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mandalhoerian · 9 months

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ghost to its haunt, II | leon kennedy x reader

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

🌀 read on ao3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leon!”

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

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

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

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

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

Jealousy. Really?

No, it went beyond jealousy.

This was envy. Of her shared experience with Leon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An acidic feeling rises.

“It was a last minute invitation.”

“Leon!”

“Ashley…”

You feel like you’re being watched.

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

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

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

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

And you’re a deer caught in the headlights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, Leon.”

“Is that a no, then?”

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? Do tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now things are getting interesting.”

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

“They weren’t before?”

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

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

“Dump him.”

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

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

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

“Will he really?”

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

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

“Over isn’t the word I’d use.”

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Is that him?”

The urge to answer is strong. "Yeah,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow, Captain Obvious.”

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

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

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

You swat him away. “No, I have it.”

“Don’t be stubborn, give it here.”

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

“Listen—”

Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think you sleep successfully.

For a while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His concern only adds fuel to the fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's get you to bed."

"This is my bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not really..."

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

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

"I appreciate the effort, but—".

"I said later. Now, go.”

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

This is getting so complicated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” You barely stutter it.

He’s right.

You can’t take that he’s right.

This topic has to be dropped.

“What do you mean no?”

“Just leave it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More? Alright. Like this?”

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

And then he ups the intensity.

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

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

Until he isn’t.

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

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

“You know why.”

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

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

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

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

"Leon—"

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

"Rookie."

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

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

And he’s punishing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop, come on, please…”

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

Oh, he’s mean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he takes all of it away.

What.

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

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

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

It’s his fault that it has to pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wrong answer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of them, so attractive.

“Told you I was gonna make you understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck this guy. Oh god.

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

“I hear you. Tell me what you need.”

So he could deny you it again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

He notices. Of course he does.

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

He denies you.

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your throat is so dry. “Yes please.”

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

“I want to continue.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

“Comfortable.”

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

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

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

“Funny.”

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

“Comfortable?”

“Hmm,” you exhale.

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

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

Leon is holding back.

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

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

“Feel like sleeping yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

“I’ll go slow.”

“Just make me come, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s nothing apologetic in his hoarse laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know what the hell this is.

But you want all of it.

“Ashley isn’t like you to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

“A special one.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You knew before you came to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be. I’m trained for it.”

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

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

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

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suicide.

Got rid of?

They killed him? The government?

“Does… does that mean, if I—”

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

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

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

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

Oh, god.

“You saved me. I could have died.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Do you want to go or not?”

“I want Indian food.”

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

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

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

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

“Poor choice in companion today, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he just wanted to taste your coffee—?

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

You freeze.

Huh?

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

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

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

Too sweet. As expected.

He was! He was—!

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

Fuck.

Happy.

You want it to be happy.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut

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raya-hunter01 · 4 months

Text

Let It Snow

One Shot

Jey Uso x Black Female OC! (Mila)

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; oral, sex, fluff,

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Main Event Jey Uso is upset that the trip that he planned for his girlfriend Mila is not off to a good start. Frustrated, Jey goes live on his Instagram complaining about the snow. Now going through a snow storm the couple decide to make the best of it..

Let it snow!

“Yo’…… What is this shit? All mountains…… Yo, this that stuff ya’ll don’t see though,” Jey sighed full of frustration as we were going through a snowstorm warning. “Come on babe, we’re almost there,” I sighed as he ended his IG story.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m just frustrated nothin’ is goin’ right. Our first rental broke down, and I almost missed the show tonight. Now with this rental, they let damn third and second-row seats down to inspect them and now they stuck, looks like we drivin’ a bed,” Jey said as I looked in the backseat.

He had a point, but if he knew what I wanted to do on those seats, I don’t think he would mind.

“Babe, it’s fine at least they were able to get us this SUV at the last minute and they cut the price down,” I said trying to see the good in the situation.

“We could have been stranded in that town until after Christmas, but the rental place came through at least on that part,” I said trying to point out what we should be thankful for.

“Yeah, they did so I’ll give them that, but the hits just keep coming. How does a snowstorm warning come as the snow is falling? We stuck drivin’ like old people make love, slow as snails,” he ranted as I bit back a smirk at his analogy.

“Look just breathe, It’s ok baby. Everything is working out, it’s just takin’ us a little longer than planned to get to the cabin,” I said as he kissed my hand.

“I know I’m trippin’ and I’m sorry. I just wanted something better than this for our first Christmas trip together Mila. It’s been a disaster, nothin’ has gon’ right at all,” Jey said glancing at me as I played with his hair.

“Jey, you can’t help what happened with the rental and you can’t control the weather. I’m just happy we’re here together," I said as he sighed, rubbing his hand over his beard.

“You right, but I still should have just requested the house show off today. We could have been warm in the cabin, and watching the snow fall instead of driving in it,” he said caressing my leg.

“Uh no, you shouldn’t have, the fans loved you tonight. Many people got those tickets as Christmas gifts and you guys made so many little kids dreams come true tonight. Never take that for granted because in an instant it can be gone,” I said as he smiled at me.

“I just love you da hell outta you, you know dat right," he said glancing at me as I blushed.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I leaned over slowly caressing his chin, gently kissing him on the neck as he groaned in pleasure.

“See you startin’ shit, don’t make me throw yo’ ass in the backseat and have my way wit you,” his deep voice warned as I smirked against his neck before returning to my seat looking innocently at him.

“Then you lookin’ at me like that. I’m serious Mila, you gon’ bring in Christmas full of dick and carpet burns on yo’ ass, keep playin’ he said as I laughed.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, you gon’ have to stand on business you keep talkin’ like that now. I just wanted to tell you, that I love you too,” I said turning up the radio as he smirked keeping his eyes focused on the highway.

Jey’s POV

“Everyone here at the quiet storm would like to thank you all for tuning in on this cold, snowy Christmas Eve. Tis the season to be with the ones you love. So, fellas grab ya ladies and make some beautiful memories,” the DJ said as Let It Snow by Boyz II Men and Brian McKnight began playing. “A’ight ya’ll set the mood,” I said as the slow ballad filled the car.

Let it snow

Let it snow, let it snow

“I know right, it doesn’t even feel like Christmas until I hear this. It’s one of my favorite Christmas songs,” Mila said leaning back in her seat, humming as I smiled at her.

Having an Idea, I looked at my road markers and turned off the highway. “What are you doing?” Mila asked as I backed off the road a little in between two trees turning on the brights making the deserted road covered with beautiful white snow glow.

“You’ll see baby,” I whispered turning up the music before I got out and went around to her side of the car, opening her door.

“Jey, it’s cold as hell and we already ain’t dressed for this type of weather. You got on a hoodie, and I got on this dress,” she stressed as I laughed grabbing her blanket off her lap and helping her out of the car.

Hey, it's another Christmas Holiday

It's a joyous thing let the angels sing.

Cause we're together.

“You heard the DJ, he told me to grab yo’ fine ass and make some memories,” I said leading her to the front of our rental as she smiled shyly at me.

“You are just full of surprises,” she whispered as I twirled her around, wrapping her blanket around us as we swayed to the music. “Gotta keep you on your toes,” I said as she laughed.

“Nah, what you doin' is makin’ me fall even harder for you Mr. Fatu,” Mila whispered running her fingers through my hair. I felt my heart swell as her beautiful eyes held me captive.

“That means I’m on the right track Vaivai,” I whispered as she blushed at my use of my native tongue.

We got a thing here, can't let it slip away

Though outside is rain and sleet

When our bodies meet...

I don't care 'bout the weather

“So, you think I’m beautiful?” Mila asked as the light shone on her beautiful face making her even more stunning than she already was.

The snow seemed to be falling harder and I knew we should get back on the road, but I didn’t care I was in the moment with her and that was all that mattered.

“You my beautiful angel,” I confessed, pulling her closer as she laid her head on against my chest, slowly grazing her fingertips across my chest making my heart race.

Let it snow, let it snow

Outside it's cold but the fire's blazin'

So baby let it snow

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Feeling her shiver against me I wrapped her blanket tighter around us as she looked up at me smiling brightly.

“I would have never dreamed we would be out here dancin’ in the snow, I know you hate it,” Mila said as I gently kissed her.

“It seems to be growin’ on me…Especially since you here wit me,” I said, her hands caressing my face as I fell deeper into the beautiful pool of her brown eyes as she shyly nibbled on her bottom lip.

Mila's POV

Talk about a core memory…. Jey’s strong arms around my waist holding me close as we danced in the snow. I felt safe and loved, something he always promised me I would feel if I just gave him a chance.

I wanna wrap you up, baby

Then you'll see you're the only present I need

There's so much more

Waiting for you in store

“You just keep biting dat lip, you know what that does to me, Mila,” Jey moaned gently caressing my lower lip with his thumb, his words making my pussy quiver.

“Stand on business then ma ave au,” I whispered kissing his thumb, slowly opening my plump lips, swirling my tongue around it as he growled lowly.

From this precious day

I can gladly say

There's no place that I'd rather be

“Mmm, you want me to stand on business and take you? That what you want baby?" Jey asked as I released his thumb. "Yes," I panted breathlessly as he used his thumb to once more caress my lips before finally taking me in a slow sensual kiss.

My knees became weaker by the second as we explored each other’s mouths, desperate to get closer. Three weeks had been too long for us both.

“I been dreamin’ bout you and what I’d do when I saw you again. You ready for me baby?” Jey asked, tortuously moving his kisses to my shoulder, playing with the straps on my dress.

And oh, you are my everything, come a little closer

God must have sent you down from heaven

Let it snow, let it snow

My hands trembling as I gripped his shirt. “Mmm, Yes, I want you so bad,” I moaned into the blistery night air unafraid to say what I wanted and needed.

Jey growled suddenly grasping my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist, carrying me back to our SUV as I nibbled on his neck.

I don't care 'bout the weather baby

All I need you to do is be with me, baby

Let it snow

As long as you're here with me

Let it snow

“Once again Merry Christmas from the crew here at the Quiet Storm goodnight, everybody,” I heard the DJ faintly say as I feasted on Jey’s neck, his moans urging me to have my way.

Carrying me around to the back of the SUV, Jey opened the liftgate and gently laid me down as I slid back towards the front, avoiding our luggage.

“Shit, the lights. We don’t need anybody stopping thinkin’ we need some help. We ain’t got much time, and you betta be naked when I get back Mila,” his deep sexy voice commanded as he ran back around to the driver’s side.

I quickly discarded my clothes laying on my blanket and using my dress as a pillow.

I felt a blast of heat above me, feeling thankful he turned the heat up. Planting my feet and opening my legs I closed my eyes in anticipation.

Hearing the liftgate close, my breath hitched and my heart began to race as I felt Jey’s hand caressed my legs.

“Fuck, you look so gorgeous like this, waiting for me to take you,” Jey moaned as I trembled feeling him between my thighs lightly running his fingertips across my hips.

“Baby please,” I begged not ashamed in the slightest as his lips lightly brushed across mine.

“Look at me Mila, I want you to watch me… Watch me pleasin’ you baby,” Jey moaned grasping my chin, making me look at him as I trembled against him.

“Jey don’t tease me,” I whimpered against his lips as I felt him smirk. “I wouldn’t dream of it beautiful,” he whispered slowly inching into my welcoming fountain.

“Mmm, Fuck!” I exclaimed as each thrust was better than the last as I felt him growing more and more inside me.

“Yea, you love feelin’ dat dick rock up in dat pussy, don’t you baby?” Jey asked biting back a moan, clawing his back.

“Yes, baby, fuck yes,” I moaned, my back arched in ecstasy exposing my ever-sensitive neck. Growling in appreciation Jey began sucking greedily on my neck as my pleasure continued to climb higher with each powerful thrust.

“That's it, that's what I wanted...Just like dat Mila, you beautiful baby,” he praised as I shivered, his teeth lightly grazing my neck.

I began to move against him as he hissed, stilling my hips.

“Not yet, I don’t want you to cum yet,” he declared sitting back on his knees, one hand grasping my hips, sinking slowly and deeply inside me setting a steady pace as the other lightly grasped my neck.

“Baby…babybabybabyjey. Mmm, you so deep,” I purred as he took me how he wanted.

“Mmhmm and you takin’ it all Mila. Fuck! You such a good girl, I love dat shit,” Jey praised me as my eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“I love it too,” I proclaimed, sitting up wrapping my arms around his neck, and bouncing to meet his thrusts. Claiming his lips in a powerful kiss, our tongues met again with urgency.

"Fuck, Mmhm! Bounce on dat dick and show me how much you missed it", Jey whispered, intertwining our hands givin' me leverage as I bounced with wild abandon, on a mission for us both.

"Mmm, you like that baby," I groaned flicking my tongue against his lips as a low growl escaped them.

“Yes! Fuck yes,” Jey moaned, releasing my hands, lowering me down, and spreading my legs wider. His thrusts never faltered as a strangled moan fell from his lips as he snapped his hips forward, going deeper inside me.

"Jey! Shit!" I gasped, drowning in pleasure as he pleased me. His intense gaze holding me captive.

“Uh huh, I ain’t forgot bout that spot baby, fuck dat pussy getting’ even wetter for me. You close ain’t you?” Jey moaned as our hips pounded against each other.

Yes! I'm so close," I cried, my eyes glazed over in pleasure as I finally gave in and allowed them to close. Biting my bottom lip, I shyly put my hands over my face.

“Look at me, Mila stop hiding from me. If you don’t, I’ll stop,” Jey declared as I forced my eyes open." Jey, please,” I moaned as he began rubbing his thumb and forefinger against my clit sending shockwaves through my body.

“I got you, baby, I promise,” Jey moaned as I began moving against him again as he groaned. “Mmm, I know baby,” I moaned as his fingers swirled around my clit again before he traced my lips with the same two fingers.

“Open up for Daddy baby,” he whispered, slowly slipping his fingers inside my mouth. Groaning, I greedily began sucking on his fingers as he smirked at me.

“You taste good, don’t you? Let Daddy see,” He whispered, with a carnal gaze rendering me speechless as he pulled out abruptly.

Whimpering at the loss of him, Jey threw my legs back, and greedily began sucking my clit between his lips as I squirmed beneath him. “Oh my God Jey!” I cried gripping his hands on my legs as he controlled my body.

“Yea, It’s me, baby, It's been too long since I've tasted you," he moaned curling his two fingers against my g-spot.

“Yes, it has! Eat your pussy, baby,” I praised as he devoured me whole as I used as I began moving against his mouth with a purpose.

“Mmmhm, you taste so good, I been waitin’ on this,” he proclaimed curling his fingers even faster as he flattened his tongue lapping it against my clit his gaze never leaving mine.

“Oh, fuck! Yes, get nasty with that shit, lick it all up baby,” I purred as Jey growled, simultaneously moving his fingers and tongue together even faster in sync.

My body whimpering in need, steadily climbing heights I didn’t even know existed until I had nowhere else to go.

“God, I love you!” I cried reaching my peak, spilling into his awaiting mouth as he drank my essence humming in satisfaction.

“Mmm, I love you too baby,” he moaned caressing my thigh as I fought to catch my breath.

“That was amazing ba- Shit!” I exclaimed as he entered me swiftly towering over me, his lips overpowering mine we tasted each other.

“Yes, it was but I ain’t done wit you yet,” Jey moaned thrusting long and deep inside me as felt my body begin to tingle all over again.

“I want you to cum when I tell you to. Do you hear me?” Jey grunted nibbling on one of my nipples while caressing the other before giving the other the same equal attention as I continued to melt into him.

I knew Jey felt I was close, as he began thrusting harder. "Jeyjeyjeyjey….…. Oh, baby!” I gasped almost chanting, pushing at his lower abdomen. Each thrust was more powerful than the last as he went deeper, rendering me unable to think.

“Move yo’ hand, why you tryin’ to run,” Jey groaned biting his lower lip never stopping his thrusts as I felt myself about to tip over the edge of ecstasy again.

“Stop runnin’ Mila, all this is just for you… Don't be scared, get your nut,” Jey moaned moving my hands as he went deeper.

“Mmm, fuck, I can take it. I can take it all ” I moaned as Jey leaned down, grasping my throat, taking me in a possessive kiss as he continued to take me deeper and deeper.

“I know you can take it all baby. You look so gorgeous takin’ it too,” he groaned against my lips as I writhed beneath him, both of us chasing climax.

“Mmm, right there. I'm bout to cum,” I moaned as he trembled against me as my pussy pulsed, engulfing him tighter.

“Shit! Me too, cum wit me beautiful,” Jey moaned as I fell apart in his arms “I’m cummin’!" I exclaimed as we went over the cliff together slowly falling back to earth as he collapsed in my arms, his head laying on my chest as I played with in his hair.

Totally spent and trying to catch my breath, I looked up at the clock on the radio, damn 12:30 a.m.

“Merry Christmas,” I whispered as Jey gently kissed me. “Merry Christmas baby,” he whispered, sighing against my lips as his phone rang and interrupted our moment.

“Damn it’s Jimmy,” Jey said reaching up front, getting his phone as I started putting my clothes back on.

“What’s up, Uce,” he said putting Jimmy on speaker phone, pulling up his sweats and putting his hoodie back on.

“Aye, where the hell ya’ll at? We just got to our cabin and I didn’t see ya’ll's SUV next door. Ya’ll left before we did, is everything good Jimmy asked as Jey sighed.

“Yea, we good, Uce,” Jey said as he stared at me licking his lips as I blushed, not believing what we had just done.

“I checked your location and you been in the same spot for awhile. Ya’ll didn’t break down, did you?” Jimmy asked as I shook my head.

“Nah, we bout to get back on the road, Uce, we just stopped for awhile the snow was getting to me,” Jey said as I raised a brow at him. “Damn liar,” I whispered as he smirked.

“Uh huh, more like seeing Mila again was getting’ to yo’ ass,” Jimmy snickered as I climbed back into my seat as Jey opened the liftgate and went back around to the driver’s side to get in.

“Bro, chill we on the way, and the snow ain’t too bad now so it shouldn’t take us long,” Jey said starting the SUV as I bundled back up under my blanket.

“A’ight well text me when ya’ll get here, maybe we can all do breakfast a little later on today,” Jimmy said as they exchanged their goodbyes.

“Well let’s gon’ knock this last hour out,” I said as Jey smiled at me.

Yea, let’s do that cause when we get to the cabin….Oouu you in for a long ass week. I doubt we gon’ be goin next door to have breakfast with Jimmy and Trin later on today.. Maybe tomorrow but definitely not today,” he said as I laughed.

“Well I’ll hold you to that,” I said as he kissed my hand. We had another hour to ride in this snow but one thing was for sure…

This Christmas was definitely shaping up to be one to remember.

Taglist:

@reci24 @southerngirl41 @vebner37 @jeyusos-girl

@melaninsugababy @romanreignkisser @bebesobrielo

@arination99 @2-muchsauce @bakugoumarianawrites

@empressdede @alyyaanna @christinabae @anonandwannakeepitthatway @venusesworld @jeyusosgirl @theninthwonder @mya2real

#jey uso fic #jey uso fanfic #jey uso imagine #jey uso smut #jey uso x fem reader #jey uso x oc #jey uso x reader #main event jey uso #jey uso #jeysuso #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction #wwe smut #wwe x reade #jey uso fanfiction #fanfic

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

Text

Sure! I just hope I get her character right, I did my research. A pairing was not given so the plot ended up platonic by accident. Hope the plot isn't too messy, I'm still new to learning ASOIAF. Prompt 32 was altered for plot :')

Prompt 15 Here

Expect spoilers for HOTD.

Yandere! Platonic! Rhaenys Targaryen Prompts 3, 32, 15

"You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

"With a little effort, these bleak walls will be a wonderful home for us!"

“You might not understand now but you will thank me later.”

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Rhaenys is having trouble coping with death, Kidnapping, Emotional manipulation, Isolation, Violence mentioned, Possible OOC Rhaenys, Forced companionship.

You sat in your given chambers listening to the sound of waves. You stare blankly at the stone walls of your prison, a chain clasped around your ankle. This is a bedroom... but you never consented to being a prisoner of The Blacks on Driftmark.

You are an avid supporter of The Greens. Before the civil war you were a noble from the House of Arryn who was friends with Rhaenyra and Alicent, which meant you were close to the Targaryens. However, when the war began to start, you sided with Alicent.

You had been watching Aegon II become the new king... only for the wall to bust down.

On dragon back sat Rhaenys on top of Meleys, the large red dragon roaring to announce her presence. Her reasoning for crashing the event was to show defiance, a starting event of the war due to Aegon's coronation. Yet... when Rhaenys saw you beside Alicent... she had a secondary goal.

Take you back to your rightful allies and family.

Perhaps Rhaenys felt she couldn't lose another close to her. That or maybe Rhaenyra ordered her to take you to The Blacks. Either way... you were then abducted on top of Meleys and sent to Driftmark.

You had met Rhaenys countless times. The Queen Who Never Was was her nicknamed title. You found her to be a respected woman... even becoming closer to her children due to Rhaenyra.

However... now you were trapped by said woman you used to respect. Her and her husband gave you your own room, but chains reminded you of what you really were. A prisoner on Driftmark... claimed by The Blacks.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard footsteps. Turning your head to the doorway you see Rhaenys knock before entering. Her lilac eyes softening upon seeing you.

Perhaps for a moment she remembers the joy you shared with Rhaenyra, Laena, and Laenor when you were young... although she is quickly reminded of how you sided with Alicent once she catches your glare.

"Your aggression is expected." Rhaenys sighs, watching as you pull the chain around your ankle. “You might not understand now but you will thank me later.”

"Traitor..." You whisper, Rhaenys giving you a clouded look for a moment.

"I'm not the traitor here." Rhaenys counters, walking closer. "It is you who cast aside the Velaryons and Targaryens when you sided with The Greens."

There's a long silence between the two of you, the tension increasing as Rhaenys turns her gaze to the stone walls. You don't look at her, however the woman still manages to be patient with you. After all... The Greens must of poured lies into your mind.

"Be as mad as you want, until you accept your place here that chain will be on your leg." Rhaenys is stern with her words, talking down to you. Even now she scolds you like long ago. "You belong with The Blacks... I'm sure Rhaenyra will be pleased to see I've taken you in."

At the mention of your old friend's name you grit your teeth. Rhaenys turns to you, her gaze becoming welcoming once again as she stands in front of you. She reaches out to move a strand of hair from your face, but you pull away.

"Even now you act as a child just like back then." She hums, before gesturing to the chambers you sat in. "With a little effort, these bleak walls will be a wonderful home for us."

"Us?" You ask, Rhaenys smiling warmly. Part of you feels guilt as old memories creeping in.

"Me and Corlys will be watching over you. Your home is with us here on Driftmark." Rhaenys coos, sitting beside you on the bed. You go to move away but she prevents you from moving with a harsh grip on your arm. "There's no need for running away, you will be well protected here. Meleys doesn't plan on letting The Greens touch you."

Rhaenys chuckles at what she said for a moment, noticing how you stopped struggling.

"Even if you did try to leave... we have dragons waiting."

"Why did you take me here?" You ask softly, Rhaenys looking at you with her lilac gaze again.

"Was I just supposed to leave you with Alicent?" Rhaenys tightens her grip for a moment before calming herself. "Admit it, your true home is with the Velaryons and The Blacks. I've known it since I saw you play with my children and niece. You belong here...."

Rhaenys notices you go into silence again. She pulls you into her side like a mother would. You want to fight her... but you really are a raven in a cage.

"You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen." Rhaenys declares, embracing you. You don't put up much of a struggle anymore. After all... what are you to do?

