crash course in patience. And what's the deal with Reid anyway? Why does he always have to be the exception?"

Garcia leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's just say Luke and I enjoy our peace. Reid, on the other hand, is like a walking encyclopedia. I figured it's your turn to experience that charm up close."

She scowled, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "Charm? That's a generous way to put it."

Garcia stared back with an air of nonchalance that only seemed to amplify her exasperation. "Look, it's only one night. What's the worst that could happen?"

She shot her friend a withering glance as if the absurdity of the situation needed no further clarification. "The worst is that I might end up committing another crime in this town before the night ends."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "You're exaggerating, Reid is harmless. Plus, all the other rooms are fully booked. Consider yourself lucky we even found a place to stay."

"Lucky is not the word I would use right now."

"Just try to survive the night without killing each other," Garcia chuckled, ignoring the glare shot towards her way. "Give him a chance."

Her incredulous stare intensified. "A chance? Garcia, the man tried to argue with me about the most efficient way to organize my desk. And you know what's ironic? His own desk is a complete mess."

Garcia sighed, her playful demeanor softening. "One night, Y/n, that's all I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together. She could go on about how bad it would be to share a room with him, but the thing was, it would raise questions she did not want to answer. There was a limit to how much her disdain could stop her from entertaining the idea, and her avoidance, she realized, was more than just mere hatred.

Annoyed that she couldn't do anything to escape the situation, she shot a disapproving glance at him, who was still engrossed in conversation with Luke. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned back to Garcia.

"Whatever." She sighed, begrudgingly accepting the key Garcia handed her. "But if he starts reciting facts about, I don't know, the history of dental floss or something, I'm blaming you."

Garcia laughed. "Fair enough." She shoved her shoulder playfully. "But who knows, maybe you'll discover he's not as bad as you think."

That was the problem. Spencer Reid, in her eyes, was starting to... change. And she hated that. Why was the man she had never bothered to befriend occupying her mind more than she wanted him to? Was it because she now knew what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers? What it felt like to have him grunt in pleasure right in her ear? Just because they had sex?

Nope. Nuh-huh. She wasn't going to think of him differently tonight—or ever, for that matter.

She gave Garcia one last glare before making her way across the creaky floorboards toward him. Noticing her presence coming close, Spencer looked up and a slight tension filled the air as his gaze locked with hers. She quickly shook her head.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she declared with a point of her finger when she reached him.

A small amused smile played on his lips. "We're sharing a room?"

"Unfortunately," she grumbled. She then focused her attention on Luke. "Do you want to switch roommates?"

Luke chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with Garcia. Besides," he patted Spencer on the shoulder, "Don't act like you're not eager to spend the night with him."

Her eyes went wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Luke simply shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and walked away, leavingher staring at Spencer with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"

Spencer frowned. "Nothing." He sighed when her stare didn't back down. "Nothing, I swear. Luke tends to have his own way of interpreting things."

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. She turned on her heels, not waiting for him as she walked to their destinated room. She felt his presence close behind her but kept her mouth closed.

Spencer, on the other hand, found the situation amusing. He really shouldn't find any entertainment in her visible annoyance towards him, but he did. He couldn't help but notice that despite being angry, she still looked unbelievably attractive. The scowl on her face, her pursed lips, her chest heaving in anger. He took a step closer.

"This must be hard for you," he commented.

"What is?" she shot back, maintaining her brisk pace.

"Staying the night with me when you've been avoiding me."

Her jaw tightened. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Really? So you haven't gone out of your way to avoid looking in my direction ever since what happened?"

Her steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, refusing to show any vulnerability. "That doesn't mean I've been actively avoiding you. It just means I have better things to do than engage in pointless conversations."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Pointless conversations, or conversations you're trying to avoid?"

She shot him a sharp look but didn't respond. "You know," he began again. "You do seem to be acting differently ever since that day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer couldn't resist a faint smile at her denial. "You really don't know what I'm referring to?"

She huffed, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The narrow hallway seemed to amplify the unresolved tension between them as they stopped right in front of their room. She could feel his gaze on her, and it only fueled her annoyance.

She tried to ignore him by unlocking the door, but as she pushed it open, she felt his presence looming behind her. His proximity was so close that she held her breath as he gripped the edge of the door in front of her. His breath brushed her neck and her eyes involuntarily fluttered close when his other hand slowly rested on her waist.

"Should I help you jog your memory back?"

Her eyes shot open. She shoved him aside and stepped into the room. "No funny business, Reid. Keep your dick in your pants tonight."

His laughter lingered in the air as he followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "The question is," he taunted. "Can you keep it in my pants?"

She scoffed. Who was he and what did he do to the Spencer she once knew? The guy she remembered lacked any humor and always kept his distance from her. It was hard to believe a simple encounter—could you call sex as simple?—had turned him so crude, or maybe, she considered, this was his true self all along.

She decided to ignore his words as her eyes scanned the cramped room, containing only an old dresser, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed, which she pointed at assertively. "That bed is mine."

His brow furrowed. "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?"

"You want me to sleep on the floor?" Her hand gracefully moved to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Where is your chivalry, Dr. Reid?"

"We could share the bed."

She simply stared back at him, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and incredulity. Spencer, unable to resist stirring the pot, shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, it won't be so bad. Did you know that the concept of sharing a bed has been a cultural practice for centuries? It symbolizes unity and—"

"Reid," she interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. "If you're trying to annoy me, you're doing an excellent job."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "I'm just stating a fact. Sharing a room, sharing a bed—it's all deeply rooted in human history."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt our situation is deeply rooted in anything other than poor hotel arrangements."

Spencer chuckled, undeterred, his laughter resonating in the dimly lit room as he took a step closer to her. The worn-out floor creaked beneath his feet, echoing the subtle tension that lingered in the confined space of the room. "You never know. We might be making history right now."

She shot him a skeptical look, her gaze unwavering. "I doubt historians will be interested in this disaster."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this skeptical, or is it just reserved for me?"

"It's just reserved for annoying people," she retorted, not missing a beat. She took a deliberate step closer to him, the air thick with a blend of tension and... something else. Her heart quickened as his gaze swiftly swept over her lips before dragging back to her eyes.

"Really?" He closed the distance between them, and she held her ground, tilting her head back to meet his gaze due to his towering height. A subtle trace of his scent hung in the air, his presence enveloping her. She felt a sudden shift in the air, her senses heightened, and her eyes traced the contours of his face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth reflected in his hazel eyes. She also could sense the initial surge of longing coursing through her body.

Shit.

"Believe it or not," he added, his voice a low murmur that resonated in the confined space. "I find your company quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" She responded, but it came out more breathless than she had intended. She took a deep breath, trying to act as if his close proximity wasn't affecting her. Her pulse, however, betrayed her composure. And it was evident in her voice. "T- That's a stretch."

"Really?" His lips curved into a subtle smile, catching the shift in her demeanor. "I think there's a small part of you that's enjoying this."

"Enjoy what? Your random facts and annoying habits?"

Spencer leaned forward. A tension crackled between them, and it swam in his eyes and played on his lips. It pulled at her chest, making her heartbeat flutter in her throat, and to her surprise, he extended his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch left a searing sensation on her skin.

"Admit it, you're starting to see a different side of me."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his point. "One night doesn't change anything."

"You're right." His hand made its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. "It can change everything."

Before she could register what he was doing, he closed the distance between them, holding her still as his lips crashed on hers. A thousand things flooded her mind all at once—each of them revolving around him. The way she melted into him felt oddly natural. The way his hands began to roam her body, the way her mouth opened for his tongue, the way her kisses became hungrier, also felt natural.

Which was bad. Really, really bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. One time, she could call it a mistake. But allowing him to have his way with her for the second time... there was no one to blame but herself. She should push him away and set the boundaries she was supposed to set the moment he invaded her personal space. But it was hard to think rationally when he tasted so good.

It was hard to stand her ground when his teeth softly nibbled her bottom lip. It was hard to think straight when she was already pulling hard at the locks at the base of his neck as his tongue explored her mouth, blindly walking her back until her back was pressing onto the wall.

"Look at you," he laughed against her lips. "You're not pushing me away."

"Shut up," she hissed, trying her best to keep her tone icy. But then again, it was hard to stay angry when he was touching her like this. His greedy hand traveled up her thighs, massaging the plush flesh. His fingers finally found the hem of her pants, and he swallowed her moan when they dipped underneath the material, slipping right underneath her panties.

Her breath hitched when two of his long fingers slide between her folds, spreading her slick before finding its rightful place on her clit. Spencer didn't hesitate when he started rubbing at her nub, smooth and deliberate, it made her toes curl and her body jumped in a moment of surprised bliss.

Her sound of pleasure was music to his ears, urging him to satisfy her even more. He was quick when those same fingers dipped inside her core, her inner walls tensing at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch. There was a distinct sound along her needy whines, wet and slapping as his palm makes contact with her clit every time he was knuckle-deep inside her. Her head fell back to the wall, mouth agape, face flushed—a sight Spencer secretly wanted to commit into his memory.

Without even noticing it, her hips started grinding to chase his fingers, desperate to reach that familiar pleasure twisting in her core. Her movement didn't go unnoticed by him, an amused, deep chuckle reverberating from his chest while he pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit aggressively, knowing it would make her reach her high faster.

"You're going to cum, aren't you? This quick?" She glared at him through half-lidded eyes, not giving him an answer. His smile widened at her resistance. "Do you think I should let you?"

Her heart quickened its pace, knowing well enough what he was about to do. He was going to tease her, or as she liked to think, he was going to torture her by not giving her what she wanted. Her theory was proved right when he leaned down, his face inches away from hers, a sly smile on his lips.

"Beg me."

She quickly shook her head. A hand snaked up her back until it found the base of her skull. His fingers brushed through her strands before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down her spine as he yanked her head back.

"Beg me."

"Fuck you—ah!" A sudden pressure of his fingers sent pleasure shooting through her, pushing a moan from her that filled the room like a ringing bell—a bell that signaled the fact that despite how much she knew she shouldn't, she was already surrendering to his touch.

"No?" He taunted, his breath brushing against her ear. "Then I'm not letting you cum."

And just like that, the pleasure rippling through her body was ripped away.

He swiftly pulled his hand from under her pants with a smirk she wanted to wipe off before turning his back to her, leaving her all flustered. She took a moment to collect herself, her mind racing to grasp the situation. She loathed him. She really did. She despised the way he was so full of himself.

With a determined exhale, she shook off the flustered feeling that lingered. He may have momentarily unsettled her, but she was not one to let her guard down easily. She was not going to let him get under her skin. If he could make her sexually frustrated, then so could she.

If he was going to play dirty, she was going to get filthy.

Her shirt was the first thing that came off. Then she unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her legs. Dear god, she was going to regret this, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop. Not when the rustle of her clothes echoed in the quiet space and Spencer turned around, jaw slacked, a startled expression crossed his face as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

There. That was what she wanted. That priceless, wide-eyed, disbelief face. She had to keep going.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

Her hand reached around to unclasp her bra before she intentionally took her time sliding the straps down her arms, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as you did. Eyes still focused on him, she tossed it to the side. Her hands lowered afterward, and an audible gasp escaped his lips as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her legs.

"You're always so smug," she murmured, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Thinking you have control of me."

Right hand reaching up, her fingertips just lightly swept the length of his stubbled chin, just below his lips. The corner of his mouth only drew up further at her touch. She smiled at his reaction, and her fingers dropped down to grip his chin firmly.

"But I can satisfy myself just fine."

And then she pulled away, the smirk now missing from his lips as she backed out of his reach. She then settled on the bed, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spread her legs wide open. She watched as a breathless sigh escaped his lips and smiled triumphantly, especially when the bulge growing in his dark pants was impossible to ignore.

With her gaze lingering on his steadily growing erection, she trailed her hand down her stomach, the tips of her fingers paused just over her clit. "What's wrong, Reid?" She hummed out, watching his chest heave. "You seem to be speechless."

Because he was, how could he not be when the pad of her middle finger slowly started to lightly circle over her clit. He watched as she teased herself, fingers gliding between her folds, gathering her arousal before slipping a finger inside. She gasped, the wet sound was audible even to her own ears as she gradually pumped her finger in and out.

He took a step closer, and her fingers moved faster as his eyes raked over her body—her luscious breasts fully exposed, legs spread apart, fingers between her thighs. A faint moan fell out of her, her eyes partially closing all the while her fingers never ceased their movement, vigorously thrusting into her cunt.

She then proceeded to put on a show for him, throwing her head back and rolling her hips. He was standing close to her now, eyes focused on her body, his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Her cunt immediately clenched at the sight of him, a bulge straining at the fabric of his pants. The sight sent a surge of warmth through her body, spreading from between her thighs to her cheeks as her fingers quickened in pace and her legs spread farther for him to see.

He was trying to hold himself, it was obvious in the way he held his composure. But then she watched with satisfaction as he stalked towards her, and just because she wanted to fluster him, she couldn't help herself from letting out a needy whine as she slipped her fingers out before rubbing her clit desperately, her eyes boring into his.

"Spencer," she moaned.

That was precisely when he lost it. He didn't even hesitate. He marched straight to her, and her finger stopped in its movement as she watched him settle between her legs, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly yanked her over the edge of the mattress, and she fell on her back with a squeal.

"You're a goddamn tease, you know that?" He sneered, his warm breath brushing over her heat. "Fine, I'll let you win this time."

A gasp escaped her lips when he wasted no time leaning in, burying his head between her thighs. He wasted no time as she grabbed onto the sheets, feeling his tongue draw circles around her clit before flicking up and down at a rapid pace. Her thighs tighten around his head. and her whole body trembled beneath him, encouraging him to move his tongue faster.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding them apart as he took his time. Ever so slowly he licked up her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue until he reached her clit, groaning every second of the way until she was shivering beneath his touch. She was breathless, mind buzzing and the room spinning as he thrust his tongue into her warmth, face becoming so deep between her thighs that heat rushed through her body.

When her thighs trembled and threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag deeper inside her. With a roll of his tongue, he was lapping at her walls, swallowing every drop until the second he heard her begin to whine.

It was embarrassing, letting him hear how worked up she was. But she couldn't help it, not when she was losing control of her mind and body. Her hips were starting to buck to meet his tongue. Her jaw slacked. Low moans spilled from her lips as he continued to ravish her, and her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her to hold onto her sanity as waves of pure overwhelming pleasure took hold of her.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, voice two octaves higher before growing silent. She was so, so close to the edge, his tongue relentlessly sucking her clit, licking, swirling over her entrance until her mind fell blank from the bliss. The heat began swelling from between her thighs, tension tightening and all she did was screw her eyes shut.

But seconds before the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, he suddenly pulled away.

"Reid!" She hissed, looking down between her legs. "You're fucking annoying."

He looked up at her with a teasing glint in his eyes, then his mouth parted a second before his tongue swiped over his lip to taste the remnants of her arousal. "What?"

Unbelievable. After pulling that stunt, he had the audacity to feign innocence. She huffed and opened her mouth to retort something but when he started to undress himself, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind was too busy taking in his slightly toned arms, his broad chest, his slim waist, and that patch of soft hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing underneath his pants.

And that was gone too, and now he was standing without any shred of clothing, and it then dawned on her that they were both very much naked. Their first time in that dusty storage room happened too fast that they didn't bother taking off their clothes, but now she had the time to sink in the way he looked wearing nothing but a smirk.

"I didn't bring a condom," he said as he climbed onto the bed. Like that was going to stop them, it didn't stop them before and it most definitely won't stop them now.

"It's fine," she mumbled just as he settled between her legs again, but when his eyes lit up at her words, she smacked his shoulder. "But you're still not finishing inside me."

He merely hummed a reply. Then seconds later he was lining up the tip of his cock with her entrance. His eyes meet hers as he teased her, and she noticed the smirk appear once again on his lips. She pushed her hips toward him, gripping his arm irritatedly, and released a breathy 'hurry up' before she could change her mind.

He wasted no more time pushing himself into her without warning, earning a gasp while he stretched her completely. He pressed his body into her, allowing her lips to collide with his and moan into the kiss when she felt him pull away just enough to slam back into her with one harsh thrust. His hands suddenly reached for her wrists, and he gripped them above her head, pushing them onto the mattress.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and she quickly shut her own as he pumped himself into her cunt over and over again. His motions were aggressive, sloppy, and wild. The moment a particularly deep and brutal thrust hit her at the right spot was the moment she finally gave in to weakness as she let out a loud moan, her mind going blank to everything but the pleasure he was giving her.

Then he pulled back again, and his thick cock slid out of her partway, glistening with her juices, splitting her pussy apart around it before snapping forward, his hips going at a brutal pace, making her whole body bounce from the contact.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned out just as she gasped from the intense pressure of him inside her, head falling above her, jaw slacked, sweat dripping down his temple. Her eyes fluttered open before exhaling a heavy breath, feeling him tightening his grip on her wrists. "We need to do this more often."

Though she didn't say it, she agreed with him. And it pained her to even consider making this a habit. But it was tempting. It was so tempting that the thought of having him inside her anytime and anywhere had her clenching around his cock, earning a low grunt deep within his chest.

Then something snapped inside her. She had started off holding back, keeping herself in check against the rising wave of sensations. But then, in a moment that felt like a long-awaited release, she decided finally to let go when he continued to hit that perfect spot inside her, and she almost felt ashamed at the noises she was making. She wasn't as vocal when she was alone, nor with other men, yet the man she claimed to hate earned every whimper, every desperate moan.

Hearing her cries urged Spencer even more. He leaned over to her and pushed himself deeper, earning a gasp from her as her legs fell apart even further, letting him sink himself as deep as he could. He pushed her hands above her head and hovered above her, letting his temple fall against hers as his hips rutted violently.

The pressure rose and the tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweats beaded over her skin just the same as him, crying out for him, moans mixing with filthy noises of him thrusting into her wet cunt. His powerful thrusts then quickened, causing her to grow weak her body began to quiver in his grasp.

She cried out, wanting to warn him she was growing close to the edge, her mind growing numb, everything around her fading into black. But didn't give her the chance to speak before he pressed his mouth on hers in a heated kiss, all sloppy and wet and desperate, latching on her lips with so much fervor.

She felt him everywhere. On her lips, biting on her soft flesh. On her breasts, his chest rubbing against her hard nipples. And between her legs, his cock stretching her deliciously, a pleasant feeling that had her whining against his mouth.

But before she could whimper anything else, the pleasure erupted inside of her, red hot heat unraveling to every limb. Her release was a fiery blast—white-hot and overwhelming, turning her into the image of destruction. Her hair stuck to her skin, her back arching off the bed, feeling overwhelmed as his cock hit her deeper. She succumbed to the bliss, eyes shut tight, and her furrowed brow as she surrendered through her orgasm.

He held her tighter, pumping himself into her as she finally let go, calling out his name in a breathless whimper. She came so hard her legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he didn't stop. He pounded into her harder, reveling in the way she fell apart for him.

"I-I'm close," he grunted. "Where... where do you want me to—"

"Inside."

He looked down at her, trying to hold himself to not combust right there and then. "Are you—" he groaned when she clenched around him. "Are you sure?"

She was already too deep in her climax that any worries faded away. It was like time slowed down, and all that mattered was the intense sensations taking over her body. It was wrong, but it was what she wanted. She wanted to be full of him.

"Yes. Please, just—please," she whispered. "Cum inside me."

