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girlgenius1111 · 25 days

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all of my past i tried to erase it

part 3 of family line tensions are still high between Ingrid and her sister. Mapi tries to keep the peace. Solstråle tries to pretend she's fine. Ingrid tries to pretend she isn't going insane not understanding what is going on. cw: mentions of poor mental health / panic attacks. ingrid is pretty worried about solstråle and whether or not she is safe.

-------

It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Mapi bringing her parents to the match shouldn’t have gotten to you the way it did. You didn’t really have an explanation for it, either. You saw Ingrid talking to Mapi’s mom and it felt like everything that had gotten marginally better in the last few days had miraculously disappeared.

You were 8 again, sitting in the office at school, fielding pitying looks from the office ladies. Both of your parents were busy watching one of Ingrid’s matches; at just 16, she was playing for Rosenborg. Your mom was supposed to bring you to watch, too. She’d forgotten.

You were 10 again, lying to the school nurse that your parents hadn’t known you’d hurt your hand. She said it looked broken, and you pretended that you hadn’t asked your mom to take you to the doctor the night before. You pretended your mom hadn’t told you to stop faking injuries when the attention wasn’t on you for one minute.

You were 13 again, sobbing into your pillow, while everyone celebrated just down the hall. Ingrid was leaving to play in Lillestrøm. 5 hours away. She was leaving you behind.

You were 16, having just been dumped by your first girlfriend. You’d come home in tears, and when you told your dad what was wrong, he told you it was for the best, that a girlfriend was just a distraction. He warned you not to bother your sister with this, because she was busy with much more important things in Barcelona.

You were 17, so drunk you could barely speak, walking home on a dark road in the middle of the night because neither of your parents had answered the phone to come and get you from the horrific party you already regretted attending. It was dark, a windy road you were walking along, and if a car came, you weren’t sure your reflexes would be quick enough. You were 17, stumbling over the smooth pavement, the depression you’d been trying to drown in alcohol making a reappearance. You were 17, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it all ended there, just like this.

You were 17, standing in the airport with your parents, preparing to board the plane to Spain. You leaned in towards your mother for a hug. She avoided it, pinching your cheek lightly, and reminding your father that they had a dinner reservation to get to. You watched them walk out of the airport from your place in the security line. Your vision was blurred with tears, but you still could tell that they didn’t look back at you once. You were 17, and your mom hadn’t told you she loved you before you moved across the continent.

In a second, all of these memories that you’d fought so hard to keep locked away deep inside your head were flooding out. Tears were pricking your eyes, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Ingrid didn’t care. Mapi didn’t care. You weren’t worth caring about. How had you forgotten that? How had you let yourself forget that, after everything?

Ingrid didn’t see your expression change, too busy thanking Mapi’s parents profusely for coming to see her play. Mapi did, though. She watched as you caught sight of your sister talking to her mom, and she watched as you flinched like someone had swung at you. She watched as you slipped out of the crowd, speed walking into the building. Mapi was torn in 2 directions, Ingrid on one side, and you running off the other way. You needed Ingrid, most definitely but Mapi didn’t like the look on your face as you ran off, like all of the emotion had been sucked out of you, and all that was left was exhaustion.

Someone else had noticed your disappearing act, though. Caro stood, staring after you, before her gaze fell to Mapi, raising an eyebrow. The defender nodded, and Caro followed after you, while Mapi turned to her girlfriend. She pulled her away from her parents with an apologetic smile, appreciating that Alexia walked over and picked up the conversation where it had left off.

“Ingrid, vamos,” Mapi whispered urgently. Ingrid looked at her, confused and unmoving.

“What? I was in the middle of a conversation, María,” the Norwegian scolded.

“I know, it’s your Solstråle, though, she’s upset, come on,” Mapi insisted, pulling on Ingrid’s hand, who finally seemed to feel a sense of urgency, and let Mapi lead her into the building.

“Upset? Why? Did something happen?”

“She saw you with my mom and just looked really upset.” Mapi explained. A bit of understanding washed over Ingrid’s face, and now she was the one leading her girlfriend, rushing down the hall and beginning to open door after door in search of you.

Caro, meanwhile, had found you pretty easily. You were on the floor of a room she often came to when she was overwhelmed, although that happened much less these days. You knew Caro, obviously, and she knew you, had known you since you were pretty young. She had a calming presence, and the minute she sat next to you, and extended her hand in your direction, you took it gratefully.

“Mapi is bringing Ingrid.” She told you, but didn’t say anything else. She just sat next to your trembling form and held your hand. It was enough for now, enough until your sister arrived.

And when Ingrid did arrive, it was with a loud bang as she threw the door open, sighing in relief at the sight of you. Though, that relief quickly dissolved back into worry at the state you were in. She quickly took Caro’s place at your side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your sister was surprised when you turned and threw your arms around her neck, crying silently into her shirt.

“Jeg har deg, kjære. Det er greit, du er ok.” She murmured, looking worriedly at the other two women hovering in the doorway of the room. Mapi nodded at her encouragingly, and Ingrid refocused, rubbing a hand slowly up and down your back.

“Thank you,” Mapi muttered to Caro, as they both stepped into the hall to give you some space.

“Of course.” Caro said easily. “She having a hard time?”

“Which one?” Mapi asked wryly. “Yes. It’s… it’s a work in progress.”

“She’s a good kid.” Caro noted, Mapi nodding her head in agreement. “Well, Marta and I are around if either of you need anything.”

“Thank you, Caro. Really.” Mapi said, squeezing the forward’s shoulder. Caro just shrugged like it was no big deal, and headed back out to the pitch. When Mapi reentered the room, you were tucked perfectly into Ingrid’s lap, although you seemed to have calmed down some. Ingrid was speaking to you in hushed Norwegian, and something she said had you lurching away from her and to your feet, stumbling blindly to the door.

“Solstråle, wait,” Ingrid called, not really sure what she said to upset you, but well aware that it had been something. You fell right into Mapi’s arms, and though she looked a little startled, she easily pulled you close.

“Okay, it’s alright. We’re all okay.” She murmured, noticing the rather heartbroken expression on her girlfriend’s face at the fact that you had fled from her right into Mapi’s arms. After a few minutes, you said something quietly that neither girl could hear. “What was that, nena?”

“Can we go ho- back to the house?” You asked, correcting yourself quickly, and pulling away from the comforting embrace Mapi had you in. Ingrid felt like you’d stabbed her, honestly, when you didn’t let yourself call it home. You were stoic again, though, your face void of emotion, wiping roughly at your cheeks to rid them of tears.

“Kjære,” Ingrid said, hating the way you forced all evidence of your breakdown away. You’d been so upset, about something, but now you were acting as though nothing had happened. Your sister would have climbed into your brain if she could’ve, just to understand what was going on in there.

“Let’s go home.” Mapi said easily, shooting her girlfriend a meaningful look. Ingrid wasn’t supposed to push you, she knew that. It was just getting harder and harder to not do so, especially when she could see how much pain you were in. She couldn't understand why you wouldn’t just talk to her, and you couldn’t understand why she was so concerned or why she was so desperate to hear what you were feeling. And considering it was the two of you, the situation was bound to blow up into an argument. It was just a matter of time.