You have no dragon... The Blacks have many. You're stuck chained in a bedroom on Driftmark. You can't fight it...

Instead... you force yourself to go along with it... leaning into Rhaenys as she rubs your back.

Perhaps even silently hoping Rhaenyra will be merciful towards you when she sees you again.

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere asoiaf #yandere rhaenys targaryen #yandere rhaenys velaryon #platonic yandere

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teyamskxawng · 1 year

Text

The Fight [II]

Neteyam Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Previously: Part I

The rundown: The day after the fight. Still Ft. jealous, possessive (and lowkey oblivious) Neteyam having a crisis over the reader, expect this time there’s a happy ending :)

Warnings: language, slight violence, Aonung has a mini-redemption arc, misunderstandings, tooth-rotting fluff, characters are aged up

WC: 8.5k

A/N: Thank you to anyone who left a kind comment on the first part of this fic! You single-handedly motivated me to actually finish this thing. Also, don’t let the first half of the chapter fool you lol this (unfortunately?) is nottt an enemies-to-lovers Aonung x Reader fic. I just wanted to give him a lil redemption and also show that Reader does, in fact, have a heart!

As you sat on the floor with Kiri's head nestled cozily in your lap, your gentle hands mindlessly played with her hair, braiding and unbraiding the stubborn strand that always made its way into her face.

Despite the exhaustion that still clung to your bones from the earlier events of the day (and a nagging pang of guilt for causing them), you felt completely at ease within the confines of the Sully family’s marui pod. Their unique family dynamic possessed an undeniable charm that never failed to lift your spirits, plunging you into a safe cocoon of lightheartedness and joy.

As you continued to bask in the warm embrace of tranquility and goodness, Lo'ak enthusiastically narrated the story of how he and Neteyam had, quote-on-quote, ‘made peace’ with Aonung that afternoon. He laid it on thick and made a whole show of recounting their meeting.

“He was all like,” Lo’ak crossed his arms, tilted his head, and smirked in what was admittedly a scarily good impression of Aonung’s default expression. “Trying to stare into our souls and shit through one eye.”

With a curious and somewhat mischievous expression gracing your features, you leaned in toward Lo'ak with a conspiratorial air. In a barely audible whisper, you asked the question that had admittedly been on your mind all day.

"So, was it really that bad? His face?" You couldn't keep the amusement out of your voice as you imagined the damage. Aonung fully deserved to have to walk around with at least one of his eyes swollen shut for the stunt that he tried to pull.

Despite the effort to not draw attention, your eyes cautiously darted back and forth between your conversation and the duo of Jake and Neytiri, who were preoccupied nearby. They seemed completely absorbed in their task of deboning fish, their fingers deftly removing spines and filets one by one. But their curiosity was equally piqued by Lo'ak's tale, and they listened keenly under the guise of their mundane chore.

Lo'ak's eyes sparkled with mischief, and a wide grin slowly crept across his face as he basked in the vivid recollection that played out in his mind's eye.

"So bad," he affirmed, making no effort to conceal the sheer enjoyment he derived from the memory. He gestured animatedly toward his face to provide a more descriptive picture of the incident. "His whole left cheekbone was all swollen. Looked like a little bitch," Lo'ak chuckled.

Kiri intervened by swiftly kicking her brother for his crude language. She tried her best to maintain a disciplined facade, but much to her own chagrin, an inescapable snicker slipped past her lips.

You smiled warmly at the girl nestled on your lap. Given the day's unpleasant encounter with Aonung and his band of friends, Kiri’s silence and subdued nature had been understandable. The whole day felt empty without the familiar sound of her laughter filling the air.

As Lo'ak continued to share his recollection of the day’s events, you noticed Kiri's expression gradually brightening as laughter returned to her eyes. It felt heartwarming to see her spirits begin to lift again.

Nestled on the opposite end of the hut, Neteyam found himself only half-absorbed in the conversation unfolding around him. He could just barely make out snippets of chatter between you and his siblings and the occasional glimpse of Lo’ak animatedly dodging invisible jabs and fake-punching the air in front of him.

Neteyam, however, was preoccupied with his own mission.

He had agreed to aid Tuk in crafting a new necklace, a tactic to ensure that she wouldn’t get all loose-lipped about the conversation she had inadvertently eavesdropped on earlier that day. They’d been sitting together, weaving little seashells along twine for the past two hours.

"You're really good at this, Tuk," Netteyam praised with a gentle smile, even though the twine of Tuk’s necklace slipped and he had just watched yet another seashell make its escape from her fingers for the fifth time in the past minute. Suppressing another snicker and shaking his head in amusement, Neteyam swiftly scooped up the shell from the ground. Gently placing it back into Tuk's eagerly awaiting hand, he used his other hand to point out where it had slipped from.

"Here, we can weave this back through that piece," he offered with an attempted seriousness that barely concealed his continued amusement.

"I know how to do it, Neteyam," Tuk grumbled in determination as she persisted in weaving her slightly uneven line. She clutched the necklace-in-progress unnecessarily tight and continued working on it, determined to prove her brother wrong.

Neteyam nodded as encouragingly as he could, putting all of his effort into maintaining the most enthusiastic demeanor he possibly could over a half-woven necklace. It wasn't exactly an easy task, given that his attention kept drifting towards the opposite side of the tent.

He kept sneaking sidelong glances at where you sat, nodding at his brother, who had an unexpectedly serious look on his face.

Intrigued, Neteyam's thoughts momentarily abandoned any attempts to aid Tuk with her fledgling necklace-making skills. Instead, he sat there with a puzzled gaze, unable to quench his curiosity as his eyes darted back and forth between the two of you.

As you sat there, nursing your sore hand, Lo'ak scooted a little closer to you to investigate the damage with his own set of scrutinizing eyes. Gently, he took your hand in his and brought your knuckles up to his face to inspect the damage. Without warning, he poked at what appeared to be an especially swollen spot, causing you to wince in pain before hastily swatting his hand away in annoyance.

"Damn!" Lo'ak exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up to the ceiling in sheer amazement as he examined your battered knuckles even further. "It looks like you went three rounds with a boulder."

"I punch really, really hard." You replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes at Lo'ak's pointless observation and rubbing the swollen ridges on your hand as you did so.

The skin had turned an assortment of ugly shades of purple, and it hurt like hell. It was true that the pain was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, but in your mind, it was all worth it. Aonung's stupid face now bore the imprints of that same pain. For you, it was like a true battle scar. Every throb only confirmed what you already knew: You'd definitely won that round.

Neytiri brought her keen gaze up from where she’d been meticulously skinning a new piece of fish for the evening meal. She paused momentarily, eyeing you with concern as you sat nonchalantly with Kiri's head resting gently in your lap. As thankful as she was for you standing up for her daughter, Neytiri knew that it was reckless of you to jump head-first into danger the way that you did. As she continued fileting the fish, a hint of exasperation was palpable in her voice.

"And you really, really need to go see the tsahìk for your wound, y/n," Neytiri chided sternly, making it known that arguing would be futile. And you weren’t stupid; you knew that much was true.

Though she wasn't related to you by blood, Neytiri had taken on the role of your de facto guardian angel, and she was fiercely devoted to her role. She was as stubborn as a rock when it came to her protective instincts toward you.

There was not a chance on Pandora that she would let you continue walking around with a mangled hand, no matter how proud you were of your battle scar.

So there you sat: awkwardly trying to avoid Neytiri's scolding yet somewhat affectionate glare, all the while hoping against hope that maybe—just maybe—she'd forget about it by morning. But, of course, Neytiri's decision was unequivocal, and you were left with no choice but to comply.

Thus, as the sun barely peeked over the horizon the following morning (far earlier than you would’ve liked), you exited the tsahìk’s marui pod with your previously injured hand meticulously cleaned and tended to.

Admittedly, a wave of terror initially washed over you at the prospect of facing Ronal, especially after what you had done to her son. Judging by the icy glare she shot your way when you stepped into the hut, it was evident that she was far from thrilled to see you either. Which, you couldn't really blame her for.

However, necessity dictated that someone help heal your wound, so Ronal motioned for Tsireya to carry out the task rather than do it herself.

To your immense relief, Tsireya had no shame in scolding her brother's unruly behavior. As she busied herself with tending to your hand, you recounted the tale of your skirmish with Aonung, much to her amusement. In fact, Tsireya spent more time erupting into giggles than actually focusing on healing you.

Given this scenario, it came as no surprise when Ronal let out an exasperated hiss and demanded that Tsireya switch healing with her in an attempt to expedite your recovery and have you gone from the pod as quickly as possible.

While under Ronal's care—which was noticeably less gentle than her daughter's—you found yourself recovering at a much swifter pace. The treatment may not have been ideal, but it yielded quick results.

Once fully healed and without any further consideration or well-wishes, you found yourself unceremoniously kicked out of the pod—albeit with a fully healed hand ready for whatever new adventures awaited you.

Which was how you ended up on the shore that afternoon.

As you stood by the water's edge, the rhythmic sound of the waves gently lapping against the shoreline combined with your focused efforts to create a fishing net from scratch. You were still learning, but your fingers moved with precision, weaving each knot and strand together into an intricate pattern. The sun's warmth radiated down on you, bathing everything in a golden light.

Suddenly, however, the peaceful ambiance was interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps gradually approaching from behind you. Your senses sharpened as your ears lifted in alertness, and instinctively, your tail curled protectively into a tight coil. A moment later, you heard your name uttered quietly.

"y/n?"

Feeling an unexpected and unfamiliar hand resting upon your shoulder, the voice finally registered, and in a split-second decision, you jerked your elbow backward with force, instinctively targeting the trespasser's solid ribcage.

A pained groan sounded from behind you, and satisfaction surged through you upon recognizing that it belonged to none other than Aonung himself. However, the gratification was short-lived as you came to terms with the fact that being in his presence was not a situation you desired. At all.

Memories of your previous encounter and powerful emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but Jake's resounding words echoed in your mind, reminding you of what truly mattered.

You couldn't afford to give in to your own selfish desires—not now.

It wasn’t about indulging in petty conflicts or satisfying personal vendettas. There was far more at stake than just your personal feelings toward Aonung. Recalling all that the Sullys had done for you, the sacrifices they'd made, and the risks they'd taken to secure a place within their new home, you clenched your teeth in determination.

Forcing yourself to lock eyes with Aonung, if only for an instant, the words escaped through gritted teeth, strained and laden with insincerity: "Sorry."

There it was, an apology reluctantly offered despite every ounce of your being craving to do otherwise.

Aonung chuckled at your unwavering persistence, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his stomach where you had just landed a powerful blow. There was no doubt in your mind that it would leave a lasting bruise, one that would probably perfectly coordinate with the deep purple impression dominating the entire expanse of his cheekbone. A twisted sense of gratification coursed through you at the sight of his battered visage. Lo'ak's description of the damage hadn't done it justice. You were responsible for that. Hell yeah.

"You're stronger than you look, forest girl," Aonung conceded with genuine admiration, shaking his head in astonishment. How you managed to possess such incredible strength in such a small body was beyond even his understanding.

However, you had no intention of succumbing to his flattery anytime soon. You were not about to let him sweet-talk you into submission or change the course of your determined spirit.

With your jaw set in determination, you sucked your teeth and hastily reached for your weaving materials. The once serene atmosphere of the early evening had been entirely spoiled by Aonung's unwelcome arrival. It was all beginning to feel suffocating, and you needed to be somewhere else—anywhere else.

As you diligently collected your supplies and prepared to make your escape from this uncomfortable situation, you rose gracefully to your feet, preparing to push your way past Aonung's frame.

An almost imperceptible flash of worry painted Aonung's face as he saw your intent.

In an almost reflexive action, Aonung reached out with the intention of grasping onto your arm and preventing you from leaving. Yet, at the very last second, he thought better of it and swiftly pulled back his webbed hand before making contact with your skin.

Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as you thought he was.

Caught between your determination to be anywhere but near him and Aonung's momentary vulnerability, it occurred to you that maybe staying for just a few moments longer wouldn't be the end of the world.

And so, with a deep breath and a keen eye on Aonung's every move, you held your ground just long enough to see what would happen next.

Aonung cautiously raised his hands in the air, an unspoken sign of surrender. His eyes were wide, and for once, there was a genuine look in them that you hadn't seen before.

"Listen, I just wanted to apologize for what happened the other day," he stammered. "I was out of line and immature."

You took a moment to cast a scrutinizing gaze over Aonung's face as he seemed to shrink under the weight of your relentless stare. Although it was surprising to hear his admission and apology, you didn't feel the need to express outward gratitude or forgiveness towards him. After all, it wasn’t you who bore the brunt of his actions.

"You should be apologizing to Kiri, not me," you said pointedly.

The mere thought of Kiri made your heart twinge with pain. Her emotional state had been precarious ever since Aonung and his friends targeted her with their cruel words.

If Aonung lacked the courage to approach Kiri with the same admission and remorse for his actions, then you simply couldn't justify giving him any more of your time or energy. However, what he said next took you wholly by surprise.

"I already did," Aonung replied steadfastly, his previous nervousness replaced by a newfound resolve in his voice. "My friends knew they crossed a line as well. They won't be bothering Kiri anymore—I made sure of that."

Despite yourself and the walls you'd built up around this issue, a relieved sigh slipped past your lips at his words. Gratitude washed over you like an unexpected wave as you realized that Kiri would now have one less burden to carry in your new home.

However, Aonung was far from being in the clear.

There was a lingering suspicion in your mind that his apology was merely a result of Tonowari's command, rather than stemming from genuine regret. It was difficult to picture him being truly sincere in this situation.

"Yeah, I bet you're really good at following your father's orders," you mumbled, the sarcasm dripping from your words as you prepared to turn away and return to the Sully's marui pod. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you after such a long and eventful day. You were eager to put this entire ordeal behind you.

Aonung's next words, however, stopped you in your tracks and challenged the assumptions you'd made about his intentions.

"No—well, yes, my father told me to apologize to Jake and Neytiri," he admitted with an awkwardness that was almost pitiful. "But he never told me to apologize to you or Kiri. I do feel sorry; I meant it when I said that." His eyes widened as he attempted to express his sincerity, pleading for understanding. Glimmers of genuine regret danced in his eyes, and a part of you found it difficult to dismiss them out of hand.

With a rueful snort, Aonung continued, "And honestly? I didn’t want to get any more bruises. Not exactly the best look for the future olo'eyktan…" Grimacing in discomfort, he gingerly rubbed the spot on his body where your bony elbow had made its unforgiving impact just moments before.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a stoic facade, the corners of your mouth twitched with amusement at his candid admission. Pressing a clenched fist over your lips in a futile attempt to suppress the laughter bubbling up within you proved unsuccessful, but somehow, it didn't matter anymore.

Aonung's surprising admission of defeat was a welcome relief for you. At that moment, you realized that he acknowledged himself as the loser, and that humility was enough to grant him a certain level of respect in your eyes. That wasn't to say that you were suddenly going to be all chummy with him, but at least it allowed you to lower your defenses in his presence.

As you settled into a more relaxed state, Aonung seemed to take pleasure in your changed demeanor. Keen to engage further, he broached the subject of your recent altercation.

Curiously, he inquired, "So, what do you call it? That thing you did when you hit me the other day?"

He gestured towards his bruised cheek, which had taken on an interesting shade of purple as it healed.

A surge of pride washed over you as you realized there was something you knew that eluded Aonung's knowledge.

"It's called a punch," you replied smugly. "You can thank Jake for teaching me. He was nice enough to teach all of us—even Tuk––so…" Pausing for dramatic effect, you widened your eyes and added a cryptic, "Watch out, fish lips."

At your warning, Aonung's facial expression momentarily displayed a look of genuine fear. However, just as quickly as it appeared, the apprehension gave way to laughter as Aonung realized the humor in your statement.

He gave a slight nod and slowly extended his arm towards you, his hand open and inviting.

Although the gesture appeared friendly and he respected your boundaries by not grabbing you without permission, you couldn't help but study his outstretched palm cautiously. The memory of his bold actions from the other day was imprinted in your mind.

Taking a moment to observe him further, your gaze traveled up from his hand to his face. Instead of the usual mischievous grin that you had grown accustomed to, there was now an expression of genuine sincerity on his face. The unexpected change stirred a curiosity within you, making you wonder about the depth of emotions he was actually capable of.

His eyes locked with yours as he enunciated his words clearly: "To no more punches."

The phrase seemed to carry an unspoken understanding between the two of you—a promise of sorts.

His words lingered in the air, challenging you to accept this newfound truce. Though still cautious, you finally succumbed to the moment.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as mirth danced within your own eyes. Nodding in response, your fingers reached for his forearm in a reciprocal gesture, grasping it firmly in mutual understanding and agreement.

Rooted in his spot by an overwhelming mixture of disbelief and despair, Neteyam couldn't help but continue observing the interaction between you and your supposed enemy-turned-ally.

As much as it pained him to do so, he needed to understand what had led to your unlikely alliance, especially given that none of it aligned with the reality tucked away in his mind.

While maintaining a discreet distance, Neteyam tried to piece together bits of your conversation from his limited perspective. He felt a tidal wave of emotions crashing within the depths of his stomach as he observed the unfolding scene. Each word and gesture felt like a dagger slicing through the fabric of your once-inseparable relationship.

A sea of weariness, anger, and envy churned inside him, swirling together into a furious storm as his eyes locked onto you and Aonung farther down the shore. Your hands met in what appeared to be a heartfelt handshake, and Neteyam's heart sank at the sight. Why would you allow Aonung to get so close to you—to even have physical contact with you—after everything he had done to you? He couldn't comprehend it.

As the encounter continued, Neteyam caught sight of Aonung gesturing animatedly towards the half-woven fishing net that you held carefully in your hands. The conversation seemed lighthearted and friendly, which only fueled Neteyam's mental turmoil. It was as if Aonung had somehow charmed you into believing that he was responsible for placing each and every one of the stars in the vast sky above.

A tinge of nausea washed over Neteyam as he witnessed Aonung break into a wide smile, genuine warmth emanating from his expression as he looked at you. The sight only heightened the flames of jealousy already licking away at his insides. It was a smile that belonged on his own lips—his admiration was too real and genuine when compared to Aonung's disingenuous front.

As Neteyam continued to watch the scene unfold, his heart thumped wildly in his chest, urging him to intervene—to do something.

Neteyam abruptly made his way towards you, his eyes locked on yours with unwavering determination. As he reached you, he swiftly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, instantly drawing you into his embrace.

You let out a quiet, surprised mutter of, "What the fuck?" under your breath.

Despite your confusion, you couldn't deny the underlying feeling of elation that washed over you at the physical contact. Your body felt at home, effortlessly melting into his side.

His hand came to rest on your waist with undeniable tenderness, his fingers gently playing with the twine of your woven top. The sensation of his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles directly onto your skin sent a wave of warmth flooding through your body, making it near impossible to hold onto any sort of mental clarity. Your thoughts became hazy and unfocused, leaving you at a loss for words.

Amid Neteyam’s literal spell on you, you barely registered the terse exchange of words taking place between him and Aonung—their conversation was nothing more than a blur of two resonating voices. Through it all, Neteyam's grip remained possessive yet comforting, and you eventually found yourself being guided further down the shore, distancing the two of you from Aonung and anyone else gathered near him.

Feeling as though the intimate bubble was about to burst, you managed to find your voice once more. "What the fuck?" The question held a more assertive tone this time around, desperate for an explanation from Neteyam that would justify both his actions and your reaction to them.

“Hmm?” Neteyam hummed in response to your query, adopting an air of nonchalance as though nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

With a soft exhale and gradual release of tension in his arm around you, he created enough distance between the two of you so that you could walk side by side, void of any physical contact.

Side by side yet separated—an unfortunately looming metaphor that danced upon the sea breeze as you continued down the shore.

Your eyes narrowed as you observed the side of his face.

Neteyam's gaze seemed to flit around, taking in every aspect of the beach surrounding you and yet completely avoiding your face. You couldn't contain your curiosity any longer and decided to inquire further.

"Was there a reason for all that?" you asked, trying not to sound too probing.

It wasn't that you were upset with the situation—it had been a while since you’d spent some one-on-one time with Neteyam—but the suddenness and lack of warning with which he had whisked you away from Aonung had left you more than a bit startled.

As you continued to ponder over his actions, a tiny voice in the recesses of your mind came forth, suggesting the possibility that maybe Neteyam was acting out of jealousy due to your momentary closeness with Aonung. However, you swiftly dismissed that notion, reminding yourself that such an interpretation could not have been accurate. At all. He didn't view you in a romantic light; if anything, his actions could be attributed to a friendly sense of protectiveness. He would have displayed the same level of concern for any one of his friends.

With that conclusion in mind, you felt somewhat reassured and returned your attention to Neteyam. It was at that point that you realized his piercing gaze was now firmly locked onto yours, bearing down on you with an intensity that caught you off guard. The moment seemed to stretch out for an eternity as unspoken questions and emotions played silently between the two of you.

The expression in Neteyam's eyes gradually cleared, like a mist dissipating to reveal a hidden landscape. He turned away from you once more, shaking his head as if to banish the unsettling thoughts that hovered at the edge of his mind.

"No," he murmured hesitantly, though the words that followed seemed to directly contradict his denial. "I just didn't like the way he was looking at you."

Confusion pinched your features as you tried to parse his bewildering statement, a playful smile creeping onto your lips at the sheer absurdity of his claim.

"Nete, you were all the way on the other side of the shore," you gently chided, picking up on the gap in his argument. "Even your bug-eyes couldn't have picked up on that."

To punctuate your observation, you reached out and teasingly flicked your finger against his forehead—a gentle reminder of his endearingly overprotective nature.

A soft, exasperated laugh escaped Neteyam's lips as he tilted his head away from your touch, fully aware of how irrational his concerns appeared. Still, there was something tender about his display of protectiveness—an unspoken declaration of just how much he cared.

As the two of you continued your aimless amble along the shoreline, Neteyam's foot connected with a stray pebble that had found its way onto the sandy path. He kicked it forward in a series of small nudges, sending tiny plumes of sand flying up each time it met his foot.

"Okay," he finally relented, granting defeat with an accompanying sigh. "Then I didn't like how close he was standing to you." You could practically feel the wince that crinkled his expression at those words, an almost palpable acknowledgment of how difficult it was for him to make that confession.

You let yourself contemplate the possibility that maybe Neteyam could have harbored feelings of envy toward any friendship you might’ve developed with Aonung (though calling what you had managed to establish with Aonung in those last few minutes anything beyond a mere acquaintanceship was pushing it).

Neteyam was your best friend, and it was reasonable for him to feel unsettled at the thought of someone else potentially taking his place in your life.

Still, there was a persistent part of your mind that you often struggled to suppress—the part that craved something more profound than just pure friendship with Neteyam. It wouldn't fucking relent.

Did he mean what he said in a way that extended beyond platonic feelings? Was it possible that beneath his words, he wanted to be the only person capable of being close to you—both metaphorically and physically?

Gathering what confidence you could muster, you resolved to delve deeper into the matter. You sought some kind of validation—whether positive or negative—that would alleviate your restless thoughts.

"Am I not allowed to stand next to other guys or something?"

The half-serious jest served as both an attempt to dismantle tensions between the two of you and a method for gauging his true feelings on this subject, fostering hope within you for some kind of resolution.

As moments passed, your anticipation grew while waiting for Neteyam's response. Each second felt longer than the last as the situation took on more significance in your mind, knowing that his reply could either reaffirm the precious bond you already shared or potentially reshape it into something even more meaningful and intimate.