It was enough for him to let go, chasing his own pleasure inside of her, hitting deep within her walls as her own arousal dripped out around him. The slick and messy noises mixed with his groans filled the room, heat continuing to rush to her face as her entire body became overly sensitive.

With one final, sharp inhale, the bliss took hold of him. His hips slowed as he began to release inside of her, filling her up with a few huffs and grunts, creating a bigger mess between her thighs. He thrust one last time as the last few drops spilled from him, continuing to press his body against hers as closely as possible.

Then everything went silent except the sound of their ragged breathing. He pulled out of her with a heavy sigh, just as spent as her, breathless beyond belief. He collapsed on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he tried to gain some sense of control, his mind trying to grasp on the euphoria that happened moments ago.

"Well that was—"

She quickly nodded beside him. "Yeah."

Spencer turned his head towards her, and she could already feel him gloating that before he had the chance to say anything, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not say anything."

His reply was muffled underneath her palm, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say. She didn't even bother wanting to listen to him anymore. So she got off the bed, wincing when she felt the mess dripping down her thighs as she walked over to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower," she called out. "I feel... sticky."

She then heard some rustling and she turned to see him hopping off the bed, following behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I feel sticky too."

"Spencer."

His lips twitched into an amused smile. "You called me Spencer."

She groaned and turned around. "We're not showering together, Reid."

"Why not?" He pressed, following her behind. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

She looked at him, assessing the way he was practically begging with his eyes. She was pondering whether it was a good idea to spend more time with him in an enclosed space. Probably not, but considering all the filthy, nasty things they had done, sharing a shower seemed harmless.

"Alright, fine," she caved in, letting out a sigh. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He nodded eagerly, but she should've thought better when the spray of water finally hit their bodies and he closed in around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he held her waist. Then he pressed her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and it was safe to say that he could not, as a matter of fact, keep his hands to himself.

Not that she was complaining.

a/n: I know this was supposed to be enemies to fuckable enemies but they're really starting to grow on me, they kinda cute

Oneshot taglist: @simpingforharryandcevans @strawbeerossi @lightvixxen @dim-i-try @annabellexox @baby-banana @natarataca @wolfbeanpotion @nagemasstuff @alexander-arcturus-black @rosieee491 @s00dastereo @no-honey-no @donttrustlove @tylevx @kailey-rae @sailorholly @ducksong @infinitegalaxiesworld @dreamsarebig @brilliantreid @boimlers-gonna-boim

PLEASE READ: The crossed-out ones are blogs I can’t tag. And if any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I can see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)

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ranaibrahim · 14 days

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Hi everyone, this is my story in a few words!

Fortunately, I still remember my name: Rana. I can also remember that I’m a graduate of the Faculty of English-Frensh literature then I completed my master’s studies in education.

Being from northern Gaza means that I have lived through war, aggression, siege, massacre, pain, loss, torment, and also “death”, which life here forces you to look at with your own eyes.

As October approached, the catastrophic chapters of this story dramatically unfolded. It fills my heart with darkness every moment. I open my phone gallery and scrolling up to that promising life where I no longer belong.

Pursuing my Phd education abroad with a good scholarship was always my goal which I believed would be achieved but due to the complete destruction of the city and continuing displacment from place to another, I couldn’t register in any program and I lost the chance this year.

I was working and training in a company inside “Al Jammal tower”, which is one of the largest towers housing software and languages companies in Gaza, where we were mixing commitment and fun, dreaming of a better future. But once our company became a target and was completely destroyed, my business was shattered as well as my dreams, leaving me heartless and soulless.

We are not numbers. Remember, despite the difficulties I face in Gaza and the challenges I face with courage, I always realise that my story is a small part of the stories of 2.2 million people who face difficulties and struggle to survival in harsh conditions.

🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

But there is a glimmer of hope amidst this darkness. With your support and generous donations, I can rebuild my life from the ashes and hit my goal. Every donation, no matter the size, will have a significant impact.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your unwavering support in this urgent matter.

@palestinegenocide @queerstudiesnatural @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @northgazaupdates

@apollos-olives @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vakarians-babe @90-ghost @fairuzfan

@sar-soor @fallahifag @humanvoicebox @plomegranate @queerstudiesnatural

@commissions4aid-international @international-network @nabulsi @mushroomjar

@palestine @communistchilchuck @northgazaupdates2 @ghost-and-a-half @kyra45

@the-bastard-king @feluka @sayruq @chososhairbuns @commissions4aid-international

@soon-palestine @palestinegenocide @kyra45-helping-others

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inkskinned · 2 years

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i love my therapist but i hate being in therapy. 10 minutes before my appointment, i'm in a meeting with my boss - we discuss my artistic choices; my boss recommends i artistically choose less. 10 minutes after therapy, i wash my hair and think about everything that was said, and then i have to switch it off, like a lamp, and go back to work again.

i was on a walk the other day and someone had the perfect combination of his cologne and whatever-else. it was almost exactly his scent. i fucking hate that. after all these years, i remember that? i tell my therapist - i feel like a fucking wolf. try telling a middle-aged blonde lady. oh i scented him on the air. i'm 30, and i'm having a panic attack over something that would be a plotline in the omegaverse.

what they don't tell you about mental illness is that if you are lucky enough to survive it into adulthood; it becomes a weird slice of your life. because you do, eventually, have to build a life. i realized in a panic somewhere around 22 - oh. i don't know what i'm fucking doing, because i always assumed i'd just go ahead and die. i didn't die, and i'm grateful for that, and i'm very happy about that choice. but it does mean that i am an adult in an apartment, living with my conditions side-by-side like. oh, that's my roommate, adhd. ignore the glass, bytheway, that's ocd.

so you pick your stupid life up by the scruff of the neck and you're, like glad for it (so much laughter and light and friends you would have never thought possible, when you were in the worst of it). but it feels so strange to be dancing around these odd little microcosms, these patchwork moments of your symptoms. if you have a panic attack at night, you still need to wake up and walk the dog in the morning. if your depression is making everything boring, well, you don't have any sick days left, and a job's not really supposed to be that exciting anyway. your ocd tears out each individual leg hair, and then, an hour later, you sigh, patch up the bloody bits, and go get dinner with friends. and the life is kitten-quiet, mewling and pathetic, but it's also like - it's yours, so you're fond of it.

and it's like - you're real. so you still enjoy pushing the shopping cart really fast and then riding on the back of it down an empty aisle. and you're not, like, so sick anymore that when you accidentally drop a mug you burst into tears (except for the days you do that. which are bad). and no, you're not allowed around certain items anymore. oops! but you've learned to be good about brushing your teeth most days of the week. and yeah sometimes in the middle of the day you have a little freak-out about how fucking unfair it all is, how fucking hard, how other people can just do this without having to fucking hurt the whole time. and then you sigh and force yourself to sit down and fucking journal about it so you can tell the nice middle-aged blonde woman yeah i had a hard day but i practiced grounding. you still sometimes want to burst out of your own skin, but you force yourself to eat kind-of healthy and to take your vitamins. you let yourself chop off all your hair in the sink in a dramatic poetry of control and relief - and you also have developed good hobbies that help you move your body more frequently. you feel helplessly behind, lost in the shuffle - but you also practice gratitude, taking stock of what you have garnered. because you're trying. even if you're never gonna be normal, you have something... close enough.

and the little kitten of your life, this mangy, starlit tigercub, this thing you expected to rot so young: in your arms, it turns itself over, belly-up. exposing this new soft part, all the organs and guts. like it's saying i trust you now. you won't give me up.

#does this even MAKE SENSE!!!!!#writeblr #btw what im trying to express in that first sentence is EXPLICITLY the feeling of logging off therapy to immediately go back to work #like :) haha!

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universalitgirlsblog2 · 5 months

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🧁🍥STOP BEING LAZY AND PATHETIC🧁🍥

This post is my notes of Thewizardliz video on how to stop being lazy and pathetic. This account will be my digital notebook where I will write notes from Liz and Tam Kaur's videos ( LOL ) .

🧁WHO ARE LAZY PEOPLE ?

Lazy people are the forgotten ones. People that don't want to do anything with their lives, they will always end up on a sideline.

🍥REALIZE THAT NO ONE CARES IF YOU ARE LAZY

Everybody has problems. No one cares about your victim mindset and about how life was hard or unfair for you. Life is unfair to everyone . Life goes on. Everyone is busy with their own lives. We got to get moving !

🧁YOU AREN'T LAZY , YOU ARE PRIVILEGED

People that need to survive have no option to be lazy . People that are walking up the stairs and they can barely breathe , they have no option anymore than to lose that weight. People that are so vulnerable and their bodies cannot handle of them being so underweight have no option but to lose weight. People that have to go to work otherwise there is no food on the table. They have no option to be lazy. If you have the option to be lazy, you are privileged.

🍥THE HALO EFFECT

The halo effect is when we see a beautiful person , we will think that they are less likely to do something bad because we associate someone beautiful with being a good person. Its the same way with successful person. If we see a successful person in any field , we will assume that they are successful in all their aspects of life. Suppose if a person have a successful business , we will automatically think that they are successful in their relationships and everywhere. If you are lazy , you can't benefit from the halo effect . It takes effort to be beautiful and to maintain beauty. We only see these successes , we don't see the progress. Most people are privileged and have it all but most people come from zero and create it for themselves. It takes discipline.

🧁FOCUS ON YOUR LIFE FORCE : HEALTH , DIET AND RELATIONSHIPS

When you feel that you are lazy , focus on your life force . What is your life force ? Health and diet. Focus on moving your body and eat foods that don't spike your insulin and eat food that nourish your body. When you feel lazy or don't feel good , don't isolate yourself. Connect with your family and friends. Also focus on your relationship with yourself. What are you engaging your mind in ? Be connected to your own energy. Journal. Sometimes God or your guides are speaking to you but because your mind is constantly racing , you can't listen to them.

🍥CREATE ROUTINES AND STICK TO THEM

Humans need routines. You need a structurised routine. Sometimes we can't stick to routines but we need a base so we have something to go back to. I would like to add something here , I am reading a book by Brianna Wiest , it's called 101 essays that will change the way you think. There was line in the book . " As children, routine gives us a feeling of safety. As adults , it gives us a feeling of purpose ."

🧁CLEAN SPACE IS SELF RESPECT

Clean space is a clean mind. Not even cleaning after yourself is a sign of huge disrespect to yourself. Stop reading this and clean your room right now !!!!!

🍥THERE IS REASON WHY YOU MADE THAT COMMITMENT TO YOURSELF

Remember the reason . Remind yourself, " Why did I even start ? " " Why did I even want this goal ?" . If you don't want the goal anymore then do something else.

🧁THINK ABOUT WHAT STORY ARE YOU TELLING YOURSELF

If you are telling yourself that you are a lazy person , you will act like one. Your mom didn't carry you for 9 months just for you to say that you are lazy. Get a hold of yourself. Don't complain about how you don't have your dream life if you are lazy.

🍥REALISE YOU CAN CHANGE YOUR REALITY ANY SECOND

You can change your realities really fast if you start acting like the person you want to become.

🧁HEAL THE PAST AND MOVE ON

Go to therapy and heal from the past. You can change your story around . If you are a victim of trauma or abuse , don't just go around and tell people because they lose respect for you .

🍥YOUR BODY RESPONDS TO YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS

If you are constantly living in the past , reliving it , your body will make you ill. If you want a different outcome and different future, you have to do things differently. People around you don't need to change, you have the power to control that. You have the responsibility to heal yourself. What others did to you , it is on them . They will get their karma.

🧁ARE YOU LAZY OR DID YOU STOP PROGRESSING ?

People become happy when they start progressing. We constantly need that drive or something to strive for. Create a new project . Find a new hobby. Learn a new skill. Do something that you haven't tried before or pick something you used to love.

🍥TOO MUCH INFORMATION MAKES US LAZY

There is so much information on the internet to the point we don't know what to do. There are so many videos on the best diet , skincare or workout , we get consumed in other people's opinions and lives. We start filling their lives with our energy. ( Just a suggestion; you can search workout or skincare recommendations but at the end you should choose a diet or skincare or workout which suits you , not others )

🧁ARE YOU TOO CONSUMED IN OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES ?

If you wonder to yourself : Why do I not have any energy left for myself ? Because you are too consumed in other people's lives so you aren't living your own.

🍥FEELINGS ARE NOT ALWAYS RIGHT

Feelings are just feelings. If we all just react to go out of emotions we would all unalive each other.

🧁ALLOW YOUR FEELINGS TO PURGE AND YOUR BODY TO HEAL.

Feelings purge by you feeling them. Release your emotions , don't suppress them . If you suppress those Feelings, they will get stored in your body and might show up later as physical illness. Sleeping is also healing. Let your body heal. Once that's done , get up and do something . Don't dwell there for too long.

🍥WHAT DO YOU FEEL VS WHAT DO YOU WANT ?

If you feel like eating unhealthy food but then you want your dream body. It doesn't correlate. You need to have discipline.

🧁COURAGE IS BEING VULNERABLE

Go outside and try to meet new people. Do something which you wouldn't normally do .

🍥LEARN TO ASK FOR HELP.

Learn to accept help. Sometimes God send people to help you. Ask help from God and you will receive help in miraculous ways.

🧁BE PRODUCTIVE ON YOUR OWN TERMS.

What does productivity look like for you ? What are your goals? Create that productivity mindset and visions. What works for others may not work for you.

🍥ARE THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU DRAINING YOUR ENERGY ?

If you have toxic people around you , you are constantly around them , you are going to feel bad. Distance yourself. No one can make you feel upset, you have the control over how you feel.

🧁CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE ON SITUATIONS.

Most people are projecting their insecurities. Instead of feeling angry, have compassion for them. Similiarily , if you are going through a break up instead of thinking that they were the last person on earth. Think that your souls were meant to cross and then meant to separate. You learnt your lesson and they learn their lesson.Change your perspective on things .

🍥FOCUS ON THE THINGS YOU CAN DO

Think about three things you can do . What is your passion ? What makes you happy ? Who makes you happy ? Be grateful for these things. Realise that you can do alot and remind yourself of what you can actually do.

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dreaming-medium · 6 months

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No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process.

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None.

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse.

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward.

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star.

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did.

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party.

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t.

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle.

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know.

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup.

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup?

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible.

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup.

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing.

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out.

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn…

He never got to see you.

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped.

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair.

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now.

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly.

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort.

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him.

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them.

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift.

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to.

Mice would get to it before you did.

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin.

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved.

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces.

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time.

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of.

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together.

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his.

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM.

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return.

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much.

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now?

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before.

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago.

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you.

To him too.

It’s the library where he first met you.

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now.

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside.

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working.

Absolutely not.

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful.

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet.

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were.

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves.

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it.

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face.

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option.

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head.

Your eyes met. He was a goner.

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you.

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today?

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere.

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway.

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here.

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time.

Empty.

You-less.

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks.

What a moment.

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio.

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone.

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch.

His throat immediately tightens.

There you are. You. Beautiful you.

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger.

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something.

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin.

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows.

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug.

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please.

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly.

You turn around with a curious look.

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it.

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics.

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months.

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies.

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you.

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day.

Y/N, please.

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book.

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry.

“Thank you,” he whispers back.

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower.

From foot to foot, your weight shifts.

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you.

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them.

Y/N, please.

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself.

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck!

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world.

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite.

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks.

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow.

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it.

He knows everything.

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained.

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes.

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out.

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments.

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper.

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you.

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him.

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in.

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly.

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him.

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth.

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus.

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day.

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going.

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him.

And the worst part? You said yes.

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date.

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how.

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings.

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother.

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything.

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone.

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous.

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth.

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never.

“It’s with me,” he blurts.

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth.

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you.

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself.

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused.

She’s right. What if you don’t?

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table.

Yes, you have.

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water.

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu.

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town.

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late.

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu.

He’s more nervous now than on the first date.

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile.

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite.

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu.

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops.

You stop.

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy.

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something.

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before.

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe.

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you.

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks.

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully.

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused?

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out.

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you?

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick.

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth.

Your phone rings.

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest.

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock.

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet.

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance.

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park.

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have.

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket.

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have.

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation.

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it.

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side.

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings.

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours.

The brightest smile stretches over your face.

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk.

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now.

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you.

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you.

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe.

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago.

He wants to kiss you so bad.

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop.

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin.

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident.

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago.

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features.

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch.

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up.

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that.

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea?

Is kissing you the best option?

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop.

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety.

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside.

He can’t take it anymore.

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach.

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers.

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t.

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips.

But he is.

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss.

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers.

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again.

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose.

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good.

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer.

He immediately stops.

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression.

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused.

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears.

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused.

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window.

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob.

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident.

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please.

Slowly, your hand falls from his.

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own.

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time.

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore.

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him.

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie.

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation.

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs.

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over.

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you.

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared.

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming.

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.”

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck.

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him.

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off.

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest.

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow.

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest.

Him. You’re talking about him.

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying.

Nothing has ever hurt this bad.

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him.

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it.

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest.

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter.

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling.

A sob tears from his throat.

You grip his hand tighter.

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat.

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks.

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm.

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you.

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist.

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out.

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline.

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it.

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you.

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms.

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.”

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat.

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs.

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face.

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair.

You’re still crying. Both of you are.

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest.

All he can do is cry.

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night.

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over.

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong.

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently.

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you.

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws.

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it.

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz x y/n #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #bangchan fanfic #bangchan x reader

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maiko-san · 7 months

Text

Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 5 )

<<< Part 4 , Part 6 >>>

Relationship : Fluff

Warning : ⚠️ Mention of blood / gore, human experiments ⚠️

Plot : You were sleeping until you woke up and realised you weren't in the infirmary anymore

Catnap has made his decision, he decides to pay you a visit. Even if it is just a mere minute.

This is the only time he disobeyed The Prototype, surely his god would understand, right?

He had pleaded The Prototype to spare you out of all humans in the facility.

The Prototype accepted it but he won't assure about your survival during the massacre. Whatever happens to you will be Catnap's responsibility.

How about he convince you to join him? To be in the team and follow The Prototype?

It makes Catnap feel happy at the thought of the person he loves joining the team.

Just you and him, might even Dogday if he ever joined the group.

Wait...What if you refuse? Surely you wouldn't, right? If you refuse then he will force you. Yeah, definitely because he wants you safe.

Even it means dragging you down to the deepest and darkest of the Playtime Co, just to keep you safe.

As soon Catnap reaches the infirmary, he peeks his head in the room only to find it empty.

"...Star?"

You weren't in the room, where could you have gone to? Then, his nose picks up a familiar scent.

No...it cannot be.

His pupils dilate as he quickly crawls through the vents and makes his way towards the laboratory.

You hear voices around you which causes you to wake up.

All you see was the white ceiling instead of the colourful ones, you tried to move your body but you couldn't.

"You're finally awake"

You turn your head to the source and see one of the higher ups, a man in lab coat. You've seen him before but where...?

.....

If you remember correctly, you've seen him in the organisation chart and also on the papers you always work on.

"Dr. Sawyer...?"

"Oh, so you know me... interesting"

In his hand, he held a clipboard. He jotted something on the paper before looking down on you.

You are confused.

What's happening?

Where are you? What is this place? Why are you....here?

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions on your mind. You are in the Bigger Body Initiative programming room"

"Bigger...Body Initiative?"

"We've been monitoring you for quite a long time, now. It's quite hard to find someone that is compatible with our program. We have finally found a suitable host for our newest mascot, you are...perfect"

"Host...m-mascot? W-what are you saying?!"