-------

Ingrid knew what was coming before her phone rang, but she still desperately wanted to avoid it. She was quite comfortable at the moment, curled up on top of Mapi in their bed, a show playing softly in the background. Mapi was scratching lightly at Ingrid’s scalp with one hand, and tracing lines over her back with the other. The movements made Ingrid’s entire body relax, which had definitely been Mapi’s goal, but it was all interrupted when her phone went off from next to her.

She sat up off her girlfriend, glancing at the screen, her expression hardening.

“Your mom?” Mapi guessed, pulling Ingrid back down into her when the Norwegian declined the call.

“Yes.”

“You haven’t talked to her since Solstråle’s letter, have you?”

“No.” Ingrid said. “I think I hate her right now.”

Mapi was surprised, only because Ingrid didn’t hate anyone. If there was going to be a person, though, it would be someone who had hurt you. Because Ingrid didn’t like to kill spiders she found in the house, but Mapi knew she would kill a person for you without a second thought. “That’s okay. You can hate her.”

“I miss her.” Ingrid admitted after another minute, her voice cracking. Her forehead was scrunched with sadness, and her hands gripped Mapi’s shirt tight in her hands.

Mapi sighed, wishing she could take Ingrid’s pain away. And yours too, for that matter. “You can miss her too. You can feel whatever you need to feel.”

“No, I can’t, not when Solstråle is so upset,”

“How your sister feels does not limit how you feel. You can be hurt, and sad, and frustrated too. It doesn’t take away from pequeña’s feelings. Just like her feelings don’t take away from yours. You are both upset. That’s alright.” Mapi said confidently. “This isn’t just happening to your sister. It’s happening to you, too, and you can be sad, mi amor. You can cry.”

Ingrid hadn’t even known she’d been about to cry until Mapi said that, but suddenly there were tears running down her face, and she was clutching tightly to the Spaniard underneath her, who did not seem surprised at all at the sudden emotion.

“I know, baby.” Mapi husked, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of Ingrid’s head. She knew Ingrid needed this, and was content to let her cry it out until she heard a sharp breath from the doorway. You were standing just outside the room, frozen and horrified.

“I’m sorry, Ing,” you mumbled, having come in to say goodnight, rather stunned to see your sister so distraught.

Ingrid could only cry harder, now furious with herself for letting you see this, but too upset to do anything but squeeze Mapi’s hand, wordlessly begging for her to do something.

“Ven aqui, nena, it’s alright.” Mapi said, gesturing you over to the bed. You looked skeptical, but you did so anyway, carefully sitting on the bed next to your sister.

“I’m really sorry, Ingrid, I don’t mean to stress you out.” You whispered. You were in a guilty mood, it seemed, not an angry one, and Ingrid felt that somehow, she preferred when you were angry to this.

“Don’t apologize, pequeña. You haven’t done anything wrong. Ingrid is upset, and you’re upset. It’s okay to be upset, and it’s okay to cry.” Sometimes, Mapi felt like she was teaching preschoolers how to identify and express their emotions when she talked to the both of you, though that might be an easier task.

“I’m not upset with you, Solstråle, I am upset with mom, and I am upset with myself. You don’t need to say sorry. Not for having a panic attack, for having a hard time, for any of it.” Ingrid managed then, taking your hand in hers.

“I’m doing my best.” You said. “I know I’m not making it easy, but I promise I’m trying.”

“We know you are. You’re doing so well, nena.” Mapi said enthusiastically, with so much excitement at you saying something remotely positive about yourself that you and Ingrid both cracked smiles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ingrid asked after a minute. At that, you withdrew, pulling your hand from Ingrid’s and rising from the bed. Both your sister and her girlfriend repressed sighs at your sudden withdrawal.

“No, I’m really tired. I came to say goodnight. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You rushed out, before bolting out of the room at a speed that could barely be considered a walk.

Ingrid sighed once you were out of earshot, settling back into Mapi. “She’s so difficult.”

“She’s stubborn. Like her sister. She’ll come around, just give her time.” Mapi assured her.

Giving you time, though, was a lot harder than it seemed.

-------

Your whole life, you had been encouraged by your parents to be smaller, to take up less space. If you were upset, you should keep it to yourself. If you were angry, you should calm down. You were taught that your needs always came second to everyone else’s. You didn’t like to be vulnerable with people, and you didn’t like to put your emotions on others.

So when you woke up the next day, it was the feeling of intense shame swirling around inside of you. You’d ruined what was an impressive win for your sister, and a nice moment with Mapi’s parents. You’d upset Ingrid, so much so that she had cried about it.

Too much. You were being too much.

You resolved yourself to be happy today. If not happy, content. Mapi and Ingrid probably needed a day off from your ridiculous, all over the place, emotions. So today, you wouldn’t feel. You’d be perfect, you’d be small, and you’d cause as little trouble as possible.

What you didn’t expect, though, was for that to be the opposite of what Mapi and Ingrid wanted from you. They didn’t care if you took up space. They just wanted you to talk. More than anything, they just wanted you to be okay, no matter how inconvenient that process was for them.

It was a day off for both girls, due to the match the day before, and they were able to let you sleep in. Ingrid was worried you were sleeping too much, but Mapi assured her that angsty teens always needed a lot of sleep, and depressed teens going through a rough time needed even more sleep. Pair that with the intense panic attack you’d had the day before, you were bound to be exhausted.

When noon rolled around, though, and you’d yet to make an appearance, Mapi relented, much to Ingrid’s relief, who had half a mind to check you for a pulse. Mapi made a coffee to bring up to you, opening your door quietly to find you out cold under the covers.

With Snø clutched tightly in your arms, your nose pressed against the soft polar bear, you looked so young.

“Pequeña, despierta,” Mapi murmured, sitting on the edge of your bed and pulling the covers away from your face a bit.

You blinked up at her groggily, an adorably sleepy expression on your face, and Mapi couldn’t help but push some hair out of your face and smile down at you. You looked slightly suspicious, as you couldn’t remember being woken up like this in the entire time living in Spain, but Mapi just handed you your coffee, and settled on the edge of your bed.

“Morning,” you said after a minute and a rather large sip of coffee.

“Afternoon.” Mapi corrected, a little confused when your face turned red at the comment. “It’s 12:15.”

“That’s weird. Normally Ingrid comes to make sure I’m breathing if I sleep past 10.” You noted.

Mapi chuckled. “We’re working on some of your sister’s annoying habits.”

“Don’t get rid of too many, or there won’t be anything left.” You said, your lips tugging up into a smirk.

“Okay! I will just go through this chocolate croissant I made for you in the garbage!” Ingrid scoffed from the doorway, turning on her heel and marching back down the stairs.

If there was any surefire way to get you out of bed, it was to present you with a breakfast pastry.

Within 90 seconds, you had kicked Mapi out, thrown some clothes on and bounded down the stairs, in search of the promised croissant. It was sitting on a plate at the counter, waiting for you, next to your sister who was glaring at you slightly.

“Thank you, Ing,” you said sweetly, throwing her a charming smile. She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

You hit Mapi’s hand playfully when she reached for your croissant, and she withdrew it with a laugh. “You’re like breakfast pastries the way Ingrid is about coffee.”