You stood there, observing as Neteyam's overall disposition seemed to crumble before your very eyes. His shoulders curled inward, as though attempting to protect himself from invisible harm, while his ears, once perky and attentive, flattened against the sides of his head in a clear sign of his escalating distress. The pebble he had been sending on a journey down the shoreline with his rhythmic kicks was quickly abandoned.

As shitty as you felt for pouring a bucket of ice-cold water on what had been an increasingly pleasant atmosphere between you two, you were admittedly captivated by the storm of emotions that brewed within Neteyam.

The mood, previously light-hearted and delightful, now hovered somewhere within the range of awkwardness and curiosity.

His whirlwind of feelings had drawn you in with the pulling force of a storm, and now you needed to know more. The air seemed thick enough to slice as you exchanged half-glances out of the corners of your eyes, each of you searching for some kind of explanation or the right words to say.

The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity, so much so that you nearly embraced the belief that any kind of verbal response to your inquiry was nothing but a pipe dream. Yet somehow, against all odds, the universe eventually took pity on your increasingly impatient soul, and Neteyam caved in.

"Do you want to stand next to Aonung?" Neteyam uttered hesitantly, his voice thick with uncertainty.

It was a far cry from the Neteyam you knew—the humble yet self-assured Neteyam who never came across as arrogant but knew exactly who he was and where he belonged in life, especially when he was around you, his closest friend. It felt as though his words held a much deeper question than simply asking about physical proximity to some other guy.

You silently prayed to Eywa that he would just be straightforward and spit it out, that he’d stop shrouding his intentions behind a veil of annoyingly cryptic language. Desperately, you wrestled with interpreting everything from his intonation to his subtle body movements—anything that might provide insight as to what was going on in his stupid head.

You couldn't help but long for those times when your conversations flowed effortlessly and humor sparkled in every corner. Those times when the simplest exchange could send both of you into fits of laughter, leaving passersby wondering what on Pandora was wrong with you.

Clearly, though, today was not that day.

Struggling to make eye contact with him, you cautiously inquired, "You mean, do I like-like him?"

As the words left your lips, you couldn't help but cringe. You felt childish, like a little kid discussing stupid crushes during playtime.

Neteyam offered an unceremonious shrug in response before uttering, "Something along those lines, I guess."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you stared at him, utterly baffled.

A surge of frustration coursed through you. You wanted to scream at his blatant obliviousness. How could the sequence of events between you and Aonung over the past twenty-four hours be even remotely misconstrued as romantic feelings? Neteyam had to be joking.

"Are you actually stupid?" You questioned with an intensity that took both yourself and Neteyam by surprise.

The question emerged from your lips, laced with a tinge of incredulity. Although you didn't mean for the inquiry to sound quite as harsh as it ended up being, at that very instant you couldn't truly bring yourself to sugarcoat or tiptoe around the matter.

Neteyam's quizzical expression only served to heighten the absurdity of it all. You tried in vain to imagine how he pieced everything together to come to such a far-fetched conclusion.

Neteyam, with furrowed brows and widened eyes, cautiously threw a sideways glance in your direction. He was evidently taken aback by the unexpected fervor in your voice and struggled to comprehend the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Hesitating for a brief moment, he stuttered out a hesitant, "No…"

Despite his disoriented demeanor, you were unyielding.

With an intensity that could only be described as bordering on hysteria, you barked back at him, "Do you usually beat the shit out of people you're in love with, Neteyam? Because I sure don’t! What possessed you to think that there could ever be anything between Aonung and I?!"

Your frenetic gesticulations were likely painting the picture of a wholly deranged thing, as you vehemently pointed an indigent finger at your chest in sheer bewilderment as if it could somehow drive home the insanity of Neteyam's assumption. With eyebrows raised and nostrils flaring like a banshee getting ready to charge, you probably looked like a whirlwind of agitation incarnate.

But honestly, who could blame you? Neteyam was so dense, so astonishingly stupid that it felt as though his lack of understanding might actually fracture reality itself. It felt like your own sanity was hanging by a thread.

With his eyes still wide in disbelief, Neteyam carried on baffling you. "I just saw you two! Aonung was looking at you like you were the only girl on the island," he started, hastily extending an arm in the direction of the shore where both you and Aonung had previously been standing. "I’m serious, y/n! What else am I supposed to think? Aonung looks at you like that, all his friends look at you like that—even Lo’ak does!”

In a frenzied attempt to clarify the situation, you vigorously shook your head, utterly rejecting his claim because none of it resonated with any truth whatsoever. "No they—," you tried to interject but found yourself cut off by Neteyam's dogged insistence.

"Yes, they do! Every single one of them!" His voice took on an almost manic quality, as though he'd uncovered some hidden secret. "You're just oblivious when it comes to recognizing social cues from the opposite sex."

"Says you! You're so—! Great Mother… I'm not in the mood to be lectured like one of your siblings right now." You let out a derisive laugh, attempting to mask the frustration bubbling within you.

As you started to turn away, you couldn’t help but ruminate on the nature of your relationship with Neteyam.

It was obvious what the entire situation was about. Neteyam saw you in the same light as he did Kiri, Tuk, or Lo'ak—just another responsibility in his life, just someone who he was obligated to keep an eye out for.

No matter how much your heart wished it were different, you knew deep down that there had never been any other possibility between you and him. You chastised yourself for even entertaining the idea that there might have been something more between you two.

The cruel realization stung like a swarm of pesky insects on a hot day.

The realization made you feel foolish, and you sensed the tears threatening to rise in your throat, making their way up to your eyes. Desperately trying to stifle them, you blinked rapidly as you focused on the sand that blanketed the ground beneath your feet. Each blink became your last ditch effort to keep the traitorous tears out of sight—but when it comes to heartache and denial, emotions don't tend to follow the rules.

Inevitably, the tan granules swirled into indistinguishable blurs through your watery vision. On top of that, your chest began to heave, betraying your emotional state.

You quickly realized that keeping your tears at bay was becoming increasingly difficult, and there was no way you were going to let Neteyam see you cry over what seemed like an embarrassingly insignificant crush on him. Refusing to let him have that satisfaction or—worse yet—pity you in any way, you emotionally gathered yourself as best as possible and turned around in the other direction.

Brainstorming some half-assed excuse to put some distance between yourself and Neteyam for the rest of the day, you struggled to ignore the clawing feeling in your chest.

Your plan was abruptly interrupted by a hand on your arm, and much to your surprise, this time it didn’t yank away like you were a blue-hot flame. The hand remained stubbornly in place, its grip on your bicep determined and resolute, presenting a striking contrast to the unexpectedly gentle manner in which his thumb tenderly caressed your skin. The sensation sent involuntary goosebumps rippling across the surface of your arm, as if touched by the chill of the night air.

It was too much; your limits were reached. You couldn’t play his little mind games anymore—games that left you overthinking the most minute touches and the most fleeting glances.

With an air of desperation, you mumbled, “Please don’t.”

You hated how small and frail your voice sounded, how audibly shaky it was due to his unwavering touch. Despite the plea of your voice and every ounce of willpower screaming at you, you couldn’t muster up the strength to extricate yourself from his grasp. You couldn’t yank your arm free and send an elbow right into his gut, just like you had done to Aonung.

You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that you didn't want to escape his grip at all. He wasn’t Aonung.

“You're not my sibling," Neteyam began, his intense eyes frantically scanning your face as if pleading with you to look at him. Despite his best efforts to catch your gaze, you stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. He sighed and continued in a hushed, low tone, "I don't see you like that."

His words were convincing enough, but your defenses remained strong, standing tall like an impenetrable fortress.

You felt like an animal on guard, fiercely protecting its territory. Every fiber of your being was taut, and your heart pounded furiously against your ribcage. You tried to steady yourself by taking a deep breath, hoping the embarrassing trembling in your voice would be tamed when you finally mustered the courage to reply.

Taking the plunge and uttering your next words cautiously, you asked on a shaky exhale, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

The thought of meeting his eyes sent tiny shivers of terror down your spine—it would be so obvious that yours were red-rimmed and puffy and pathetic.

You swallowed the fear bubbling in your throat and opted instead to settle for his chest. It was a good distraction from the emotional turmoil bubbling within you, and somehow, it made things a bit more bearable.

You stared at Neteyam's blue skin and the unique pattern of dark stripes that adorned him. They twisted and turned like vines from behind his back, dancing across his shoulders before cascading downward towards his chest. By now, those dark stripes had become so familiar to you that it almost felt like they formed part of an intricate map etched into your memory forever.

Subconsciously, you found yourself getting lost in those hypnotic lines, as if trying to decipher some hidden message they held within their patterns and swirls. And for a brief moment, the gravity of the situation seemed to lessen, allowing a tiny, wistful smile to grace your lips.

With determination (and a dash of stubbornness), you forced yourself not to let your eyes wander further than necessary, lest they betrayed your feelings and caused yet another upheaval in your world.

Neteyam's unsteady exhale disrupted your intense focus on his chest, where your eyes had been locked in a determined gaze.

Much to your relief, he wasn't looking directly at you—or, more specifically, not at your eyes.

Instead, his attention was wholly devoted to the same spot on your arm that he was gently caressing with his thumb. His expression radiated deep concentration, as if a million thoughts were racing through his mind at breakneck speed. You wanted to understand each and every one of them.

In an almost magical moment, it seemed as though Neteyam heard your silent plea; still caressing your arm, he muttered, "It means it's complicated. I don’t know how to act around you sometimes."

The unexpected revelation piqued your curiosity further.

Mustering the courage to meet your gaze for just a fleeting moment, Neteyam appeared equally vulnerable and sentimental. However, upon locking eyes with you, he hastily retracted his gaze back to the captivating spot on your arm.

The silence between you both lengthened, but not uncomfortably so. It was the kind of silence that coaxed more words out of him, as though unraveling a spool of twine.

A touch of hesitance laced his words as he continued, "And it means I want to be the only one to touch you like this," he bravely confessed.

The hand that gently brushed your arm dared to leave its designated spot, venturing up your arm past its familiar territory. Neteyam’s touch left behind an army of goosebumps, marking the path he had taken. Your eyes were fixated on the escalating situation as Neteyam inched closer toward you, his hand never losing contact with your skin for even a second. It continued its journey, gliding past your shoulder, snaking up the side of your neck, and finally coming to rest on your jaw.

Neteyam’s eyes were dark and half-lidded, seemingly examining every inch of your face as if it were both the first and the last time he’d ever set eyes on you. As if he wanted to memorize every detail of your visage before it vanished from his memory forever.

You felt warm all over, as if you’d just contracted a sudden fever, spreading heat from the tips of your ears down to your toes.

You'd never been this close to Neteyam in your life—and not just in terms of physical proximity. You had known each other for practically your entire lives, but this was entirely new territory. It was uncharted land that even the most experienced warrior would struggle to navigate.

The warm puffs from his breath rhythmically brushed against your cheek, and your stomach did flips that perfectly synchronized with each exhalation from his lips.

And yet, amidst all the bewildering chaos of emotions swirling around you like delicate little woodsprites, his words echoed deep within your mind. He had you in a trance, and it was so, so dangerous for you.

Only Eywa knows what possessed you to lean in ever so slightly closer to Neteyam.

You found yourself inexplicably drawn to him, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. You gently nuzzled your cheek into his welcoming palm, tipping your head upward just enough so that your eyes could lock onto his. Gathering every shred of courage that resided within you, you asked, “What else does it mean?”

Surprisingly, you couldn't detect even the slightest hint of embarrassment in your voice or on your face—even though, by all rights, you should have. Maybe it was because the sight of Neteyam's smile tugging playfully at the corner of his mouth completely disarmed any potential shame.

As Neteyam's eyes crinkled shut with amusement (or possibly bewilderment), he let out a hearty exhale that sounded almost like laughter. He shook his head in disbelief. It was evident that Neteyam hadn't expected your conversation to end up here so quickly.

In sync with his amusement, Neteyam's other hand reached around and gently cradled the opposite side of your jaw, providing a tender touch that sent shivers down your spine.

As if in a dream-like state, you felt a slight flush in your cheeks when his thumb grazed across them ever so tenderly. Entirely absorbed by the surreal essence of it all, you swore that with just one more touch from him, you'd crumble into the surrounding sand.

His thumb continuing to caress your cheek with tender affection, Neteyam lowered his face towards yours so that his lips brushed against yours ever so softly, and it felt as though you had stepped into another realm entirely.

In that fleeting instant, neither one of you possessed any semblance of proper technique or finesse. Instead, you were propelled forward by an intoxicating mix of adrenaline and pure need, the two of you navigating the uncharted territory together with hearts beating wildly in unison.

At that very moment, you felt an inexplicable urge to be closer to him, so close that it would seem like an impossibility for him to ever let go of you.

With what felt like an enormous amount of effort, you lifted your hands from their previously limp position at your sides. You tentatively reached out and grasped his sturdy arms, attempting to steady yourself against his frame.

As your fingers dug into the firmness of his muscles, it must have been close to crossing the line between a loving embrace and an entirely painful experience. But Neteyam didn't seem to mind at all. Instead of wincing or complaining, he seemed to find strength in your touch. In fact, Neteyam responded with such ardor that it almost took your breath away. Instinctively, his hand dropped down to your waist and pulled you even closer to his warm body, as if the two of you weren't already pressed impossibly close together.

All of the pent-up emotion toward Neteyam you had been desperately attempting to keep under control for years finally broke free from its prison within the deepest, darkest depths of your psyche. Like a volcano that could no longer contain its molten fury, the suppressed feelings burst forth and poured into the soul-searing intensity of your shared kiss.

At that moment, there was nothing else in existence but the two of you entwined together—by which point it hardly mattered if an unlucky passerby stumbled across your shared corner of the shore.

The intensity of the moment left you feeling so light-headed that you could have sworn you were floating. It was a sensation you begrudgingly had to pull away from, your lips reluctantly parting from Neteyam's warm embrace.

The raw fervor of the kiss still lingered, making it difficult to catch your breath in anything more than measly, shallow gasps. As you struggled to regain your normal breathing, your eyes locked on Neteyam’s.

You could have sworn that your heart did a somersault at the sight of pure elation dancing across his features, making it abundantly clear that the moment was just as significant for him as it was for you. With a hazy exhale, Neteyam took a step back, affording himself a better view of you.

As he gazed at you through affectionate eyes, an enamored grin spread across his face—the kind that makes your knees turn to jelly and your insides squirm with embarrassingly giddy excitement.

It was in that instant that you felt utterly exposed, like he had unraveled all your deepest secrets and was truly seeing you in a way he never had before—as more than just some girl he grew up with. He was seeing you in the way that you’d always wanted him to see you.

And so, enveloped by that rush of emotion and revelation, you finally allowed yourself to truly see Neteyam for all that he was and for everything that he meant to you—to look past the image of him simply being your best friend. Because the truth was undeniable: Neteyam had always been more than just a best friend to you. Even in moments when words failed to express how he made you feel, your heart carried the weight of emotions yet unspoken.

Neteyam was not just the eldest son of Toruk Makto or the once-upon-a-time olo’eyktan in waiting. He was so much more than that. He was Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, an extraordinary individual in his own right.

Standing before you was someone who, while he may have had an impressive family title and was widely known across Pandora for being one of the strongest young hunters of all time, was in reality an endearingly shy, genuinely caring, and fiercely passionate guy. And to top it all off, he was your first real friend. The connection you shared with Neteyam seemed to go beyond this world—a transcendental depth rooted within your very souls.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you stood before him, beholding the familiar features of that face that held such a cherished place in your heart. You didn't think twice before casting away any inhibitions, lunging forward, and capturing Neteyam into an unyielding embrace.

Your face pressed tightly into his chest, and you could feel his breath hitch in surprise at your unexpected display of affection. Your body shook with laughter at the notion that despite being so close just moments ago (face-sucking close), your embrace still managed to catch Neteyam off-guard.

Inhaling deeply, you savored his familiar and comforting scent that swirled around you like a mystical aura. It didn't take long for him to relax beneath your touch, surrendering control of himself and firmly circling his arms around your shoulders. It seemed that as much as you needed that moment of connection with him, he needed it just as much, if not even more so.

"I'm glad we figured that out," you whispered, your voice barely audible due to your face being buried in Neteyam's chest.

Even though your speech came out as just a hushed murmur, you knew deep down that Neteyam could discern every syllable. That certainty was confirmed by the gentle kiss he placed on the crown of your head, making you feel cherished like never before. It felt as if his lips carried a thousand unspoken words of love and understanding.

His embrace tightened ever so slightly as he pressed your head further into the comfort of his chest, as if trying to merge you both into one entity. His fingers found their way to the back of your skull, where they intertwined with your hair.

Neteyam's touch was so unimaginably tender that it was almost unbearable. Each stroke of his fingers seemed to unravel yet another layer of tension that you didn't even realize you were holding onto.

An involuntary sigh escaped your lips as your eyes shut tight, the giddy sensation surging through your body once again. You indulged in the pure delight brought by the intimate moment, letting every ounce of worry and doubt drift away into nothingness.

Although breathing became an interesting challenge with your face in Neteyam’s chest, you were thankful that he couldn't see the deep shade of purple that was definitely covering your face. It was funny how something as simple and peaceful as an embrace could hold such power to make breathing seem secondary.

Love—that overwhelming emotion—consumed you completely as you stood there, embraced within Neteyam's arms. You were so, so in love.

Time lost all meaning as you remained entwined, basking in the unrivaled closeness that enveloped you.

All your troubles, worries, and problems vanished from your mind like wisps of smoke blown away by a gentle breeze. In the gentle sways of your synchronized breaths, the world belonged exclusively to you and Neteyam. It was a wonderland of love, laughter, and endless possibilities, painting an ethereal backdrop against which your hearts proclaimed their unwavering love for one another in a language that transcended words.

Taglist <3:

@strawberryclouds22 @crazy4books1 @hlhl99 @bananafruityawne @igotmajordaddyissues @l3laze @thexplosivegirl @alexisvs-world

Previously: Part I

#teyamskxawng #teyamskxawng’s fics #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam fic #avatar #avatar james cameron #avatar the way of water #neteyam #atwow #avatar fic #avatar 2022 #neteyam sully #neteyam fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #james cameron avatar

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whoyacallinyellow · 2 months

Note

Borrowed Time hurt me a lot omg- Now I offer you even more angst.

It's sad that Javier became the very thing in 1911 that he swore to destroy (working as a hitman for a tyrant government) but it would be even sadder if (as a part 2 ig of borrowed time) Javier and his love meet again but this time, he was there to arrest her and bring her to town to hang.

Borrowed Time II

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR1-2 events Content: 18+, low honor Javier, angst, betrayal, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: I-II changed to second pov (wc - 4133) / pc: pinterest a/n: i can feel this request in my veins, so here’s my mediocre yapping! live, laugh, angst

Summary: Following the events of Beaver Hollow and your departure, Javier falls into work with Allende. After your reunion he reflects on his time with you, to only turn you in by nightfall.

It was a warm day in New Austin, the orange rays blanketing the barren dirt landscape, and not a cloud in the sky. Javier only imagined finding himself wandering these lands again, but yet he returned on what seemed to be borrowed time.

A few years had passed since he last saw you at Beaver Hollow. The man could not bear to show his face, the embarrassment of being wrong about Dutch was an ego check it say the very least.

Yet your note lived in the far corner of his mind, a small cabin just north of MacFarlane's Ranch from his understanding.

It did not take the man long to find it, local cowpokes cowered at the sight of the large Mexican outlaw sitting upon an even larger steed, interrogating them about a maiden. It was almost as if the best pieces of you resembled him, immediately reminding the folk of who it was he was searching for.

Boaz grunted against Javier’s spurs, digging deep into the loose red dirt below. The sunbeams which crept through the dry pine trees created quite the atmosphere, allowing Javier to get lost in his head, even if it were just for a few moments of bliss.

Despite the directions given to him, Javier hoped you had moved on after all these years, fled somewhere safer, started a new life, perhaps changed your name as well. Somewhere he would never find you.

Boaz continued to race down the winding path, feeding Javier’s anticipation against the warm breeze. As it gusted past the side of his head, loose strands from his tied hair tickled his ears, merely reminding the man how badly he needed a haircut.

The starving grass which bordered West Elizabeth held a yellow tinge, the land rolled and waved, flourishing with birds and wildlife. Javier reckoned he has not been to the area before, but you were not lying about how appealing it was— a perfect home for you two.

Upon whipping around the corner, abruptly revealed a small cabin with songbirds singing to him in the trees. The place was quiet, cozy, and seemingly inhabited, with small smoke stacks exhausting from the brick chimney.

Bringing Boaz to a halt, there was no sign of you— but sure enough a big black cloud skulked in the nearby pen, following you wherever you wandered like a burden.

Javier stiffly slid off Boaz, his knees nearly giving out from under him as his boots crunched onto the dirt. The beast was grazing on hay as he approached the fence post

After whistling and calling your shire a few times, Javier was promptly ignored, perhaps the slow and ominous brute heard the man call him el diablo one too many times.

He was still a strong believer the only reason the horse broke for you was out of pity— you looked like a child struggling to climb him every endeavor. Maybe the beast had a soft spot for you, just like himself.

But now the old shire was relieved from his saddle, serenading in the New Austin sun, not bothered to obey the envious man’s command.

Javier leaned against the corral post, admiring what he could have had with you, the thought of being a family man loomed over his shoulders and displayed no signs of leaving.

You and Javier ran together prior to joining Dutch, less for money and more for survival. Your past crimes covered bounty boards and train stations as a permanent reminder, never forgetting the wrongs that were written. That price only increased once Mexico inevitably caught wind of all the messy jobs in neighboring lands.

He drowned and you sank with him, the price of his sins were bricks added to your back. Being his accessory, the government saw you as a pawn, smart and knowledgeable, if caught— Javier would come for you, and they would be ready for him.

Those days were nearly from another lifetime.

Now under Allende’s ruling fist, he offered him a twisted plea deal of sorts; protection at the cost of something the man held more dearly than life itself—you. Your capture was not about the money nor status, but simply a test of his loyalty to Allende; if Javier did this job, he’d do anything.

The poor man’s convoluted loyalty never got him far, proving time and time again, leading him only to dead ends and false hopes. Charismatic attributes and big promises was something Javier foolishly gave everything to with a blind eye, something you always warned him about.

“Javier?—“

Your voice could have made him leap out of his own skin. As he hesitantly turned towards you, his gut twisted into something mean. You were beautiful as ever, after all these years you waited for him— just like you promised.

“Never thought I’d see you again, especially in the west.” You spoke again in disbelief, rag wiping your hands clean of a job he should have been doing.

Your voice only lived in his memories, hearing it again nearly whipped Javier back into shape, feeling sick for your puppy love he desperately relied on so long ago.

“Home sweet home.” The man swallowed dryly, throwing his arms out awkwardly and gesturing towards the open lands around you both.

Before his thoughts could catch up to the moment, you ran to embrace him, flinging yourself into his arms with a long awaited kiss. Javier grunted softly against your lips, staggering back to support you, the extra attention only reminding him how saddle sore he really was.

Just for a moment things felt normal, a feeling he was searching for since you split. He had a place in this cruel world once again, everywhere had a price on his head, no place to retreat to besides you— you were home.

Perhaps he could head tail between his legs back to Allende, saying you disappeared.

Maybe he could take you to Canada, or a tropical island— oh, anywhere but Guarma.

We must leave,

Javier’s unsaid words pricked beneath his skin, prodding relentlessly at his deepest desires for redemption.

“Oh—amor.”

Was all the man could choke out, the words exiting pitiful and weak, a near cry for help you assumed was just your bittersweet reunion.

Leaning away you smiled coyly at him, admiring your lost cowboy;

Your time apart was not easy on Javier, his hardened stare and the chip on his shoulder now set in stone.