You have to escape. If you stay you will never know what they will do to you!

Then, the metal doors before you open and came in a doll....

An angel doll with a pair of wings and a golden halo on top of her head, the doll is very beautiful like an angel as it is.

"All the children needed now is an angel to protect them, guide them and help the Playtime Co flourish. Your personality will become handy and guide the children to a better future for the company"

Every word he's saying, you don't like it one bit....

Dr. Sawyer leaves the room, saying you should get accustomed to the doll first.

You begin tugging on the belt on your wrist but they are too tight. You stare up at the ceiling above you.

You cannot escape....

You don't have anything on you to help you escape.

You slowly take in your surroundings, there is a table next to you full of operating equipment, which makes you pale.

Are they going to dissect you and sell your organs?!

Hell no!

"Help! Please!"

You cried out for help, though your voice fell into deaf ears. Tears start pouring out from your eyes, is this how you will die?

Plap, plap, plap.

Your ears pick up a pitter patter on the floor, you look down only to see a plush version of Catnap staring up at you with its beady black eyes.

Did...the plush just....moved?

Then, it tilts its head causing you to flinch in surprise.

The plush begins to climb on the table and hops on to you, you begin to panic and close your eyes, waiting for the pain to come.

Clack!

The straps on your wrists were loose and you open your eyes to see Catnap plush gnawing on the leather strap on your ankle.

Freeing you.

With your hands free, you quickly unstrap the belt on your other leg and hop off the bed. You walk over to the door but it won't open.

"F*ck!"

You begin to look around and notice a vent but it's high up, you can't reach it even if you climb on the table.

What are you going to do?!

You feel a soft tap on your ankle and you look down to see Plushnap, nudging your leg before pointing up at the vent.

You told it you can't reach it.

Then, Plushnap does a throwing motion before holding out its tail and stretches it with its paws.

It doesn't take you long to know what it was thinking.

Now, you hold Plushnap with your strong hand as the toy wraps its tail tightly around your wrist.

"Are you ready, buddy?"

*nods*

You give your best swing and throw Plushnap towards the vent as it tail stretches like a rope, the toy grabs hold on to the vent door as you begin to tug on its tail.

The vent door snaps open as you watch Plushnap crawl into the ventilation system, before you know it. You feel yourself being hoisted up.

How can a plush pull a full grown adult?!

Once you enter the vent, you feel arms dragging you and your face slams into rough fur.

That smells like lavender.

"Catnap?"

"Star....are you alright?"

You pull yourself off from the tight embrace and meet face to face with Catnap.

Before you could question him, he bites the back of your gown, holding you like you are a kitten and begins to crawl fast through the vents. ( you were so close to slip out of the hospital gown since it's just a piece of thin cloth )

"Catnap! W-what's happening and what is this place?!"

"....Not now, must.....get you... somewhere safe...stay quiet or...they'll hear us .."

Even though Catnap crawls through the vents fast, he doesn't make too much noise thanks to his soft paws and being lightweight unlike the other smiling critters. He was built to be silent so he doesn't wake up the sleeping orphans while he does his patrols in the night.

You look through the gap of the vent doors to see people in lab coats.

Who are these people? You know they have a science department but....these people are.....different.

Then, your eyes widen when you pass a vent door. You see a dissected body of a child....

Your hand slaps your mouth, you were horrified at the sight. Next to the dissected body is a bloody toy that has organs in it.

Are they...putting human organs into toys?

What kind of madness is this?

Are they...no, are they using the orphans for sick experiments?!

All the sudden, the alarm went off.

"Did they know?!"

"....No"

"Containment has been breached. Experiment 1006 has breached containment. All personnel please evacuate immediately and go towards the nearest evacuation centre, this is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill"

Catnap then tosses you over his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Hold...me...tight...."

The feline slams his paw on the vent door and jumps down on the ground.

You see people running around and being attacked by....the toys.

Your eyes widen in horror at the sight of the toys biting and clawing onto the scientists, tearing and pulling on their skin. You could see flesh and muscles, even bones!

There's so much....blood.

Suddenly, something covers your face and it was a mask. You try to pry it off but something doesn't let you do so.

"Must...wear mask..."

Catnap said into your ears, you see a thick cloud of red smoke coming out from his mouth and it begins to fill the entire hallway.

Some of the scientists begin to drop down after they inhale the red smoke. You watch as the toys begin to bite down on their motionless body like a pack of hungry hyenas.

You were breathing heavily at the horrific sight, the small toys had come to life and kills everyone.

You can hear bloodcurdling screams in the distance, some were calling for help.

Catnap's eyes look at your form, he can see your pale face through the mask and your entire body shaking like a leaf. He has to do something, he didn't expect it happen now.

Maybe ...using the red smoke on you could help you...just a little whiff.

He can manipulate your dream, yeah. He makes sure that everything was a nightmare.

Yes, he will do it.

"Catnap?"

You feel the mask loosen and the smell of the red smoke begins to enter your airway. Then, you start to feel drowsy and the next thing you know.

Everything turns black.

A/n : I'm sorry for not updating for a long time, I had a writer's block for the past days. I apologise for that 😭. I know this is a short chapter and I will do better next time, I hope this stupid a** writer's block goes away soon.

For those who send me asks, I will answer them soon.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #smiling critters catnap #poppy playtime catnap #catnap #catnap x reader #dogday x reader #smiling critters x reader #poppy playtime x reader #various x reader #reader insert

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saetoru · 1 year

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good.

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left.

and then satoru wins.

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead.

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure.

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware.

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place.

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it.

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free.

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair.

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared.

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on.

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close.

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper.

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?”

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for.

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore.

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down.

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were.

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself.

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever.

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why.

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought.

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare.

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature.

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again.

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face.

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high.

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath.

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause.

and then you remember.

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru.

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have.

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again.

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh.

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself.

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close.

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness.

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night.

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans.

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest.

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room.

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry.

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly.

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not.

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen.

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast.

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between.

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace.

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile.

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart.

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name.

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles.

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away.

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment.

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years.

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do.

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you.

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru.

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had.

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him.

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind.

his breath hitches.

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror.

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms.

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened.

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him.

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance.

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to.

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention.

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence.

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them.

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them.

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to.

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down.

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it.

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself.

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life.

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in.

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you.

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin.

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for.

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you?

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it.

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life?

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him.

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal.

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score.

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous.

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort.

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good.

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off.

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think.

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles.

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it.

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug.

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed.

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place.

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look.

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch.

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes.

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this.

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room.

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook.

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again.

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind.

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks.

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left.

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good.

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence.

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away.

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow.

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation.

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too.

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes.

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too.

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?”

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever.

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive.

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy.

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru.

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little.

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled.

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises.

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough.

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink.

finally, for once, you’re enough.

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering.

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much.

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum.

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

#teepods.writings #fics.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru angst #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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carusocarousel · 3 months

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Hello ! Thanks for bearing with me , I am a Palestinian educator from Gaza whose life is dire and gruesome. Nothing has left for my family except the hope you can support and help us. After 9 months of war we became exhausted, hopeless , desperate , and displaced. Houses and livelihood sources have been lost and gone with the wind. Things are driving us insane and made. The least level of life can't be attained. Healthy water and food have become a dream we need to realize. What worsens our life more is the constant bombings and killings. That is why I am asking in this post to help us survive this unbearable circumstances , moving from hell to safety and peace. Your support can help us be safe and alive so friends you can support us either by directly donating whatever you can or by sharing my campaign links so that generous people can know about our tragedy and pain. Remember your small contribution can make a big difference for the lives of many children whose heath gets worse and worse everyday. Let their life change and let them feel happy through your kind contribution.

https://gofund.me/9b764ae7 🤍🖤💚❤️

Help the Ayyad Family stay safe and alive

Update: I made a knew post with the recent goal change and information, please check it and spread it

https://www.tumblr.com/carusoaids/759022372040900608/thank-you-for-your-brave-stand-beside?source=share

Vetted by Nabulsi

Fadi A. Ayyad is the 18 year-old son of an extended family from Northern Gaza, more especifically, Al-Shujaiya, one of the most devastated areas from Gaza. He's a high-schools student who had to stop his education; his older brothers had to stop their college education too, and his father is a well-known high-school English teacher who lost his job; all of this as a consequence of October 7th.

His family home was destroyed, they were forced to flee and find refuge in the South of Gaza, with only the clothes they carry. They currently live in a small tent, very little food, water and at danger of infectious diseases due to how crowded the area is.

The family is looking to evacuate to Egypt for safety and the brothers can continue with their education. But without any money and in horrible living conditions, they need our help to be able to cross the border.

As of July 2nd, 2024, the campaign has reached $16,437 of their $35,000 goal, thanks to the help of 807 donations

As always, please share and donate if it's under your possibilities so this family has a chance for a better future.

#palestine #Gaza #palestine donations #gaza donation #palestine fundraiser #please donate if you can #please share #Boost #Mayadayyad #aymanayyad81 #Ayyad family #Fadi A. Ayyad

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mo0nfairy · 1 month

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART SEVEN !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 23.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, love triangle, kidnapping, violence/death, ptsd, suic1dal tendencies, alcoholism/alcohol use, invasion of privacy, unprotected s3x, non-c0n, master k1nk (reader is called this), mommy k1nk (ada is called this), p3t-play, drugging (use of aphr0disiacs without knowledge), face-sitting, squirting, s3x toys, & physical restraint.

──── Yellow light bleeds through your closed vision. When you blink away the remaining clumps of sleep in your eyes, you find yourself in the passenger seat of a vehicle. Your stomach twists with newfound fear, as though your body were wringing a wet towel.

Before you can question how you somehow time-traveled to the tea-induced unconsciousness forced by Jill and Carlos, a voice permeates the silence.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Nearly snapping your neck, you turn your head to find Leon Kennedy behind the steering wheel.

With a soft grin on his face, he shifts his gaze from the road, to you, then back again. He’d much rather stare in awe at the way your chest rises and falls with tranquility, but alas, he cannot. He’s well aware of what occurred the last time he drove with you. Like Hell will he allow anything of the sort to happen again.

“Oh… So, it wasn’t a dream.” You mutter sleepily, some lasting despondency dragging with your sluggish speech.

Lowering your head, you discover your opossum plushy nestled in your arms. Still adorned in the silken ribbon from earlier, but missing the handwritten note from Ada tucked beneath.

Leon most likely crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage, always the territorial dog he is. You still remember the savagery in his eyes whenever you’d speak to coworkers at Mizoil about recent gas prices or late paychecks.

Speak of the devil, Leon is quick to save you from your inner turmoil.

“Stay with me, Y/N. ‘Promise you’re safe here… You’ll never need to worry about anything ever again...”

He rests his hand on your knee, massaging soothing circles into your flesh. You’d surely succumb to the lulling motions and fall asleep, had your brain not been wrecked with surging questions.

“I-I don’t understand. What’s happening? Where are we going?”

Leon’s hand finds yours. Calloused fingers interlock with your shivering digits, lightly squeezing your palm as a means of reassurance. A firm reminder that he is here. Always. And he will not be leaving your side anytime soon.

“I have a cabin up in the mountains. The safe house. Our safe house.”

The last time you lived with someone in the woods, it ended very poorly. You pray Leon does not share any notion with your previous partners.

Despite these worries, another special someone remains on your mind.

“What of… What about Tyrell? Will he be joining us?”

Trying to shield the hope in your tone was a lost cause. Especially when spoken to a secret agent of all people, who studies every twitch and timbre in your voice as easily as a picture book. All of which tells him you like Tyrell.

Leon’s knuckles bloom in hues of white the tighter he clenches the steering wheel. Jealousy like never before courses through his bloodstream.

Even in the presence of others who are not afraid to show their attraction to you, he never encountered emotions so grand. When it is you who displays the perceptible favoritism, Leon has to physically restrain himself from whipping the car around, speeding back to Tyrell’s home, and beating him to a bloody pulp.

You, safe and sound in his humble abode, and that man, rotting six feet under — that is really all Leon could ask for. Maybe even the death of a certain red-obsessed mercenary, but as tenacious as she is, there is no hope for such a fate.

“Nope. No Tyrell. Gonna be just us for a while.”

The disappointment that washes over your face is catastrophic for Leon. It is almost enough for him to consider tearing himself apart to become the version of Tyrell you adore so much. Carving away at his features, nails and hammers to his flesh, and plucking every piece of his personality to claim as his. Anything to make you think of Leon alone in that regard. No one else.

“Hey, I swear you’ll enjoy it here.” He cannot tell whether he’s trying to assure you or himself of this. “We’ll have bonfires, hikes, car rides like this. I’ll even take you on a canoe ride around the lake, if you’d like.”

“And what about after that?”

He pauses, casting a quick glance of confusion your way.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what will happen once all of this blows over and we can leave the safe house? When can I live on my own?”

Leon tenses. He does not like this topic; he’d rather speak more of the romantic dates you’ll have in the mountains together.

Mornings will be spent watching the fog settle across the surrounding forest, hands interlocked with one another and enjoying steaming cups of tea and coffee. Nights will be spent cuddled by the campfire, indulging yourselves in sugary kisses smeared with melted marshmallows and sticky chocolate.

He’ll spend his days with you nestled in his arms as he rows you around the lake, cooing over the way your heavy eyes droop and you drift off to the sound of gentle waves.

After six long, tortuous years, you’ve finally returned to him and dipped a toe into the thrashing waves of his life. And like some famished, deep-sea creature, Leon’s hand ensnares around your ankle and pulls you into the depths. Seized in his arms and to never part again.

Here, life will become what Leon has always wanted it to be: sunlit and alive.

“Hey, watch out!”

You’re shocked you hadn’t launched out the windshield by how violently Leon slammed on the brakes. His arm stretches over your chest in an attempt at protecting you, the aggressive and desperate motion enough to bruise your ribs.

When he looks to identify what danger intends to take you away from him, he finds a raccoon. How fitting. The critter scurries across the road before vanishing into a nearby array of bushes.

“Are-Are y-” Leon swallows a scratching cough. “Are you okay?”

The stunned silence is accompanied by his stuttering, shaky breaths. His trembling hand finds your shoulder. Grasping tightly, as though you would wrangle yourself out of his grasp and limp away. Just as he watched you do in Raccoon City.

You do not answer him. Instead, a smile creeps onto your face before you burst with loud laughter. The sight sends electric bolts straight through his chest; the mellifluous sound filling his ears like warm, oozing honey. A sound so heavenly, in fact, Leon finds himself laughing with you, despite the hammering speeds of his fearful heart.

You raise your opossum in presentation with a sun-bright smile still stamped on your face. “I think the little guy just wanted to visit his friend.”

You’re sent into another series of adorable laughter and candy-sweet giggles. Leon studies every tone of your amusement and stamps them into his memory. He has seen many versions of you, yes, but never complete happiness. Sheer, unadulterated, beautiful happiness. And he solemnly swears to keep this emotion perennial, for now and forevermore.

When your laughing fit dies down, only then does Leon begin to drive again. As he accelerates forward, you look his way and begin to absorb his appearance.

He does not look very different than he did before. Perceptible creases deepened on his skin and have replaced that baby-face he was once notorious for, however.

“’There something on my face?”

You flush upon realizing how long you had been dissecting his appearance. Fortunately, that witty humor of his mends any lasting embarrassment.

You had almost forgotten about the newcomer in town you met several years ago. When you see his chapped lips stretch into that pretty-boy smile, you’re reminded of how that rookie at the R.P.D. still lives inside him.

“I’m sorry, you just… You don’t look any different than when we first met.”

Now, it is his turn to blush.

His eyebrows raise in shock. He turns his head to search your face for a sign of a joke. Though, with how focused he is on the road ahead (and his poor luck with driving), he is granted no opportunity. The silence that settles tells Leon all of how truthful you are.

To make matters even worse for him and his flustered self, you continue your thorough inspection of his appearance.

That dull, pallid color casted upon his face has restored its lively, childlike tint. Now, you can fully see that rosy flush cloud his creamy skin.

His eyes are a misty blue with scattered specks of gray. The most prominent feature of his eyes, however, was the life within them. And back on those loading docks, you witnessed first-hand as that liveliness returned.

Beneath their glittering luster holds the last few remnants of innocence he still has. For too long, they had been vacant and soulless — a permanent scar of that day in September. Excitement, adventure, and ambition now glimmers with every blink. You look into them and can only find that young man who visited your gas station to offer clumsy pick-up lines and hefty tips.

“I’d tell you to take a picture if I didn’t mind you staring at me so much.” Leon’s voice has deepened to a gentler husk over time. Aged like a fine whiskey.

The wind passing through the window tousles with his hair, capturing your attention. You notice how the color of his hair has changed over the years, as well. The dark tones of his roots now fading into a dimmer blonde.

To answer his statement, you reach over and sink your fingers into the strands and ruffle the locks. He laughs in response and playfully pushes you back to your seat with tender effort. From here, you finally halt your scrutinization and return your gaze to the forestry outside.

That adoring, lopsided smile remains permanent on Leon’s face for the rest of the car ride.

And that very smile is entirely formidable, you conclude. Time passes by and still, this happiness of his does not falter in the slightest.

It has now been over three months since you stepped foot into Leon’s cabin. More notably, it has now been three months since you’ve stepped foot out of Leon’s cabin.

You’ve become accustomed to the routine of waking up to gloomy clouds and shadowed sunshine. As you stir awake now, you study the bedroom you currently reside in.

On the bed, where you lay, cushiony comforters are embraced by fluffy, knitted blankets. Leon is satisfied with sleeping with one pillow, but he bought several more for you to sleep with, of which you use heartily. Only a fool would miss the way he wishes you’d use his chest to rest your head on instead.

Fairy lights are woven around the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Directly beneath is a rug stretched across the floor, where the original intricate design is now convoluted with dirt and grime. A lit fireplace is centered directly across from the king-sized bed, protecting you from the bitter temperatures outside. Not that the protection is necessary, as you can always find a certain warm body draped around you.

Outside, a porch ensnares around the walls of the exterior, where two rocking chairs are situated right beside each other. They overlook the layer of fog resting upon the adjacent lake, surrounded by miles and miles of pine trees.

Through the front entrance, you step directly into the living room. The interior is elucidated by soft, golden lamplights. More knitted blankets and pillows adorn the surface of the handmade couch. A hand-carved bookshelf holds the weight of a myriad of books.

The living room goes hand-in-hand with the kitchen. A wooden stove, rustic pots, and even more ancient kitchen utensils scatter around the small expanse. Tucked in the corner of the kitchen is a timber table with a candle as a centerpiece, joined by two wooden dining chairs.

Down the hall and opposite of the bedroom is a bathroom akin to the size of a shoebox. A stone-walled shower contains all your preferred soaps and washes, as well as Leon’s classic scents of amber and cedar-wood. There is a mirror strung above the log-supported sink with, what you could swear is, a blinking red light tucked in the corner of the glass.

Relaxing and cozy is this cabin, yes, but it is all a temporary living situation. Then, you can step into the real world and see what life has to offer you.

At least, that is what Leon claims.

What you are unaware of is that in these six years without you, wrecked by your death, Leon built this cabin as his final resting place.

His time was devoted to operating his plans of destroying Umbrella and slaving the hours away on this property, crafting every ounce of love and detail into the estate. After his goals reached success, Leon would venture back here where no one would find him. Then, he would end his life.