“Reasonable? Reasonably attached to it? Is that what you mean, María?” Ingrid asked with a frown.

“Of course, mi amor.” Mapi said with a smile, kissing Ingrid’s cheek softly. You averted your eyes, but you couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t make you happy to see your sister loved so well.

The morning, or afternoon, was going exactly as you’d hoped. No attempts at conversation. No feelings. Of course, it couldn’t last. Once you’d finished eating, Ingrid perked up and seemed to prepare herself for what she was about to say, which instantly made you weary.

“We should talk about last night, kjære.” Ingrid said calmly.

You froze, slowly putting your mug back on the counter. Both other girls watched the way your whole body tense, the way every ounce of emotion was wiped off your face.

“I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.” You said stiffly.

“That is not true. Something upset you, and we should discuss it.” Ingrid argued.

“Ingrid, it’s fine. Just leave it. We don’t need to talk about that. We don’t need to talk about anything.” You replied defensively.

“It’s not fine!” Ingrid said, raising her voice, and shaking off Mapi’s gestures to calm down. “None of this is fine. We need to talk about last night. We need to talk about the letter you wrote. We need to get you in therapy. These are all things that need to happen, solstråle. We’ve given you time, now we need to do this.”

“I am not going to therapy.” You declared, standing up with a scoff and crossing your arms across your chest. “Ingrid, I am fine. I don’t need to talk and I don’t need help.”

Ingrid grew visibly more angry with you at that, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration.

“Amor, take a breath.” Mapi said quietly, sighing to herself when Ingrid did not do so.

“You don’t need help? That is the most untrue thing I have ever heard. You do not write the things that you wrote and then turn around and say you’re fine. You. Need. Help.”

“Ingrid. I am not going to therapy, and I am done talking about this.” You said, your voice dangerously quiet.

Your sister wasn’t phased, stepping closer to you with her eyes narrowed. “You will go to therapy if I say you will, and this conversation is not over until I say it is.”

In retrospect, even Ingrid realized that this was decidedly the wrong thing to say. You didn’t take well to being told what to do. Your reaction really should have been worse; Ingrid had gotten off easy.

“Jesus, Ingrid, do you hear yourself? You sound just like mom.” You spit back, feeling a bit of satisfaction at the hurt that flashed across your sister’s face. “I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with you.” You spun around and began stomping towards the stairs. “Don’t fucking follow me.” You warned over your shoulder, causing Ingrid’s jaw to drop.

“Do not-” Ingrid began, starting after you.

“Amor, leave her.” Mapi said, intervening before Ingrid got very far, and pulling her back.

“She is the most frustrating person on the planet.” Ingrid huffed, slamming a hand down onto the counter. Mapi looked unimpressed.

“She is probably thinking the same thing about you right now. I told you not to push her.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Could you be on my side here for once?” She asked bitingly.

Mapi very calmly shook her head, opening her mouth to explain when Ingrid’s eyebrows flew up on her forehead. “No. I am on your sister’s side, and you should be too. No one has been for a really long time.”

The Norwegian deflated at that, sinking down into one of the stools at the counter. Mapi continued speaking, pulling Ingrid’s hair gently out of the bun it was in, and running her fingers through it. “You’re looking at this wrong, mi amor. She doesn’t need you to talk her into therapy. She’ll get there on her own, you just need to give her time. That girl has a long way to go before she admits she needs help, believe me.”

Ingrid sighed deeply. “Can you go check on her? She’s mad at me, I just need you to make sure she’s okay and she isn’t going to do anything stupid.”

“Of course.” Mapi said, delicately kissing Ingrid’s lips. “I love you.” She reminded the Norwegian with a soft, almost shy smile.

Ingrid wanted to cry at how sweet, how perfect, how helpful and kind and funny and beautiful her girlfriend was. “I love you, so so much.”

Mapi headed for the stairs, and Ingrid made yet another cup of coffee, a coffee she wouldn’t drink.

Because Mapi came running back down the stairs a minute later, an apprehensive look on her face as she approached her girlfriend.

“Mi amor, she isn’t up there.” She said carefully.

“What do you mean she isn’t up there,” Ingrid asked, rising to her feet and feeling panic rise within her.

Mapi just shook her head, putting her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders. “She isn’t up there. Her window is open, I think she snuck out.”

Ingrid felt like something inside of her was collapsing, leaving behind a chasm that was quickly filling with anxiety. “Where… what? She… she’s gone? She…we have to-”

What had you left to do? Only horrible, life shattering options of where you were and what you were doing were flying through Ingrid’s head, and she reached out, latching on to Mapi’s outstretched hands.

“Amor, breathe. Calm down. We’ll find her. Where would she go?”

Mapi hoped, with everything in her, that Ingrid had an answer. Because she had to be calm right now, for Ingrid, but Barcelona was a big city. And if you didn’t want to be found… Mapi didn’t know what would happen.

Ingrid’s mind was racing, but one thought pushed to the front of everything else. “The lake, there’s a lake in Melhus she would always go to when she was upset. She’d go to water, a body of water.”

Mapi nodded. “Okay, there are 2 beaches in walking distance, in opposite directions. We’ll go to one, and we’ll send Frido to the other.”

Privately, Mapi hoped Frido found you first. She wasn’t quite sure that you wouldn’t bolt away from Ingrid, but you wouldn’t be expecting Frido to pop up.

-------

A quick call to Frido later, Mapi was directing one very frazzled Norwegian into the car, and setting off for the beach. Ingrid was deep in thought, and Mapi kept her hand on her girlfriend’s leg, softly and soothingly rubbing her thumb back and forth. It was only a few minutes to the beach, and Mapi knew Ingrid would talk before they arrived.

“Do you think she’d do something stupid?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her hand covering Mapi’s and gripping tightly. The Spaniard didn’t need her to explain what she meant; she knew this question was coming, really.

“She said she wouldn’t.” Mapi said calmly.

“She said she wouldn’t ‘do that to me,’ that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t do it, especially now that she’s mad at me.”

“This is a little fight. She wouldn’t… do that. Not over this.” Mapi reassured her, but Ingrid remained unconvinced.

“I don’t know what she’s thinking, María, maybe she was lying before.”

“Ingrid, mi amor, calm down. You have to trust her. Even when you’re scared, and even when it feels like you should take her bedroom door off the hinges and implant her with a GPS chip. You have to trust her not to hurt herself.”

“But what if she does?” Ingrid asked softly, as if saying the words loud enough would somehow will it into existence.

“We can’t think like that. Promise me you won’t think like that, okay?”

“Okay.” Ingrid agreed faintly. Both of them knew she was lying. It was all she’d been worrying about for days, and all she would worry about for many to come.

--------

Frido found you first. When she drove by the beach and didn't see you there, she got another idea. There was a rock climbing place nearby; Ingrid had said you always used to go to a lake back home when you were upset. Though Frido didn’t want to say so, it had been a long time since Ingrid had lived with you, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if your habits had changed. And the Swede knew from your instagram that you spent a lot of time rock climbing. She told Mapi where she was headed, and sped over to the gym.