The constant blazing sun of Mexico, along with surviving off rationed canned beans really took a toll on the man. His face was dull and lacking the usual pigment he wore so handsomely when Mr. Pearson cooked for everyone.

Javier’s newfound demeanor only put emphasis on his sharp brows peeking from under his bowler cap brim, residing above dark cunning eyes, ready to match any cowpuncher who dared challenge him.

Over Javier’s shoulder was where his mount rested, hoove digging into the dirt at the end of the cabin’s path.

“—and Boaz?” You began after a shared silence, slowly approaching the overworked horse.

“Still kickin’.” He uttered gently, a large hand scratching the back of his neck.

Boaz never really liked you, or anyone besides Javier that is. It wasn’t until the gang hunkered down in Colter for the stubborn bastard to take a liking to you.

The weather and unpredictable circumstances was not easy on the gang, including the horses, causing rations to be small among the mounts.

You always carried treats in your satchel to gain Boaz’s affection, and your efforts would eventually succeed in Colter. You would secretly slip him sugar cubes every time you left the shack, he must have appreciated the extra attention. Javier barely recognized Boaz trotting up to him in the snow, you mounted on top wearing a proud grin.

You wore a similar grin now, full of satisfaction and pride that he returned to you— with warmth flowing through him, his heart rapidly thumped in his ears, all the pent up feelings for you were reopening like floodgates.

“What’a nice feller, huh.” You cooed to the mount after a slow approach.

Showing no distress Boaz allowed your kind pats and rubs. Tenderly nudging you, the horse’s chops tried sneaking its way into your pockets, searching for the snacks you usually held after a long journey.

“Ai, fácil!”

Javier exclaimed, quickly guiding Boaz’s large snout away, the loving gestures nearly toppling you over.

“Guess I’m glad he still remembers me.” You beamed, tipping your hat lower to shield yourself from the beating sun.

“Or perhaps your donations, amor.” Javier quipped softly, his eyes wandering meekly.

Something besides time passing seemed different about him, you could not quite pinpoint it. Javier was always a timid man at first when it came to his lover, maybe your time apart presented this old side of him.

You knelt slightly, peeking under his sunken head which hung towards the ground.

“Javier? You don’t look so good.”

Your soft words managed to dig their way through his ringing ears, the man squinted his eyes tightly before swiping his lids with rough fingers.

“Uh— maybe you oughta sit for a bit, I think you’re overdressed for this heat.”

Your words broke through once again, giving a small tug on his poncho, his disoriented vision cluttered with black floating spots as you guided towards the porch.

As his vision continued to warp, the cabin doubled and skewed while you put him in the shade.

Javier knew you were speaking, your voice fading in and out irreguarly, piercing his ears every so often.

The words felt like they were being consumed by the ocean, his head bobbed up and down as if he were drowning. All he could think about was Dutch’s screams over the storm and waves, as he was about to be consumed by the large void.

But Dutch snagged him before being swept away, yanking him upon the tiny rowboat that threatened to tip from the added stress. Javier’s senses were waterlogged, rejecting the mean salty water from his lungs. As he gasped for air; the only thing he thought of was you.

“S’alright, son, You’re not dying today!” Was the first thing he heard. He faded in and out of consciousness as Dutch beat the sea water out of him, his ribcage rattling under each and every smack.

Javier sometimes wonders if Dutch should have just let him die, abandon him and allow the dark waters to engulf him whole, repaying his sins to his maker. Maybe his death would free you of your burdens.

He felt like his time had withered before Dutch had saved him anyways. Being a prisoner in Guarma is what convinced him that he would never make it back to you, sealing the deal. Your previous words borrowed time scratched at his skin again, yearning to be acknowledged.

“Ah well, I knew you’d come crawling back, you’re here for a reason.” You would always say to him after a particularly dangerous run with the gang. He would dismiss you with a mumble and a kiss, but always knew he was lucky to be alive as more of his brothers began to fall.

Sometimes he would catch you talking to a disgruntled Arthur as he packed his horse.

Upon inquiring about your words, Arthur being a somewhat vague man would shortly grumble;

“Jus’ focus on the job, and returnin’ to your woman, Javier.”

—and he always did. Javier knew you did not worry about him much, at least outwardly. But he did notice Arthur’s presence whenever trouble presented itself.

“Javier— some water.”

Your words along with a canteen dangled in front of him, the prior hallucination of a watery grave was almost enough to empty his stomach.

Javier stared back towards your shire lounging in his corral, his mind once again wandering back to the life he could have had with you.

In the midst of his tunneling vision, a lean coyote lingered through his gaze, stalking towards him, icy eyes sending daggers into his before diminishing.

“Javier. Say something.” Your words were now much clearer to him, breaking through his consciousness, the ringing disappeared from his mind fog.

“‘M alright.” He muttered, spitting out the bitter taste from his mouth.

“I reckon you oughta take it easy, being an old man n’ all now.”

Javier frowned at you and blinked a couple times, jaw agape, processing the pun you made at his dismay.

“Ha— so sorry, chica, ‘suppose I’m no longer the young buck you remember.”

He replied sarcastically, his voice both bold and hoarse as he raised back to his feet, every step whining for rest.

“Ride with me?” Javier suddenly asked as if nothing happened. It took you by surprise, he had just arrived after all.

“Alright.” You obliged shortly after a pause. “Let me grab my belt.” You continued, motioning towards the missing holsters on your frame.

“No need.” He cut you off quickly, his voice leaving traces of urgency.

“Boaz is packed.”

You eyed him up, watching the man shutter under your antagonizing gaze, how he hoped you were not suspicious of his intentions after all this time. But rightfully so, the man was yellow-bellied.

But you had no reason not to trust him.

You were not exactly sure where Javier was taking you, but for now his company was enough to keep you satisfied. The ride was eerily quiet, even for his standards, being a man of few words.

After riding a little down south he brought you to a small mountain that overlooked Mexico. He perched you both on a small flat area, just in time for the sun to sink below the land.

Javier stared over the horizon, he never really did think about how big the south was, yet how small he felt in comparison. A glimmer caught onto his peripheral, turning towards the shine was the pendent he had given you, when you both first started running with the gang.

The feeling presented itself again, feeling so small in the world— you were the home he had been searching for since the gang's fallout. It was always you.

He sank into his memories, a vessel of his former self was all that remained.

You two were quite away from your newly shared camp, with all the members and leads, the moments you had alone became quite sparse.

“What do you think, Javi?” Your sudden presence caught him off guard.

“The gang?—“ he pondered your words, leaning against a shady oak.

“I suppose they’re family for now, señorita. We’re much safer, and they’re good to us.” Javier replied, a hand brushing over the stubble on his jaw. You smiled gently with a nod, making your uneasiness all too obvious.

“It’s just temporary, amor, once we have the money to get on our feet— it’ll be the two of us again.” He reassured, a polite arm sliding around your waist.

Javier remembers the look in your eye, doubtful and full of sorrow, but you still trusted him, knowing he would never lead you astray. The same he thought about Dutch.

Repositioning himself behind you, he dug a necklace from his pocket, draping it over your chest and clasping it. You fidgeted in surprise against his movements, gazing down at the beautiful silver pendant that glistened off the very same sun. Before you could say a word he planted a kiss on your lips, gentle and quick before mounting Boaz.

“I promise!”

He called out. After blowing a kiss to you, he was off to assist the gang. He didn’t have much money at the time, but Javier always knew how to make things work—

Oh how naive of him— bright eyed and lovesick, he wanted to make a woman out of you, settle down. That is, before Dutch’s plan captivated him. Which ultimately led to this mess, but who is he kidding, he never really had a chance anyways.

Javier thought back with immense regret, wishing he was more romantic with you in a way, officially making you his chica earlier on, instead of prolonging it due to the possibility of death. He always feared that courting would further your heartbreak if something bad were to happen.

It was his own unaddressed way to cope with the harsh reality of survival and being an outlaw, he always prioritized your safety over intimacy until joining the gang. When he looks back on it, your shared time at Horseshoe Overlook and Clemons Point were some of the best times of his life.

Around that time of riding with the gang was when your relationship with him really began to evolve. The potential competition of other men drove Javier and his intimacy up a wall— his usual gentle lips ghosting over yours turned into small nips, and purple blotches he would mark on your neck late at night. A tight palm covering your mouth which muffled the moans of his name, words the man would kill to hear in such an uncaged manner. He entertained no confusion of who you belonged to; even if he did not make things official until that night at the lake.

Javier had nearly forgotten the sun had already set, and he somehow had no recollection of it. He looked down at you, only in a thin shirt as you gazed longingly off the mountain side.

The final sunset you shared was simply a ticking clock for him.

“Cold?” He whispered, words he could barely choke out.

“A little.” You replied, big doe-like eyes staring up at him, holding so much love for the man. Love he was not sure he ever deserved.

Forcing his gaze away quickly he arose, soles of his feet vibrating and pulsing with each step. After approaching Boaz his shaking hands freed his bedroll clasps, attention locked upon his rifle poking out of the saddle.

His head spun, finally digging himself out of his trance. After returning to you, he draped the cloth over you in vain.

“You okay?” You suddenly asked, your hush voice startling him, he sighed in despair.

The words you said to him at Beaver Hollow replayed through his mind,

Leave with me. Let’s run away.

But he could not get them out, his chest quivered under the constraint of his uneven breaths.

“Course.” He managed to form the word, you nodded in contentment, fresh air filling your nose.

His response would have to do for now, you decided to cut him some slack since he returned to you, after all.

By now you knew him well enough. Some nights he would stay up and collect his thoughts before laying beside you. You always respected his space, he had his demons, like everyone else. Soon enough in your slumber you would feel his protective arms drape around you, his steady breaths hitting the nape of your neck, tense body encapsulating yours— those were the nights you felt the safest, and knew he was going to manage just fine.

Other nights Javier would stay up while you were by your lonesome. He always feared something would kill the both of you while asleep, reluctantly you agreed. But the man always let you rest, you needed it more, that is for putting up with him all day round.

It was those nights he always coaxed you to sleep, you insisted he shouldn’t be awake alone, but eventually would give into the soft lulls he would sing, wordlessly agreeing that there was no point for the both of you to be cranky and tired in the morning.

—But there he sat, only to turn into the monster he swore to protect you from.

“I love you, Javier.”

Your words racked his brain, digging and clawing invasively into each one of his bones. Javier thought he imagined them until he looked over to find you staring this entire time. You knew there was something seriously wrong, but surely he would tell you within due time.

Javier’s voice was lost, swallowing suppressed sobs down his dry throat, he nearly felt like he was drowning once again in the frame he called a body.

Just like the days he would not say it back while pursuing a lead, with doubts he would not make it back to your arms— but he always did, it was the least he could do. It felt like lifetimes ago to him, how could the man choke out a te amo before sending you in?

Instead, he planted a kiss on your soft lips, lingering there for a moment, knowing it would be your last.

Looming below in the shadows, trailing to the border resided monsters he used to protect you from— two Mexican soldiers camped out by the tracks. Their lanterns flickering softly in the distance, patiently waiting for the man to arrive at the agreed meeting spot.

Javier shivered, feeling like a young boy again. His eyes fixated on the stock of his rifle that Boaz held.

Your breaths became shallow, harmonizing with the warm night’s breeze as you fell into a slumber. You trusted Javier’s judgment on setting up camp or heading home, you perhaps allowed yourself to get a little too comfortable.

It all happened so fast for him, and there was no going back. Javier’s mind blurred as he rode, Boaz fussing and fighting under his control. His very own horse feared the monster he had become, maybe poor Boaz thought he was Javier’s next victim.

He rode fast— but not fast enough to flee from himself.

A coyote lurked around the darkness, gazing at Javier from behind the two Mexican soldiers who taunted him, puffing on their big cigars from Uncle Sam.

The coyote disappeared as Javier reached for his revolver, patiently waiting for the man to shoot him— but he never did.

The soldier simply laughed, knowing Javier’s bark had no bite. While under Allende’s power, he was simply a coward a soldier would not even match out of pity.

Soon enough the two men fled into the night, banter that could be heard a mile away through the ravines. Anyone could have mistaken them for sick hyenas.

He could hear their stallions riding hard in triumph, with a new prize Javier held so close for many years, he watched the soldiers grow smaller and smaller over the uneven land until the darkness swallowed them whole, taking a piece of him along.

The nighttimes ahead would find Javier in a one horse town saloon, nodding off more times than he could remember. His glass turned from full to empty until his vision doubled.

Javier was not sure how many days had passed, the whiskey dulling his mind and senses, but the thoughts still ate him alive.

Did you think he would come for you? Or would you be envious, spilling everything you could before meeting the gallows.

Javier hid in his palms, knowing he got it all wrong— it should have been him.

It did not take too long for the man to get kicked out from the saloon due to his drunken stupor, not even the bartender wanted his dirty money.

Javier took Boaz to what he thought was east, the coyote returned to accompany him, lurking around on the monotone forest floors he traveled.

The night breeze made Javier reminisce of the times at camp, the very same breeze that whipped through your hair as you would drag him off somewhere secluded, your mischievous grin reflecting off the summer night's moon as you snuck off into the bushes.

You gave everything to each other— all for nothing it seems.

Javier sank lower into himself before eventually staggering off Boaz. It only took him a few unsteady steps to empty his bowels on the dirt path, elbows hoisting him up on his shaky bent knees.

Peeking out from his jacket cuff was a scar he once wore proudly on his wrist. A scar he earned in some honky tonk town just because another man looked at you wrong. The mere thought of it worsened his nausea.

All signs pointed to you, and you were gone because of reasons he barely understood himself— He feared he didn’t know what loyalty was anymore. Or what he stood for in fact.

Your blind love killed you in the end, and it was his cross to bear.

The sky was dark and dull, which was just as familiar as a bottle and a glass. Not a single star in the sky greeted him, leaving him to fester alone.

The wind howled violently through the trees, causing the leaves to rustle and sway. A northern was quickly sneaking upon the lands of New Austin.

His lone coyote joined him on a distant cliffside, coat black as sin, mocking the cowboy who lingered below.

#rdr2 headcanons #javier escuella #x reader #javier escuella x reader #headcanons #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #red dead redemption fandom #tried using metaphors and connecting it to both the in game lore and part 1 #i think i like it???#low honor #but could be occ still?

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cutecinnamon · 20 days

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Concurrence II

{ Concurrence II: "The Captain's Incubator" • Levi x Reader }

CW: ⊹₊ MDNI ⊹₊ Mention of Insults ⊹₊ Pregnancy ⊹₊ Morning Sickness ⊹₊

:gif by pinterest

• 2.1k word count •

Note: Please read "Concurrence I" first since this is a series to avoid confusion for the story, here is the link ♡ Concurrence I

EDITED: Concurrence III is already up! ♡

:divider by @cafekitsune

Synopsis:

The following weeks after (y/n)'s pregnancy was confirmed she started to experience morning sickness. Rumors also started to circulate inside the regiment, majority of the scouts started to give (y/n) disgusted glances and words of insult. Until one of them namely Floch decided to insult her at the mess hall, catching Captain Levi's attention.

PART II

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The next few weeks were a bit more bearable.

Despite Levi still keeping the same cold and stern demanor towards you and to honestly everyone at the regiment, atleast you knew he was looking after you and that he cares.

Although it was subtle, it was hard to gone by unnoticed as Levi rarely shows this side of him.

He made sure that you ate properly for you and your baby, that you had time to rest despite still being active in your squad, he also secured the fact that you can only participate in light missions to not further exhaust your now fragile body, and most importantly he always makes sure you were alive and safe.

Although you're relationship was not the very best due to the dent left by your betrayal, it was enough for you that at the very least, he did care about your well-being and your baby.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Your new routine of retching and heaving every morning was not the best, but then again it was part of the pregnancy to feel morning sickness, your appetite was also a bit affected as you became a bit more picky in terms of your prefference in taste.

Levi was woken up by your muffled sounds of throwing up at the sink inside your shared quarters as you tried your best to be quiet in order not to wake him,

You knew that Levi had insomnia and it was a rare event for him to get a good deep sleep.

"(y/n), are you alright?" Levi asked, his voice still sleepish and low due to the circumstance of just waking up from bed.

You wipe your mouth and opened the faucet, cleaning the remains of the quantity you just discarded.

"Yes captain, just the usual." You responded to Levi, not wanting to worry him.

"Make sure to clean the sink properly brat, I don't want to see any pieces of leftover bile in there." Levi reminded with his usual monotone way of speaking as he ran his fingers through his hair fixing a few strands falling at his face.

"I promise to clean it Captain, it is my duty to keep our quarters clean afterall..." you then gave him a small smile.

"Make sure to maintain that attitude kid." Levi said as he made his way towards the small kitchen counter to prepare his tea.

"Its either kid or brat huh?" Ask him and chuckle lightly.

You find it heartwarming when Levi calls you brat or kid, even if it is his way of sometimes annoying you and your squadmates in a very subtle manner.

"Do you want some (y/n)? It might help with your nausea." Levi plainly asked.

"Yes Captain, I appreciate it." you responded as you made your way towards the small kitchen to help him.

Levi professionaly prepared the tea for the both of you, he was very fond of drinking and preparing tea as it was his way of also relieving stress,

It also became a routine for him to drink early in the morning and randomly when he feels like he is up for it.

"Captain, I'm sorry for accidentaly waking you up while I wa-" before you can continue, he cuts you off.

"Don't sweat it, its not your fault that the baby inside you is making your body act up like this." He casually said, his tone proving he is unbothered by the sudden disturbance to his sleep.

Levi then went to the wooden cabinet and grabbed two pearl finished small teacups, one of it in pastel blue, which was your personal cup and the other one in pastel green which is his, he then fills it up with fresh warm tea up to its rim.

He then gestures for you to take a cup and you politely nodded thanking him once again.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You were now on your way to the mess hall, walking beside your Captain.

Both of you are now wearing your scout uniform as you both walked side by side at the hallway occupied by many scouts also walking towards your direction.

Although you were still not showing since you were just a couple of weeks along, the rumors did spread pretty fast despite it not having proper confirmation.

After entering the mess hall, you were then greeted by either scouts gossiping while looking at you in a disgusted way or them avoiding even the slightest glance of you like you were a walking plague.

You just silently followed Levi through the crowd as you both went towards an empty table beside the table of your squadmates.

"Make sure to eat properly." Levi reminded with his usual stern and firm tone of voice, it sounded more like a command.

You nod and sat down at the chair while Levi takes both of your plates to get some food.

While sitting down, your squadmates greeted you, despite the bad treatment and rude glances they were the contrast.

They greeted you as usual, with their warm smiles and welcoming warm glance,

They care about you, and they don't see you differently.

"Hey, (y/n) how are you?" Armin asked while Jean, Connie and Sasha were arguing in front of him if potatoes taste good if grilled.

"Hi Armin, I'm doing alright." You politely answered and gave him a small smile.

"You should avoid them (y/n), those douchebags don't know anything." Mikasa stated, looking at you, it was obvious she was annoyed with how the others were treating you, throwing glances like that without even knowing the full story behind what happened.

Although the survey corps was a rather busy regiment with the sole purpose of protecting humanity, cutting titan napes, and now investigating any bit of information from Marley, the people in it do have the time to gossip and spread rumors.

Especially about you.

Eversince the news spread about your situation and so called "betrayal", majority of your comrades treated you differently, some of them even regarded to you namely as,

"The Captain's incubator"

"The Captain's stress relief"

"Marleyan whore"

And other insults that you started to just stomach knowing that proving a point was worthless at this rate.

Levi cameback with a good amount of food at your plate, it was evident that he was looking after your health more, making sure you ate enough for yourself and the baby.

You accepted the plate and politely said a "thank you." To him, he then responded with a simple nod as he sat down the chair beside you.

Your sqaudmates beside you also started to eat their meal,

While eating, you felt your nausea attack you again and the overwhelming feeling to discard the contents in your stomach, you then excused yourself from Levi who was silently eating beside you.

You stood up and made your way towards the bathroom connected to the mess hall.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

After the not so surprising routine of another retching and heaving session, you decided to exit the bathroom door to head back towards your table.

Thankfully all the scouts are busy eating their food or rather occupied with their new found gossips or existing once about you, making throwing up easier knowing they are too busy minding their own bussiness to even hear you.

As you made your way towards your table someone called you and insulted you making the other scouts look towards your direction.

"Well... well... if it isn't the Captain's Incubator."

Floch called out to you, insulting you in the process, although you were feeling the strong urge to punch his asshole looking face, you decided to keep a calm and professional demanor.

"Its nice to see you too Floch." You casually replied despite him calling you the "Captain's Incubator."

"Are you in a hurry? I'm just here to ask how the rumored Marleyan Incubator is doing." Floch said in a somewhat teasing tone despite keeping his voice in monotone.

"I honestly am in a hurry, the Captain is waiting for me and I still need to finish my food." You responded trying your best to be civil and ignoring the fact that he called you a "Marleyan Incubator".

"Come on (y/n), I'm sure someone like you isn't all that good to follow the Captain's every order like a little dog." Floch said clearly insulting you in front of everyone at the mess hall.

You decided to stay silent and just walk away to head back towards your table.

"Come back here you walking baby making machine."

Before you could talk back to him, you saw Levi walking towards Floch, there was a different glint of rage expressed in his orbs.

He stands between you and Floch, facing him.

"Captai-" before Floch even finished addressing him with his military title, Levi cuts him off.

"Shut up if you don't want me to cut off your filthy tongue, do you understand?" Levi stated calmly yet firmly, it honestly sounded more of a threat just hiding in the coldness of his professional tone and way of speaking.

"But Captain its true though, the Queen really did order her to just carry your child like an Incubator, and not to mention, she betrayed the whole regiment, especially you since she was under your special operations squad."

Floch rebuked, clearly annoyed that Levi was even trying to protect you.

Levi noticed now, even earlier how the other scouts kept gossiping and looking like they were enjoying the show,

Of Floch insulting you.

Aside from your squad who he stopped earlier from standing up, planning to speak up for you,

because he wanted to do it himself.

"I would appreciate it if you stop talking to the mother of my child like that." Levi firmly stated.

"Rather than spreading shitty rumors and insulting her in front of me, I think that seeing you become Titan's feed is even more amusing than the show you're currently pulling off right now." Levi continued his gaze not faltering, making him more intimidating in front of everyone, especially to Floch that he called a titan feed.

Floch fell silent, he felt embarassed and at the same time his fuel of rage started to ignite towards (y/n) as the scouts were now looking at his direction.

He did not expect the Captain to speak up for you but he did.

After a few seconds of silence Floch speaks as he made eye contact with Levi's piercing gaze, he knew that behind that professional and nonchalant demanor, Levi really was pissed and annoyed.

"My apologies Captain, I won't speak ill of her again." Floch said as he lowered his head a bit to show respect for Levi.

"Just get out of my sight." Levi stated still with his firm and stern approach.

After Floch walked away, Levi grabbed your arm gently as he leads you back to your table near your squadmates.

Mikasa, Armin, Eren, Jean, Connie and Sasha were all looking at Levi with their jaws slightly hanging and their eyes flickering with a bit of surprise not expecting the Captain to stand up for you during earlier.

Levi then gave them a glare making them focus back on their food like nothing happened.

"You should eat now, your food is getting cold." Levi stated while he took a bite from his own meal.

You nod and took a spoonful of rice and grilled meat with gravy.

"Don't let it get to you brat, and don't let them speak to you like that again." Levi said firmly, once again it very much sounded like a command.

"Yes Captain, and thank you for earlier..."

You genuinely did thank him for that,

regardless of your current status he still decided to defend you in front of everyone.