When he reaches the afterlife, he will find your soul there. Waiting for him. You and him would then spend the rest of time with one another, happily haunting the halls of your humble abode.

These plans have, of course, fallen short when he learned your precious heart was still beating. Now, Leon intends on residing in the cabin for the rest of his life, indulging in the rays of sunlight held in his arms.

There are still a few finishing details that require his aid, some last screws to be fastened and whatnot, but it will remain of utmost perfection as long as he is here with you. Then, when your long, amazing life inevitably reaches its final chapter, he will end his life right beside you.

Leon intends on spending eternity here with you. No matter what shifts and changes may occur in the trajectory of your lives.

Picturesque as his beloved cabin is, you’re still overwhelmed with the feeling of being trapped. And God, do these feelings puncture you with guilt. All that he has done and sacrificed for you, just for you to return his efforts with rejection and discomfort – you’d hate yourself if you were him.

Even though you perceive your desires as selfish, you still can’t help but wonder how fruitful your life could be if you were to be alone-

“Jesus, fuck-!”

Shifting your vision to your right, you swear your heart nearly collapses into itself when you find Leon. Chin rested on his palm, you had caught him in the middle of watching you. Intently.

His staring does not cease upon your frightened reaction, either. It remains just as it was, with a new grin spreading on his face. You’re just like a baby mouse, eyes blown wide in fear of the vicious world around them. Too fucking cute.

Face hidden behind your hands, you catch your breath and question him.

“Jesus Christ… How long have you been watching me?”

With a lighthearted titter, he answers.

“Not for long. Just over three hours.”

With every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Leon Kennedy loves the sight of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of his obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Eyes still glued to your every move, his burly arms encompass around your waist and pull you closer to him, chest now cemented to your back. Languid kisses are littered across your jaw like confetti dispersed upon a stage.

Ever since you arrived here, Leon always insisted on sharing a bed with you. Even going as far as to exclaim in faux dismay: “Oh, no! There is only one bed!”, as though he had not decorated the cabin himself.

He further asserts how sleeping beside you is the best course of action in keeping you safe from any creeping danger. When he then takes your chin between his two fingers and presses a hard kiss to your mouth, moaning in fervent contentment, you fail to see how this is meant to “protect” you.

Despite this, you have grown familiar with these sleeping arrangements beneath the sheets with Jill and Carlos.

Speaking of those two, their memory stirs your stomach.

You do not know if Leon is aware of their existence and what you endured under their care. You don’t know where they currently are, either. If they are even dead or alive…

These thoughts are immaterial, you assure yourself. They are far, far away and will never lay a finger on you.

Nagging thoughts like these are especially assuaged in the morning, where you can cook breakfast for you and Leon. Even just the sight of a pan in your grasp would be enough to get Carlos sweating, further proving the two are not lurking in any hidden corners. He’d surely die just seeing you mere inches away from a knife block.

Sure, it may have had to take a few voluntary cuddles and some puppy-dog eyes, but eventually, Leon caved and gave you permission to cook. Despite how ecstatic you are to receive some form of autonomy, you always remain careful in your efforts. One nick to your skin and this privilege will be yanked from your hands before you have the chance to enjoy it.

Now, you stand here in the kitchen, poking and prodding at the sizzling eggs on the stove. Although you are certainly no chef, you managed to pick up a few skills while watching Carlos prepare your meals. Leon always praises your culinary works, nonetheless. The clean plate he leaves behind tells you such.

Leon himself is currently outside the residence, gathering lumber for the bedroom fireplace. It is one of the rare occurrences where you are granted solitude, so you revel in the time as thoroughly as you can.

He sought after time off work for the sole reason of never spending a second without you. Wearing the badge of surviving Raccoon City then saving the notorious Baby-Eagle has earned him many points with his superiors, granting him permission to bring home the bacon without partaking in any labor.

You joke to yourself about becoming the classic 50’s housewife as you set the table.

Two plates of steaming omelets with a cup of tea for yourself and a glass of sparkling water for Leon. He alluded to his problems with alcohol on one occasion, but he informed you of how he was receiving help. This ‘help’ remains a mystery to you, but you assume his choice of beverage plays a role in this assistance.

Although the problems you face are much different than his, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever receive help when you finally leave this-

“Fucking christ!”

When you turn your shoulder to set your apron away, you swear your heart, once again, nearly collapses into itself when you find Leon. Standing just at the threshold of the kitchen, watching your every move. Intently.

All he does is shoot you that same grin, complemented with a light chortle, before sitting down at the table. God, how long was he standing there? Did he even leave the cabin!?

With a deep breath, you join him at his side. Before you can even take hold of any cutlery, something tugs at your chair. You glance down to find Leon’s hand ensnared around your chair leg, before he pulls you closer to him. Now shoulder to shoulder, he plants a prolonged kiss to your cheek as a silent way of thanking you and an apology for startling you, before digging into his meal.

You then begin consuming the works of your hard work, as well. In the midst of eating, Leon speaks about the plans for the day ahead. And for the umpteenth time, he broaches the idea of enjoying a boat ride around the lake.

With the shimmering hope in his eyes, you know very well of what he is asking you. After all, you remember your first boat ride very well.

Watching the fish swim through the murky waters, listening to the birds sing and frogs croak, sinking your fingers into the stream and toying with the waves – enjoying the nature outside serves as a lovely memory.

Much to Leon’s shock (and yours as well, if you are honest), you halted his rowing and pulled him into your very first kiss. As stingy as your affection is, he clung to whatever slivers he could grasp. And to receive something as breathtaking as your kiss, he could have sworn the world shattered around him.

Ever since then, the desperate man has been nudging you in the direction of giving him another. Or any scrap of affection, for that matter.

You take your last sip of tea and agree to Leon’s advances of a boat ride, ignoring the elation that floods his face in response.

Some time out of this stuffy cabin is what you have been needing. Maybe you’ll even give him another kiss in the end. As much as you hate to admit it, your lover is quite handsome. Also very fun to kiss. Annoyingly so.

Unfortunately for Leon, the boat ride you enjoyed that morning was devoid of any physical affections. As the day continues along, however, you can’t help but wonder if some affection is what Leon needs. Maybe then, he’ll be satiated, and finally, you’ll be granted more time to yourself…

As dusk settles in, though, you begin to notice a perceptible excitement within Leon. It is nothing out of the ordinary, as he always harbors some form of elation around you. Tonight, however, this gleam sparkled differently.

An hour managed to pass by, spent scouring through a book you plucked from the living room bookshelf. And so absorbed in the wondrous world of ‘Woodworking 4 Dummies’, you had not realized how long it has been since you last saw Leon. This phenomenon was strange, as your puppy-dog is always at your hip like a tight belt.

You are only enlightened on this peculiarity when Leon enters through the front door moments later.

He is adorned with that familiar shimmer in his eye, but you also notice how he has his hair slicked back. You can easily recall the occurrence where he laid his head on your chest and you ran your fingers through his blonde strands, before impulsively telling him he looked sexy with his hair pushed back.

Embarrassed, you prayed he was too drowsy to hear your spontaneous compliment. When you found a mountain of hair gel in the bathroom a day later, you realize then how wrong you were. Though, who are you to complain when you’ve got good eye-candy standing right in front of you?

“Sunshine! ‘Got something for ya.”

Your book is robbed from your possession and tossed onto the couch surface, where your attention is then forcibly diverted to Leon. Exactly where he needs it most.

His hands, soft as they always are, guide you to your feet. They are then placed over your eyes.

“Is it something that I’m not allowed to see?”

A kiss to your head, he answers. “Not yet. Gonna have to let me be your legs for a while. Unless you want me to carry you there?”

Please say yes.

“Lead the way, Mr. Kennedy!”

The disappointment he feels fades quickly as he begins to guide you out the front door.

The bite of the early-night chill crawls up your arms. If it weren’t for the strong chest pressed against your back, you’d surely succumb to the shivering temperatures.

“I would’ve brought a jacket if I knew we’d be taking a stroll.”

The breath of his chortle fans against your ear.

“You’ll warm up soon, sunlight. Trust me.”

Through several short-lived twists and turns, you are soon halted in your tracks. Any attempts at piecing together where on the property you may be fails you, as you have no recollection of stepping this far from the cabin.

“Any wild guesses?” Leon’s voice nearly touches your brain with how close he is to you.

The specks of golden light peaking through his fingers hints to what may be the answer.

“Uh… A campfire?”

He laughs again. “We already have one out front.”

“Yeah, but the s'mores the merrier, right?”

He responds to your god-awful pun with more laughter and another kiss to your head, before finally pulling his hands away from your face.

From there, you absorb the sight of a newly built hot-tub. It bubbles with scorching water and you can almost feel your muscles ache with want. Beside the tub is a fireplace, alive and flickering with fire. There are towels folded upon the surface, where they absorb the heat to embrace you soothingly after a nice soak.

Surrounding the hot-tub is a tall, solid black fence. Perfect for complete and total privacy. Not that anyone could step within a mile radius of the home without Leon knowing, but you digress.

Clean, skimmed wooden planks trail from your feet to the hot-tub. Searching further, you see an array of fairy lights strung upon the trees above. Their lights twinkle and illuminate the new addition to the property.

So engrossed in dissecting the new sight, you forgot about your puppy’s incessant need for your attention. You almost forgot he was even there to begin with until you feel his arms ensnare around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him.

Another kiss to your cheek and you finally fill the silence with your voice.

“You built all of this?”

He answers with an ‘mm-hmm’ and sways you both from side to side. You do not question his abilities, more-so the time frame. He’s constantly latched to you like that damned Las Plagas, where in his schedule did he find time to do all of this?

“Goddamn, how good are those woodworking books?”

You’re almost convinced to take up comedy with the way he laughs at your dry attempts at humor.

“You should know. You seemed pretty focused on it back home.”

Home. It’s a comforting phrase, but even in your subconscious mind, you don’t interlock that word with the cabin. You aren’t sure why.

“Nah, I’ll stick to the omelets. I’d probably chop my fingers off if I tried what you do.”

Leon shudders. The playful energy is drained the very moment those words leave your mouth. You should’ve known how sensitive he is to such ideas, after all. You almost turn to apologize, but he responds before you can even clutch the chance.

“Good.” He swallows dryly. You swear you heard a sniffle somewhere in there. “Don’t need any of those curious fingers around my table saw. Rather you just keep them on me.”

You answer the flirtation with a giggle and a “shut up!”, before shoving him off of you. From there, Leon begins to undress himself. You watch his efforts with a furrowed brow, before questioning him.

“O-Oh, now? We’re gonna use it right now?”

That grin on his face, always permanent, grows into a smile. “I built it for you. Didn’t bring you all the way out here just to stare at it.”

“Touché.” You answer.

Since you do now own a swimsuit, as you have minimal clothing for yourself back in your dresser (due to the fact your entire wardrobe still remains at Jill and Carlos’ estate), you begin to undress yourself, as well. It hadn’t crossed your mind that this was the first time Leon has seen so much of your skin, as you are more preoccupied in imagining how relaxing it will be to finally sink into the warm water.

Leon, in question, nearly gets caught in his pant legs and topples over from the sight of you. He wants to be witty, for his brain to form another charming one-liner that would snag your heart. But alas, seeing every blemish, every scar, every stretch of skin on your body has rendered him speechless. Those pesky undergarments of yours may be in the way, but even just a glimpse of your ankle is enough to get him drooling.

While Leon stands there with his head in the clouds, you rush over and finally step into the searing, muscle-melting embrace of the hot-tub. When you look to see why a certain blonde has yet to join you, you find him just standing there. Eyes the size of dinner plates.

You do not refrain from commenting on this. “When you said you didn’t bring me all the way out here just to stare, I thought you were talking about the both of us.”

A few blinks and Leon is finally brought back down to reality. There’s a subtle blush dusted on his cheeks, but yet again, he does not take his eyes off of you. With a light chortle, he finally climbs into the tub and adjusts himself beside you.

You take notice of the old pair of swim trunks he had worn beneath his clothes, which surely had been collecting dust in the bottom of his dresser. The heavy muscle gain over the years makes it rather tight around his thighs. You quickly avert your eyes away from the sight, but Leon is not as stingy when it comes to his staring. Especially when it is you before his gaze.

Enjoying the steaming temperatures, you then proceed to ramble about frivolous matters. With how peaceful your days have been (as well as how much time you spend with Leon), there is not much glamor or drama to enlighten him of. Still, you always manage to find some topic to blabber on about.

For tonight's subject: eggs!

You are rarely given the privilege of pursuing your hobbies and exploring beyond that point rarely ever happens. Anything perceived dangerous in the eyes of Leon is immediately off the table. Cooking, as baby-proofed as it is, has become a newfound interest for you. Specifically the art of cooking eggs, as your morning omelets still weigh in your stomachs.

“-And that’s why you should always use butter instead of oil when cooking eggs. I’ve learned it makes the eggs a lot more creamy, while oil just makes it, kind of, goopy, in my opinion. Bonus points if the butter you use is unsalt-”

So engaged in explaining the art of cooking eggs, you hardly comprehend Leon and his current state. Your tangent is soon brought to a sharp halt when you cast a glance at Leon.

You find him staring, once again. Only this time, not a single inch of your chest is free from his scrutinization. You peer down to look at yourself, assuming something of sort was wrong with it. When you find nothing but your normal body, you finally conclude his actions to not be at fault of you, but simply Leon thinking with what’s in his pants.

Looking back at him, knowing smirk on your face, you point your fingers up. “My eyes are up here, y’know.”

Leon abides by your comment and returns his gaze to you. Then, in his best attempt, he tries to flirt.

"If being gorgeous was a crime, you-you'd be guilty as... as... shit, I... I'm sorry."

You’re taken aback by his odd reaction. You have never seen Leon Kennedy nervous, no less stutter before. You’re positive you’re the only person on Earth to witness such.

“Right… So, as I was saying, it’s also best to use unsalted butter while cooking eggs. Not only does it help cook better, but gives you the opportunity to add in your own seasonings. Especially with how picky you know I am when it comes to-”

There he is, doing it again!

Staring at your chest as though it were a delicious buffet and he had not eaten in days.

Just how much is he even listening to you, anyway? If you asked him, do you think he’d be able to reiterate even just a word of what you said? What if you used this to your advantage?

With this newfound idea sparked in your mind, you begin to tell a ridiculous, fabricated story of the morning you had.

“Yeah, so after I cooked us eggs, I went outside and actually ran into the chicken who laid it.”

You search for any sign of confusion and find nothing. So, you continue.

“Then, she started to berate me! Squawking and screaming, “How could you!? You cooked my baby into a tasty breakfast!?””

Complemented by your eccentric motions and exploration of different octaves, you pantomime the comical story to Leon. Still, all you receive is a monotone, periodic “uh-huh” from your ever-so-immersed lover.

“And then she started running after me, pecking at my ankles no matter how fast I ran! She actually chased me all the way up that mountain back there. I even asked a squirrel to help me, but he just acted like he didn’t even see me, that bastard! When we finally reached the top, I just…“

Further insight on your vibrant morning borders on your tongue, but when you cast your gaze further down, you find an unmistakable sight through the fizzing bubbles: Leon using his hands to shield his… problem away from your attention.

From here, you finally cut your tale short. You giggle to yourself before forcibly snagging his attention away from your chest. You grasp his chin and pull his gaze to meet yours.

“I thought I told you my eyes were up here…”

A foggy film hazes over his eyes. Mouth slightly agape, he nods lazily in agreement. Does he like it when you’re in control? When you’re rough like this?

As you ponder over it, you realize you have never really taken control before. And knowing you’re gonna be stuck in this cabin for God-knows how much longer, you might as well have some fun with it, right? Besides, you’ve caught a glimpse or two of what’s hidden in those pants. Maybe some sweat is what you truly need to ease into this new lifestyle.

Even when holding his chin hostage, his eyes do not stop themselves from searching for what they want. They shift down to your lips and lock onto the sight. Of course, you know fully of what he is asking for. Though, it wouldn’t be fun if you couldn’t drizzle in a little pain with pleasure.

So, you play against him in his most favorite game: freeze and stare. You do so and watch as he squirms like a worm through thick soil.

As you watch Leon crumble from something so mere as intensive eye-contact, a knowing smile quirks at your lips. The sight of your pearly whites, especially when exposed in his favor, is what pushes Leon to snap. His mouth waters at the prospect prodding at his mind, as though he were thirteen years old again, reading the raunchy romance books he snagged from one of his orphan caregivers.

Leon leans in to kiss you, but you nod away from his advances. The further you push away from him, however, the more Leon chases after you. Soon, there is no room for you to escape. And his mouth practically bruises your own from the force of his scorching kiss.

You try to speak his name to capture his attention back, but there is no room for conversation. Not when your senses are overwhelmed with the clashing of lips, saliva, and gut-wrenching devotion.

You sink your teeth into his bottom lip in a final attempt at halting his zeal. This action brings you success, yes, but only chucks buckets of fuel into the rampant fire burning inside Leon. He’s said it before, after all: pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other.

And that it does.

His jaw drops with a sharp gasp. From there, you listen as Leon whimpers into your mouth. He chases after the warmth of your lips again, but you do not let him indulge by establishing firm restrictions. This resistance only causes more trouble, as Leon grows impatient with each passing second without you close.

“Please… Need more…” His voice raises in an octave you don’t recognize; a tone that encapsulates the hunger he is overwhelmed with.

“Take them off.” Your demand is curt and sharp. It is a new disposition you do not recognize, but something Leon is absolutely enthralled by.

Always your obedient puppy-dog, not another second is wasted before Leon is practically ripping his swimming trunks from his waist. The array of gurgling bubbles shields what lies beneath the water surface, but you compensate by allowing your eager fingers to explore for themselves.

Pressing a sharp nail into the muscle of his thigh, you slowly tread your feather-touch upwards. Leon’s chest rises up and down with rapid breaths, as though he were the first to cross the finish line after a miles-long marathon. Just waiting, waiting for you to touch him in the one place he needs it most.

You indulge him once more with your much-awaited kiss. While doing so, you are able to easily remove yourself of your undergarments, as you were not wearing much to begin with.

Leon tries to slither his tongue into your mouth, but always the sadist you are, you decline this effort. You are not focused on his pleasure for now. You’re more interested in learning what will be buried inside you soon. Testing the waters, per se.

When your thumb skims against the skin of his heavy balls, Leon nearly keels over. You’re then ensnared in the tight embrace of his Herculean biceps. Despite the debauchery sewn into his bones, puppeteering every move of his, he still remains tender with his actions. The notion to treat you with the utmost softness is unbreakable, even when he is suffering at the hands of devastating carnality.

Meanwhile, you drag your finger down his hardened length and estimate every inch he possesses. You ignore every shiver that cascades down his body and conclude the measurement lies somewhere near 7.5 inches. Leon lies on the thinner side, but compensates with just how intimidating the straight, narrow length is, leaving no room for any curves or arches. In contrast to this, his head is fat and irritated, desperate for your attention.

While you remain engrossed in your thorough studies, Leon begins to paw at you with his greedy hands.

“Please. Master, please…”

Master? You’ve never heard that one before…

You share a hearty chuckle and beneath the touch of your fingers, you feel his dick jerk in response. A thing for humiliation? You’ll jot that down for later.

With a swift roll of your eyes, you shuffle your legs over to straddle him. His hands clutch on to your shoulders in a fervent attempt at keeping you close, to a degree that almost brings you minor pain. Much like a normal dog, Leon often forgets the weight of his strength and how large he is. Especially when he is blinded by his own ravenous lechery.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Leon shudders and weakly nods. It’s almost comical how a few heated touches can cause all that famous wit to ooze out his body. However, it is not the response you wanted.