Sure enough, as soon as she walked in the building, she spotted you in the middle of the hardest wall, seemingly only using the smallest holds to get yourself up. You were breathing hard, and the worker belaying you looked a bit concerned.

Frido pulled her phone out, shooting off a quick text to Mapi. “She’s here, she’s okay. Let me talk to her, don’t let Ingrid come in. I’ll bring her out.”

Ingrid probably wouldn’t help the situation, if you were as angry as you seemed. The blonde spoke quickly to the front desk attendant, and headed over to where you were.

She stood, just watching you. You were a few feet from the top now, luckily for your hands, which you clearly had not put enough chalk on, and were beginning to really hurt. With only a bit to go, you took a risk, attempting an impressive, one armed pull to get your other hand to the next hold. You just barely missed, falling away from the wall.

“Fuck,” you cursed, swinging back towards the wall and smacking it with your hand. You were lowered down, clearly fuming, and Frido took the opportunity to step in front of you, giving the girl attached to the other end of the rope a look.

“Again,” you requested, avoiding Frido’s gaze.

She took your hand in hers, though, inspecting the tear in your skin, shaking her head. “No, that’s enough Solstråle.”

“Leave me alone, Frido.” You snapped, trying to pull away from her when you felt the rope fall slack. You turned, seeing that the worker had abandoned her harness in favor of going to help someone else, no doubt at Frido’s direction.

You rolled your eyes, quickly regretting it when the Swede raised an eyebrow at you. Ingrid could be scary sometimes, but she had nothing on Frido.

“Are they here?” You asked, loosening the harness and stepping out of it with an exasperated sigh.

“They’re outside. You terrified your sister.” Frido said, pulling you over to a bench and making you sit down, before handing you a bottle of water.

You looked unimpressed. “I’m 18, I can handle myself in the city for an hour.”

“She wasn’t worried about that, she was worried you were going to hurt yourself.” Frido said bluntly, sitting down next to you. She ignored how stiff you’d grown and how uncomfortable you seemed, reaching for your hand and looking at it critically.

“That wasn’t on purpose.” You said defensively, wrenching your hand away once again. “And I told her I wouldn’t do that.”

“Can you blame her for worrying, Solstråle, really? And maybe you didn’t do that on purpose, but you came here to push yourself instead of dealing with your feelings in a healthy way.”

You really hated that she was right. Frido was always right. It was simultaneously her worst and best trait.

“Are they mad?” You asked in a small voice, suddenly looking very much your age. Frido stood and held out a hand to help you up.

“Not right now. Just worried. Ingrid’s going to give you a hug and you’re going to let her.” Frido instructed. You supposed that was fair. And really, you could use a hug. Hugs from your sister always made you feel better, even if you’d never admit it.

As you exited the building, you instantly spotted your sister and her girlfriend by their car. Mapi was leaning calmly against the Cupra, while Ingrid was pacing frantically, speaking fast and gesturing wildly with her hands.

“Did I do that?” You asked quietly.

Frido laughed. “I think she was born like that.”

As you neared the car, Ingrid turned as Mapi pointed at you, her face melting with relief at the sight of you. It really hit you, then, how worried she must have been, to still be so anxious even after Frido had likely told her you were okay. You weren’t making this easy on your sister.

She practically knocked you over with the force of her hug. “You’re okay.” She murmured into the top of your head, leaving a kiss there.

“I’m okay.” You reiterated, letting yourself hug her back tightly, even if it was just for a moment. She felt you tighten your arms around her almost unconsciously, and made a note to hug you more often. Even if it seemed like you weren’t very interested. After a minute she pulled back, placing both hands on your cheeks and making you look at her.

“Next time leave through the front door? And tell me where you’re going? Please?” She asked. You appreciated that she didn’t tell you to do this, leaving it more as a request, although you knew it was a reasonable rule for her to put in place.

“Promise.” You said quietly. She nodded her head, satisfied, before pulling Frido into a hug that also looked to be too tight. Mapi was looking at you, rather unimpressed. You knew she was not happy with you for upsetting your sister so much, and though it annoyed you a bit, you knew it was deserved. And you appreciated that your sister had someone that was so protective over her.

“In the car, nena. I want to talk to you when we get home.” Mapi instructed. You got in the car with no argument, the fight having gone out of you a bit. It had nothing to do with the hug Ingrid had given you, nothing at all. Definitely not. Instead of anger, you only felt apprehension, because Mapi looked dead serious about whatever she wanted to talk about.

-------

You were nothing short of shocked when Mapi opened the door to the garage and gestured you inside upon arriving home. Ingrid watched on anxiously, and you pretended not to see the way Mapi whispered some reassurance to her and kissed her cheek, before pointing her towards the kitchen

You’d never been in the garage before; it was Mapi’s space. You were already invading her home, you wouldn’t invade the one place of the house that was really hers, too. You knew she worked something out there, knew there was a reason both cars parked in the driveway instead of in the garage.

Mapi followed you into the room and sat down on a stool next to the large motorcycle in the middle of the garage. It was clearly in the process of being restored. You hadn’t known Mapi rode motorcycles. Well, you hadn’t known that your sister let Mapi ride a motorcycle. You stood awkwardly in the door as Mapi inspected 2 different wrenches, until she pointed at the stool next to her.

“Ven aqui, nena.” She said.

You took a seat, not really enjoying the tense silence that washed over the room. “Are you mad at me?” You asked after a minute. For all your anger, and all your bravado, you didn’t like it when people were mad at you. Especially not people you looked up to, people you admired.

“No. Not mad, nena. Never mad. I wish you hadn’t snuck out your window, but I understand why you did. I wish sometimes you thought a bit more about how your actions affect me and your sister, but I know how hard that is to do when you’re as angry as you are.”

“I’m not angry.” You said defensively. Mapi rolled her eyes, handing you a couple of tools and beginning to tighten something on the bike.

“You are angry. You’re so angry that you feel like you’re going to explode sometimes. You’re so angry that sometimes you forget that you’re sad, too. You’re angry, and you’re hurt, and I cannot blame you for that. If anyone has a right to those emotions, it’s you.” You didn’t really enjoy being perceived so well, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “I know angry, nena. Do you remember when I hurt my knee?”

You nodded. The first few weeks of Mapi's injury hadn’t been a fun time, your sister beyond stressed with dealing with Mapi’s injury and her new role in the team, and you’d tried hard to be on your best behavior.

“I started working on this bike a year ago, when everything happened with the Spanish federation. It was Ingrid’s idea, a way for me to distract myself. When I hurt my knee, it had been a bit since I’d worked on it, but suddenly I was back in this garage until all hours of the night. It’s nice to be able to control something like this, when everything else feels out of your control. That is how climbing is for you, yes?”

You relaxed a bit at the turn the conversation was taking, and Mapi wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t just the topic; it was the fact that she wasn’t staring at you, putting pressure on you to give her an answer she wanted to hear. You were just talking. Casually.

“Yeah. I’m in control, and I don’t have to think about anything else. It’s relaxing.”

“It’s good for you to have an outlet like that.” Mapi stated. “This bike was Ingrid’s idea, when we first got together. Do you know what her other idea was?”

You were pretty sure you did, and you grimaced at the thought. “Therapy?”