"Don't mention it, its nothing." Levi responded in his usual monotone voice.

You gave him a quick small genuine smile, Levi saw it. and for a second you saw a bit of light in his eyes, something warm.

Levi then proceeded to look away, bringing his attention back to his food.

Another small smile made its way to your lips as you took another bite from the food in your plate.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

"(y/n) betrayed Marley, I told you she can't be trusted to bring Intel here, she may have the skill but she is certainly not the type to become a puppet." Porco stated.

"We can't blame her, everyone has the freedom to one's own belief, but regardless she is a Marleyan, she should be at Marley's side and not those people, This is a war." Pieck calmly responded.

"I heard that the traitor is expecting a devil's child inside her womb." Zeke spoke, cutting of the conversation between Pieck and Porco, his tone was his usual, but they can tell that he has plans for her.

"I don't think it is fitted for an Ex-Marleyan Warrior to carry an Ackerman child, a child of a Paradis devil." Zeke added, it was clear as day that he was already planning something.

Taglist: @levislegislation @dontfollowab @3llawrit3s

( Edited: I tried to proof read it one more time and I decided to change a few words and I tried to correct as much error as I can ♡ )

I really enjoyed writing Levi's lines for this one, but I was really contemplating about a lot of scenes here and I am very thankful for the opinions of those I asked ♡ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

If you also want to be a part of the taglist, please do tell me,

I'll be starting the drafts for Concurrence III soon, I hope you all enjoy this one, ♡

- Cinna

#concurrence #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x y/n #aot levi #snk levi #captain levi #attack on titan

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c0wb0yenthusiast · 2 months

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Country Boy - Part II

Phillip Graves/Fem!reader

Summary : There’s a little tension between you and Phillip, but surely you can avoid it? Not when you get tipsy at your welcome party and share a rather intimate moment, revealing some feelings in question to each other.

Word count : 3.4k

A/N : was about to post this earlier then realised a funny glitch had happened and the whole beginning had been deleted…. So I had to redo it and I PRAY it’s not choppy or anything!! Anyways thank you to everybody who read part 1, I appreciate all of your support and hope this part lives up to your expectations! :))

All morning, your mind seemed to be preoccupied.

You prepare your tea in utter silence, finding peace in the soft clank of utensils on plates while your parents eat at the table. Your shoulders are hunched and your back is to them, which allows a little more privacy to let the events of earlier sink in.

Phillip Graves.

Phillip Graves was on your porch. He teased you.

And you let him.

You’re busy pouring hot water into your mug, now attempting to recover everything about that meeting that your mind allowed you to.

It was almost horrible how good he looked, prompting you to keep your head low as you approach the table with your mug cupped in your hands.

He was so tall, so broad and so much more handsome. However, now he brandished a scar sliced deeply into his cheekbone from what you saw. It contrasted his tanned skin and stood out among the small nips and marks he’d collected on his skin since seemingly forever.

His hair fit perfectly under his hat, small dirty blond strands peeking from underneath. You felt as if he was teasing you. Look at me now, look at what you missed out on.

You blow on your tea quietly, hiding the fact it’s actually a deep exhale to comprehend the sight you saw this morning.

Leaning against the arch of your porch, he was wearing a red flannel which managed to hug him in all the right places. His broad shoulders were now defined and so were his arms. The plaid flannel pulled up to reveal his strong, muscled forearms wasn’t warding you off at all.

It’s embarrassing that you remember these features from such a short meeting, causing you to raise your mug to your mouth slowly in an attempt to cover the sheepish smile appearing at the memory of how he used to hold you back then. The way his warm hands cupped your face perfectly, as if they were two pieces connecting in a jigsaw puzzle. You now wished you could’ve gotten a better glimpse at them this morning.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Your mother takes notice of your silent routine, which makes you eye her nervously.

“Nothing. Just.. Phillip-“

“What does that boy want?” Your father interrupts, facing you with an accusatory glare.

“He said your fencing had arrived, wanted you to pick it up.” You mumble awkwardly, wishing you could sink into your mug of coffee and never return. It’s barely been a day and the city seems to be calling your name already with open arms.

You would’ve happily embraced it again, but now you’re here. No regrets, right?

“Oh. Alright.” He shrugs, stretching and getting out of his chair.

Alright?

What is going on?

Ten years ago, your father and Phillip’s rivalry seemed to be unmatched. It pretty much was the talk of the town - the love-struck teen and the unmoved father.

You don’t respond, draining your mug and sitting there stock still. There’s a lot to process this morning.

Like the way Phillip barely looked at you. His eyes only grazing over your face for a split second before directing his attention to his truck or the front door. It’s a little obvious if you say so.

But you can’t help but mourn over the way his gaze would tenderly trace over your figure, how he took his time to memorise any scar or beauty mark somewhere across your body. He’d always run his thumb over his gently at first, but as the two of you got more comfortable in the relationship he learned how much you loved it when he kissed any of your birthmarks.

You stop yourself; you have a husband, you can’t be thinking like this. You’ve moved on.

And clearly Phillip has moved on too. Probably for the better, you reassure yourself. It’s been 10 years, everyone seemed to have given up on chances of you returning.

You’re rinsing your cup in the sink when your internal argument seems to be intercepted by your father.

“I’m heading into town to pick up some equipment, would you like to come, dear?” As he finishes his sentence, his warm hand pats your shoulder gently.

You try not to give off any startled reaction to this sudden touch, you don’t want your family catching onto your mental battles with the memories flooding back so quickly and harshly into your mind once more.

You watch him for a second, he’s pulling a very hopeful yet playful smile, raising his eyebrows in invitation.

“Sure, Pa. I’ll come along.”

He cracks a grin, clapping your shoulder happily before turning away.

“Be dressed by 10!”

You’re overthinking this.

They’re just clothes, you reassure yourself but can’t help shrinking from the intimidating way the assorted pieces of garments glare at you from their position on the bed.

It never used to be this difficult, or at least you don’t remember it like this. Maybe it was because you were a teenage girl and wore all the cute little dresses and cropped items you could get your hands on. You never used to worry like this.

Probably because of Phillip.

You tense a little at the thought of him again. Yet you do remember how he’d savour every outfit you wore, even if you’d worn it before.

“You look great, honey.” He’d whisper to you at some point in the day, his hands comfortably stroking your waist as his eyes would examine every inch of you.

You caught yourself smiling fondly at the memory, but it’s countered by the sudden remembrance of his coldness this morning.

You don’t waste any more time, grabbing whatever catches your eye to throw together an ensemble. It’s not like anyone will care.

The town is sure lively. You’re trying not to act surprised at the influx of new faces meshed with old ones and little children running around, sharing old traits from former classmates.

Just a reminder of how far you’ve seen to have gotten in your marriage with Louis. The only success being his job - you’re just working in his office so he can keep a very inattentive eye on you. You groan and lean back into your seat, trying to shield yourself away from prying eyes that throw cursory glances at your father’s large, quite obtrusive car.

Thinking about Louis and the city was enough to completely lower your mood, including the past memories and flickers of Deja vu when one of your senses encounters something vaguely familiar. It’s like a magic spell of some sort, fleshing out your life 10 years ago and how it may have affected you if you’d stayed.

The car reverses into a parking spot and you hear the thud of the drivers door slamming shut.

“Sweetie, hop out. I’m sure uncle Jimmy will be shocked to see you.” He adds, grinning and patting the car firmly. It seems playful but in reality it’s a bit of a threat.

You slip out hesitantly, allowing the beams of the full sun to encase your body with warmth as well as the now very noticeable sounds and voices flowing around you.

It’s so much quieter than the city yet very distinct, while on your painfully slow journey to the entrance of the shop you overhear someone reciting their shopping list, gossip between two old ladies and complaints about the weather.

This all leaves your mind the minute the shop bell rings as you push open the door.

“Finally, what took you so long?” It’s a rhetorical question. Your father stands by the counter expectantly, looking eagerly to you then to Jimmy at the counter.

He’s not really your uncle, just a saying.

Just a neighbour who used to bring his daughter around, then stopped frequenting after an ‘incident’ broke out at your school and realised it would be a hazard to bring the bratty 13-year-old over again.

He’s not a bad guy, you reassure yourself. Sauntering up to the counter with a smile across your face, he returns it and chuckles at the sight of you.

“You’re all grown up now! I remember when you were just a small thing, hon.” He gestures with his hand, amusement clearly visible on his face at this ‘rare sighting’ of the girl who finally came back.

The city mouse becoming the country mouse she used to be.

“Just what I said! She’s all big and successful in the city, you see, Jim? Even married too!” He exclaims.

Your dad has a habit of doing this, which you’ve grown used to - showing off in front of any other middle aged man. Maybe they’re competition? Who knows.

You’re smiling very calmly, nodding and chuckling lightly just to ease the time and escape from this conversation. The words only begin to sink in once you hear a very specific sentence. More like a word.

A name.

“Yeah, how’s your nephew Phil doing? He an errand boy now? Came round this morning to tell me about those fences.”

“Oh yeah, he’s doing just fine. Pretty damn skilled too, if you need some help with those fences I’ll send him over later.”

You almost freeze.

You can’t interact with him more than once today. You need a break from his painfully pretty face, silky smooth voice, breathtaking blue eyes-

“No need for a later, Jim, I’m right here.”

It’s coming from behind you.

No time to shrink or hide, but that would be futile anyways. It’s almost silly how worked up you’re getting.

“Speak of the devil, Phillip. Sorry I missed you this morning.” Your dad turns and greets him happily, you can hear the clap as their hands collide into a hearty handshake.

You also turn to face him, forcing a smile as his gaze lingered on you.

“Nice to see you back in town, Y/N.” He comments, his hands drifting to hold onto his belt rather than shaking your hand. Or touching you at all.

You think it’s because of the tension, the unresolved problems left behind 10 years ago that are apparently prevalent now still as you can’t seem to look at him for too long.

From the way his hand tightens around his belt loop, he’s feeling similar to you.

“Phillip? You mind coming round sometime to help an old man out?” Your dad interrupts this strangely intense moment, as Philip’s face seems to ease to his usual soft smile and attentive manner.

“Sure can do. But I don’t want to interrupt that party you’re having later with the neighbourhood.” He adds, probably an attempt to weasel out of seeing you again today.

“Nonsense! You’re practically family so don’t give me any excuses, just get your ass over there.”

And with that, your father lets out a hearty laugh and claps a hand on your shoulder. You try not to look as winded as you are from the utter force he exudes.

“I’ll see you soon then. Tom. Y/N.” He addresses the two of you with a fairly civil tone, but it’s hardened at the edges.

He walks out and you desperately drag your wandering eyes away from his form fitting flannel and jeans.

The party is civil.

That’s all you can say about it, because there’s not much else to really pay attention to other than the small, seemingly riveting conversations everybody seems to be having apart from you.

Obviously people come and ask how you’re doing and what your current life goals are, but you just throw out a few repeated phrases you’ve found reassures them the best from the masses of people who flocked to you when walking around town earlier with your father.

It’s not exhausting, but more nerve-wracking. Not everyone wants to see anybody apart from their own family achieving something more in their lives. At least, that’s what you look like to them.

You’re just tired.

So, so tired.

You’re observing the overall party from a swing in the backyard. Your dress delicately spread across the seat and hanging off of the seat a little. It’s a bright pink, which your mother insisted didn’t ‘wash you out’ whatsoever and was the perfect choice for a party.

That is if you’re attending a five year old’s tea party. Which you would rather.

Kids don’t tut at you when you explain your job to them, neither do they spout vaguely critical comments when they believe you aren’t listening.

“It’s nice to see her back after so long, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, she’s definitely… blossomed… into that beauty of hers.”

“Exactly!”

You can only sit and watch, unbothered at this rate. You’re married and have your life together; people just want to pick at anything they can.

Everything seems to change when the familiar honk of a horn rings from the front of the house. You’re practically leaning out of your chair completely to catch a quick glimpse.

However, you instantly relax once more as your father comes into the backyard accompanied by Philip Graves.

White button up, soft blue blazer thrown on lazily and jeans. You don’t want to linger on him, it’s not right. It’s not fair.

So you get up and do something about it.

You stumble out of your chair, walking down to where everybody seemed to be congregating and looked around for the bowl of your mother’s special punch.

Maybe if you drowned yourself in punch it would avoid having to look at his pretty face. His infuriatingly beautiful face.

Your movements begin as careful, long pours of punch with the ladle into your glass as you throw around polite smiles and chatter. As you refill your glass more and more, the familiar sound of punch swishing in the cup begins to ring in your head. And so do the conversations around you.

You don’t know how long you’ve been idly sipping punch for, but it’s enough time to let the effects of the rather strong beverages -mixed in by your mother- take effect.

You forget that you’re a grown adult now who probably shouldn’t be drinking like a party girl on a weekend. But that thought slips out of your head too quickly to develop into rational feelings, so you just laugh it off and sloppily place the glass on whatever stable surface is the nearest to you.

Wandering through the groups of people, sometimes barging past and almost tripping headfirst into the grass or just walking right in the middle of a conversation just for the convenience of it.

At this rate it’s only to justify why your head feels like it’s melting. God, what was in that punch? It’s not like you’re the biggest lightweight on Earth, but it’s been awhile since you’ve drank that hard in such a short period of time.

At least, that’s what you realise looking back on the situation.

Right now you’re just trying to get back to your seat. Solace away from all the faces you keep bumping into. Somewhere that isn’t spinning, and spinning and spinning.

And spinning.

You slump back into your chair, utterly drained from the strenuous journey of climbing three steps while drunk. It’s such a huge achievement that you smile to yourself, satisfied with your efforts.

You’re busy taking a moment for this newfound quiet to settle into your raving brain when a blur of blue and brown seems to appear in the corner of your eye.

“Here’s the girl of the hour.” He’s suddenly next to you, leaning against the wall of the house with his arms crossed over his chest.

Now that he’s here, you’ve been dying to get a better glimpse at his muscles than this morning.

You only smile passively at him, letting the words flow into one ear and out of the other as your eyes are now fixated on his strong arms.

Phillip isn’t offended by your lack of response, more so concerned at the blankness in your expression.

“Sugar? You alright there…?” He questions, a little amused at your wide eyed, careful examination of his muscles.

Without thinking - which you seem a little bad at doing right now - your hand reaches out and your fingertips glide over his bicep. It’s solid, sturdy and hugs against his blazer in a flattering way.

Now you’re smiling even harder, fondly remembering how he’d carry you home when you were too tired to walk after a date. Or his joy when you’d run to him and he’d instantly wrap his arms around you and spin, your dress would almost float.

You don’t know why these memories seem to flood back at this very moment, but it furthers this euphoric state that you’re slowly slipping into.

“Remember when you used to hold me like a princess?” You murmur, looking up at him with a tenderness evident in your gaze.

He attempts to hide the way his eyes widened at your question, or how he’s beginning to falter or look away. You’re not very aware of it in that moment - but it haunts you afterwards.

“I do. Because you were. Are.” He adds, almost firmly as his hand moves to yours and his fingers brush against your knuckles. It’s funny how he seems to instinctively slow his movements purposefully just so he’s gentle with you, as if you were a doll.

“I’m not.. I’m not a little girl anymore..” you sigh, accepting his fingers intertwining with yours now. His rough, calloused fingers that always seemed to soften in your grasp. The hands that always seemed tense or even clenched in fists most of the time, but were always laid out for you to touch to your liking as your relationship progressed.

He doesn’t initially notice something nudging on his fingers, but glances down at your hands out of curiosity.

There’s two rings on your hand. One on your ring finger and another on your middle; it’s easy to tell which one was made by a lovestruck boy professing his dedication to a high-school sweetheart, whereas the other is flashy, decorative and unthought of. It didn’t strike him as something you used to wear, especially when it clashed with the other ring. His ring.

The ring he saved up for and pleaded for ever so desperately as he handed over his wages to his uncle, asking him for advice on what to make for his girlfriend at the time.

But that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Not when this ring was clearly an engagement ring.

I was planning to come here when I got married, the statement rings in his mind.

“I know. You’re a big girl now, hm?” He chuckles dryly, using humour to cope with the fact you’re touching him. Even after your tense conversation this morning; the conversation that mostly consisted of him speaking and you watching, mouth agape as if you’d just seen a ghost.

He thought he’d been dead to you anyways, especially with your sudden disappearance and lack of communication. Was he that insignificant?

Clearly not, he interrupts his doubts. Clearly not when you’re touching him the exact same way you did like 10 years haven’t passed and you weren’t already taken by some lucky bastard. Engaged. Basically married at this rate if he’s lucky.

His hand slips out of your grasp seamlessly. Deep down he’s berating himself, practically begging himself to hug you, hold you, kiss you so hard his lips bruise and he cannot possibly breathe anymore.

But he doesn’t do any of these things.

You’re looking up at him plainly, waiting for his next move. There’s no animosity or embarrassment clouding your face like the way it was in his uncle’s shop or your front porch.

It’s just you.

The dreamy, doll-like girl he’d happily mapped out his future with while she listened attentively, chirping in her thoughts about what she wanted to do in the future alongside him.

“Sorry, sugar. I’ve got to go to work now.” He whispers, turning away and walking off again. Walking away from the one thing he craves. He’d lost his chance, so what was the point?

He may as well just watch you succeed from afar, living a life that doesn’t involve a country bumpkin from her past ruining her plans.

His footsteps become a little forceful, digging into the dirt and kicking any little stones out of his way.

God, he probably looked so stupid.

He drives off without another word, leaving you a little dazed as you lay back into your chair. You don’t want to even try to think about what just happened, so you just sit there for what feels like forever until people begin to disperse.

Slowly but surely, the crowd grows smaller and smaller and the minute everybody is gone, you run up to your room.

You run as quickly as you can, not waiting to hear your parents’ questions or concerns. This was all a mistake.

A really confusing mistake.

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #fanfiction #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #call of duty #warren kole #call of duty fanfic

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seraphdreams · 1 year

Text

PART II — BLINDING LIGHTS.

“sin city’s cold and empty”

CONTAINS. fem!reader, fingering/cunnilingus, bimbo reader <3, haitanis being asses, squirting.

TODAY’S RACERS. senju kawaragi v. manjirou sano.

WORD COUNT. 1.9k.

LINKS. series masterlist — general masterlist.

Onto the second race—The most anticipated so far; tonight’s set of racers were tinkering with their bikes. Sounds of sonorous music from overhead speakers, the revving of engines, and a pleasant fuse of chattering were heard from the main gate. After the events of the first race, you accompanied Koko, helping him collect more money while sitting pretty on his lap. The others didn’t have to know that you were cockwarming him as well, it shouldn’t come as a surprise with the way you practically writhe in his hold.

The bets being placed seem to favor one side over the other which raises your query. “Haji, who’s racing this time?” He’s silent as if your words fell flat once they managed to leave your lips and you wait, hoping he’d respond in the next few seconds. Of course he doesn’t and you call out for him again. “Haji!” He’s finally snapped out of his money-induced focus, snake-like eyes locked onto yours. “Hm?”

You sigh, almost defeated before starting up. “I asked who was racing tonight. Don’t the bets seem a little unfair?”

He sets the money down onto the table behind you. “It’s a bet, of course it’s unfair.” He straightens his posture, lithe hands coming to rest at the plush fat of your hips. “We got an amateur up against Mikey. She’s stupid if she thinks she has a chance.”

“She?” You perk up, a bit more immersed in the topic at hand. “Who’s she?”

Koko’s eyes relax and his pupils narrow as if he’d grown annoyed. He goes back to counting the fat wad of cash, making sure the amount remains consistent. “Sanzu’s little sister.”

Before you had the chance to react, the blaring music stops and the announcer starts.

TEN MINUTES TO RACE 2.

Had you not heard Mochi’s voice on the speaker, you’d forget that you actually have a job to do. You hastily make your way off Kokonoi’s lap, attempting to not wince at the friction while patting your skirt back in place. “Gotta go, Haji! Put $1,000 from me to Senju, please!” You sing-song, trotting in Miu Miu heels on the way to the main road.

“I swear, that girl..” Koko mumbles under his breath, more affectionate than vexed, tucking himself back into his slacks and continuing with the task on hand, setting your specified amount into Senju’s pile.

The racers’ garage space was feeling tense compared to the previous race. Whereas Baji and Kazutora exchanged playful banter, there was silence between Mikey and Senju. Heel trotting filled the silence as you walked onto Mikey’s side of the garage. He really seemed to never want to let that CB250T go, instead having his “anii-ki”modify it once every few years.

“How’s it going, Boss?” Mikey’s kneeled against his bike, seemingly messing with the engine—or maybe it’s the gas? You weren’t too into motorized vehicles but you knew they looked nice. He looks up at you through strands of ivory white hair, his familiar emotionless glance. “It’s good.” He wasn’t much for conversation, especially with you, yet it wasn’t enough to get your spirits down. “Good luck with the race, i’m sure you’ll do great!”

For the first time that you’ve seen it, a hint of a smile quirks on his lips. He softly nods his head and continues to tinker around with the large piece of metal. You redirect yourself to Senju’s side, almost in awe at her setup.

“Senju!” You beam, taking in her appearance. She’d always been a gorgeous girl but seeing her in her tight black biker suit, cherry blossom embroidery around the ankles with the zipper showing an overflowing amount of her chest, you’re left speechless. “Hey, cutie.” She responds, wheeling her bike out of the garage. You get the incentive to follow her along, assuming she’s heading to the start line. “You look so pretty! Forget what the others say, I think you’re gonna win a hundred percent!”

Her eyes widen in adoration, matching your unshakable optimism. “I know I am! I’ll have those fuckers amazed.” You nod along with her, eyes flitting from her cleavage to back to her emerald orbs. She really did resemble her brother in every way. Soon after, Mikey also makes his way to the start line. It’s about two minutes to the race and you make sure to give each of them a kiss on the cheek before heading to your position in between them with your flags in hand.

Ran, Rindou, and Sanzu watch from above on one of the higher floors, looking down at the events taking place beneath them. “God, she’s cute.” Rindou groans, a glass of dark sake in his hand as his older brother hangs off his shoulder. “That’s your little sister, right, Haru?” Ran queries, finding the utmost entertainment in how Sanzu glowers at him.

“Maybe we should fuck her in the back of our car later, yeah? What do you think, Rinnie?”

Rindou takes a quick glance at Sanzu before looking at his brother. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Sanzu’s quick to find somewhere else to watch the race, ticked off at their usual Haitani antics. “You both disgust me.” He growls out, pouring himself a glass of Whiskey. “Love you too.” Ran throws over his shoulder.

FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE!

The racers take off on the track as soon as your checkered flag grazes against the pavement. There was no denying the excitement welled up inside you as you watched the race go on. It seemed like a close match all the way up until the end where Senju pulled her speed out of nowhere, being the first at the finish line despite her lack of racing experience.

She hops off her bike, taking her helmet off and tussling her hair back in place, the widest grin on her face. “Congratulations, Sen! I told you, you’d win for sure!” You hand her the gold trophy with another peck to her cheek. Mikey comes in soon after, looking at the scene in disbelief.

“Guess I lucked out, Invincible Mikey.” Senju taunts at her opponent, nonchalantly waving her trophy around in one hand.

After her bout of throwing jeers at Mikey, you begin to speak again. “Why don’t we celebrate a little in your room?” You suggest. With the quirk of her brow, she knew exactly what you were suggesting, wrapping her arm around your waist and leading you up the steps. “Why don’t we?”

Following her to her suite took less than an ample amount of time, the two of you dexterously sifting through the crowd of people awaiting the next race. Once you got to her room, she sits at the edge of the bed, slowly unzipping the one piece as if she had planned on teasing you.