You tightly grasp hold of his face like a parent scolding their child. He gasps from the harsh contact, but the way his eyes sparkle tells you he is a fan of the rough treatment.

“Speak.”

With a jagged groan, a collage of messy words spill from his mouth.

“Yes! God, yes, there is nothing I want more. Master, please give it to me!”

Satisfied with his answer, you use your free hand to take hold of his length. Goosebumps adorn his shivering body in response. With one last deep breath of preparation, you then guide his bulbous head past the tight barrier of your wet entrance.

Your jaw drops from the sheer stretch. Despite how much you could have prepared yourself for penetration, it still finds fresh ways in taking your breath away.

Leon is not in any better of a state, either. Arguably, much worse.

Gasps pervade from his mouth as he desperately tries to verbalize just how soul-crushing you feel. He might as well have ascended onto cloud nine where his lonely skin can be embraced in the fluffy, sunlit expanse.

The further you sink yourself down, the more his brain becomes smeared with melted concupiscence and the feeling of absolute, irrevocable love. Leon has to restrain himself from snagging back your control and just fucking into you until the sun rises. Poor thing doesn’t know how much more he can take before he snaps.

When you finally do bottom out, you have to impede a wince. He may be able to reach places your measly fingers could only dream of finding, but fuck, will he take some getting used to.

A choked gasp of your new title bridges on the edge of Leon’s lips, but is quickly halted by him. Even when he is in the position he has dreamed of obtaining for years, those nagging thoughts still manage to creep in.

Leon fears the aspect of losing control and the consequences it may garner. What if someone is out there? What if they’re watching, just waiting for him to give in to the pleasure? All so they can swoop in and take you from him? What will he do if he loses you again? Would he even survive-?

A gentle bounce of your hips and all worry is flung into outer space. Leon lurches forward, burying his head into your neck and digging his blunt nails into your shoulders.

While you remain focused on adjusting to the new rhythm, Leon is reciting a mantra of “don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum” through his hazy head.

“There you go… Good boy-“

Well, that didn’t last long.

That’s all it takes for Leon to plunge over the edge.

“M-Master! Fuck, uhn-!”

He bleats out an obnoxiously loud cry, as though he were the lead star in a world-famous porno.

Sweltering heat pervades through his stomach in an inordinate fervor. Thick, heavy ropes paint your walls white and fill you to the very brim. Hands gripping every chunk of flesh they can reach, Leon revels in the weight of the pleasure.

Never has he been able to cum so quickly. All efforts with the toys in his bedside drawer or the blurry faces he’d bring to bed were rarely brought to fruition. If he were ever brought to that peak, it was always a pitiful release.

One thing remained constant, though: it was always you on his mind.

Tonight, however, euphoria could not have come quicker when his senses are overwhelmed in all of you and your perfect self.

With such meek effort, you’ve now reduced Leon to a gooey puddle of ecstatic, dazed shivers. You take his newfound silence as embarrassment for lasting several seconds inside you. The truth is, you have stunned him into an enraptured state of silence. Still, you’ve accepted the fun has ended and begin reassuring him of any drifting doubts.

“You’re okay, puppy… Did so well for me…” You whisper, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down his jaw.

Leon’s rapid breathing has now eased, with the occasional whimper managing to escape. Tears build in his baby-blues. His grip on you is weak, but still maintains that vehement desperation you’re so familiar with. Inert is now his disposition, all with just a few pumps inside you.

Six years have been spent in isolated misery with the memory of you poisoning his mind. To finally feel the caress of your love, Leon can’t restrain the tears that begin to fall.

Your reassurances remain soft and your kisses drag further down his skin. His chest, riddled with scars from his past, does not remain untouched by your care. This includes the jagged cut above his collarbone that he received during his search for you in Valdelobos. It had healed since, but it is perceptible in its hues of purple and red. You kiss upon the wound, complemented by the subtle drag of your teeth.

You’re caught off guard when you feel Leon’s hardened length spasm within you in response. You devote your attention to that sweet spot and drag the warm sponge of your tongue on the scar, relishing in the moan it evokes from his throat.

Sucking into the marked skin, Leon starts again with his pathetic stammering.

“Pl-Please…” he cries out. “You’re killing me…”

You press a tender kiss to the fresh hickey as a silent apology. Slowly, you then begin to grind your hips to gently ease him into round two. Your efforts for a forgiving transition fail you, however, as those needy hands dig into your flesh as some desperate query for mercy.

Leon shields any absconding sounds of his by hyperventilating through clenched teeth. Once again, however, that scrap of self-control is torn from his grasp with another bounce of your body.

As your motions continue, Leon takes hold of the hand you rested on his shoulder. He buries your fingers in the heaps of short hair on the back of his head. His eyes are locked on yours through it all. Where else would they be?

“Pull. Please, pull on-”

You yank on his hair with all your might and watch in reverie as his jaw goes slack. A few moans part from his gaping mouth before he can collect the correct words to speak.

Taking your other hand, Leon guides it to his neck and applies the pressure he’s been dreaming of for years.

“Sq-Squ-”

You abide once more and compress your fingers down on the most sensitive areas of his throat. And you almost crack a joke about how he’d do well in a Hentai with how perverse his reaction is.

His tongue lolls out of his open mouth and rests against his chin. His eyes roll so far into the back of his head, you wonder if they’ll be stuck there forever. All of this over some slow grinding? You could assume him to be a virgin over such dramatics.

For a moment, you decide to soften your movements. With his track record, you doubt he’ll last much longer with such efficient motions. Instead, you take advantage of that loose tongue hanging lazily from his mouth.

You begin to suck on the lax muscle. The response it garners from Leon is immediate. A torrid moan pervades muffled, but the volume is still enough to shudder through the air.

Every twist and turn of his hot mouth is sloppy, as he is too twitterpated to use his lips accordingly. His hands, weak and idle, clasp your jaw and hold you in place. Leon has kissed many others before, yes, but none like this.

Then finally, finally, you begin to ride him. The attention reserved to his mouth is robbed from you, as Leon’s head droops backward and hangs over the rim of the hot tub. His body goes limp, slack arms falling from your body and to his sides. That mouth, overwhelmed with pooling saliva, lets out a raucous series of “ah! ah! ah!” with every thrust you impel into yourself.

He becomes blinded by his appetency. As he stated, being victim to the fusion of heaven and hell at your hand brings him bliss like no other. And through the clenched curses and pitiful whimpers, the universe finally grants him the ability to speak.

Soon, all fantasies he’s had surrounding this moment begin to spill out of his brain. Every meager attempt at masturbation, every tedious one-night stand, every sexual desire never brought to fruition — one crack in the dam leads to every thought of you gushing out with no hope of control.

“You have no idea...” His voice is a mere squeak; you barely discern what was even stated. “No-No clue… ‘Needed this ever since I saw you at that f-fucking gas station!”

Fire burns scorching in your gut.

“Spent six whole fucking years chasing after this. Never-Never thought I’d find it… Never thought I’d find you.”

Every thrust baffles you, as no one, not even yourself, has been able to reach so deep. Complemented by the intensity and verity of his words, you’re surprised it all hadn’t made you cum prematurely, as well.

A particular rough pump hits a good spot inside you, a spot you had not known existed. A moan gasps from your throat, of which you try to muffle to no avail. Leon takes notice and immediately fills the silence with more pleads.

“No, d-don’t hide. Wanna hear you, master. Ne-Need it…”

Paired with those pretty eyes, shimmering as though he were a dog presented with a juicy bone, that was all you needed to let go. You angle your hips to abuse that spot relentlessly, relishing in the immediate gratification it ignites within you.

Soon, you’re no better than him in regards to sound release. The last time you heard yourself like this was when Carlos was buried inside you, but Leon does not need to know about those past excursions.

Leon, in question, was none the wiser. Overwhelmed with ecstasy, he continues with his blabbering about every wet dream you played the lead role in.

“Wanna- Wan’ you to put a collar on me. ‘Wear the ears an’ a leash. Have you pl-plug a tail inside me.”

The idea of adorning the Leon Kennedy in all those garbs is almost enough to make you laugh. A man of such strength and power would really let you do that to him?

“Wan’ master to cum in a bowl. ’Make me eat it.”

He lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes gaze into yours with an intensity that touches your bones.

“Survive on it…”

His statement almost unnerves you. The entire time you thought he was dead, that is what he occupied himself with? Thoughts like this?

With your free hand, you return the grasp you once had on his hair and you yank on the strands in an attempt to get him to shut his mouth. His eyes roll into the back of his head and he cries obscenely, but does not dare separate the distance between you both.

Through gasps for air and prevailing moans, the blabbering continues.

“Luh-Lock me in a cage. Tie a vibe’ to my dick and just sit there, just f-fucking watch me fall apart.”

Yeah, he definitely took your ‘puppy-dog’ nickname too literally.

You’re sure if you told him to bark, he wouldn’t think twice. You don’t even know if you have the heart to fulfill all these fantasies, no matter how pretty he’d plead for you.

The lack of vocal indication of your end has taken a perceptible toll on Leon, as it seems. He eagerly awaits for your reply, to see your face stretch into a sneer, for you to tell him he is a disgusting mutt who doesn’t deserve another second in your presence. The mere thought could make him cum again right there.

“Master, please! Wan’ hear your voice.”

You hadn’t even noticed your sudden inclination to silence. After all, you have been rendered speechless from his previous statements. And with a face like that, you don’t have it in you to deny Leon of what he asks for.

“Yeah? Feelin’ good?”

Oh, he could just melt beneath that voice.

Leon is positive he almost does with the way he can’t bring himself to answer you with words, only returning your question with another onslaught of whines and snivels.

Now that he has you where he has only dreamt of holding you, it’s too much for him to handle. Even when faced with the most formidable, revolting creatures on Earth, the utter severity of it all couldn’t even begin to compare with what you offer him.

“F-F-Fuck! Master, gonna-gonna make me-!”

You halt, reducing your violent thrusts to gentle pumps. And the sob it earns you is nothing short of beautiful.

For a moment, you find yourself worried over the visceral reaction it pulled from him. If it weren’t for the lust fogging his brain, he’d adorn you in wreaths of reassurance and adoration. Leon has been victim to so much pain over the course of his life, but none of which compare to this. It hurts, but fuck, does it hurt good.

“… Need… Need you…”

And God, will he do just about anything to be a victim to it for the rest of his life.

“Make… Make me cum first, then maybe I’ll consider letting you finish inside me.”

His eyes, peering into yours, darken in response. Just how long has he been waiting for you to throw a demand like that his way?

Years, you conclude, based on how he obliges with whiplash-inducing swiftness. Leon takes the labor off your shoulders and pounds against that spot that turns your body to melted goop. The noises you make, like sheer heaven pouring into Leon’s ears, intensify when you bring much-needed stimulation to your sex.

“Wan’ make you feel good. ‘S all I ever wanted.” He whines through sniffles.

His nails cling to the meat of your hips, whisking you closer to his chest. You’re positive by morning, you’ll look as though Wolverine chose you as his prey.

The tears bridging in his eyes now seep down his cheeks, face twisting as sobs begin to heave from his body. Leon hasn’t cried since the moment he saw you on the loading docks. What is there to cry about anymore? With you there, the sun in an empty void, how could he ever be brought to tears again?

Now, however, he cannot refrain himself from sobbing his eyes out. Every wail escapes with a hiccup as he desperately restrains himself from disobeying your word and finishing inside you. Six years spent chasing after an orgasm had not prepared Leon for what would happen when he’d be forced to prevent that peak.

“I’ll get you there. Mmph- ‘Puppy will get you there.”

That tether keeping you stable weakens with every thrust plunged inside you. Your brain is sheer mush, your body is enfeebled, and the knot in your gut stretches until it becomes too much for you to hold.

A sharp curse gasps from your throat as you let yourself go and into the arms of sheer rapture. You clutch onto his shoulders as your orgasm courses through your body. And to be the one responsible for such intensive, euphoric feelings within you turns Leon into a man lost to the whorls of insanity.

“Fuck-! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He trails on like a broken CD.

“Y-Yeah? Feels good fucking into me like a bitch in heat, huh?”

You don’t even know who the person saying these words is, as it all tumbles from your mouth like second nature.

Leon does, however. And God, he couldn’t be more in love with them.

“Come on, you’ve earned your reward. Breed me, puppy.”

Just like that, all Leon needed was another sugar-coated command and he is cumming his brains out.

“Fuck, I’m-!”

Leon fills you up once again, practically squirting into you like a bitch. The remnants left with no room excrete from your heat and flow with the bubbling water.

Drool pools underneath his tongue, snapping in strings as his mouth opens to cry out for you. All sorts of curses and proclamations of love tumble from his weak jaw. His brows pinch upwards as his gaze remains locked on yours, relishing in the sight he’s fought tooth and nail to retrieve.

The blurry memories of those pitiful one-night stands bid their last goodbye, firmly replaced by the ground-breaking, earth-shattering pleasure only you are capable of conjuring.

And once again, that staring problem of his has not halted, even when he has been reduced to a whiny, woozy mess.

Leon lays there, limp as a wet noodle, and just marvels at the sight of you before him. Every inch of your body is scrutinized through his eyes, once again.

All the fantasies of you on top of him, none of it compared to the genuine sight. Strikingly beautiful as you always are. It is better than seeing daylight for the first time, better than seeing a rainbow of hope after a tragic storm, better than watching all your desires and dreams unravel before your very eyes. It is everything.

All you can do is remain seated on his lap and admire the work, or rather, destruction, you have caused.

“Leon?”

Nothing.

“Leon…?”

No response.

“Hey, pup.”

You pat your hand on his cheek, finally capturing his attention.

Dazed, he answers with a lazy “huh?” while still refusing to cease his staring.

“I’d tell you to take a picture if I didn’t mind you staring at me so much.”

He huffs out a dazed chuckle, gaze still buried into every inch of you it can reach. With no verbal reply, you laugh to yourself when you realize you’ve managed to fuck the wit and humor out of Leon Kennedy, the king of all cheesy dad-jokes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He nods weakly in response.

You now dread the thought of dragging the dead weight of this burly secret agent all the way back to the cabin.

Night has now consumed the sky, shedding the light of the moon and its glittering stars across the land. After a swift shower with an affectionate, semi-conscious Leon, the two of you return outdoors.

The campfire outside crackles with heat in front of the hammock strapped beneath two trees, where you and Leon currently lay.

His head is buried into your neck, desperate for the comfort only your touch can provide. With the occasional sloppy kiss to your jaw and drowsy, love-struck praise, you realize you have rendered one of the most powerful men on the planet to a mushy mess of devotion.

Holding the light of his life close, affixed by the sounds of chirping crickets and swaying waves, he is soon rocked to sleep like a baby in a crib.

Despite the soothing environment, however, you cannot find it within yourself to join Leon in his state of slumber. Instead, your brain is plagued by concern.

Foolishly, you assumed drowning Leon in affections would grant you a moment of solitude. Just satiate his hunger and you’ll catch a break, right?

Wrong!

Your efforts have only intensified the avidity coursing through his bloodstream. Where his muddled mind can only conjure words of your beauty, your psyche, your perfection — just you, you, you, and only you.

But, what about you?

What do you crave? What do you want most?

As the idea simmers in your brain, you conclude what you want most is to start anew. Move to a different city, reconnect with old friends, adopt a furry friend, maybe even return to school or pursue a new career field.

It does not matter what choices you make down the line, as long as you have a choice to begin with.

And maybe when the time is right, you can pursue romance again. You cannot explain why, but your mind then drifts to Tyrell and you start to wonder if he-

“Oh! God, you startled me…”

You dip your chin and find Leon in a new state of complete consciousness. Staring at you. Intently.

Almost as though he could read your mind, he had roused from his sleep the very second your thoughts traveled in the opposite direction of him. Another smile stretches on his sleepy face, nonetheless. His finger draws up to your face and he boops you on the nose.

With a content hum of laughter, Leon then snuggles closer to you and proceeds to drown you in another suffocating array of kisses and nuzzles.

“I missed you…” He exhales.

With a glance of confusion, you question his confession.

“What? I’ve been here the whole time?”

Your bewilderment is not alleviated, as Leon only doubles down on his confession.

“I really, really missed you…”

Just when you think he cannot get any closer, he forces himself further like a python ensnaring around its prey. Almost as though he were trying to forge the two of you into one person.

You hereby make a promise to yourself that if you are ever granted the chance of a new beginning, you will never adopt a dog.

When you wake the following morning beneath the sheets of the bedroom, you are met with the same routine. Hazy sunlight, singing birds, lively fireplace — all the essentials to a morning spent in the cabin.

This time, however, you feel someone affectionately dragging the joint of their fingers down your face.

This strikes odd, as you always wake before Leon. He was never a deep sleeper before bringing you into his bed, always flinching awake to gusts of wind or creaks in the floorboard. With his thick arms around your waist, trying to wake him was now a fool’s errand. That is, until you leave his side. You are convinced he has some form of sixth sense devoted to ensuring you are close by. There is no other coherent explanation for this superpower of his.

As he continues to caress the jut of your jaw, you keep your confusions at bay and your eyes locked tight. You hope with careful effort, you’ll succeed in pretending to be asleep.

“Told you I’d come back to you.”

That is not Leon.

Your eyes launch open to identify the voice, only to find no other than Ada Wong sitting beside you.

She is dressed in her famous red garbs and dark leather. Acrylic nails grazing over your flesh, she pets you as though you were a sleeping kitten curled up in her lap.

“Ada!” You exclaim, voice woven with shock and relief.

You escape the expanse of Leon’s strong grasp, albeit with struggle, and bring her into a hug, of which she joyously accepts.

The act of affection given to her was platonic. A greeting of an old friend, nothing more. The embrace you initiated, however, quickly becomes a bit too intimate for your liking. With glossy lips a little too close to your neck and hands treading further and further down your back, you pull away from her before she can conjure up any ulterior ideas.

Though, knowing Ada and her love of romance, those very ideas have most likely forged a home in her mind.

“This is the ‘humble abode’ Leon spoke so proudly of?” She questions, studying the room with a perceptible sneer. “He has you living like a dog.”

“It-It’s not so bad! I actually find it quite cozy here.” You defend the unconscious man beside you. “It’s nothing like your million-dollar mansion, though, I assume?”

Ada breathes out a light chortle. How badly she missed you and that playful nature, as groggy as it may be in the wake of dawn.

“Well, would you like to find out?”

She has to restrain herself from pinching your cheeks when you fail to hide your flabbergasted expression.

“L-Leave? You want me to leave with you?”

A surge of fear envelops your body when you contemplate the prospect. Awakening to an empty bed would surely send Leon into a state of crazed hysterics. You’d be overtaken with guilt knowing he’s ripping the planet apart trying to find you.

“Yes. Pack your bags. My chauffeur is waiting for us.”

Chauffeur!? Is she serious?

“Oh, I barely have any clothes to pack. We can just catch up here, right?”

Your lazy excuse is an attempt at convincing Ada to stay within the safety of the cabin, all to placate Leon. What you have forgotten in these few months is just how headstrong she is. Also, how easy it is for her to twist your works to her liking.

“That is alright, we can travel naked. I certainly don’t mind.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Leon interjects her salacious ideas, granting you no time to react to her remark. “I know it’s different from what you’re used to, but we don’t need diamonds to be happy.”