Mapi snorted, handing you the wrench she was using and taking the screwdriver from your hand. “Yes therapy. You don’t have to look at it like that, though, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“It’s not for me.” You said decisively.

Mapi just shrugged. “I didn’t think it was for me either.” She paused, knowing your curiosity would get the better of you, and you’d ask for more information.

“What changed your mind?” You asked after a minute.

“Your sister did. After the euros, I had a hard time coming back to Barça and playing. Those weeks were some of the hardest of my life, trying to find my rhythm again but trying to recover from the stress I’d been under that summer. I was a mess. And Ingrid was right there with me, through all of it. I’d had a really bad day, and I asked Ingrid to come home early from a lunch she had. She came home, calmed me down, and afterwards, she asked me if I trusted her. I said I did. And she said that she really wanted me to try therapy. That I didn’t have to feel how I felt, and I deserved help. I deserved to not be miserable. She asked me to try it, for her, just give it a try.”

“And you did.”

“And I did. Because she’d done so much for me, I couldn’t refuse her request. Not when I knew she just wanted the best for me. I gave it a shot, and it helped, more than anything else had helped. It wasn’t a fix all, but it helped. It made me feel like I was doing something to get better.”

Mapi abandoned her work on the bike, looking at you for the first time since you’d entered the garage. You could only see sincerity in her gaze. Not anger, but annoyance. Just sincerity. “You deserve help, Solstråle. No matter how you feel about yourself, Ingrid and I know you. And we know you deserve help. You’re a good person, and you deserve to be happy.”

María sounded so sure. So completely convinced. You looked away from her, blinking hard.

“You don’t have to agree to anything now. Keep an open mind about it. Think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed quietly, grateful that Mapi didn’t make a big deal out of it, only nodding slightly.

“One more promise?” She asked.

“What?”

“Talk to us. Or just me, or just Ingrid. We’re a little lost here, nena. It feels like we were just kind of plopped down in the middle of this. We had no idea anything was going on, not really. And all of a sudden we’re reading that letter, and realizing we missed a lot. That’s on us; we should have noticed sooner. We don’t have the whole picture, though, and that makes it really hard for us to figure out how to help you. We’ll both worry a lot less if you talked to us, just a little bit.”

That was reasonable, you had to admit. When she put it like that. You’d spent so much time being annoyed that no one had noticed, then being annoyed when they finally did notice, you hadn’t really spent a ton of time thinking about how little they knew. There was no context to your behavior, aside from what you’d put in the letter. And that just barely scratched the surface. You supposed they deserved an explanation. At least a bit of one.

“I’ll try.” You promised.

Mapi grinned at you this time, an infectious smile. “Bueno! Come here with that wrench. No, that one. Put it on this bolt. Twist.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. Easily. You got the feeling that Mapi would have let it go if you’d insisted on it, but you miraculously felt better. Talking, listening had made you feel better. Mapi had made you feel better.

-------

You both emerged from the garage around an hour and a half later, when the smell of baking cookies became too strong to resist. Ingrid had clearly been stress baking, one of your favorite of her habits. There were at least 3 different types of cookies on the counter, some done baking, some still in progress. It smelled so distinctly of home in the house, it was almost overwhelming.

“I have something for you,” Ingrid said, drying her hands and stepping away from the counter when you walked into the room.

“I can see that.” You said, nodding to the cookies appreciatively, but Ingrid shook her head.

“No, something else.” Ingrid said.

“OH! I do too.” Mapi said excitedly, and they both disappeared in different directions. You stood bewildered in the kitchen, not quite sure what you were about to be given.

They returned simultaneously, each holding what looked to be 2 frames. “Mapi’s first.” Ingrid directed. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

You looked surprisingly at Mapi, taking the present and beginning to unwrap the wrapping paper. “What is this for?” You asked.

“Your birthday.” Ingrid said quietly. You froze momentarily, an unreadable expression flashing across your face. “I know it seems like we forgot, but we didn’t. We got the dates messed up, but we had presents, and we had dinner reservations, just… for the 25th. Not the 15th.”

“Oh. I thought you’d forgotten.” You said slowly, seemingly slightly emotional.

“Nope, just bad at remembering dates. Now open your present.” Mapi said impatiently, bouncing on her feet like an overexcited child.

You unwrapped it slowly, as if you were slightly weary of what it might be. When you pulled the frame from the wrapping paper, though, every wall you’d put up fell instantly, your jaw dropping open at the piece of art in your hands.

It was a map. Not just a map, but a map of all the hiking trails in Barcelona. It was textured, detailed, labeled. It was intricate, all neutrals and earthy colors. It was so you. From the contents to the design, it was like it had been made just for you.

“Mapi…” You whispered, staring, stunned, at the map. “Where did you… how did you… what?”

“Ale’s sister Fresa went to school with this girl that hand makes maps like this. I got her name from diablillo, and I told her what I wanted. Do you like it, do you like it?” Mapi asked excitedly.

Mapi got her answer when you handed the frame to Ingrid, and launched yourself the few feet between you and Mapi, wrapping her in a tight hug. Mapi beamed at Ingrid, who was trying very hard not to cry. She hadn’t even given Mapi any advice on the gift. It had been all her girlfriend’s idea, she executed it all by herself, determined to get Solstråle the perfect gift.

“It’s perfect, thank you María,” you mumbled. The ridiculous smile on Mapi’s lips didn’t falter at the use of her real name, only squeezing you tighter.

“Te amo, Solstråle.” She said back. For once, you believed it. When you pulled away from the hug, it was to see Mapi looking smugly at your sister. “INGRID I DEFINITELY WON.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “She hasn’t even opened my present yet.”

“Still. I won.” Mapi smirked.

Now it was Ingrid’s turn to hand you your gift. It was wrapped in the same paper, and you tore it off, almost cautiously, not quite sure what Ingrid would have gotten you.

You were, once again, speechless at what you saw. This time, your eyes filled with tears immediately. Ingrid wasn’t as excited as Mapi had been, instead looking at you anxiously.

It was a painting of a waterfall back home not far from your house. It was so distinct, you knew Ingrid must have paid a ridiculous amount of money to get someone to hand paint it. Each individual stroke was so precise, blending perfectly into the image it was supposed to be, but if you focused hard, you could pick out the greens and greys and blues and whites that you’d grown up with.

It felt like home. It felt comforting. You could almost smell the trees, feel the cool sting of wind on your cheeks. It was a little piece of home just for you, and it was perfect. So beautiful and artistic that you weren’t sure you were worthy of it, but you looked at it in awe nonetheless. You wiped at your cheeks, not able to control the tidal wave of emotion washing over you.

“Kjære? Is it okay?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her eyes searching your face, trying to figure out if these were good tears or bad tears.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Okay? Ingrid… it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s… perfect. Thank you.” You said, turning to her with a look of complete shock. And even though it pained Ingrid that you were so surprised to receive a nice gift for your birthday, she pushed that feeling down. Instead, she pulled you in towards her, placing the frame on the counter so she could hug you properly. You were happy with it, now, and that was all Ingrid had control over.