You watch as her breasts spill from out of their tight confines, pert nipples hardened and slightly lacquered in sweat. “No bra, Sen? Bold girl.” The last words come out as a softer whisper while you make your way between her thighs, kneeling. “Just thought it’d be more comfy.”

Once the zipper reaches its stop at her lower abdomen, she’s slipping out of her outfit, discarding the garment off to the side and leaving herself in nothing but pink lacy panties. The damp spot of her slick is visible through her panties from where you kneel, eyes locked on how she throbs even without touch. Little by little, you pull her thong down until it ruffles at her ankles, slipping them off completely and tossing them to the side. She’s wet, puffy folds covered in essence and clit twitching ever so slightly; as if it’d been awaiting you.

Carefully, you delve your tongue into her core, keeping it still for a short moment until you begin to use the muscle to aid in her pleasure. “A-ah!” Docile whimpers fall from her lips at the initial sensation and her hands grasp at her chest, kneading the flesh as if it’d give her leverage in some way. It was cute how quickly she reigned flustered. The light dusting of pink across her cheeks complimenting her angel-like features in the best way. On behalf of her tomboy-esque facade, she was quite the pillow princess.

Her little cunt tightens around your tongue, a slow rocking rhythm building up within her body as she throws her head back. The rising and falling of her chest in tandem with those cute fucking whimpers has one hand dipping underneath your pleated skirt, middle finger lightly rubbing your clit. “Please—Please don’t stop..” She rasps, light and airy voice coated with desperation. You opt to replace your tongue with your fingers, stuffing two of your digits inside her hole while your tongue flicks at her clit.

Louder and louder, her moaning gets, as if she shredded her sense of shame and gave into the temptation of pleasure. You switch between licking to sucking on the sensitive numb, watching how she grows dumber and dumber from each touch. The fingers on your clit work faster and so do the digits pumping in and out of Senju.

You might as well have been making out with her pussy the way you sloppily sucked and licked at her clit and folds. There’s no doubt she’s close when you feel her core tighten around your fingers. “G-Gonna make a, fuck, big mess..” She whines through soft mewling. Your fingers work at lightning speed to inch her closer to sweet release, your own orgasm building within you.

You watch her abdomen flex and relax repeatedly as if a surge shot through her, the warm sensation of liquid orgasm dripping from your fingers and down her thighs. You drink in all she has to offer, continuing to lick at her clit, reveling in the way her pussy spurts more and more essence in her aftershocks. You moan against her heat, feeling your own release just seconds away.

Before you could even react, your body is convulsing and cunt creaming all over your fingers. You were rather sensitive from previous activities which heightened the intensity of your orgasm, sonorous cries leaving your lips.

The two of you take a haste moment to collect your breathing, slowly peeling away from each other. “Sen, you’re so pretty when you squirt.” You compliment as you slide into her lap. She leans back amongst the sheets naturally, strands of soft pink haired splayed across the fabric. “‘S real embarrassing.” Her response comes out in the form of a light chuckle, quickly getting silenced by your cum-slicken fingers pressed to her lips. Instinctively, she wraps her lips around the digits, closing her eyes and moaning at the saccharine taste of you. When you pull your fingers away, you make sure to give her a salacious kiss to her lips.

The kiss grows deeper until you’re quickly pulled aback by firm knocks to the door.

“Next race starts soon.” The voice from the other side says. You come to recognize it instantly as Mikey from his monotonous airing. You hop off Senju’s lap, attempting to clothe her with one of the blankets on the bed before heading to the door.

“What a sore loser.” She states as you walk off, and just before opening the door, you reply.

“I know, right?”

#senju x reader #senju kawaragi x reader #senju smut #mikey x reader #mikey sano x reader #manjirou sano x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers smut #mikey smut #tr x reader #tr smut #senju x you #senju x y/n

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peakyswritings · 8 months

Text

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART II

Summary: Nina has a chat with Tommy, and she doesn’t hesitate to make some things clear. As they get to know each other more, they learn one thing: neither of them wants to let the other win.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, English is not my first language.

A/N: This is set somewhere between season 1 and 2. Feedback is always appreciated🤍 Read part I HERE

SERIES MASTERLIST

SERIES MOODBOARD

Gif credit

Dividers credit

Tommy followed Nina’s quick steps down the hallway of her big house, his mind still racing from the past events. He still had to come to terms with the fact that he was in Sicily, he was alive, and the deal was not some trap set in order to get rid of him.

Nina stopped in front of a door, turning to look at him for the first time since she had started walking. She tucked a loose strand of her long hair behind her ear, finally resting her gaze upon him.

“This is your room.” She said, opening the door. “It has a private bathroom. If you need more towels or stuff like that, you can take them from the cabinet at the end of the hallway. Make yourself at home.”

Her flat tone, in high contrast with her polite words, made it plain that she had been told to be civil, and that she didn’t really care about him feeling comfortable. Tommy figured that the grudge she apparently held against him was probably due to the fact that, just like he didn’t trust those people, she didn’t trust him.

Nina’s dark eyes shifted to stare at something right above his head, and it didn’t take him long to realise she was looking at the razors sewn in his cap. He waited for her bold facade to crumble, for the unmistakable signs of fear to appear on her face. However, defying all his expectations, the glimpse shining in her eyes was not one of fear, rather one of curiosity.

“The Peaky Blinders…” she murmured, more to herself than to him, with the tone of someone who was suddenly aware of something. Then she blinked, seemingly recollecting herself. “I just wondered why you called yourselves like that.” She explained.

“Now you know.” He said, with a nod of his head.

Silence fell between them as they stood face to face, studying each other, all while keeping their distance. There was a fiery stubbornness in her eyes, but it wasn’t intentional, or a mere way of presenting herself to the world. It was rooted in her very nature. That restless gaze was something that Tommy knew all too well.

“Anyway, you won’t need it.” Nina suddenly spoke, nodding towards his cap. “Just like you won’t need the gun you’re hiding inside your coat. Don’t bring them to the lunch.”

Tommy squinted his eyes, opening his mouth to say something, but no sound came out of it as words failed him. How the hell would she know what he was hiding in his coat?

She shot him one last glance before walking past him, without giving him the chance to speak. Only when she reached the middle of the hallway, she spoke again, slightly raising her voice. “Lunch will be served in an hour. Don’t be late.”

“He’s not an old man.”

Nina went straight to the point as she stormed inside her cousin’s bedroom, eager to ease at least one of her worries. After her conversation with Tommy, she had hastily left her house, crossed the shared garden, and rushed inside Agnese’s house for an update session.

“Good.” Agnese said, taking one last look in the mirror before turning to face her cousin, who had proceeded to sit on her bed. “How does he look?” She asked, some sort of trepidation in her eyes.

Not like a Devil, Nina thought to herself. She had heard stories about him, about how everybody called him “The Peaky Blinder Devil”. She had pictured him like an unpleasant man - nasty, even -, rough and surly. Instead, he couldn’t have been any different. She had to admit that he was, in fact, quite attractive. And his manners were fairly good.

“He’s… nice.” She hesitated, the word feeling like a burning lump she had to swallow. “He has blue yes.”

Agnese stared at her with a puzzled look in her eyes, probably expecting something more articulate. But as much as she tried, Nina couldn’t find the words to describe the man she had just met. For some reason, they just wouldn’t come out.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be a Teresa.” Nina broke the silence with a joke, making her cousin chuckle.

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Teresa was a girl they used to play with when they were children, a sweet girl, unfortunately born in a poor family. She was married off as soon as she turned eighteen. The man was twice her age, smelled foul and missed a front tooth.

Being a Teresa was not that uncommon.

“Anyway, it’s not like he’s betrothed to me. They just suggested him to marry me.” She remarked, grabbing a hairbrush and turning towards the mirror again. “He might not choose me.”

Nina raised her eyebrows as she looked at her cousin in disbelief. “Are you serious?” She asked, slightly raising her voice. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the village, everybody says. And you’re gentle, and good.”

Agnese shook her head, slowly brushing her brown hair. “My sisters are beautiful as well. And so are our cousins both from your mother and my mother’s side.”

“Yes, but your sisters are not even twenty yet. And our cousins don’t know a single English word.” She pointed out. “Who else would he choose, me?”

A genuine laugh escaped from Agnese’s lips at her cousin’s sarcastic remark. Everybody knew Nina wasn’t exactly marriage material, with her smart mouth and unusual ideas. Silence fell between them as Agnese struggled to tie the front parts of her hair behind her head with a ribbon. Nina got up from the bed and walked up to her. She took the ribbon from her hand and started to style her hair. “Don’t be worried, Agnese. I’m sure he’ll only have eyes for you.” She said softly, giving her a supportive smile through the mirror.

When she finished, Nina sat back on the bed, suddenly becoming serious. She fidgeted with the hem of a blanket, trying to voice her thoughts without sounding negative. “Is this what you want, though?”

Agnese glanced at her with furrowed eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t it be?” She asked, pure wonder in her voice. “I’ve always known I’d have to get married.”

Nina sighed, slightly shaking her head. Sometimes she felt like her thoughts were something that could be understood by her and only her. She had no one to share them with, no one who would genuinely listen. And even though her cousin was the only one who didn’t look at her as if she was some lost cause, Nina knew that, deep down, she thought what everybody else did. That one day, Nina would have to stop with her nonsense and get married.

“Yes, but doesn’t it bother you?” Nina asked, her dark eyes full of obstinacy. “They don’t involve us in the business, but they use us as some sort of bargaining chip when it suits them.” She spat out.

“The business is men’s business, Nina.” Agnese said with a soft voice, trying to reason with her. “We help the only way we can.”

“But what do we get from it?” She insisted.

“Security, stability. Someone who provides for us. That’s how things are. It’s not like we have any other choice.”

Nina scoffed, putting an end to the conversation. It was an important day for her cousin, and she didn’t want to ruin it for her. But as much as she tried to support her, she couldn’t understand how she could just accept that. In moments like those, their difference emerged in all its magnitude.

And she was well aware they really couldn’t be any more different. Not just in the way they thought, but in the very depths of their being. That difference was right before everyone’s eyes. She had been compared to Agnese all her life, to her beauty, to her softness. There was nothing soft about Nina. She was all sharp edges and searing looks. Where Agnese wore a smile bright enough to put the sun to shame, Nina wore a scowl. Where Agnese’s words, sweet like honey, meant to soothe, Nina’s words meant to cut. She was outspoken, and defensive, and angry. Angry at her family, whose judgmental stare burned on her skin. Angry at her mother, who had wanted her different since the moment she had drawn her first breath. Angry at her father, who still treated her like a little girl who knew nothing of the word. Angry at Tommy Shelby, who thought he could just barge in and state some claim over one of them.

Standing up, Nina shot her cousin one last look before walking towards the door. “I’ll wait for you in the garden.”

Not even half an our after Tommy Shelby’s arrival, the garden was already full of nosy relatives, half of whom didn’t even have a part in the business. The news of there being a gangster had roused the interest of ambitious mothers and their giddy daughters.

“Is it always like this?”

Tommy’s voice came to Nina’s as he walked up to her, stopping by her side. She was quite pleased to see that he had listened to her and taken off his cap, along with his coat and his jacket. No gun nor razors in sight.

“No, thank God.” She shook her head. “Usually, we only gather on Sunday. But now you’re here, and everybody’s curious.” She explained, her Italian accent coming through with all those r’s. “Those people there,” she pointed towards a group of people talking next to the table, “they’re from my mother’s side. And those ones-” she indicated another set of relatives, “they’re from Aunt Rita’s side, Agnese’s mother. I’d tell you to introduce yourself, but they don’t speak English.”

Tommy nodded to himself, trying to keep all that information in mind. “Are they part of the business, too?”

“No. The business is only run by my father’s side of the family. By they do benefit from it.”

A part of him was glad that he didn’t have to remember all of those people, or to interact with them. His main concern were the Ferrante brothers - or rather, two of them, since Antonio had stayed in England -, their wives and their sons and daughters.

“For the next few days this is how it’s gonna be.” Nina spoke again, a hint of annoyance in her voice as she looked around. “Once you make it clear who it is that you want to marry, the whole thing will die out. I hope.”

“Your uncle Mario has three daughters, right?” Tommy asked, trying to put together what he had learned about the family. He was pretty sure he remembered all of the important things, but a recapitulation wouldn’t hurt.

“Yes.” She confirmed. “Agnese, Rosa and Sofia.”

“And you only have brothers.” He said, taking his cigarette case out of his pocket. He opened it and offered Nina a cigarette, but she politely declined.

“No, thank you. Two older brothers.”

He rubbed the cigarette against his lower lip before lighting it. He took a long drag, relishing the calming feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. All that situation was nerve-racking, way more than he had imagined. They could’ve simply arranged a marriage with Agnese and get on with it, but no, they had to do things the right way. See if they got along, see if there could be a better match. But it just looked like some kind of sale.

“So it would be convenient to marry one of you four.” He noted, speaking more to himself than to her. “Because all of your other cousins and their family are not directly involved in the business. And they don’t speak English.”

“One of them.” She corrected him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tommy blinked, feeling like he had missed some part of the conversation. “What?”

“You’re here to marry one of them.” Nina clarified, emphasising the last word. “I took myself out of the list.”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, trying to hide the amused grin that threatened to appear on his face. Although he barely knew that girl, the thing didn’t surprise him in the slightest. “Could you do that?”

“Who cares?” She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “It’s not like you could force me anyway.”

There was something entertaining in those quick answers, in the way she didn’t hesitate to make things clear. He had the impression that she had been constantly challenging him since the moment they had met, and it was something completely different from what he was used to. He wasn’t even sure she was doing it on purpose, it seemed to be just her way of being. “No, I couldn’t.” He agreed, flicking the ash to the ground. “And I wouldn’t. But if I were to choose you, and you were to say no, and I were to consider all of your cousins as unsuitable, I could decide to go on with the war. Would you take that responsibility upon yourself?” He provoked her, squinting his eyes.

Of course, Tommy would’ve never done something like that. It wasn’t in his interest to find a wife that was “suitable”, he only wanted to put an end to that war. But the girl in front of him seemed clever and quick-witted, and he was curious to see how long she would manage to hold her own.

“As I come to understand, this peace is more necessary to you than it is to us.” Nina started. “You were the ones who have been hit the hardest. You lost two pubs and a warehouse, right? And a few men.” She added, and it sounded more like a statement than a question. She cast him a sly glance, her brown iris glinting with smugness when she noticed the muscles clenching in his jaw. “You won’t go on with the war, it would be suicide.”

Tommy raised eyebrows with a nod, finding himself in the position of acknowledging that she, in fact, had a point. “I thought you weren’t involved in the business.” He said, before taking another drag from his cigarette. He knew the Italians were more old-fashioned in that sense. The men didn’t trouble their wives, sisters and daughters with the matters of business, not only because said business was dangerous, but mainly because there was a hierarchy to respect.

“I’m not.” She shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know things.” She added cryptically.

Tommy had to give it to her, she was smart. However, there was a small detail she was forgetting, and he was determined to have the last word. “The thing is,” he drew on his cigarette again, taking his sweet time before going on. “If your family didn’t need me, I wouldn’t be here.”

He turned to look at Nina, staying quiet for a few seconds to test her reaction. She kept her gaze on a spot in front of her, waiting for him to go on, and from the expression on her face Tommy knew he had a chance of winning that conversation. “You can’t defeat Sabini without my help. You know he’s working with the Solomons, now?”

That was it. With a certain satisfaction, Tommy realised that she had no idea of what he was talking about. Maybe she didn’t know everything, after all. “You don’t even know who Solomons is, do you?” He rubbed it in with a taunting tone, stomping out his cigarette.

Before she could have the chance to answer, a voice called from behind them.

“Mr Shelby.”

Vincenzo Ferrante approached him, followed by a man and a young woman. “Meet my brother, Mario, and his daughter, Agnese.”

Tommy shook Mario’s hand before shifting his attention to the girl. They were right, she was a beauty. Her brown hair fell down to her shoulders, framing her sweet face. The pink, floral dress she was wearing flowed around the soft curves of her body, gracefully brushing against her rounded hips. Her doe eyes looked at him with shyness, and for a moment she seemed almost intimidated. But then, her full lips curved in a gentle smile, and her cheeks turned a vivid shade of pink as she held out her hand to him.

“Pleasure.” He shook it delicately, offering her a kind smile.

Agnese then turned to Nina, giving her a warm hug, but it was clear that it was just an excuse to whisper something in her ear. Nina shook her head, saying something in a fake scolding tone, making her cousin laugh.

“Come, Mr Shelby,” Vincenzo spoke again, drawing Tommy’s attention back to him. “I’ll introduce you to my wife.”

Against Tommy’s expectations, the lunch ran smoothly. He was introduced to Nina’s mother, Maria, and Agnese’s mother, Rita, although he didn’t speak much with them because of their lack of English. He engaged in conversation with Nina’s older brothers, Salvatore and Pietro, who were starting to take part in the Italian side of the business, and he met Agnese’s sisters. Sitting across from Nina, he noticed how she only spoke with Agnese, while her interactions with her aunts - the ones from her mother’s side of the family - were brief and characterised by some kind of tension. Her numerous cousins, for their part, seemed to barely acknowledge her existence. Tommy couldn’t help but steal a glance at her from time to time. For all she tried to put on a serene face, her rigid posture gave away how uncomfortable she actually was. Perhaps this time he had stared at her for a bit too long, because she raised her gaze from her plate to look at him. Their eyes met for a second, but Tommy was quick to look away, nodding at something that Mario Ferrante had said to him.

The lunch lasted until the early afternoon. After the majority of the relatives who had joined it had left - except for some of the aunts - Maria and Rita called their daughters to help cleaning everything up. Tommy remained sat at the table with Vincenzo, his two sons and Mario, all of them ready to settle the terms of the peace once and for all. Tommy’s headache, which had been plaguing him since the moment he had left Small Heath, was finally starting to subside. Now he would declare his intention to start courting Agnese, as they had suggested, and hopefully in a few weeks he’d be married and with one less enemy. Too much time had already been wasted, and getting to know the other girls would’ve slowed everything down even more. He wasn’t there to find the perfect match, he was there to save his family and his business. Agnese would do.

“So one of yours might get married soon, eh, Mario?” Vincenzo teased his brother, grabbing a bottle full of some bright yellow liquid that his wife had brought, before pouring it five small glasses. “Limoncello.” He said, handing one to Tommy.

“Who says? Maybe it’s your Nina that will get married.” Mario playfully retorted, winking at him with the glass in his hand.

Vincenzo chuckled, as if his brother had said the most amusing thing in the world. “You know my Nina’s not ready for marriage. Let’s leave her alone for a couple more years.” Having said that, he shot Tommy a look. It was a silent warning, my daughter is not up for sale.

Tommy cleared his throat, straightening his back. Maybe it was a bit too soon to declare his intention. As much as he wanted to get it over with, he didn’t want to seem hasty. Because, again, those people wanted to do things the right way.

Waiting two or three days wouldn’t hurt.

“Look at them, sitting at the table like fucking kings.” Nina murmured, looking out the window as she scrubbed a plate. “God forbid they raise a finger.”

Luckily for her, neither her mother nor her aunts could understand what she was saying, and her cousins were too busy talking amongst themselves to listen to her. She was in no mood for a scolding. She kept on cleaning, getting lost in her own thoughts. That day had been draining, and it wasn’t even over yet. It was always like that, every time that the family gathered. Feeling judged and looked upon for everything she said or did was tiring. It didn’t matter how much she tried to be good, there was always someone ready to point their finger behind fake curiosity and nasty smiles.

And now they were speaking loudly, talking about how beautiful Agnese was, about how Mr Shelby surely was already in love with her. Nina pretended not to see how they tended to look at her while making their comments. It was an implicit comparison, she knew. And she knew she was right when the comparison became explicit. Aunt Clara, one of her mother’s sisters, said only half jokingly that Nina would find a husband as well one day, if she decided to get rid of that frown and put some meat on those bones.

For once, Nina bit her tongue and kept on scrubbing the plate, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of a retort. Her mother, however, blushed and cleared her throat, almost embarrassed by the situation. Nina knew that her opinion about her was not that different from her aunts’, and that her behaviour was indefensible even for her mother.

Maria poured the coffee she had just prepared in five small cups that she had placed in a tray, then asked her daughter to bring it to the men. Nina sighed and grabbed the tray. At least she could leave that kitchen now.

She went out into the garden and walked to the table, that was now full of cigarette holders, matches, bottles and small glasses. She squeezed between their chairs, trying to find an empty spot big enough to place the tray. No one seemed to notice as she struggled make space with one hand, while with the other she balanced the tray, trying her best not to spill the coffee. A wave of irritation spread from her stomach, slowly rising to her chest and shoulders, all the way to her head, and soon she was gritting her teeth, her patience rapidly running out. Just when she was about to snap, two strong hands grabbed the tray, guiding it towards the space she had just cleared. Tommy’s blue irises pierced through her, and for a moment all her anger left her. There was something calming, in that particular shade of blue. She cast him a grateful glance, not only for his help, but mainly for preventing her from throwing a fit.

“Oh, no, no, please, sit, Mr. Shelby.” Her brother Pietro said, waving his hand. Nina raised her eyebrows, fighting the urge to slap him on the back of his head.

Tommy squinted his eyes and for a moment it seemed like he was about to say something. Then his gaze rested upon Nina again, and he nodded at her. “Thank you for the coffee.” He said, sitting back in his chair.

She took a few steps back, looking at him one last time before starting to walk away. Before she could go far, Pietro’s voice came to her ears again.

“Hand me the ashtray.”

Nina stopped in her tracks, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She gathered all her strength to remain calm, and turned around to look at him “You have hands.” She simply said, before going back to the house.

It would be a long day, indeed.

NEXT PART

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240

Regular tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fic #heart body and soul

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chicgeekgirl89 · 2 months

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Rating: T Characters: Carlos Reyes and T.K. Strand Summary: In the early days of their budding relationship, T.K. and Carlos discover some of each other's more adorable characteristics. Or, five times T.K. learns adorable things about Carlos and one time Carlos learns something adorable about T.K. A/N: Thanks to @bluenet13 for the title help on this one. It's been on the back burner for a while and it was time for it to fly free. Also working on a reverse 5+1 companion for it, so keep your eyes open for that...someday... Tagging: This is more than seven sentences, but please accept it anyway. Thanks to @strandnreyes, @bonheur-cafe, @carlos-in-glasses, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @ladytessa74, and @lemonlyman-dotcom. Tagging @liminalmemories21, @welcometololaland, @carlos-tk, @louis-ii-reyes-strand, @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad, and anyone else who would like to share your Seven Sentence Sunday! Read on AO3

Glasses

T.K. is brushing his teeth in Carlos’ bathroom. Usually his daily oral hygiene wouldn’t be a notable event, but today it feels monumental. Because it’s Carlos’ bathroom. And T.K. is brushing his teeth. Because he’s staying over. Because they’re together. Like really together. Officially.

He smiles goofily at his reflection in the mirror, his mouth still full of white paste and toothbrush. He’s happy. Really, truly, deeply happy.

He opens up Carlos’ medicine cabinet one handed as he continues brushing away and realizes that while he remembered to bring a razor he did not remember to bring shaving cream. “Hey babe,” he calls around his mouthful as he turns around and pokes his head back into the bedroom, “can I borrow—“

His eyes find Carlos on the bed and he immediately chokes on his toothpaste and has to rush back to the sink to spit it out. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before turning and marching back through the open doorway.

Carlos looks at him, amusement on his face. “You okay over there?”

“Since when do you wear glasses?”