Turning to look at him, you’re taken aback by how overcome with annoyance he is. It is the first time you have seen him so irritated in months, in fact. Not since the two had their cat-fight back on the loading docks.

When he shifts his gaze to you, however, that aggravation washes away and is replaced by content bliss. It seems to be his permanent expression whenever his vision is blessed with the sight of you.

“All we need is each other.”

Leon’s arms find their way around your waist, once again, sprinkling ardent kisses upon your shoulder. You can only imagine the intensity in his eyes when he casts another glare her way.

“Oh. How sweet.” Aversion seeps from Ada’s words as though she were spitting out a chunk of rotten fruit.

It is only now that you begin to connect the dots. They are short and curt with each other, yes, but their interactions are devoid of the violence from before. You can’t help but wonder to yourself if they had planned this?

You are not granted much time to ponder on such trivial matters. Not when Ada is dragging you out of the cabin, Leon hot on your tail.

She assures you there is now no need for packing a bag of any sort, as you will own a full closet and whatever luxuries you desire at her place of residence. The obnoxious flaunting does not go unnoticed by Leon, either. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had caught sight of his brain with how hard he rolled his eyes.

With that being said, Leon is not entirely innocent in his efforts to establish dominance over his enemy, either.

You barely make it a few steps off the front porch before Leon yanks you into a bruising kiss.

With both hands grasping your face, he ignores your muffled whimpers of rebuff and deepens the kiss to an impossible degree. Under the heat of such intense vehemency, however, that facade he crafted to ingrain insecurity into Ada crumbles at his feet. Even the strongest of creatures would melt beneath the veil of your affection, that is an undeniable fact.

You will not be gone for long, but Leon cannot fathom a mere second without you close by. How is he meant to function when you’re under the care of this serpent?

The woman in question is swift in separating you from the lovesick maniac assaulting your mouth. Ensuring your safety and comfort is now a muscle reaction in her, she has come to learn.

Once he finally parts from you, only then does he realize tears have pooled in his eyes, threatening to spill down his face.

“I love you.” Leon confesses.

You do not respond. You do not know what kind of feelings you possess for him, but uttering those words back to him would feel foreign. Now that you think about it, you cannot recall the last time you were positive you genuinely loved someone…

“I love you so much, sunlight.”

Ada has now resorted to dragging him away from you, fully expecting him to tackle you like a dog who has not seen their owner in months. Knowing him, an action of such would not be out of character.

“I’ll see you soon, Leon.”

With that, you begin treading towards the location of Ada’s chauffeur. She begins to follow you in your steps, but is halted when a rough hand clutches her forearm. Harshly, she is pulled away from you by Leon.

Out of your earshot, he whispers into her ear through clenched teeth. Voice now austere and venomous.

“One mark on them and there is not a single place on Earth you’ll be able to hide from me.”

With an amused eye-roll and wicked grin, Ada responds to him.

“Careful, Leon. You know I don’t fight fair. Play your cards wrong and I’ll have them begging to stay with me.”

Leon is not given the chance to fulfill his desires of beating her skull into the mud and leaving behind a gore-ridden disarray. Not when she swiftly escapes his violent grasp and follows behind you.

You remain oblivious to the blood-soaked tension between your two lovers as you send a final wave to a heart-shattered Leon. You then reach the doors of the vehicle Ada was chauffeured in and marvel at the expensive sight.

The steel walls of the car are dark and polished, as though the chauffeur had driven here directly from the dealership. Said chauffeur circles around the car to where you stand. He does not spare you a glance as he opens the door for you, reserving his vision for the costly intricacies of his oxford shoes and fitted suit.

You cast a glance of uncertainty to Ada, who returns your confusion with an affirmative gesture. A grin creeps onto her face in response. She likes you relying on her for clarity. Just her and no one else.

Wiping off any excess mud on your shoes in the dewy grass, you carefully (moreso clumsily) enter the vehicle. You perceive the interior of the car to be just as lavish as the outside.

The seats are imbedded with exorbitant, brown leather and encompass the entire backseat area. Curtains guard the tinted windows, as though you were a celebrity being escorted to some prestigious event.

In your intended seat is a velvet-coated bin filled to the brim with all sorts of goods. Expensive lotions all in your favorite scents, several new LEGO sets, a vintage polaroid camera, as well as… A hankerchief? Why would you need one of those back here?

Shifting your gaze further, the car head unit displays a GPS, detailing the fastest route to Leon’s cabin. You’d think this car was taking you to the moon with how futuristic the interior is.

The partition closes before you can examine the technology further, leaving the backseat in complete isolation. The engine is quiet as it rumbles to life.

Ada then joins you in the backseat, closing the door firmly.

“Seatbelt.”

It takes you a moment to discern what she said, that being an unbending demand. When you finally register her words, you oblige and rush to fasten your seatbelt.

“Wow! I’ve never been in a car so- mmph!”

Ada pulls you into a kiss before you can finish your sentence.

It is a soft affection, but even a fool couldn’t miss the aching relief seeping from her muscles. God, did she miss you.

It is a contrast to kisses from Leon, as well. Her lips are smooth and plump, instead of that chapped, neediness he always overwhelms you with. In addition to this, every advance and nudge of Ada’s mouth is luxurious in effort. Hell, even her lip gloss tastes expensive.

The kiss is short-lived, much to her dismay, as you soon pull away from the second onslaught of greedy ferocity for the day.

“You must have a lot of questions for me.” Ada leans back into her seat and crosses one leg over the other. “Ask away.”

Still frazzled from the sudden affection you were pulled into, it takes a few seconds for you to compute a proper response.

“I… I’m not even sure where to start. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Ada raises a brow, relishing you caring for her well-being. Lord knows how obsessed she is with yours, after all.

“I guess I’ll start by asking… Um, where have you been?”

Maybe it was the exhausting ride here, maybe it’s the breakfast she forgot that morning, shit, maybe it’s just the weather, but Ada cannot find words to speak when you’re looking at her like that. She concludes it is at fault of the long, torturous time spent without you, immediately met with whiplash upon indulging in your kiss.

“Working. Cleaning up the mess in Valdelobos.”

How she has cleaned the said “mess” remains unbeknownst to you. No matter what the context is, you can always rely on Ada to be vague with her words.

“What about…” You hesitate. “What about Jill and Carlos? Have you seen them?”

Even though your days have been overwhelmed by Leon and his clingy antics, the memory of that cursed picnic still lurks in the back of your head. You still do not know where they are or if they are even alive.

“Taken care of. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about.”

“Okay… That’s good to hear.” You sigh with relief. “And what of today? Where are we heading to?”

“My penthouse. Top floor. Perfect view of the entire city.”

Penthouse!? You’ve seen your fair share of apartments, as you lived in a roach-ridden studio back in Raccoon City. But, you’ve never even breathed within a mile radius of a penthouse!

“Oh! A-A penthouse?”

You swear you can visibly see the hubris permeate her expression. The pride Ada feels upon your reactions to the fruits of her work is nothing short of euphoric.

“Correct.”

You cough out a nervous laugh. “I don’t- I’ve-I’ve never been in a penthouse before. I don’t think I’ll really… "Fit in”, y’know?”

“Nonsense. It’s exactly what you deserve. What you need.”

“Okay… And what about after that?”

She pauses, confused by your question.

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean, what will happen after I leave your penthouse?”

“You’ll visit Leon provisionally, before you return to me.”

“No! I-I mean, when do I get to go off on my own? Make a life for myself?”

Ada tenses. She does not like this topic; she’d rather go back to boasting about her riches and reveling in the way you fawn after them.

“I…” You begin, before cutting your tangent off short.

You are well aware of the hardships both she and Leon have endured for your well-being. The last thing you want is to be seen as ungrateful.

To alleviate these worries, you place your hand atop of hers in assurance. In the process, you fail to notice the spike her heart endures from the sudden affection.

“I’m grateful for everything you and Leon have done for me. Really, I am. But… But, I think I’m ready to fly the nest now.”

And just how foolish can you be, Y/N?

Ada can’t let you go. How could she ever? She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t-

“I can’t!”

The shout is abrupt and causes you to flinch away from her. In response, Ada quickly takes your hand back into hers. Her touch is soft, as it always has been, but the desperation is almost palpable.

“Not… Not yet, petal. It’s too dangerous.”

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest.

More hiding?

When will this chapter of your life finally conclude? When can you shift your worries from four love-obsessed soldiers to feeding the alleyway strays and finishing your taxes on time?

When will it all end?

Will it ever end?

This question looms in the head as hours, days, week, months tread past you.

Despite your wishes to start anew, you’ve been forced into an organized routine with Ada and Leon.

One week will be spent at Leon’s cabin, relaxing in the heart of mother nature while enjoying hot-tub nights and fried egg mornings. Once that week comes to an end, you’ll be flown out to Ada’s penthouse, where luxury and extravagance never cease.

Begrudgingly, Leon is given permission to join you on the private jet ride to Ada’s estate, soaking in the last few hours he’ll be granted with you. She cannot bring herself to blame him for this, as much as she wants to. She is also latched to your side for the agonizing drive out to Leon’s cabin, as well.

The two will then share a few sly glares and indulge you in some final, saddened acts of affections. Then, you are handed off to the other like divorced parents trading off kids in a grocery store parking lot.

In this time, you’ve become accustomed to the juxtaposition between waking up on flannel sheets, then silken sheets.

The windows of Ada’s opulent bedroom expand across the walls and welcome the light of the morning sun.

Fluffed pillows support your tired head. The mattress you’re sprawled out on is spacious, allowing you to stretch your limbs comfortably. An incredible contrast to your tiny twin back at the sanctuary. The lavish, bamboo comforters you’ve ensnared around yourself atone for all those lonely nights spent clinging to thin blankets.

You search through the mess of blankets to find Ada, but your efforts are brought to no avail. Much like her partner-nemesis (or whatever she’d personally name Leon), she is normally the sight you’re met with the moment you awaken.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Ada still fears she may wake to cold sheets; to be met with another firm reminder that this is all just another sugar-sprinkled dream and you are far away. To have you here, safe and warm, closer than ever before — it is the most picturesque definition of ‘too good to be true’ a dictionary could articulate.

Now, to awake in complete isolation, you had forgotten what it felt like altogether. Addled by this, you leave the heavenly embrace of the bed and set out on finding Ada.

Sauntering out of the bedroom, the marble floors feel like a fresh sheet of snow beneath your bare feet. All the more reason to crawl into those cozy, warm blankets and let the world drift away.

The walls and floors you tread by are painted a deep black. The only contrast to this darkness are the blood-red accents and the surrounding greenery. Plants, all varying in shape and size, adorn the hallways you amble through.

A few of Ada’s servants are awake bright and early to tend to these plants, squirt bottles and thermometers in their possession. You approach one of them and ask for Ada’s whereabouts, but they ignore you. As though they are stiff, tin-made robots, solely devoted to the task at hand and nothing else.

From there, you shake off the odd encounter and hasten forward, continuing your search for your missing partner.

For the umpteenth time, you walk through the hallway that has haunted your thoughts for these past few months. In this hallway are two doors, mirrored directly across from one another. Both are locked, despite your efforts to enter. You cannot help but wonder what you’d find inside…

As you pace down the staircase, you’re soon hit with the perfusing scent of a steaming meal. Like some starved carnivore, you follow the smell through the grand hallways, before you finally halt in the dining room.

You often joke to Ada how she’s decorated the room as though she were expecting to dine with the Addams family. Gothic and luxurious — those are the two words best used to describe the dining room.

The heavy chandelier dangling above flickers with lit candles, irradiating the jewels strung to the golden encasing. Black, velvet-encased chairs are aligned across the edges of the mahogany table. The chairs on the far ends contrast the others with their shimmering, golden trim. Two chairs meant to support the weight of royalty.

The table is now littered with a variety of breakfast foods. You find crepes, both sweet and savory. Also known as Ada’s favorite, which you noted long ago. Fresh, steaming breads, complemented by your choice of rich butter, fresh jam, or sweet honey. Fluffy Belgian waffles are stacked on a plate beside more bottles of maple syrup than Canada has ever seen. There is even an ostrich egg platter, surrounded with crispy meats and vegetables to plunge into the thick yolk.

You’ll have to ask Leon to add ostrich eggs to the grocery list so you can force him through another rant about eggs.

As you scrutinize all the contents on the table, a server then enters the premises. Just like the others, he does not make eye-contact with you. Almost as if he was afraid to do so, afraid of you.

He grasps the frame of the sumptuous chair and drags it out for you, beckoning you to sit down. You hesitate, questioning him with a pointed finger to your chest and a whispered “me?”, before your brain finally computes and ushers you to abide by his request.

When you sit, you are not permitted the chance to choose your serving of luxurious foods. Not when the servant begins intricately building your plate for you, skimming down a mental checklist of exact proteins, fats, grains, and everything incorporated into a healthy breakfast.

Without making eye-contact, once again, the servant sets the plate down before you. And like some ravenous animal, you do not wait for him to leave before you’re sinking your eager fingers into the dish. Everything is spectacular in its rich, delectable flavors. Surely a breakfast fit for royalty, of which you have not convinced yourself you are yet.

A pair of arms then wrap around your chest, guiding you back into a doting embrace. Glossy lips press an ardent kiss to your temple.

“I’m glad to see you finally awake, petal.”

With every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Ada Wong loves the touch of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of her obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

And you cannot differentiate whether the burning of your cheeks is from the sudden affections or because you were caught devouring your meal like some mess-obsessed toddler.

Ada strolls to stand beside you, dragging a pointed finger across your shoulders as she saunters. With a sticky face, you watch as she curls her fingers beneath your chin, shifting your gaze up to meet hers.

“Cute.” She utters, caressing the narrow line of your jawline.

She loves this sight of you under her like this. Like a wide-eyed bunny, scrutinizing every move of the big, bad wolf. Too fucking adorable. Her fingers then find your head, petting the surface as though you were her personal lap-dog. Pretty and pliant beneath her, exactly where she loves you most.

“I’ll be gone for most of the day, unfortunately. Work stuff.” Her hand grasps your chin, holding your vision to hers. “Think you can keep yourself occupied without me?”

You nod obediently, most certainly a sight for sore eyes.

She chortles. “Good...”

With one last prolonged, impassioned kiss to your forehead, Ada then departs and sets out for the day's tasks.

Despite your imperative stance in her life, you are still left in the dark about what exactly her “work” is. All attempts at questioning result in failure. What you are aware of, however, is how time-consuming it all is. Honestly, you’d think she was having an affair if she didn’t drown you in love and riches every chance she got.

One major (and ridiculous, in your opinion) component of Ada’s richness was the vast indoor pool of the penthouse. You’ve never even seen her in the room itself, so you always question the purpose of its existence.

These matters are immaterial to you now, however, as you strip down to nudity and launch yourself into the crisp water. Here, your body is free from the fervent hands of the clingy customer from Mizoil and the overly affectionate Superwoman.

Lap after lap, you adjust to the bitter temperatures and find tranquility in the repetitive routine. This was a pattern you favored, since it is rare you are granted time for yourself. So, you savor what slivers of solitude you're given as you swim through the sky-blue waves.

Body now weary, you reside in the middle of the pool and float there. With no stimulation from the lovesick creatures surrounding you, the thoughts haunting the back of your head creep forward. Here, they whisper the truth.

Despite how magical it may be to surround yourself in glittering riches and adoring affections, your true desires reside and rot deep within you. How badly you want to start fresh somewhere far from this mess, but how guilty you feel for secretly wishing to reject all this luxury.

Then again, these may be the feelings Ada and Leon wish for you to be tormented with. For you to trust them wholly, before yanking the rug from beneath your feet. Tossing you back into the arms of Jill and Carlos, to Umbrella, hell, maybe even the Saddler, if his formidable self managed to survive your laundry list of lovers.

Maybe that is what Jill and Carlos had done in your last interaction, as well. Selling you to Umbrella for the hefty pay they’d surely return them. All the blood splatters and crocodile tears must have been a show to convince you they had no say in the transaction.

Your head begins to ache as these theories pervade through your head. Your trust has been worn thin in these recent months, even the trust you instilled into yourself. Maybe if you just sink lower, let yourself be consumed by the weight of the frigid waves, then all of it will end.

If you end your life, maybe then you’ll finally be at peace.

“Y/N?”

“Jesus-!”

Your arms latch around yourself in a desperate attempt at shielding your naked body.

A glance forward and you find one of Ada’s numerous servants, eyes laser-focused on her feet and nowhere else. You can only imagine what kind of lethal punishment would be in store for this poor worker had she indulged herself in the sight of you. All it would take is some stuttering words and tear-filled eyes and Ada would have all the heads in the world on a stick.

“Um- Ms. Wong is on her way home and wants to see you first thing. If you will, please, uhm- please get dressed and meet us in the living room.”

She scurries off before you can respond.

You figure you’ve swam enough laps around the pool and around the swirling calamity in your mind. From there, you frantically dry off your wet skin and dress yourself before another unwanted guest can see your exposed self.

Through the numerous hallways, you finally arrive in the living room. Dark in its overall appearance, with the familiar accents of red and greenery. Before you can wait for Ada’s arrival, however, something catches your eye.

On the coffee table is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses entwined with strands of dandelions and baby’s breath.

These gifts have become a daily routine, at this point. You’ll find Ada’s favorite roses and your running-inside-joke dandelions nestled beside each other. Oftentimes, she’ll take a stray dandelion and tuck it behind your ear. Overtly romantic per usual, which proves to be Ada’s permanent disposition.

You shuffle around the table to sit upon the adjacent sofa, but find yourself hesitating in the process, afraid to soil it with your mere fingertips. Yes, you have seen lavish furniture, as Carlos and Jill put their cash towards whatever ensured your comfort and safety. However, you have never seen luxury quite like this.

Carefully, you descend your body onto the surface. The couch is soft, but sturdy. Not a thread out of place, nor a wrinkle in sight. Expensive, that’s for damn sure.

“Full-grain leather. Organic cotton. Hand-crafted. Purchased it from a designer in Italy.”

A voice pervades through the silence. The flat, yet soft tone could only be possessed by one person.

You turn over your shoulder to find Ada Wong.

Her body is adorned with a trench coat made of dark leather, framed with a fur trim. A few metal clinks and she unbuckles the coat, tossing it toward a near servant. Beneath the garment is a red dress. Skin-tight, per usual, and worn with those stilettos she's never seen without.

And inevitable with every interaction you have with her, Ada is wearing that sultry-sweet smile and those bambi-soft eyes — a fashion statement only sewn by your hand.

Trailing your gaze off behind her, you see another servant at her side. In their grasp is a tray holding the weight of several wine bottles, as well as an array of burgundy glasses.

“Italy has always been a second home.” Ada is quick to snag your attention back onto her. “Most of your closet is sheer Rome.”

She saunters over to you and drapes herself onto the couch, as though she were posing for a painting and you were wielding the paintbrushes.

Without breaking eye-contact, Ada snaps her fingers and points an acrylic nail to the marble coffee table. The servant, with enough swiftness to avoid dropping the platter and facing her wrath, places the platter down. From there, they begin with their eccentric presentation.

“Tonight, we have a sample of the classic Chardonnay, paired with the vibrant Semillon Sauvignon Blanc. Both extravagant in flavor, but contrast in their-”

“Leave.”

The word is sharp. And still, Ada’s eyes are locked on yours.

All servants, deflected as one may be, simultaneously bow to her. They all proceed to frantically trip over themselves to take their leave.