After a few seconds, Ingrid moved to pull away and break the hug, but you kept your arms wrapped around her, not quite ready to let go yet. Maybe it was the homesickness, or maybe it was your sister making you feel so known, and so loved. Whatever the reason, you just wanted her near you for a minute more, holding you nice and tight and safe against her.

“I love you,” she whispered, hearing you mumble the words back, your voice thick with emotion. When you did pull away, a minute later, it was to wipe at your face in an almost embarrassed manner.

Seeing how desperate you were for the attention to be off your tears, Mapi spoke up, her voice light and easy. “You can put them up in your room, you don’t have anything on the walls.”

You looked at the ground, then, almost sheepishly. “I didn’t know I could put anything up on them.” You admitted.

The room fell quiet, but even though you could tell that what you said had hurt Ingrid and Mapi, they just shook their heads softly. “It’s your room, for good, you can do whatever you want to it.” Ingrid told you.

You were about to thank her, and try to move the conversation long when Mapi let out a dramatic gasp. Both you and Ingrid whipped your heads to look at her, confused at the mischievous grin on her face.

“Ikea. WE CAN GO TO IKEA AND GET FURNITURE FOR SOLSTRÅLE’S ROOM.”

“María, calm down. Maybe she doesn’t want to redo her room.” Ingrid looked at you hopefully, and you knew it had nothing to do with your room, and everything to do with her not wanting to take Mapi to ikea.

You simply smirked back at Ingrid, who sighed and shut her eyes for a minute.

“Okay. Ikea.” She said finally. You and Mapi cheered, comically loudly, completely ignoring the rules she was setting in favor of high fiving each other and going to get ready to leave. “María, you are not building anything. Solstråle does not need her bed to collapse under her in the middle of the night. And kjære, please, please, don’t let Mapi talk you into a loft bed, you’ll fall off of it and break your arm. Amor? Kjære? ARE EITHER OF YOU LISTENING!” Ingrid shouted after you, rolling her eyes at the chants of ikea echoing around the house.

Mapi in Ikea was a handful. You, too, were a handful at the store. Together? She was going to lose one of you, she was sure of it. It had been a long day already. And it was only set to get longer.

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fluffy engen-león family trying to put furniture together in the next part?

yes, that IS all i have to say about this chapter thank you for your time.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #ingrid engen x mapí leon #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #engen!reader #platonic reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #sol☀️#🍓☀️

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crystallilytarot · 2 months

Text

Choose a stuffie. Messages from your future partner

Pile 1 - panda

I think there will be a big change in your life before you two meet, or a big change is happening now. Your future partner said keep going. Please, don't give up. I know it's hard, but it will worth it, please, just keep trying, just hold on a little longer. Do it for me baby. I am coming sooner than you think. We will have a happy family together. (for some of you it can be pets too) We will be so happy, I promise you. All the things you dreamed about, it will be a reality soon. Our love is a little bit like a fairytale. We will also be best friends too. I love you so much! It's hard for me too, but we have to keep believing and keep going. I'm sending you a lot of kisses. Don't give up hope honey!

I also think number 6 and 9 can be significant here, and some water, a lake, beach, sand, and sunshine. Your life will be more happy when you meet. I think your partner and your story is wholesome, I almost teared up, it's beautiful.

Pile 2 - teddy

I feel that you and your partner both had some negative experiences when it comes to love. They said, they know what you are going through. They were betrayed and heartbroken too. They know they still have some issues they need to work on, but they feel better every day. I think they need a little more time, but they are not so far away. Or maybe physically far from you, I feel they live elsewhere or can be a foreigner too. Feels like their voice is a little distant. But I think they only have a little trust issue now, they are almost ready to open up again. And once they arrive, they will be an emotionally available, mature person, a good material for a relationship. They will be so understanding, caring, loving. They will be patient if you need time to anything. You can talk to them about anything literally. Once they are in your life, they will make a lot of efforts to sweep you off your feet, they want you and they will do everything to prove it for you. You both will be healed, everything forgotten, because it's like one in a lifetime kinda relationship. I honestly feel like nothing matters as long as you are there for each other. You are in a bubble, you are finally safe, you are loved. And they said they love you and never forget, that you are worthy. You are precious. And you are a real treasure for them! They want to send you a ❤️ too.

Also grey, numbers 3,6, and letters M or H can be significant.

Pile 3 - bunny

They are very proud of you. You are so strong, and you should be proud of yourself too. You are right when you stand up for yourself. Don't let anyone tell you what to do, it's your life! You two feels like a power couple. I think communication will be very good. They are someone who you can finally talk to. You are both so smart. They said nobody was in your level, so of course you wasn't a good match with anyone, because you are a gem. You deserve better. They also feels like someone who stand up for their loved ones and for what they believe. And if someone treats you wrong, they will have a word with them for sure. Also if you want to move to another place, they will help you with it. Or for some of you, if you want to change your job or something, they said do it. It can be scary, but it's needed, you should really do it. Maybe you feel lonely sometimes, and they know there are days when it's hard, but those people around you won't understand you. You're a high quality person, so you need someone high quality too, like them. They said you will definitely travel a lot, together and you will move to a place where you will be very happy, where you can be yourself. If you are in a toxic environment now, this new place will be so much better. A real home. And they also said that they will love your body very much, they will admire you.

Numbers 2 and 9 can be significant, also a long item, maybe a sword, a tree, and a crown. You will be the rich, elegant, high value couple from a fanfiction.

#tarot #free tarot #pick a card #pick a pile

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nadinediary · 7 months

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The 7 Dating Bare Minimums from 𝒩adine

1. Shared Values + Belief

Values are prioritised characteristics that build who we are as individuals and our belief is what forms our world view and lifestyle. I find it easier to build a relationship with someone when your values and beliefs align. I cannot envision a relationship or even casually date someone who I can't see eye-to-eye on the core attributes that form my life and character.

I can understand being lenient on religious and political beliefs when casually dating although for long term relationships, I need to be on the same topic about religion, politics, children, cheating, etc.

2. Romantic (Considerate)

I personally can not be in a relationship or date a person who can’t exhibit romance. Romance to myself isn’t the flowers (not saying I don’t adore flowers), or the chivalrous actions shown in the rom-coms.

Romance is the small intimate actions that show you’ve been paying close attention to your loved one wants and needs. It’s the considerate small things that may take a little more time but are worth it.

3. Chivalrous

Talking about chivary, don’t get it confused, I love a chivalrous man. The door opening, pulling the seat out, making sure I’ve gotten home safe, I’m quite old fashion when it comes to dating. I love it all.

I find it charming when someone is chivalrous to everyone not just when it pertains to myself. If they see someone needing help and step in, I think that's a great trait to have. I don't want someone who just does things out of attraction but rather because of kindness.

4. Well groomed

Personally a man is most attractive when they are well groomed, actively upkeep themselves and pay great attention to their hygiene. This idea that only women get manicures and pedicures is ridiculous. I know plenty of men that like keeping their cuticle healthy.

Every man that has had the honor of taking me on a date or more, has had a skincare routine (even if it's just a three step routine). They’ve all had beautiful nails and I could tell they cared about cleanliness.

5. Adaptable + Resilient

I‘m a first-generation immigrant who has seen poverty and wealth, I’ve gone from living in the scums of rural Nirobei to the upper class Australian suburban area. This is all because of God’s blessing and my family’s resilience.