Because he is. Carlos is sitting in his bed, shirtless, hair soft and wildly curly after his shower, a paperback in his hands, and a pair of glasses on his face. Glasses that T.K. has definitely never seen before in his life. Glasses that are kind of knocking the wind out of him.

“Since the fourth grade?” Carlos says.

“But I’ve never…you’ve never worn them when I’ve been here.”

“I haven’t?” Carlos scrunches up his nose in thought and it makes him even more freaking adorable. “Are you sure?”

“I think I would remember my boyfriend morphing into Clark fucking Kent,” T.K. retorts.

Carlos chuckles. “I only wear them at night when my contacts start bothering me.”

“You should wear them more often.” The words are out of T.K.’s mouth before he even realizes it. He feels wildly out of control of himself right now and who could blame him? His already incredibly fucking hot boyfriend now looks like an incredibly fucking hot librarian and it is making T.K. think some very, VERY dirty thoughts.

Carlos raises his eyebrows. “Why?” A slow, lazy, self-satisfied smile spreads across his face. “You think they’re sexy?”

“God yes.”

T.K. is across the room in two seconds flat, scrambling onto the bed and pulling Carlos’ face to his for a bruising kiss. Carlos immediately drops his book and responds in kind, mouth open and inviting as his hands grip T.K.’s hips and pull him close. “You called me your boyfriend,” he says when they finally break apart for air.

“I did,” T.K. says, diving back in for another taste of Carlos in glasses. It’s completely different than regular Carlos. It’s nerdy. And hot. He loves it.

“You’ve never called me your boyfriend before,” Carlos says breathlessly, grinning so wide it’s like the sun has come out. “I like it.”

T.K. grins back at him. “Me too.”

Socks

“Oh my god,” Carlos says as T.K. collapses onto his chest and presses kisses into his sweat sticky skin. “How does it just keep getting better?”

“Because we’re amazing,” T.K. mumbles against his pecs, his eyes already heavy with sleep. “So. Freaking. Amazing.”

He takes a few breaths and feels his body relaxing as sleep pulls him down. He snuggles deeper into Carlos’ chest, eyes drifting shut. He’s nearly out when he feels Carlos shift beneath him.

“Where are you going?” he asks, tightening his hold on Carlos’ torso to keep him from moving.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to put some socks on,” Carlos says, pressing a kiss to his hair.

T.K.’s eyes pop back open and he props himself up to look at Carlos’ face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m going to put some socks on,” Carlos repeats.

Things still aren’t computing in T.K.’s brain. “…why?” he finally asks slowly.

“Because if we’re going to sleep I need to wear socks.”

He was looking for clarity, but now he’s even more confused. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? I’m putting socks on to go to bed,” Carlos says, looking equally as confused.

“But…why?”

“Because otherwise I might catch a cold,” Carlos says with a laugh, gently pushing T.K. off so he can get to his feet.

T.K. blinks a couple times trying to get his bearings and then rolls over, sitting up with the sheet wrapped around his waist. “That is not how colds work. Like not even close.”

Carlos returns and sits on the bed to pull his socks on. “I know that,” he says.

“And yet you’re still putting the socks on,” T.K. says.

“My mom always made us wear socks to bed when we were kids.”

“Is she coming over?” T.K. asks incredulously.

“No.”

“Then why are you wearing them?!”

“Because she always made us!”

T.K. takes a breath. “Let me get this straight. You are going to get into this bed with me, fully naked, except for socks that you’re going to wear because your mom made you do it when you were seven?”

Carlos pauses. “Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“I just like it okay? I’ve done it forever. I can’t sleep without them,” Carlos says defensively as he slides back into bed beside T.K. “Is this some kind of a dealbreaker for you?”

“Nope,” T.K. says. “Just trying to understand. If wearing socks to bed is what does it for you, then by all means wear the socks.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, giving him a peck on the lips and turning out the light before pulling T.K. close and snuggling in to go to sleep.

T.K. gets comfortable and closes his eyes, but he can’t stop the thoughts running through his mind in the dark and quiet of the room. He sits up and turns the light back on. “I really need you to tell me that you understand that you can’t catch a cold from not wearing socks though.”

Romance

T.K. loves being in Carlos’ condo without him. He likes it better when Carlos is around obviously. But he feels so special that Carlos has given him a key and invited him to share his space. It means he trusts T.K. enough to let him be here alone where it’s peaceful and calm, unlike his dad’s house which somehow feels crowded even though there are only two of them there most of the time.

Carlos’ place feels more like home than anywhere else has in a long time.

He takes his shoes off when he arrives and dutifully puts them away, then grabs a mineral water and a yogurt out of the fridge before collapsing onto Carlos’ couch. “Ouch,” he says with a frown as something pokes into his back from behind the throw pillow.

He reaches behind him and pulls out a book. It’s not unusual to find books around the condo, Carlos is a big reader, but the brightly colored cover on this one makes T.K. pause and raise his eyebrows. The Spanish Love Deception is the title and when he flips it over to read the back he learns that Catalina Martín is in desperate need of a date for her sister’s wedding and her mortal enemy at work seems to be her only option.

He’s rifling through the pages when the door opens and Carlos walks in. “Hey,” he says, smiling as his eyes meet T.K.’s. “When did you get in?”

“Like fifteen minutes ago,” T.K. tells him as Carlos slips off his shoes and then comes over to press a kiss to his lips. “I found this behind the throw pillow.”

He holds up the romance novel and Carlos takes it from him. “Francesca must have left it here,” he says, referring to his sister. “Looks like her kind of book. I’ll text her and let her know you found it it.”

T.K. doesn’t think about it again for a couple of weeks until one night when his dad cancels their dinner plans and he spontaneously heads to Carlos’ instead. “Hey, it’s me!” he calls as he pushes the door open.

“T.K.?” Carlos appears at the top of the stairs, one hand behind his back, looking a little frazzled. “I thought you were going to dinner with your dad.”

“He bailed,” T.K. says, adjusting his overnight bag on his shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time, giving Carlos a peck on his lips when he reaches him. “You okay?” he asks, taking in the weird expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Carlos says, even as a minor amount of panic is flickering through his eyes. “I just didn’t know you were coming.”

T.K. looks him up and down. “Do you have some other guy in your bedroom?”

“What?! No!” Carlos says quickly.

“Were you watching porn?”

“Of course not!” Carlos says, but there’s a deep blush rising up in his cheeks.

“What’s behind your back?” T.K. reaches for him, but Carlos steps away out of his reach.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

T.K. raises his eyebrows in amusement. “You know you are so freaking bad at lying, right?”

“Can we just drop it?” Carlos asks, desperation creeping into his voice.

T.K. takes a step forward so that Carlos is forced to back into the wall and then reaches around him and plucks the hidden object from his fingers. It’s another book, the cover bright blue with the title The American Roommate Experiment on the front. T.K. recognizes the name of the author as the same one from the book he found behind the couch cushions and his eyebrows rise. “Oh. You were reading porn.”

“It’s not porn,” Carlos says. “It’s a book.”

“Are you telling me there’s no sex in this book?”

“I…don’t know yet,” Carlos says, dropping his eyes. “I haven’t gotten that far.”

Delight is spiraling through T.K. as he fully realizes what’s going on. “That was your book a couple weeks ago. Not your sister’s.” He can feel his eyes start to sparkle with mischief. “You like smutty romance novels.”

“I don’t like them because they’re smutty,” Carlos says quickly. “I like them because…I like them.”

“You like them because you’re a big old softy romantic,” T.K. says, poking him gently in the chest. “Do you watch Hallmark Christmas movies too?”

The silence that follows tells him all he needs to know. “You do,” T.K. says happily. He could not be more thrilled about this new discovery.

“I grew up with four sisters,” Carlos defends himself.

“Please tell me you read Fifty Shades.”

“I would never,” Carlos scoffs. “Those books are not an accurate depiction of the BDSM community.”

“Oh my god you’re adorable,” T.K. tells him.

“No, I’m, no don’t call me that,” Carlos says, clearly embarrassed.

“You are,” T.K. tells him, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ waist. “You are the most adorable boyfriend the world has ever seen.”

“Are you going to let this go, or is this something you’re going to talk about forever?” Carlos asks.

“Mmm definitely the second thing,” T.K. says as Carlos sighs with long suffering. “Now how about you take me to your bedroom and teach me some of the things you’ve learned from these books?”

Scaredy Cat

Sharing new things with each other has become a complete delight for T.K. So when he finds out that Carlos has never seen a single one of the Halloween movies, he declares the need for a marathon during the month of October and immediately goes over to his dad’s to dig out his DVD’s. No way is he dealing with ads breaking up the masterpiece that is Michael Myers.

He’s popped popcorn, pulled out all the throw blankets, and even gone so far as to make up a bloody looking mocktail to really get them in the spirit of the movies. Now he’s just eagerly awaiting Carlos who has gone out to fetch their pizza.

He’s pulling down plates from the cupboard (Carlos refuses to eat pizza straight out of the box like they’re “college frat bros”) when the door opens and his boyfriend returns, pizza in hand.

“Perfect timing!” T.K. says, eagerly taking the box from him and handing him the gory looking cocktail in return.

“Oh, wow,” Carlos says. “This is…something.”

“I found a recipe online,” T.K. tells him excitedly as he dishes out pizza slices onto plates. “I thought they would be fun!”

“So creative,” Carlos says, poking at the gummy eyeballs that T.K. ordered online and added for extra pizzazz.

“Okay,” T.K. says as they settle onto the couch, his excitement at an eleven. “So, John Carpenter and Debra Hill wrote this in like ten days, which is crazy, and Carpenter got paid ten thousand dollars to write, direct, and score it. They built a cinematic masterpiece, the go-to film for horror, and they did it in ten days for ten thousand dollars. Can you even believe that?”

“Sure can’t,” Carlos says with a shake of his head.

“We’re starting with the original Halloween,” T.K. tells him as he flicks on the television. “1963, Michael Myers versus a bunch of teenage girls. We’ll skip a few in the middle, Halloween: Resurrection isn’t worth anybody’s time, and while Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers does feature a young, fresh faced Paul Rudd, it has too many flaws to be worth watching.”

“So we’re skipping two out of…”

“Thirteen,” T.K. tells him.

“I guess I should have taken the month off of work,” Carlos tells him, sending him an odd, tense sort of smile.

Come to think of it, Carlos’ whole body feels a little tense too. If T.K. didn’t know any better, he’d think Carlos was nervous. But he chalks it up to worry over getting pizza grease on the couch and hits play as he snuggles into his boyfriend’s side.

They’re still snuggled together as Michael takes a knife to his teenage sister and T.K. doesn’t miss the way Carlos stiffens even further over the bloody scene. Or the way he seems to get more and more tense as the movie progresses. “You want another drink?” T.K. asks after Michael murders the Wallace’s dog.

Carlos shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a firm line, eyes a little wider than normal as he stares at the screen. He gasps audibly when Michael appears in Annie’s car and when T.K. looks down he finds that Carlos is gripping the edge of the couch cushions so hard that his knuckles are going white.

By the time Michael starts going after Laurie, Carlos’ breathing has gone rapid and T.K. carefully slips his fingers under the edge of his sleeve to find his pulse racing. Not a surprise given the contents of the movie, but Carlos’ face has gone almost white and and he’s sitting so rigidly T.K. is afraid all of his muscles are going to lock up.

“Carlos,” he says quietly, but Carlos doesn’t respond, eyes glued to the screen, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows hard.

“Carlos, are you okay?” T.K. asks again, reaching for the remote.

He’s too late. Michael appears out of nowhere and Carlos jumps to his feet with a shout, hands going to his hips as he paces a couple agitated steps back and forth.

T.K. finally gets his finger on the button to pause the movie. “Carlos, hey, look at me,” T.K. says, feeling legitimately concerned.

“No I—it’s fine. I’m fine,” Carlos says, hand making chopping motions as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as T.K. “Go ahead, turn it back on. I’ll just um, I’m just going to—“

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” T.K. says.

“No I’m—it’s good,” Carlos says even as a car honks outside and he flinches violently.

“It’s not fine,” T.K. says. “You hate it. Let’s watch something else.”

“We can finish—“

“Carlos, you look like you think Michael is coming after you personally. We’re not watching anymore,” T.K. says with a chuckle, using the remote to flip over to live TV, Bobby Flay declaring loudly that he will not be beaten at his own culinary game this time.

“Thank you,” Carlos sighs, collapsing back into the couch.

“When were you going to tell me you hate horror movies?” T.K. asks.

“Never,” Carlos says, running a hand through his hair. “You were so excited and I thought maybe it would be okay.”

“But?”

“I begged my parents to let me watch It with my sisters when I was ten. I didn’t sleep for like a month after that and ever since…” he shivers, “I just don’t get why people like them.”

“It’s pretty cute you know,” T.K. says with a fond smile. “My big tough police officer being scared of horror movies.”

“Cute or pathetic?” Carlos says with a roll of his eyes, finally starting to look like himself again now that it’s vegetables being chopped up instead of people.

“Cute,” T.K. tells him definitively, pulling him close. “Now come here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Paparazzi

The radio is blaring when T.K. walks in from his shift, so loud that for a second he thinks he’s walked into the wrong condo. A quick glance around reveals that no, this is indeed Carlos’ place, although there’s no sign of Carlos anywhere, and it takes him another moment to realize the music is actually coming from upstairs.

He climbs the staircase, the music getting louder with each step and by the time he’s reached the top it’s changed from something in Spanish to Lady Gaga and is blasting so loudly that it feels like he’s at a live performance rather than in his boyfriend’s bedroom.

That’s when he finally hears the singing. Not Gaga herself, although she’s hard to ignore. No. Someone is belting out the lyrics from behind the bathroom door, slightly out of tune, but with the most passion T.K. has ever heard.

He opens the door quietly, the sound intensifying as the spray of the shower joins the fray.

“I’M YOUR BIGGEST FAN, I’LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME! PAPA-PAPARAZZI!” Carlos bellows from behind the semi-frosted glass of the shower door.

T.K. crosses his arms and leans against the wall, a grin on his face as he watches the blurry silhouette of his naked boyfriend scrubbing away at his hair while he sings along. He makes it through the rest of the chorus and another verse before he turns around and lets out a yell. “Jesus Christ!”

The water turns off immediately followed quickly by the music as T.K. laughs. Carlos opens the shower door, poking his sopping wet head out. “What the hell? How long have you been standing there?” he says, clearly torn between fury and embarrassment.

“Long enough,” T.K. says, handing him a towel before returning to his position against the wall, watching appreciatively as Carlos pulls it around his waist and steps out, water glistening on his skin.

“You realize that’s really fucking creepy, right?” Carlos asks as he double checks that his towel is secure.

“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to the concert,” T.K. says fully aware that he is smirking and enjoying every second of watching Carlos squirm.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that,” Carlos says, looking down at the floor, his cheeks flushed from more than the heat of his shower.

“Do you always sing in the shower?”

“No.” But he doesn’t meet T.K.’s gaze when he says it.

“Yes,” T.K. says gleefully. “Why don’t you ever sing when I’m here?”

“Because some things are better left in private,” Carlos tells him with a glower.

“Babe, come on,” T.K. says, taking a step forward and putting his hands on Carlos’ hips just above where the towel is sitting. “I love knowing stuff like this about you. It makes me feel like you’re mine. I get to see these little parts of Carlos Reyes that other people don’t.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you also put on performances in the precinct showers.”

“Definitely not,” Carlos scoffs. His hands come up to rest on T.K.’s biceps. “You really don’t think it’s weird? I know I’m not a good singer.”

T.K. kisses the tip of his nose. “It doesn’t matter. It makes you happy. And that’s all I care about.”

+ 1: Ticklish

Waking up with T.K. had been his dream for months, but he wasn’t completely surprised when it turned out not to be a reality. It turns out T.K. doesn’t wake up with anyone. In fact he barely wakes up at all. He has to be dragged out of bed and plied with coffee and a shower before he’s even remotely functional.

When questioned about how he can wake up and immediately go to work when the alarm bells go off at the fire station, T.K. looks at him like he’s crazy and says, “That’s different.”

So Carlos contents himself with waking up beside T.K., pressing a kiss to whatever part of him is poking out from under the blankets, and then greeting him more officially when he finally stumbles out of bed usually an hour or two after Carlos.

He’s just finished his workout when he hears T.K.’s alarm going off followed quickly by a muffled thud as T.K. predictably sends his phone flying to floor in his attempts to turn it off.

Carlos smiles and wipes a towel across his forehead before stowing away his weights and jogging back upstairs. T.K. is buried under the blankets, only the top of his head poking out. “Morning,” Carlos says softly, bending over to kiss his forehead.

T.K. reaches up and catches his arm, tugging him downward. “Come back to bed,” he mumbles.

“I’m all sweaty,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I need to go take a shower.”

“No staaay,” T.K. groans, tugging more insistently.

Carlos rolls his eyes but he concedes, sitting down on the mattress and pulling the blanket down enough to reveal T.K.’s face. “Are you going to get up?”

“It’s our day off,” T.K. tells him, eyes still tightly shut.

“It is.” Carlos leans closer, a fond smile on his face. “And if you don’t get up soon it will be over.”

He pokes T.K. in the ribs good-naturedly and immediately receives a sharp backhand across the face. “Ow!” he yells, rearing back and clutching his nose. “T.K. what the fuck?!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” T.K. yelps, and Carlos can feel him scrambling to get upright in the tangle of their sheets. “Oh my god! Are you okay? Let me see!”

He reaches for Carlos’ face, but Carlos pulls back. His nose feels like it’s been smashed into a thousand pieces, but he rubs at it experimentally and it seems to be intact. Another check shows no blood on his fingers, so he’s probably all right, but damn. It hurts. “What the hell was that for?” he asks grouchily, sending T.K. a glare.

T.K. looks sheepishly down at the sheets. “Um, well, I might be just a little bit ticklish?”

Carlos blinks at him. “No you’re not.”

T.K.’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Yes I am?”

“T.K. we’ve been together for like four months. I would know if you were ticklish.” He knows T.K.’s body intimately. Where he can touch to make him moan, to make him gasp, to make him arch his back. If T.K. were ticklish, it would have been revealed long before now.

“It’s just that one spot on the left side of my ribs,” T.K. tells him. “If your hands start to go there I just take them and move them somewhere else. You’ve never noticed?”

Huh. Carlos sits with that for a second replaying as many of their sexual encounters as he can remember. “I guess…I guess not. Why did you hit me though?” he asks with a frown.

“Ah.” T.K. blushes. “I always move your hands because I can get a little…violent when I get tickled. It’s kind of a panic response.”

“And instead of telling me this you just waited for me to discover it by accident and nearly broke my nose in the process?”

“I kind of forgot honestly. It’s just become a habit to move your hands,” T.K. tells him.

Carlos snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god what?” T.K. asks warily.

“Oh my god…that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Carlos says, full on laughing now.

T.K.’s face breaks into a smile and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “It is kind of dumb.”

Carlos leans forward and cups his chin, pulling him in for a real kiss. “You’re cute,” he says. “You and your ridiculous ticklish spot.”

“You’re cute too,” T.K. says, then wrinkles his nose. “But you kind of stink.”

“Oh I do?”

“Yeah you do.”

Carlos wraps his arms around T.K. while he yells in protest, holding him tightly as they fall onto the mattress together. It’s disgustingly adorable. And Carlos wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#Tarlos #Glasses and Smut and Your Naked Butt #911 Lone Star #Tarlos Fic #911lsfic #Seven Sentence Sunday #Fluffy Tarlos #Boyfriend Era #Sweet boys #Boys in love #Cuteness #5+1 Fic

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dragaliamini · 18 days

Text

youtube

Dragalia Lost Stranded Scions Event Song:

Eat Sleep Escape

Vocals: ano Lyrics: ano Composition: TAKU INOUE Arrangement: TAKU INOUE Translation + Video: HazeintheDaze

Image: taken from archive of official Dragalia Lost twitter event promotion art

As usual the lyrics in the video are written to be synced to the song, the more accurate translation is below. I really like the repeated use of alliteration which is hard to be captured with a direct translation.

You can listen to the song on spotify so do support the release

Lyrics

Official Lyrics

せかせかした世界だな目が回る終わりにしたいねグダグダくだらない管を巻くほらまた的外れなアドバイスはすぐバイバイ僕のサードアイ見ぬくライライもうすぐトワイライト　まだ寝たいなまたねタイムアップ飽きたな昔話消えていったカロリー分何か食べたい　ゆートップギアで何もしないぜプラスいい風ほぼほぼゼロのロースピードでさあイート、スリープ (Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh) トップギアで走る夢なんか見なくていいこのままさよならしたっていいさあエスケープ (Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh) イート、スリープ、エスケープ hey! イート、スリープ、エスケープトップオブトップギアで何もしないぜプラスいい風ほぼほぼゼロのロースピードでさあイート、スリープ (Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh) トップギアで走る夢なんか見なくていいただただこのまま溶けていけさあエスケープ (Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh) さよならさよなら (Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh) イート、スリープ、リピートイート、スリープ、エスケープ

Romanji

Sekaseka shita sekai da na Me ga mawaru Owari ni shitai ne Gudaguda kudaranai kuda wo maku

Hora mata matohazure na adobaisu wa sugu baibai Boku no saado ai minuku rairai Mou sugu towairaito mada netai na Mata ne Taimu appu

Akita na mukashi banashi Kiete itta karorri bun Nanika tabetai yuu

Toppu gia de nanimo shinai ze Purasu ii kaze Hobo hobo zero no roo supiido de Saa iito, surripu

Toppu gia de hashiru yume nanka minakute ii Kono mama sayonara shitatte ii Saa esukeepu Iito, suriipu, esukeepu

Iito, suriipu, esukeepu

Toppu obu toppu gia de nanimo shinai ze Purasu ii kaze Hobo hobo zero no roo supiido de Saa iito, suriipu

Toppu gia de hashiru yume nanka minakute ii Tadatada kono mama tokete ike Saa esukeepu

Sayonara Sayonara

Iito, suriipu, ripiito Iito, suriipu, esukeepu

More accurate translation

This restless world makes me feel dizzy I wish for it to end Rolling up all the drunken words into a tube

Oh look, another advice that completely missed the point I say byebye I open my third eye come come It's almost twilight I just want to sleep more See you later Time's up

I'm tired of the same old stories My calories have vanished What shall I eat

I'm at top gear, but I'm not doing anything Plus a nice wind Almost almost zero low speeds we run Now eat, sleep

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

I'm at top gear, but running at maximum speed is a pointless dream Just leave it as it is and say good bye to it Now escape

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Eat, sleep, escape hey

Eat, sleep, escape

Using the top of the line top gear but I won't do anything Plus a nice wind Almost almost zero low speeds we run Now eat, sleep

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

I'm at top gear, but running at maximum speed is a pointless dream I'll leave it as it is and melt away Now escape

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Goodbye goodbye

Eat sleep repeat Eat sleep escape

Video Lyrics

Restless listless endlessly turning world A dizzy gaze How I just want it to end

Rubbish sluggish drunken words Rolled into a tube

Another advice that has totally missed the point Let's wave a bye bye Open my third eye Perceive the lies lies It’s almost twilight I wanna sleep some more, see ya The time's up

Tired living the same old stories Dissolved and gone the calories burnt I wonder what I’ll eat today

Gears shift to high, but nothing has been done Plus one good breeze Almost almost zero, low speed has set Now eat, sleep

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Gears shift to high, but max speed’s just a dream That you cannot reach Just leave it as it is and say goodbye to it And escape

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Eat, sleep, escape hey

Eat, sleep, escape

Best gears have shift to high, but I’m not gonna move Plus one good breeze Almost almost zero, low speed has set Come eat, sleep

Gears set to high, but max speed is a pointless dream to chase for me Just leave it all behind and melt away and fade Let's escape

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Goodbye to you, goodbye to you

(Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Eat sleep repeat Eat sleep escape

#dragalia lost #ano #taku inoue #lyrics translation #translated by me

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twelve

Master List of Series

I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to @sunny-boy-06 . They've been someone whose name is always in my notifs. You've been a lurker on this account, but I see you! You always like every post I make, whether it's regarding this story or not, and I just want to let you know your support doesn't go unnoticed. Thank you. <3

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I hope y'all like this chapter. It's quite the eventful one. I apologize if it's information overload. If it is too much or you have any comments or questions, don't hesitate to ask! It always makes me smile having interactions with everyone. It's one of the reasons I love writing so much on platforms like these.