The doors close with a gentle click, leaving you to inevitably be lodged in the jaws of the beast they fear. It certainly doesn’t help when she stares at you as though you were some feeble prey, ready to be torn into bloodied ribbons.

Those dark eyes tread from the tip of your head, then inch-by-inch down to your feet. Trailing back to meet your gaze, Ada fills the silence.

“So, tell me, which do you prefer? White or red?”

Confused, you furrow your brow and tilt your head like a puppy. It takes everything within Ada not to pounce on you right then and there.

“Like, the color?”

“The wine, petal.” A breathless chuckle drags with her words. You’d feel like an idiot if it weren’t for the enchantment drowning in her eyes.

“Oh! I-uh… I’ve never really tried out much alcohol before.”

“You’ve never drank before?”

“No, I-Well, I have, but only once. One of the therapists at the sanctuary was sneaking in vodka, so me and my friend snuck it into my room and drank it. That-That was a long time ago, though…”

Your friend. You have not thought of him in months.

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Wh-!? No! No, it was never like that! He was just my friend, only that!”

Ada chuckles. A deep, thrumming sound.

“I’m teasing you, Y/N. Just can’t help myself when you get all nervous like that.”

She then grasps one of the several bottles from the platter. Sagrantino, a bold red wine. Directly imported from Umbria, Italy. The silence in the room is filled with the pouring of alcohol.

“Well, I prefer red, but that’s just my preference. Got all night to find yours.”

Glass now in your hand, you twirl the stem around in circles and watch as the wine swishes around in hues of deep crimson and purple.

“Go ahead, petal. Drink.”

Ada has a certain timbre in her voice that lulls you, as though she were a siren. No matter what demand falls from her mouth, you find yourself complying to every wish of hers.

So, you drink.

The aromas of violets and berries envelop your tongue, blended with its dry texture that leaves behind a subtle spice. It is a tad overbearing, yes, but delicious in flavor.

A few more sips and your body is overcome with a sudden warmth. The clothes you are wearing feel stuffy and beads of sweat begin to build beneath them. You’ve been tipsy before, maybe even bridging on fully drunk, but nothing has ever garnered this reaction out of you.

Did just a few sips give you heatstroke or something? What is happening to you?

“If you hadn’t slept with him, then who did you sleep with?”

The question appears out of nowhere. Too occupied with studying this sudden heatwave, you do not respond to her.

“The two that held you captive, maybe? Surely, they couldn’t hold themselves back?”

Ah, yes. Jill and Carlos. Just when you think you can abandon them in the previous chapter of your life, they slither their way into the new pages and engrave themselves with the ink.

Begrudgingly, you answer. “Yes, I-um… I slept with both of them.”

“Interesting.”

A pregnant silence settles as Ada’s fingers dance around the rim of the wine glass. Her gaze has yet to leave yours.

“When I found you in Valdelobos, you had bite marks on your neck. Who gave them to you?”

Your brain tells you to lie and blame the Los Iluminados with their hungry teeth. However, the prospect of being dishonest to Ada and the inevitable consequences that would follow prevent you from being untruthful.

“Jill. She gave them to me.”

The expression on her face is indistinguishable. If your other suitors learned of your sexual partners, they’d wage a war on the entire planet. Ada, however, is different. She seems… amused by it all.

“Figured.” She answers. “And how did Jill treat you?”

As stated before, there is no space for dishonesty with Ada preset. Even if you sprung to your feet and raced out the door, she’d find the answers to her curiosity one way or another.

“She was rough. Really rough. Jill, she-she didn’t like to explore, either. We did the same thing every time.”

“Did what every time?”

Ada’s unadulterated attention is latched onto every syllable you speak. Almost as though this were some sleepover in a chick-flick, where you were telling your B.F.F. of how you lost your v-card to the dashing quarterback you’ve had a crush on all year. All that’s missing is the glossy magazines and microwave popcorn.

“She went down on me. It was all we did, all that she wanted to do. A-And not that I’m complaining or ungrateful! But…”

“But…?”

“But, I-I always- I think I always wanted to try… More.”

“And what does more entail?”

“I-uh. Erm, I-I don’t- I think-“

“You wanted to go down on a woman?”

You’re sure your skin must be hotter than the surface of the sun by now.

“Yes, but, I-I’ve never even done it before, so I know I’d suck at it, anyway.”

Her fingers find the hem of your shirt and she begins to fidget with the fabric.

“Would you like me to show you how…?”

You scrutinize Ada’s features for some sign of a joke, but you find nothing but sincerity. Her fingers then tread lower, nails grazing the edge of your thigh in a teasing approach.

“I could give you some private lessons…”

The thought of doing that to any person, no matter an ex or new fling, has a surge of heat pervading through your body. Your chest rises and falls with rapid speed, heart racing with acute palpitations. Seriously, what on Earth is happening to you? It was only a few sips of alcohol and some littering flirtations, none of what is happening to your body is normal!

The glass of wine you once held is nearly shattered with how swiftly Ada takes it from your hands. The wine she indulges herself in has been abandoned, as well, joining your glass on the coffee table.

Ada is more interested in what this newfound, aphrodisiac-induced side of you has to offer, instead.

Yes, guilt rots in her stomach for what she has done. This guilt remained present as she stalked the servant who crushed the pills into a white powder before spewing it into the wine bottle. However, any lucidity still inside her had perished the moment she reunited with you in Valdelobos.

Of course, her actions inevitably resulted in the aphrodisiac coursing through her system, as well. Not that she even needed the hearty drugs or liquid courage, to begin with. You merely sigh and Ada is clutching her thighs together.

And this is certainly the case when her lips finally meet yours. It had begun as a gentle exploration, a symphony of sensations that ignited a light fire within her soul.

When the aphrodisiac finally strikes her, however, there is no room left for tenderness.

Mouth still latched onto yours like some sort of parasite, her clawed hand presses to your chest and pushes. Your back meets the plush surface of the couch and Ada does not waste another second before she’s caging herself around you.

When her acrylic nail ghosts against your nipple, you let out a sharp whine. In response, Ada freezes. She has heard you cry in pain, misery, exhaustion, but never in rapture. And she had not anticipated the impact it would have on her. If anything, the sound you made was more of a light gasp, but still, it had conjured some feral despair she did not recognize.

This intensity stirring in her stomach may have been charged by the aphrodisiac. Morseo, maybe it is the fact she had not satiated any sexual desires in several years. Ada hadn’t even orgasmed once, for that matter. No physical touch, no bedroom fun, no playing around with toys — absolutely nothing.

Despite her sultry nature (and contrary to all your obsessive partners), Ada has never actually fantasized of taking you to bed, either. This task persevered as her most difficult mission. Especially on lonely nights, you became no better than a devil on her shoulder, persuading her to sin.

If Ada indulged that tiny Y/N with thick horns and a sharp trident, she knew she wouldn’t waste another second before claiming you as her most precious, most imperative, most prized possession.

Now that you are finally here, under her, just like she has always wanted, all that longing and suffering comes bubbling to the surface.

“Ada? Is-Is everything okay?”

Your lips are puffy from the relentless passion they have endured, shimmering from the mess of saliva and lipstick stains. A lazy haze engulfs your eyes, as well, illuminating that playful glint she is so enamored with.

“Please… ‘M needy…”

She could assume you were weaponizing your charm by how effortlessly weak you make her.

“Stand up. Follow me.”

Ada is curt with her demands, as she has always been. This time, though, there is a perceptible desperation soaked into her tone.

Your legs wobble when you stand, as you are still woozy from the fervid intimacy. Ada maintains a tight posture, but it wouldn’t take a genius to notice the lack of sophistication in her stance. Words fail to describe just how delicious it was to feel your body against her. Even for just a moment.

She then grasps your hand, guiding you out of the living room and through the many hallways that follow through the spacious penthouse.

Both you and Ada finally halt in front of the two doors that have haunted your curiosity. Fortunately for you, one half of this curiosity of yours is alleviated.

Ada temporarily releases your hand and strides toward the door on your right. With several beeps to the keypad, the light shines green and the doorknob clicks.

“Come now.”

Another demand of hers is brought to fruition immediately. You interlock your fingers with Ada’s as she leads you past the threshold. And all of the theories prancing around your mind regarding what you’ll find ultimately failed you. Instead, you find the exact opposite.

If you were to Google ‘red room of pain’, a picture of this room would be the first result.

The walls, ceilings, and floors are all painted black, embellished with accents of Ada’s signature red. The lack of windows in the room are compromised by mirrors, which cover every surrounding wall. There’s even a wide array on the ceiling, which provide a full view of all possible angles. A purposeful decision, surely.

The dark candelabras scattered around provide minimal, golden light, as well. Some are positioned on surfaces, while the standing few are nestled in the empty corners.

Directly centered in the room is a canopy bed, also painted black. The drapes strung upon the four posts contrast in hues of deep red. The comforters, lavish in their appearance and texture, share these same hues, as well. You do not look over the notable design of the headboard, either. Perfect for any preferred form of restraint.

Behind the bed and against the wall is a tall, intricately-carved cabinet. The contents within are a mystery, but you can only assume it has to do with the activities intended to take place in this room.

To the right is an electric fireplace tucked in the corner. Draped before it is a tiger skin rug with the head intact, jaw wired ajar to flaunt the display of sharp teeth. The fireplace is grouped with a set of two leather chairs, hugged by another spacious leather sofa. The texture is deliberately chosen for easy clean-up, you assume.

In the far left corner of the room is a short platform supporting the weight of a clawfoot bathtub which is, yet again, colored black. The edges of the golden claw feet are painted in a maroon red, as though they have been soaked in blood. A detail demanded by Ada, you have no doubt.

Two robes are hung on the wall behind the bathtub. One is silken in the hue of red, while the other is fluffy and is purchased in the exact shade of your favorite color. Surrounding the bathtub are a collage of soaps adhering to your preferred scents. You have learned to no longer wonder how she knew such minute details about yourself. At this point, it would be strange if she didn’t know something about you.

“While you were busy with that mutt, I was here. Working on all this.” Ada stretches her arms out in presentation, showing off the renovation.

While you’re busy scrutinizing the new environment, you fail to notice how you’re neglecting the needs of a certain someone. A bad habit of yours, you have come to realize. Those acrylic claws ensnare around your forearm with enough firmness to grasp your attention, before guiding you to stand before the mirror in front of the bed.

When you meet her gaze in your reflection, you fail in your efforts to not grow flustered. Ada’s eyes, normally adorned with softness, have now been overwhelmed with salacious fervor.

When her fingertip meets the skin of your neck, another gasp is pulled from your chest. A noise she relishes in. Her other hand fiddles with your shirt, sharp nails just begging to tear through the fabric like some rabid monster.

You are not far behind her in terms of desperation, so you abide by the desires she does not verbalize and you remove all of your clothing.

You fail to register Ada’s downright feral temperamen in response. The shivering of her hands, the heat radiating from her body, the heavy breathing over your shoulder – it is all too much for her to handle. Her eyes don’t hide this truth, either, as they have nearly gone all black from the dilation of her pupils.

Ada’s hand hovers over your skin, afraid to take that step, the very step that will destroy any remnants of self-control she still clung to. It’s nothing short of a miracle that she can still restrain herself from sinking her teeth, her claws, God, every toy in her closet into every inch of plump skin she can reach.

You, however, grow impatient from her hesitation and place your hand atop hers, pressing it firmly against your naked waist. Leaning further against her chest, you finally break the silence.

“’Wanna taste you, Ada. Please.”

She shudders in response. Unbeknownst to you, she had completely forgotten about that promise she swore to you minutes ago. How could she think of anything else when perfection in human form is pleading for her touch?

“On the bed.”

You swear you hear a tremble in her voice, but you chalk it up to your wild imagination. Ignoring it, you abide by her wish and stroll over to the bed. The surface is plush and welcomes you into its soft embrace. You adjust yourself comfortably on your back, relishing in how the soft comforters caress your naked skin.

When you hear the sound of that dress falling to the ground, you shift your gaze forward. Now, it is your turn to gawk at someone’s nudity.

Yes, you may have fantasized about what she may look like beneath all those red dresses, and the images in your mind palace certainly did not fail you.

Her tits are perky, nipples pretty and pink, and they sit tight on her chest; they’re the kind of pair other women would drop thousands of dollars on to obtain. Beneath them is a set of light abs that are rose-tinted with flushed nerves. They lead to her hip dips, which frame the goods between her legs you’ve been dying for a taste of.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Wit run dry, you have no response left in you but a meek nod.

Those model-worthy legs then saunter over to the bed. Your heart stutters miserably as Ada crawls on top of you again, now closer than ever before. She touches up the pillow beneath your head to ensure your comfort. Despite the fervor racing through her veins, the sake of your well-being always perseveres as most important.

“There you are. Comfy?”

You answer with a weak “mm-hmm” and she responds with a sweet chortle. God, she can’t get enough of you.

Ada inches further until her thighs encase your head, hovering over the face that has haunted her mind for years. Anyone with a brain would spill gallons upon gallons of blood for this sight of you, she is sure of it.

Slick drool seeps from her folds, landing onto your lips. Eagerly, you lap up any remnants you’ve been granted and revel in the flavor. A pinch of natural sourness, but sprinkled in with the expensive soaps lining the shelves in her shower. Far better than the wine you have since forgotten about.

Ada then points to various spots of her pussy, speaking in direct tones. “You lick here, kiss here, and suck here. Understand?”

With a quick nod, you wait in anticipation for her to indulge you in what you’ve been aching for. Her hips, shaky as they surprisingly are, finally descend.

At first, you begin your work with weak, nervous kitten licks. Ada is not a fan of this stage fright, however. Her acrylics dig into your scalp and yank.

“I said use your tongue.”

A laugh of amusement parts from your mouth (inevitably squeezing her fragile heart). You finally spit out a glob of saliva onto her and plunge your tongue straight into her dewy heat, lapping up every sliver of her you can obtain. And the reaction it garners festers a burning fire in your stomach.

She stutters on the edge of her words, her head dipping back. “God… You’re a natural, petal...”

Ada’s hips begin to rock the second your lazy lapping hastens into zealous slurping. With a tighter grip on her, you plunge your tongue past her entrance and slurp the creamy slick. The sounds you are able to pull from her are deep and throaty, but smooth and sexy. They meld with the sounds of the bed creaking beneath the weight of her incessant motions.

You continue with your efforts, thrusting your wet muscle in and out, in and out, in and out. Without another second to process, a sudden gush of liquid splashes across your face. It surges across your face and down your neck, staining the lavish pillows.

Is she squirting?

Even as you grant your tense jaw a break, the liquid continues to spurt from her. Ada’s fingers reach down to rub herself in circular motions, causing the pressure to hasten like a popped bottle of champagne. With your tongue lolled out of your mouth, you manage to garner some of the excess into your mouth, of which Ada aims herself toward.

When the dam is finally eased, another demand is thrown your way.

“Mommy needs more, baby.”

Mommy? You’ve never heard that one before.

“Time to start working on that clit, yeah?”

Aware of her impatient strike, you hurriedly begin to leave a series of obscene mwah’s on her puffy clit. Ada throbs with every careless kiss you leave behind, growing more irritated the longer her exact wishes are not brought to fruition. You should’ve known not to disobey her word, even when your intentions were in the right place.

Your attempts to ease Ada into the rough treatment of your tongue were met with her smushing herself into your face. The muffled squeal of surprise you let out is short-lived and instantly replaced by the lewd squelches and slurps you work into her clit.

Your head vigorously shakes back and forth, side-to-side against that sweet spot. The motion sends white-hot pleasure tickling up Ada’s spine, evident in the sloppy grinding of her hips and the pornographic sounds pervading the room.

You’re barely granted air to breathe, but Ada has been blinded by her own need. Drowning you in her scent, her taste, her warmth is nothing short of the most picturesque wet dream come to life. The way her slick is coating your face, arousal dripping down your neck — there is nothing left to do but abandon any and all control left behind. She just wants more, more, more, more, more, more, moremoremoremoremore-

“Oh, God!”

Ada has fully resorted to using your face as her toy. She hardly recognizes herself, humping that magical mouth of yours like some mutt in heat. Then again, you’ve always had a knack for weeding out parts of her she didn’t know existed. That is especially the case now, as that newfound heaven sits right at the horizon and morphs her into a creature crazed.

“It’s coming…!”

Ada gushes into your mouth, overwhelming your senses with her, her arousal, and all her juices. Her jaw drops and her eyebrows pinch as the searing pleasure courses through her body. Her thighs, shivering and sweaty, clench around your head and keep your head in firm place. Her back arches and her hips buck from the intensity, as though some demonic spirit tore her soul straight from her chest.

She’s never seen herself squirm like some sort of dying insect, but when it is your touch she is met with, it only makes sense this is the reaction it’d garner.

Ada has had her fair share of one-night stands, but fuck, they had nothing on this absolute rhapsody you bring her. To be overwhelmed in the touch of you is absolute perfection. It is better than touching the fluffy belly of a lamb, better than blankets fresh out of a dryer, better than the plastic encasing of a life preserver while trapped in a thrashing sea.

All of it comes to head as her orgasm engulfs her, all by the works of you and your marvelous, outrageously-perfect self.

As her breathing evens out and her body reduces to a puddle of jelly, Ada’s brain finally produces a rational thought. Only now does she realize she had been crushing you beneath her weight. With swift, Ada-Wong-style finesse, she crawls away from your swollen mouth. Her heart throbs as she blesses her vision with the way you look now.

Oh, there you are. Sweet petal.

She could topple over that edge once more as the sheer sight of you now. Drunken eyes dazed, mouth all swollen, and rendered to a pussy-drunk mess. It should be a crime for that pretty face to be covered in anything other than her dripping cum.

The fog clouding your brain begins to clear, as well. Lapping up any last few remnants of her still on your face, you begin to discern your surroundings. Specifically that of Ada. Her thumb caresses the jut of your cheekbone. Her lips, smeared with lipstick and drool, scatter ardent kisses down your jaw.

When you look at the expression stamped on her face, you have to stifle a laugh from how stupefied she looks. As though you were in some cartoon and she had been whacked with a sledgehammer. Blue birds circling around her head and all.

“I…” Ada begins, but cuts herself off with a dry swallow. “Mommy wants to try something with you. Will you let her?”

You nod in response, but that is not enough for her.

“Say it.”

Another sharp demand is sent your way, but this time, it is framed with the newfound desperation you conjured within her.

With a gulp, you answer. “Yes, mommy.”

“Fuck.”

Did she just curse? A woman sworn to a distinguished, controlled disposition has, for the very first time, sworn in front of you? Ada is taken aback by this, as well, evident in the laugh of disbelief she exhales.

Promptly, she then leaves your side. Not without a few last caresses to your skin, however. You remain in place within the sea of comforters, listening as she takes out equipment from the cabinet behind you.

The efforts put into trying to discern her intentions through the mirror ahead of you are met with failure, as Ada always loves a good surprise. Especially when it is wrapped in a pretty bow for the love of her life.

“Do you trust me?”

You answer with a nod. Another mistake.

“Words.”

“Yes. I trust you.”

A grin spreads on her face, the one you know all too well.

“Perfect.”

Ada returns to your trail of vision and her hands grasp your foot. She waves a red, silken bow playfully, before using it to latch your ankle to the adjacent bedpost. Another strand of silk is ensnared around your other ankle and fastened to the separate bedpost, binding both of your legs completely.

The last time you were tied up like this, it ended with you writhing from the oscillation between pain and pleasure. All you can do is pray Ada has the mercy you begged from Jill.

And as though she could read your mind, Ada begins to speak about her.