I need a partner who is both resilient and adaptable when in situations less than ideal. I’m a strong minded individual and hope the same for my partner.

6. Communicative

We’ve all heard about the importance of communication in relationships but not all communication is healthy.

It's important for your partner to be open to hearing you, a lot of people lack listening skills so it's precious when you find someone who really listens and respects you. Trauma can cause people to close up but there are many different ways to communicate from written to spoken, as long as my partner shows they are communicative I don't care.

7. Generous

I come from a generous family, I’m surrounded by generous people and I myself am always ready to give if someone needs. I could not envision any relationship, friendship or romantic relationship with someone who wasn’t as giving.

Generosity isn’t neglecting yourself for other, it's lifting each other up, know when to say no while being kind to others situations. I don't want a pushover, I want a generous partner.

Sincerely,

𝒩adine.

#dating #black femininity #relationships

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

Note

Can I request a fic where Ellie and Joel are traveling to Wyoming but before leaving they go to a store to pick up supplies

And Ellie asks why they are there and he’s like “I have to stock up for my family “ ( cause he left for supplies “ and she’s in shock he has a family but when they get there, they notice that the house has been raided and there are dead raiders in the house

So Joel starts to freak out and can’t find his wife and kid but then ellie finds them in a hidden shed

And when Joel rushes to them, he’s worried about the blood on her but then she’s like “ it’s not mine”

Sorry for it being so long , and it’s totally fine if you do not want to write it :}

A Mothers Strength

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader.

Summary: you and your baby aren’t where Joel left you, instead there is a trail of blood and two bodies he doesn’t recognise.

Word Count: 3.1k

Content Warning: typical tlou violence, reader bashes someone’s brains in, (out) Joel has a mild panic attack.

Note: I’m gonna make this so angsty lol. Thanks for the request I love you anon 🫶🏼🥰 this is one of my new faves!!!!

If there’s one thing Joel taught you; it’s not to panic, to think rationally and do what you have to do to protect yourself; to make sure you were the one that survived, no matter what that entailed. Joel was gone, he had gone to do one last trip to the Boston QZ, he had gone to trade some pills and alcohol for a car battery, he had found a truck a while back but the battery was busted, he claimed Tess knew someone who had one, he hated leaving you, and your 6 month old daughter. But he knew if you had a car, it would ensure safety compared to travelling on foot. That was 5 days ago, it wasn’t unlikely that something had happened, trading in itself was a danger that set you on edge, let alone travelling by himself back and forth with one measly gun and a whole city worth of infected, however many were out there, you would imagine it’s a lot. You had to learn to fight while you were pregnant, you couldn’t be in the Boston QZ and be pregnant, they wouldn’t allow it. Joel helped you escape and you’d been travelling since, looking for a safe haven and trying to find Joel’s brother Tommy. You’d learned you were capable throughout your pregnancy at taking out infected. Very capable.

Unlike Joel however, you had never had to face up against something even worse, other people. Joel had told you stories of when the infection first began, the things he did, the things he and Tommy did to survive, it was essential, survival of the fittest and you had never reprimanded or judged him for it once. Now you were finding yourself in a situation where you would have to find yourself in Joel’s shoes, you would have to find the strength to take lives of people if necessary, to protect you and your daughter. Joel had boarded up the windows and doors before he left, which apparently only made the raiders more suspicious, their murmurs outside becoming louder and more aggressive as they tear down the planks of wood, two voices of men can be heard. You load your gun quietly and hold it to your chest, your uneven breathing causing you to shudder through your nose as you purse your lips. You take one last look at your sleeping daughter in her small hand-woven basket, blue blankets keeping her warm as they wrap around her. “I love you, so much.” Worried you’d never get another chance to tell her again. You slide the basket under the bed out of sight.

“Hey, did you hear that, there’s movement in there. We’ve got company.” One man laughed as their voices became clearer you realised the protection Joel had set had been torn down; it was up to you now, to protect your family. “What if it’s an infected man?” The other man voices reluctantly as they turn the knob and swing the door open. You tiptoe behind the door, hoping that your daughter would stay quite long enough for you to eradicate the intruders. You held your breath as the door opened and you shot the first man in the head, his body dropped to the floor with a thud, the blood seeping through the cracks of the old wooden floors. The gunshot had rung through the room, you could hear the muffled sound of your daughter crying, her wailing drew the attention of the second man who had just growled, “fucking bitch!” As he charged towards you, he had tackled you to the ground, overpowering you easily as he knocked the gun from your hands, he’s heaving from the struggle, his gun pointed at your head once he’s got you still enough. “Gunna fucking kill you then that annoying fuckin kid.” Adrenaline kicked in at the thought of something happening to your daughter, you struggle underneath him and grunt, bringing your knee up to his crotch which he groans at, “you fucking whore, gonna make you pay for that!” He’s holding the crotch of his jeans when you find a baseball bat hidden in the corner that you’d stashed days ago for an emergency in case you’d run out of bullets, you hurry back wards and grab the bat, standing to your feet and before the man can react, you bring the bat down onto his head, he falls to the ground holding the back of his head to try and protect himself from the blows.

You’re seeing red, yelling over the top of your screaming daughter, rage overcoming you as you repeatedly bring the bat down over and over again. You only stop when your arms begin to ache with a weakness that makes you drop the bat, his brain and blood is coating the floor in a slick that you almost slip on as you step over him. You bend down and reach for your daughter, taking her out of the basket, shushing her, “shh, I know baby, it’s okay. Mama’s got you.” Rocking her back and forth until she calms down. You set her back in the basket once she’s settled, you begin to rip up the floorboards in which have your supplies hidden beneath them. “Well, we can’t stay here now can we?” You tell yourself. You pack your bag full of the supplies, food and batteries weigh the bag down heavily on your shoulders, let alone trying to carry your baby in her wooden basket that’s heavy enough without a baby in it. With one hand, you somehow manage to pick up your gun, turn the safety off and stick it in the back of your jeans. You have to walk over the two dead bodies that have begun decomposing, you couldn’t stay here, not with the smell and mess to clean.

“Alright little one. Let’s find somewhere safe to stay till your dad comes back, huh?” As you take your first step out of the house that was meant to protect you; you wonder if you’ll be able to find somewhere safe, if Joel will be able to find you. You just had to hope he would.

“My pack is heavy Joel, can’t we rest?” Ellie grunts in discomfort as she shuffles the heavy backpack in an attempt to try to get it to sit more comfortably, it doesn’t.

“We ain’t stoppin’ till I say. Ain’t got long left to go so stop complaining.” Joel’s fast on his feet, even though the sun is baring down on him without mercy, he’s sweating in his long jeans and blue flannel shirt that’s well outworn and a size too small, his stomach less toned than it used to be, it was a ‘dad bod’ as you had called it, the sleeves are rolled to his elbows. The skin of his face, the back of his neck and arms are well golden now, after hours of travelling in the sun, the damage had been done and his skin was already tanned, he would have to invest in a hat, like you’d always scolded him about, was was sure you would again, after seeing how burnt he was.