Translation Guide: Lykemās: easy, be quiet.

Chapter Warnings: Description of urination, Angsty girl with unresolved trauma, Violence, Sweet baby girl Aegon.

A cloaked figure stumbled through the alleyways of Kings Landing, bumping into townsfolk and mumbling as the stench of alcohol radiated off his body. Men and children alike turned their heads at the hunched man, their faces covered in disgust as they avoided him. Another poor drunkard from Flea Bottom, they thought, paying him no mind.

A woman, clearly a harlot by the bleached streak of dye in her hair, was speaking to a merchant, stroking vibrantly colored fabric in a suggestive way as the hobbled figure passed. A strand of white caught her eye, hearing the familiar ramblings in her ear. Quickly, she forgot her current mission, slinking away as she ran to her Mistress's home.

The crowned Prince Aegon wandered mindlessly on the merchant Streets of Kings Landing, searching for his next drink in all the wrong places. How low he had become these past few years, moaning and groaning about how unhappy he was and how unfair his life is. He had only wanted one thing in his existence, which was always out of reach.

Love.

Love from his mother, father, brother, sister, you-- from anyone he met.

Aegon did not know why he starved for it or went through the streets at night searching for love. Perhaps during his conception, the Gods decided he would never know what it felt like for someone to stare at him with stars in their eyes, kissing his woes away as they whispered those three words.

"I love you..."

But perhaps not. The most likely reason Aegon never experienced that warm feeling from someone was most evident at this very moment as he felt liquid pool below his stomach.

"Fuck," he mumbled, turning down a corner with far fewer people as he unlaced his soiled trousers between a cluster of wooden crates and barrels.

He could hear those who regrettably crossed his stream shouting in disgust as his piss covered their shoes. How lucky, Aegon justified, they have royal piss on their clothes, not just some common one.

Suddenly, the bright autumn sun disappeared, eclipsing the surrounding area in darkness. Aegon quickly looked up with his eyes squinted and mouth agape, stuffing himself back into his pants. In a flash, the sun was back again, the outline of what could only be a tail soaring above him and out of view.

"Aemond," he snorted, "arrogant prick."

His brother must have taken Vhagar out for a morning stroll. He ignored it, accustomed to his brother's theatrics. Aemond had the largest dragon the world had ever seen. Aegon would've boasted too.

The elder Prince sniffled as if dismissing the thought as he walked into nowhere. If he traveled long enough; eventually, the sweet nectar of Arbor Red would appear in his hands. He would find that taste, no matter that he was actually passed out in the same spot for the past two sun positions.

***

Common folk in the town's square stared at you in awe as you descended the rope ladder down Cannibal's enormous back. You were sure they had never seen a dragon so close before, your Targaryen brethren keeping the beasts deep inside Rhaenys's hill and only letting them soar the skies.

One person, a young boy, stepped closer to your dragon, his curious nature getting the best of him as Cannibal snapped his jaws with a snarl. The boy stumbled backward as Cannibal recoiled, separating you and the townsfolk with his enormous body.

The formerly wild dragon still held the same spirit as before, unwelcoming to the presence of so many people. He could not be around any of your family's dragons, sticking to his den on the eastern side of Dragonmont. After several months of you and Cannibal's partnership, Luke had convinced you to take your dragons out for riding. The Keepers warned against it, but you did it anyways, and the young Arrax nearly paid his life for it when Cannibal lunged, his teeth flaring at the poor juvenile.

"Lykemās, Cannibal," you soothed, stroking your hand along his large snout, his obsidian scales reflecting the midday sun. He took a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he released you from the protective embrace.

The young boy stood frozen in place, watching your mighty dragon with wonder in his eyes. That would have been you standing there if not for those fateful days in the past, mesmerized by the shiny black skin of Cannibal. A half-hearted smile rose onto your face at the memories, painful and bittersweet.

"Ten Golden Dragons should be enough for you to buy my companion your protection and some pork loins, yes?" you asked the boy absentmindedly as you searched your purse for some coins.

"Ye-yes, ma'am," the child nodded, his voice shaky.

"Good," you acknowledged, handing him the money, and you turned back to your dragon. "I shant be long boy. Be good now, Cannibal. This kind ser right here has promised to watch after you." Cannibal moved his head, and you couldn't help but feel he was mocking you.

Yes, your sweet, temperamental cannibalistic dragon did not need protection, but it was not for his safety but more for the dozens of ordinary folk beginning to crowd around him.

"Do not let people get so close to him. I cannot be sure that he would not eat a houseful of them in one bite," you whispered to the child, surveying the onlookers. He nodded enthusiastically at your words, taking the coins as he stepped closer to Cannibal as any curious child would. "Oh, and," you paused, remembering another critical piece of information, "do not pet him. The last time someone attempted that, they got their arm ripped out."

You offered him a small smile as he quickly backed up, fear clouding his puggish face.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your wrinkled riding clothes as you went to Flea Bottom, your home.

***

Even in the cooler autumn breeze, it smelled like curdled milk and feces. Though your nose scrunched in disgust, everything brought a nostalgic feeling to your heart. You had remembered the rushed layout of the place, watching the residents walk up their chipped sandstone staircases to their houses, clothes in mere tatters. You remembered running through these same alleyways as a child, dodging drunkards and Gold Cloaks with your pockets and satchels full of trinkets and fruits.

Everything was far less severe then. There were no courtly manners to worry about, no special dresses to wear at certain times, no obligation to train or speak a certain way, and no worries of succession.

It was simple, and you missed it, but in the same breath, you wouldn't change your life for anything.

How many people could say they tame the wildest dragon in the world? A dragon that sent others of its species cowering in fear. A dragon that ate other dragons for breakfast. Not even Aemond Targaryen could say that. Largest dragon be damned.

Ma's place was still the same. The only different thing was a carved wooden sign stating the name of her business, and the steps were more worn than you remembered—a victim of time, just like you.

Father had forbidden you to write to her, demeaning her a traitor of the crown for keeping you hidden, but Rhaenyra, ever the tender-hearted mother, could not bear to keep you from the only person in your old life. She had lost her mother just as you had, in the birthing bed. It was one of the reasons you had become close. She could not bear being a willing participant in your lack of communication with the woman who was the maternal figure in your early life. She would send the letters with her royal seal, her husband never knowing of your secret correspondence.

Your knock was barely audible on the door, fading into the background of the bustling streets of Flea Bottom. It flung open anyways, the person no doubt waiting for your arrival as you were crushed in a flurry of skirts and limbs. You could barely breathe as the person crushed you in their embrace, rocking you back and forth as they mumbled excitedly.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet little girl, how I've missed you," Madam squealed into your shoulder. You had nearly grown a full head taller than her in your time away and couldn't help but hug her back. "You're so strong," she said, releasing you and squeezing your biceps, "and tall! Dear Mother, you have grown! They must bee feeding you well! I should hope so," she chortled, "considering the taxes they're making us pay now." Ma shook her head, her hands on her hips as you stood awkwardly.

"Never mind that!" She swatted the subject of your family's taxation away with her hand, pulling you in by the wrist. "Come! Come sit, I've made your favorite, or at least I hope it is still your favorite," she added, a sad look glossing over her deep-set eyes.

"What is it, Ma?" You asked, hoping to reel her mind back into the present instead of wherever it went.

"Apple Muse," she chirped, her face bright once more. "Though, I am sure it is not nearly as good as the ones on Dragonstone. I recall how much you adored them in your letters."

You felt terrible at the evident insecurities Ma had, afraid that you had grown into a more refined palette. You had, but Apple Muse was something easy and quick they made in the kitchens with few ingredients. It was peasant food, and you liked it because it reminded you of the life you once had.

"I will adore yours just as well," you grinned at her. "It is the purpose and memories around the food for which I like it. I always think of you when I eat it."

"Wonderful! I wasn't sure when you would arrive, so I've had it simmering in the pot. It just needs a moment to cool, and then I can pour it." You nodded, your eyes drifting around the kitchen where you had many of your first meals.

The pot Ma was cooking in was still the same, a sturdy iron built for years of use, and the fireplace it sat inside was blackened with soot. The wood looked lighter from sun damage through the window. A few cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and you had to hold back the urge to knock them down with your sword.

"Ma? Could I," you paused, tucking your lower lip in to bite it as she turned. "Is it possible for me to see my old room? If it is not in use," you quickly added, realizing that much time had passed and she was still a businesswoman.

"Yes," she answered, wiping her palms on her brown apron and plucking the circle of keys from her hip. "I... I could not bear to let anyone use it, even after all of these years." You regarded her with a soft smile, picking out the key to your old bedroom as you hugged her.

You knew it was painful. The near-decade spent without the child you raised across the sea, missing so much of her life. It was agony for Madam at times, waiting for that measly scrap of parchment with a wax seal, her only communication with someone she regarded as her own. It still pained her greatly to think about when you were upset, seeking comfort in the arms of people who did not know you. Not like she did. Madam laid the foundation of you, but the Targaryens built upon it. She would despise them for eternity because of that, no matter how handsomely Aegon paid her girls.

The staircase you stomped up as a child creaked loudly, running your hand along the railing as more memories flashed across your eyes. You recalled Lyra chasing you down these stairs with a mouse between her fingers, squealing and giggling as she dangled it by its tail until Madam put her foot down. She had caught it scampering out of a room one day, no doubt the culprit for all the holes in the girls' shoes that had been plaguing them for weeks.

You begged Lyra not to kill the poor creature, something so small and innocent doing what it needed to survive. She compromised, having you follow her to a stable house, releasing the tiny thing into the haystacks. It would be free to roam and bother the farmers instead of the whores. The memory pained you now.

You reached your door, struggling to unlock the stiff handle. It was hidden around a corner at the end of the hall. Someone would have to know precisely where they went inside the brothel to find the room. You never fully understood why. Only when it was too late.

Finally, the knob jiggled, and you shoved once, twice, before it opened, stirring up the undamaged items in an explosion of dust. Your small cot was neatly made, unlike how you left it on that fateful day.

The few dresses you had as a child were still untouched, except for the few holes that littered the skirts and arms from moths. You stroked the fabric, rough and scratchy, unlike the smooth, tailored clothes you wear now.

You sat on your bed, the straw mattress unforgiving with your weight as it snapped and cracked. You knew it would not break. It could fit you and Aunt Lyra in the small space as she tickled and teased your writhing form. A sigh escaped your mouth, your shoulders deflating as you looked at the abandoned area, a hollow, empty feeling enveloping your chest.

What would your life have been like if Daemon had never found out you existed? Would you still be sleeping in this same room? In the same tiny bed, you rested in as a child, or would you be in a different one? In a place fit for a girl of your size. Would you be a working girl or training to one day take Ma's place as the owner of this establishment?

One thing you knew for sure was that Lyra would be alive. You half expected her head to pop through the doorway, her blue eyes bright with contagious excitement as she invited you on a new adventure. The feeling was fleeting, your grief attempting to trick you into a reality that would never be.

Madam called to you over the symphony of moans you had drowned out, letting you know the food was ready. You stood, walking silently over to your door, shutting it and locking the knob, leaving everything as it once was.

***

"Lookie what we haves here," a man with a thick northern accent said in the darkness, kicking Aegon out of his slumber.

The sun had long set, and the nightlife was in full swing. Where had the time gone? Aegon looked around perplexed, his body forcing him to stop at the pounding of his head.

"This one 'ill be easy," another man out of the group commented, "He's already passed out drunk."

"Oi! Had more ale than you can handle," he shouted into Aegon's face, the man's breath indicating the same applied to him.

The Northern Man crouched down to his level, grabbing him by his chin and slapping him on the cheek for good measure. The dingy cloak that had hidden his white hair fell, revealing his identity.

"Aye. He's a Targaryen," a third man that Aegon overlooked said, a short dagger glinting in his hand.

"So?" The Northern Man questioned, not seeing the problem with his victim's identity. "We're only gonna mug 'em and send 'em on his merry way."

"He's seen our faces," the second thug expressed worriedly.

Aegon, in fact, had not seen their faces. His eyes were blurry, and the alley was too dark for him to see, but you had seen, watching the interaction behind them, as silent as a mouse. It had surprised you how easily the Prince's location had fallen into your lap. One of Madam's girls had interrupted your meal, out of breath as she told Ma what she saw.

It had turned out, in your years away, Madam had created quite the network of spies rivaling that of the White Worm. Her reach traveled all through Westeros and even across the Narrow Sea. It should not have been a shock how much her hands extended, ever the entrepreneur.

The leader, you could only assume, waved his grimy hand in front of Aegon, and when he made no reaction, he gestured to his conspirators. They reluctantly followed his actions, picking poor helpless Aegon up as one delivered a blow to his gut. Both you and Aegon winced but couldn't help the smile that made its way onto your lips. You would let them have their fun. He deserved it, after all.

After a brutal punch to the Prince's nose, blood gushing down his chin, did you finally intervene.

You unsheathed your sword quietly, still not wanting your presence to be known, as you stepped behind the man with the dagger. He posed the most threat until your steel blade sliced his hand clean off his wrist.

The man screamed in agony, clutching his dismembered arm as blood spurted from his wound, soaking the weathered stone below. The other two turned in your direction, your riding cloak keeping your figure in the darkness. The crimson dots shining on your sword gave them an indication of where you might be, pausing for a moment as they thought of their actions.

Quickly and with shaking hands, both Aegon's attackers drew their knives, mere toothpicks compared to your weapon. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped as you saw them step closer to you, their metal sticks trembling in their grasp.

The more dim-witted of the two lunged forward, swiping his blade where he assumed your torso was, but missing by an arm's length as you swiftly parried, knocking his knife to the ground and kicking it behind you. He froze in place, his partner attempting to do the same tactic but getting closer as you dodged.

Still, with a smile, you moved out of reach, slinking behind the pair, the fabric of your cloak flapping with your movements. They came at you simultaneously, but your arms were faster, deeply cutting across the abdomen of one, jumping out of the other's path as his inebriated body smacked against a stone wall. You did not stifle your laugh this time, letting it vibrate your chest as he fell flat on his back, his head smacking the hard ground.

"That was easier than anticipated," you said aloud. The two men, still clinging to consciousness as their blood leaked from their bodies, stared at you wide-eyed, stunned to hear a woman's voice.

You ignored them, pushing your hood off and rushing to Aegon as you lifted him upright. Other than his bloodied nose and a cut to his cheek, he was fine, albeit still a bit hungover. You hadn't realized how worried you had become as you watched the men from earlier beat him, your hands shaking as you stroked his greasy hair away from his face.

"Aegon," you said softly, the name feeling foreign on your tongue. "Are you alright?" You knew the question was asinine, he was not, but the sound of your racing heart inside your ears made you simple.

He groaned softly, still not quite back into reality as he lazily pushed your hand away. "My Prince, it is me," you paused, wiping the blood from his upper lip with your cloak. "It is your cousin." You said your name, his brows raising and glazed violet eyes opening.

"Little one," he spoke, his voice hoarse. "You are here?"

"Yes. I am here," you nodded, putting his dirtied hands on the sides of your face, attempting to ground him into the moment. All past animosity had left your mind, focusing solely on his face, more squared than you remembered.

"I have missed you, little one," Aegon said, his words slurring together. "I dreamed this day would come when you-"

Aegon's words were lost in the night air as someone yanked your long braid, pulling you to the ground. The man you had cut in the stomach flung himself over top of you, slamming your shoulders into the weathered stone streets, wrapping his slick hands around your throat.

You were stunned, momentarily caught off guard as he squeezed tighter, vengeance in his beady eyes. You blinked rapidly, collecting your thoughts as blood pooled on your face and air leaving your body.

The memories of your training surfaced in your mind, searching for any weak point you could use to free yourself. Luckily, all these men were idiots as you realized he had left your arms free.

You took the dagger Daemon had gifted you off your belt, shoving it into the man's side repeatedly, his blood spurting onto your hand and riding clothes. His grip loosened, and you brought your knee up, pushing him to the ground in the same position he had you, only wholly subdued.

He had no chance to beg for his life as you stabbed him in the chest, over and over and over again, until nothing but his body's subconscious twitches controlled him.

Aegon smiled as he watched you rise from the man's now mutilated corpse, your shoulders heaving as a warm feeling gathered in his chest. He reached out to you like a child asking their parent to carry them, and you accepted, saying something he did not hear as that feeling numbed his senses.

This was love, he thought as he noticed his attacker's blood splattered on your soft cheeks. The kisses and the touches of one special someone were love, yes, but not real love-- not true love. True love was death. It was the fear of loss and showing yourself raw and bare, even with the fear of rejection hammering at your insides. It was protecting the kin of someone who had hurt you in immeasurable ways.

Aegon was in love with you, he realized at that moment, as you shifted his weight onto your shoulder, using the opportunity to steal a whiff of your scent—lavender and dragon with a hint of smoke from your years on Dragonstone. You must have loved him, too, for not just anyone would kill three people for a single man.

***

It was an eternity before the Red Keep came into view, trying to picture the maps you studied of the layout as you helped Aegon's limp body up the hills. You had half a mind to drag him by his arms, uncaring if his porcelain skin was scratched with pebbles. Sacks of sand and grain were nothing compared to a full-grown man, and at this point, the fire that raged within you as you attacked those men was dwindling.

Aegon's loose leg caught on a stray rock, causing you and him to fall onto the stone street, his face buried in your chest. You huffed, attempting to push his enervated body off you with no success.

"Where are we going, little one," he asked, his violet eyes shining in the light of the street torches.

"Do not call me that," you grimaced, trying to roll him off again. "We are going home."

"Dragonstone? I have to say, dearest, that this is going to be a long haul for both of us. Why do we not just get some rest here, at the nearest inn," he questioned, tilting his head to one of the many buildings.

"No, not my home, you imbecile. Yours. Why would you ever think we would be going to Dragonstone," you said exasperated, unwedging your arm out from under him.

"I do not want to go there," he whined, sticking his lip out. "Let us just sleep at an inn," Aegon offered again, "I seem to recall a much enjoyable night spent between the two of us in one of these establishments."

A sound of disgust came from your throat, finally gaining enough strength to push him off. "Your skin is covered and dirt, your hair greasy, and you reek of piss. You are repulsive, Aegon, and I would rather be tarred and feathered for all of Kings Landing to see rather than spend one more moment with you."

Aegon's face contorted in hurt, his pink lips pouting as he stared at you with glassy eyes. His hair covered the sides of his square face looking years younger than he was—a heartbroken little boy in a man's body.

In his moments of need, you had forgotten the years worth of anger and resentment toward him and his family. Crucial aspects of your training were wiped from your mind when you saw his battered form. Your thoughts were only filled with heart-wrenching desperation as the blood dripped from his nose. He had made you weak, and that was something you would never allow yourself to be ever again.

"B-but..." he stammered, chin quivering, "I thought?"

"You thought wrong. The acts we committed as children were just that. It means nothing, meant nothing to me." The words spat like venom from your tongue, cutting Aegon to the quick. His eyes danced around the many alleyways, the thought of fleeing evident on his face. "Now, we only have a little longer on foot, and then we will arrive at the gates."

Aegon's feet shuffled as if to get comfortable, but you knew better. Judging by the letter the Queen had sent you, he was a flighty man, and you expected as much. You grabbed his arm before he could think, staring at his bedraggled face.

"And if you think of fleeing, know that I am not like the Kingsguard or the Watchman. There is not a whore house, cellar, or pub where I cannot find you. It would do you well to remember that." You yanked Aegon along with you, dragging him uphill toward the Red Keep, everything much easier this time. You were sure veins were protruding from your neck as you spoke to him, the area sore from where the man had attacked you.

He didn't fight. All thoughts of running were stopped and replaced with melancholy and defeat as bumbled behind you. Where had his little girl gone? Who had stolen your sweet words and gentle gestures, you had shown him not too long ago?

Aegon told himself this was not you. You were frustrated and angry with him for being cheeky when you were not in the mood. Most likely tired from the long ride from Dragonstone. That was why you lashed out, he reassured, not because you meant what you said. Mayhaps you have not remembered the tender moments you shared many years ago. Time and words from your father and mother could have contorted your memories into what you believed they were now.

But in the end, he knew you were his, and buried deep down, rooted in the aspects of your soul you refused to avow, he was yours.

***

During the hour of the owl, you finally reached the front gate of the Keep. Aegon had completely sobered, seeming refreshed and ripe to begin a few hours of debauchery, but you, on the other hand, were not accustomed to forgoing hours of sleep.

You heard armor clanking as several guards appeared over the red stone wall, hands on their swords and spears.

"It is the Prince," one shouted as a stampede of metal footsteps echoed in the night, the large wooden gates opening.

A handful of guards went to you and Aegon, pausing momentarily as they finally noticed you. The silver accents on your clothes glinted in the moonlight, your braids loose from the hours of scouring the streets and hauling a certain princeling.

"Woman. Move from the Prince at once," a knight commanded as you glared at Aegon. "Wench! I command thee, move ten paces away from His Grace, or you will be moved."

Aegon refused to help you. For once, during this entire night, he kept his moronic mouth shut. Revenge for how you spoke to him earlier, you supposed. You looked at him in astoundment, your lip curling incredulously as you looked at the men. Indeed, they recognized you. You were not someone who could exactly be forgotten, the white streak in your hair.

"Cease!" A voice from behind the knights shouted. The guards moved out of his way, clearing a path for the man in pristine white armor. "This is the daughter of His Grace, Prince Daemon Targaryen! Have you men so semblance of intelligence to recognize the kin of the crown?"

You had to hide your shock as Ser Arryk Cargyll stood between you and the group of guards. His brother followed closely behind. He had grown further into the position of a Kingsguard. His light brown hair, you had remembered loose at his shoulder, was now slicked on the sides of his head into a knot, his beard longer with a slight curl to the collection of whiskers over his lip.

"Come, Princess," he said, gesturing with his hand, "I thank you for returning Prince Aegon without harm to the Red Keep. We will escort him to his chambers. I am certain the King and Queen will be pleased with both of your arrivals."

Aegon eyed Ser Ayyrk suspiciously. To everyone, even you, his words appeared respectful, but Aegon knew of the compassion Arryk extended to you during a vulnerable moment, soiling his love with the kind words of a simple knight.

"There is no need, Ser Arryk. I will return him," you replied, grabbing Aegon harshly on his upper arm. "I am expected an audience with the Queen upon my arrival with her son. Will you please alert her to my presence?"

"Yes, My Lady," he nodded curtly, his forearm over his breastplate as he turned.

You exhaled in relief once his back was turned, releasing Aegon's bicep, and rested your hands on your knees, preparing for what was to come.

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I was today years old when I realized I'd been writing Aegon's title wrong. Please, bear with me while I change everything that includes his name. Why is she so mean to him? :( Like our sweet baby boy did nothing wrong other than get Lyra and Sara killed. I hope she doesn't find out because judging how this first encounter went, I don't think she'll be very forgiving.

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