“Since your ex-girlfriend lacks substance, I guess it’s up to me to show you what genuine pleasure is.”

You don’t even want to think about what Jill Valentine is occupied with at the moment. Wherever she may be.

“Y’know, she’d kill you for what you’re doing to me right now.”

Ada quirks a brow, something sinister sinking in her eyes. She smiles at you with that infamous, evil grin.

“Let her try. She wouldn’t be the first.”

The first? What does that mean?

You are given no time to dwindle on this statement, not when Ada finally presents how she intends to bring you that “genuine pleasure”.

She withdraws a vibrator as though it were merely pocket change for a cashier. One of those big, wand-like ones you’ve seen in porn.

It’s mortifying to admit, but on lonely nights in the sanctuary, you’d sneak off into the computer lab to watch those kinds of videos. You only stopped when a security guard intruded your personal time to identify all the “strange” noises he heard. So, although your experience is limited, you’ve seen enough in those videos to know the impact that toy can have.

“This one’s my favorite. I have no doubt I can make it yours, too.”

On top of the stunned silence you’ve been forced into upon seeing that toy, Ada then shows you her second method of bringing you pleasure no human but her can ignite.

A thick, curved, blood-red dildo is held in her dark acrylics. Bulky veins are carved into the rubber skin, spreading all the way to the bulbous head.

Coursing through the images in your head, you search for some resemblance of your past partners and find several similarities. Though, you find differences, as well. It stretches into a similar length to Leon, but is passing him by an additional inch. It possesses the same girth as Carlos, but the curve is more subtle and purposeful than his obnoxious size.

Had Ada somehow known this? Did she add this specific toy to her varying collection for this reason?

“You look like you’ve got something to say…”

The woman in question scrutinizes your body language for any semblance of emotion. Fear? Arousal? Maybe even both?

“No, I just- I’ve never seen… toys in real life, before.” There you go again, stuttering through another confession.

Even when you’re tethered up like a feral animal and entirely naked on display, you’re still shy with your words.

“You’re adorable like this.” Ada leans in close to you again, lips grazing over yours. “I could just eat you out…”

You’re hauled into a searing kiss before you can process her words. You’ve almost forgotten how every kiss of hers is exceptional in erasing any coherency still in your brain.

“Oh… Another day, petal. Another day.”

Even though Ada could continue with the flirtation for centuries, she decides to put an end to the banter and watch in reverie as you fall apart. She guides you to sit up, and obedient as you are, you comply and follow her lead. She then nestles herself behind you and guides you to lay down against her chest.

“There you go. You’re perfect…”

Ada’s praises certainly do not ease the scorching mayhem in your body. Her hands, gentle as they normally are, spread your legs apart with one swift, rough motion.

“Don’t hide from mommy. Understood?”

You answer her demands verbally, as you have since learned Ada does not favor hushed responses. You don’t think you could handle being bent over her knee right now, ass bruised raw. At least, not for tonight.

With that, Ada takes back possession of the thick dildo. A hushed chortle fans against your shoulder when she feels a shiver race down your spine.

“Nervous?” She laughs, as though your body wasn’t practically screaming at her to bring it gratification.

The dildo is first splayed across your stomach. The base touches below your pubic mound, while the tip lands just above your belly button — an accurate display of how far it will reach inside you.

“See. Not too bad, right? I’m sure Leon could go even deeper.”

Of course not. Fuck, she knows exactly what she is doing! And somehow, she knows his exact size, as well.

“Wan’ it…” You whine. “Mommy…”

If you skimmed through the pages of a dictionary for the meaning of ‘starstruck’, you’d find that face stamped into the page. She gasps, as though you had given her that title by your own accord and conjured the idea yourself. Who knew some measly, kinky nickname could bring the Ada Wong to her knees?

“I wanted to tease you more. Watch you writhe and squirm for me, but how can I resist you?” Her fingers curl under your chin and shift your gaze to hers. “Hmm?”

“Don’t-Don’t resist, then. It’s hot when you let go.”

You feel Ada pulsate again beneath you. If you had known you possessed this much power, you would’ve let her between your legs a long time ago.

“Oh, yeah?”

She spits out a wad of saliva onto her hand and treads lower, circling the rim of your entrance and providing lubrication.

“Want to see mommy let go?”

Ada draws you into another kiss, reveling in the way you whimper for more. The abuse of your mouth did not end with just her on top of you, clearly. She ventures into more aggressive efforts, biting into your lips and sucking on your lax tongue. Those cat-like claws reach for your nipple, pinching and playing with your sensitivity.

The tip of the dildo poking at your dripping entrance catches you off guard. You are not granted another second to process before it passes that barrier, stretching you out with its thickness. The kiss is broken as a pathetic cry gasps from your slack jaw, eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“M-Mommy, fuck-!”

The visceral reaction you have only intensifies the deeper Ada sinks the toy into you, protruding gentle thrusts to ease you into the severity. And she is just eating up every sound and shiver she can pull out of you.

Your brain and body are now entirely controlled by your libido as she accelerates from her slow, torturous rhythm. All misty and sweaty, you reach your hand down to rub a sensitive spot she had neglected in favor of your abusing your poor guts. She slaps your hand away harshly.

With a glance of confusion, still masked in sheer desire, you look to see how Ada still has that familiar look of animalistic fervor on her face.

"Ah, ah, ah. Can't touch what belongs to mommy."

From there, you resort to clinging to the sheets as if you were hanging from a tall building and this bed was a saving hand. All you want is more, more, more.

“Not fond of that, are we?” Ada laughs as though this were all some funny joke. She licks a stray tear cascading down your cheek. “You’re okay, petal. Mommy will take care of you.”

You swear you felt your heart do a cartwheel when you see her reach for the vibrator. Fucking finally. Holding it up for you to see, Ada clicks the button and the vigorous vibrations spring to life.

“This what you want?”

“Yes!”

That damned chortle of hers is dark, so goddamned sinful. Yet still, it festers an unknown, desperate ache inside of you.

The toy lurks down, your hyperventilating breaths hastening with every passing second, before finally making contact with your sex. And all those awful, poorly-made pornos were right about these things: they’re fucking lethal.

“F-Fuck, yes!”

You swear you can feel your melted brain ooze out of your ears, replaced by some sex-hungry fiend who's receiving their first fill in years. The quivering motions of the vibrator and the thick girth plunging into your gushing heat has your back arching, just the same as all those pornstars.

And Ada — oh, she couldn’t be happier to be here with you.

There is no high quite like those desperate hands clinging to her naked skin for stability as you lose yourself to euphoria. She could die right in this moment; some random past enemy of hers could barge in and blow her brains out. Still, it would not be enough to even waver the state of nirvana pervading all her senses. It is more than she could have ever asked for.

A sudden heat permeates throughout your sex and robs all attention of yours. It is a sensation you have never felt before, even when your ex-partners were buried inside your body. Ada can sense it, as well.

“That’s it! Come on now!”

One last squeal of “mommy-!” and you’re toppling over the edge of orgasm with no promise of salvation.

It plunges into you like a parasite and strikes like a harsh punch to the gut. The intensity prevails and perfuses through your abused, numb body. It’s all just you, your weak form, and the vehemence coursing through you. The delectation leaves no inch of you untouched, either, as though it were a greedy poison scavenging for any last sliver of you it can touch.

Through the strength of it all, Ada clings to you tighter and guides you through the land of cloud nine. It is all almost too good to be true, this idyllic moment. She stalks your reflection in the mirror and reprimands herself for not installing cameras to capture this perfect, once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Any lingering doubts Ada had of whether keeping you with her was the best decision for your well-being have all been squashed. Christ, if it wasn’t settled before, it certainly is now.

You are never escaping Ada Wong. Whether you like it or not.

Because God, you are lethal.

And Ada has never known what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of such violence, with ecstasy and delirium carved into the knife you brandish. This knife remains lodged in her chest long after you’ve both succumbed to mind-numbing pleasure, the sharp metal twitching with every beat her sensitive heart passes.

Your skin is warm and soft from the muscle-soothing bath taken after, complemented by the taste of Chardonnay and chocolate-covered strawberries you both enjoyed while soaking in the bubbles.

You’ve now been nestled beneath the covers back in the master bedroom. You’re dressed in silken pajamas and teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, laid upon Ada’s chest and listening to the lulling rhythm of her heartbeat.

After a long period spent with Ada forcing you to give her kisses, she finally grants your groggy self some much-needed rest. Her hands still leave loving caresses on every fraction of flesh she can reach, nonetheless. She has to stifle a chuckle when you’re out like a light in mere seconds.

Much like any other night, Ada’s mind is overwhelmed with love. All of which babble and ramble about you, you, you, and only you.

The head that possesses wit and character like she has never seen before, cheeks she squeezes like an adorable baby when she just can’t resist, lips that are surely capable of killing a man with the emotion they can provoke — all attributes that constitute the enigma Ada loves most.

A neck that conjures the dulcet melody that is your voice, shoulders forever adorned in a blanket of her kisses, a chest that protects the heart she’d tear the world asunder to keep safe — all attributes that constitute the angel Ada loves most.

Arms that always pull her into a sugar-sweet embrace after a torturous day at work, hands that could rival a kitten’s paw with its sheer softness, hips that with one sway could surely turn all evil in this disgusting world to good — all attributes that constitute the deity Ada loves most.

Sex that even the greatest poets couldn’t utilize all human languages to encapsulate, legs you’d find etched into renaissance paintings hung in grand museums, feet that strut straight into her life and robbed her of all clarity — all attributes that constitute the one with full possession of Ada Wong and her weak heart.

The one she has loved wholly for over six years and will do so forevermore.

“Sweet dreams, petal…”

One last kiss to your forehead and Ada falls asleep just like that. Lips pressed against your skin and cocooned in the warm shell of her devotion. Just the way it should be.

Just the way it will remain for eternity, no matter what she has to do to keep you in her arms.

Once more, with every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Leon Kennedy and Ada Wong love Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of their adoration are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Life with these two is a humble routine, but sporadic in the same breath. You receive whiplash from the constant oscillation between a cozy cabin in the woods to a sky-high penthouse in the city.

Ada is suave and sneaky, always maintaining a sharp eye for anything out of place and utilizing it to keep you close by. She’ll tuck a flower behind your ear with an ardent kiss, before demanding her workers to clean the bloody footprints left on her pristine floors. With a few more well-placed touches and expensive gifts, you’ll remain oblivious to the violence that treads behind the scenes. Exactly how Ada needs it, where your protection and happiness is ensured.

There is no need to take that aloof, red-adorned exterior to heart, either. Not when the other locked door across the lust-induced room tells a different story. Just don’t be surprised if you see her venturing past that threshold in the dead of night, hours drifting by without her parting ways.

Leon is the closest human personification of a loyal guard dog. Hooked to your side, you have no choice but to endure the suffocating protection and affections he forces onto you. It certainly does not help when you find him lurking in dark corners, staring at you like some Peeping Tom, before showering you in candied praises and gratitude for mending the shattered remains of his heart.

There is no need to take that territorial, puppy-dog exterior to heart, either. Not when the cameras littered around the cabin tell a different story. Just don’t be surprised if you feel the presence of eyes looming over your shoulder, watching your every move in complete entrancement.

Time continues to pass of this routine and these facts further cement themselves into your life.

The year is now striding through September, where the Summer heat eases and you’re cradled by harsher winds and descending leaves. It is troubling to believe it has nearly been a whole year since this fiasco began, but you have managed to survive this long, if that proves anything.

As another week spent in Ada’s residence meets its end, you nestle yourself on one of the many luxurious couches and watch as the sun sets over the horizon. Here, you anticipate Leon’s return.

Despite how much easier it would be to travel by yourself, Leon insists on coming here and joining you on the plane ride to his cabin. Strange, but as clingy as he is, you do not find yourself surprised by these antics. He is meant to arrive the following morning, as well, but you can’t recall the last time he has ever followed these rules.

Just as you anticipated, a whistle pierces through the air and grasps your attention. When you turn toward the sound, you find Leon Kennedy. Adorned in that familiar sheepskin jacket and lopsided, love-induced smile. He whispers your name breathlessly and makes a swift dash toward you.

The way he engulfs you into a tenacious embrace, any outsider would think he was a soldier finally returning to his devoted spouse after years apart. In reality, it has only been a week. But, what the strangers outside are unaware of is how a single hour is too much for Leon’s weak heart to fathom, hence his obnoxious disposition whenever he greets you after mere seconds apart.

And just as predicted, his lips then meet yours in a grueling affection. No matter how much time passes, you’ll always find yourself astounded from just how needy and demanding his kisses are. As though he were trying to consume you whole; as though he were trying to become so close, no one will know where you start and he ends.

When Leon’s empty hunger is finally (albeit temporarily) satiated from your lips, he then reverts to peppering an onslaught of more kisses across your face. On your nose, cheeks, forehead, eyes, jaw — he revels in the boisterous laughter it summons from you. Music to his ears, he always finds himself remarking.

Before your giggling fit can ease, Leon then positions himself mere inches away from you. Much to your horror, he indulges himself in his most favorite game: freeze and stare. A game you have become quite familiar with.

"There you are… Just let me look at you..."

And that is exactly what he does. Watches you. Perusing every detail upon your face and gushing over the raw beauty sewn into your flesh. There is no denying how horrifically obsessed this man is with you, that is for certain.

Uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, you scour through your brain for a plausible reason to escape this. With the excuse of needing to retrieve some items you had forgotten to pack, complemented by asking if he’d like to help you obtain such, Leon is folding like a cheap suit and abiding by whatever demands you throw his way.

Like a dog on a leash, Leon follows your lead as you venture up the marble staircase, down the hall, and through the door of Ada’s in-home office. Per her request, she asked you to pack heavy for your return to his cabin.

You fear it implies you will be stuck in those woods for God-knows how long, but with the perceptible elation in her expression, stronger than ever before, you know this theory weighing in your brain is not feasible.

Knowing Ada, she would never be so joyous to leave your side. Especially when it is Leon Kennedy taking her place.

Nonetheless, you brush off the peculiarity and do exactly what she asked of you. And what you certainly couldn’t part from was your beloved opossum plushy, who had made a home in Ada’s office on the leather sofa.

When you take the plushy into your grasp, you take the moment to smooth out the ruffled tufts of faux fur on his body. You adjust the ribbon ensnared around his neck and ensure he is in spectacular shape. Who knows, maybe on the drive back to the cabin, you’ll both stumble into another lady raccoon your furry buddy may want to impress.

One last pat to the opossum’s cotton-filled head and you adjust him comfortably in your bag, engulfing him between the several quilts and pillows you intend to bring with you. It is a lengthy trip back to the cabin for the three of you, after all.

When you turn around to leave, expecting a certain secret agent to follow close by, you’re shocked to look over your shoulder and find the exact opposite. Instead of clinging to you like a pesky illness, per usual, Leon hovers over Ada’s desk, instead. Entranced by something he had plucked from the surface.

“Leon? What is it…?” You question, taking careful steps toward him.

When you halt beside him, you find his shuddering body overwhelmed with heaving breaths, evident rage latched to every rasping exhale. You peek over his broad shoulder to see what conjured such a tyrannical reaction out of him, only to just be met with bafflement.

In his grasp are two small strips of paper, shivering in his shaky grasp. One-way plane tickets to Rome. Yours and Ada’s names stamped on the sheets. Scheduled for that very night.

While your brain is scouring about, searching for some logical explanation, Leon has the entire story painted for him in exquisite detail.

Ada intends to take you from him. And never in his life has he touched a surface of fury so scorching.

He has never been fond of her, but he has grown to trust her in this period of time. Only in the capacity regarding you, yes, but there was still some level of trust evident.

She’s a damn good fighter, after all. He knows she’d protect you by all means necessary and to never lay a hand on you, but he should’ve known she’d eventually manipulate her tools to take you away from him.

Leon should’ve known she’d resort to such drastic measures in the end, as he planned on doing the very same. He intended to take advantage of his role in the Torrents Capture-Force group and send an army of trained soldiers to assassinate her. Plain and simple. Then, he’d be granted his desire of eternity by your side.

Now, there is a loose thread in his plans. And it is wearing a red dress and leaving gloss-stained kisses upon the skin of the one he loves most.

Leon does not utter a single word. Instead, he chucks the crumbled fragments of paper to the ground and rushes past you, vanishing from the office in several large strides.

You follow suit, while trying to assure him of how it was surely a mistake. In your head, you concluded the tickets were intended as a surprise vacation, but Ada had simply left Leon’s ticket in a different location. None of your efforts succeeded, as Leon continues on far ahead of you.

Before you can begin your descent down the stairs, though, something strange catches your eye.

Those two locked doors, mirroring each other.

You know what lies behind one of the doors, where Ada has restrained your limbs and reduced your brain to puddled mush more times than you can count. You have yet to see what lies behind the opposite door, however.

As you stand here, you find that very door unlocked and ajar.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you abandon your attempts at assuaging Leon’s emotions and shift your attention to the door. When you take a peek inside, just a mere peak, your heart plunges into your stomach the second your eyes adjust to the contents of the room.

The floors, walls, and ceiling are entirely made of cement, accompanied by a cheap lightbulb swaying from above. As though someone was just in here.

The entire expanse is empty, besides the two metal chairs centered in the middle of the room. The leather restraints around the arms and legs of the chairs are now loose. All that is left upon the metal surface are stained splatters of deep-red blood.

Instead of trying to find a reasonable conclusion, your brain falls silent. All you can do is stare in stunned silence as your heart rages in violent, accelerating thumps.

You are only torn from this trance when a shout echoes from downstairs. It is met with deafening silence, accompanied by what you think is an occasional grunt and bang through the thick walls. One last glance of uncertainty into the room and you finally turn tail, rushing down the stairs and toward the source of the roaring sound.

Stumbling into the living room, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm, you find yourself frozen in place once again when you discover the very last thing you expected. Leon has been thrown to the ground, evident in the shattered coffee table and surrounding clutter.

On top of him is Carlos.

He looks like a feral animal, snarling and barring his teeth as though the blonde beneath him were prey he has been dying to sink his teeth into. His fists just plunge into Leon’s bloodied skull again and again and again and again and again and again and again and-

A soft hand meets your forearm, causing you to whip around to discern the sudden presence.

Behind you is Jill.

Battered and bruised, covered in a mess of infected cuts and wounds, a gasp of your name bridges on her lips. Through her brutalized appearance, you find sheer euphoria sparkling in her blue eyes at the sight of you. Just like how she has always seen you: a drop of purity through the drowning blood.

Before a breathless syllable of your name can reach the air, you’re shoved out of the way and Jill is tackled to the ground. You identify Ada through the flash of speed, crawling on top of your injured ex-lover and beating her within an inch of her life.

Underneath the weight of the chaos, all you can think about is how you’ve already seen this movie before. You have a track record of running, you have a track record of staying. But, hey, third times a charm, right?

Should you flee and pray to God this group of secret agents and detectives never find you? Or should you use what little combat skills you have and attempt to fight off four military-trained soldiers?

When push comes to shove, however, you do know one thing as a definite fact.

You never should’ve stepped a fucking foot into Raccoon City.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I REARRANGE MY MEMORIES

I TRY TO REWRITE OUR LIFE . . . ❞

here is what i imagined leon's cabin to look like: one. two. three. four. five. six.

and here is what i imagined ada's penthouse to look like: one. two. three. four. five. six.

(also, i saw this pic of leon with his hair slicked back and……………. you couldn’t pay me to not somehow implement this here….)

gif creds :: leon & ada.

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