“Ain’t got long now, just a few minutes up the road.” Joel clarifies, they walk along the empty tar road, the green grass is long overgrown, well over a foot taller than Joel, his eyes scan the area for raiders as he knows from past experience that they like to lurk in the tall grass and try to ambush you. It happened one time in this area and he hoped you’d never have to protect yourself like how he has, or does. “What are we doing here?” Ellie asks as Joel’s body had subconsciously led him to the small dirt pathway that led to an old house, the paint was faded green and peeling from the wood that seemed to be rotting. “My family are here. Had to trade something before we left for Wyoming.” For the first time ever, Ellie was speechless, Joel had a family? “What’s their names?” It didn’t take Joel long to notice two sets of footsteps, large, around the same size as his own in a boot print, he knew it wouldn’t be infected, it had to be raiders. “Quiet, get behind me.” Joel growls as he reaches for his gun from the back of his jeans, pushing Ellie behind him with the other arm, he walks forward and sees the wooden planks he’d hammered to keep the building closed, were now on the ground, some snapped in half, the front door was open and the silence was eerily quiet, Joel didn’t like the ache that formed in his stomach, the guilt, the fear.

“Fuck.” He breaths, pushing forward with his gun in front of him, the first floorboard he steps over, because he knows it creaks, “stay here. You hear me? Do not come in here.” Ellie nods, seeing the colour falling from Joel’s face and his orbs are blackened, his exterior is hardened and he’s never seen Joel look so fierce, she almost cant recognise the man in front of her, compared to who he was only a few seconds ago. Joel pushed forward, the dining room was clear, everything seemed to be in place which was odd, as he walks through the hallway he checks the first bedroom which is clear, again seemed untouched which he thought was weird, if it was raiders, why didn’t they raid the house? The boards along the windows had all been torn down, the windows open wide and giving the outside world a look into the house. His heart hammered in his chest as he approaches the bedroom door, where he left you, told you it would be okay, that you would be safe. He almost can’t find the will to turn the knob, scared of what lies inside the room.

When he turns the knob, he’s not expected to be hit with a stench so foul he’s taking a few steps back, he almost pulls his shirt over his nose just to try to mask it, he pulls out a bandana and secures it around the back of his neck, giving him some relief from the smell, but not much, it was a stench he knew too well; decomposition. His body is shaking as he bursts through the door, expecting to find his wife and infant daughter, he finds two bodies he can’t recognise, one with a single bullet wound to the head, the other.. was probably the cause of the smell. His brains were splattered along the floor and upside of the wall, blood was stained and now black as it leaks through the already damaged floorboards, your baseball bat sits a few feet away with a huge chip out of the wood, a giant crack through the middle and brain matter and blood splattered up to the handle. He almost lets a breath of relief escape him, seeing the floorboards pulled up and supplies all gone he can almost conclude that you survived and escaped with the supplies, but where were you? Where was your daughter?

“God damn it where are you darlin’?” He says to himself. When Ellie calls out to him. “Joel! Joel? I think you should see this.” Joel steps over the bodies and closes the door, leaving the bat behind. He meets Ellie at the front door and follows her concerned eyes to a shed about half a mile away from the house, a light shimmering from inside the shed caught their attention. “Get out your gun.” Joel instructs coldly. Ellie doesn’t ask about his family, although she can piece the puzzle together, there was something in there that Joel won’t talk about. Could it have been? She doesn’t want to ask.

“Keep up kid.” Joel quickens his pace to a jog and Ellie stays beside the man, she suddenly forgets how heavy her pack is, and Joel ignores the way the battery digs into his back as he runs; but he’s frantic now, wondering what’s happened to you. He can’t, he refuses to lose you and your baby after all he’s been through since this shitstorm started. The gravel crunches underneath their boots as they run towards the shed, the light shutting off when they get within 50 yards. Someone is definitely occupying this shed.

“Stay behind me, got it?” Ellie only nods, she starts to panic at the thought of approaching this shed, she knew nothing good could come of it, seeing the look on Joel’s face scared her. What the fuck was in that house?

You hear it before you see it, the crunching and shuffling of someone coming in your direction, you had to cut your baby feeding off your breast short, lying her down and rocking her basket for a few seconds so she’d settle and quiet down. You pick up your gun that’s set on the work bench beside you and try to peek through the small hole in the wood, to add to your terrible day- two blurred figures ran towards the shed, arms outstretched which you figured must be guns. Fuck. You look back towards your fussing baby with tears in your eyes, maybe your luck has run out. You weren’t going down without a fight. Your adrenaline was still at a high from the fight before, your body still aching but prepared to gauge out eyeballs if that’s what it took to protect your daughter. Where in the world was Joel? The shed door creaks open, it’s a decent sized shed, although you knew there were only so many places you could hide. You heard a voice, a female, she sounded young, but you can’t underestimate anyone these days, anyone and everyone is a threat. You shimmy your daughters basket under the work bench, where you’d pulled a blanket over it to give her a better chance of not being seen.

You creep behind the work benches, hearing their footsteps you can calculate where they are, you’re going in blind, you don’t know how many people they could have hiding around the area, and that’s what worries you. You see a spanned on the ground and throw it, it lands about 8 metres in front of you and it catches their attention. “Did you hear that?” The girl says, her footsteps are fast and then stop. You hear hushed whispering of a man, but you can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s quiet now, they’ve gone opposite ways around you to try and box you in, one is heading straight for the direction of your daughter, by the heavier footsteps you’re assuming it’s the man’s

Fuck it.

You rush back to your daughter, knocking over some things in the process that gain the attention of the two people, you’re sitting in front of your daughter, the cloth barely holding up, you sit with your gun in front of you, your body aching and you weren’t sure if you’d make it this time. You see the girl first, she’s holding a gun towards you and she’s scared, she doesn’t shoot. It’s obvious she’s never held a gun before and you don’t want to shoot a child. “There’s someone over here, she has a gun.” She says in a panicked state, the man comes running over from behind you, seeing you covered in blood and arms shaking, his eyes are scanning and he can’t see your daughter. “Put the gun down,” he warns the young girl, he approaches you, puts his hand over your gun and lowers it. “It’s me darlin, it’s just me. Where is she? You’re covered in blood.” The panic in his eyes and voice is evident, his body tense as he kneels down to you. You don’t say anything, you just pull down the cloth that’s behind you, exposing your fussing daughter in her basket, in the same blue blanket Joel had wrapped her in a few days ago.

“S not mine, the blood.” You’re trembling as you feel the adrenaline leave your body, you were exhausted, eyeing the young girl that was standing there awkwardly. Joel picks up your daughter, rocking her with tears in his eyes, “hi baby girl. It’s your dad, I’m so sorry I left you behind, promise I won’t ever leave you again.” Joel turns to you, “cmon darlin’, we gotta get you up.” Joel helps you up, you stand on wobbling feet like a newborn foel. He sends you a concerned look and you turn away, “I’m fine.” You lie, he notices but doesn’t protest, he’d get to the bottom of it later.

“This is Ellie, she’s comin with us. Ellie this is my wife and daughter.” The girl awkwardly waves and you mutter, “hey, sorry bout the gun kid.” She shrugs, “no big deal. You seem like you’ve had a worse day than mine.” You just shrug in respond, not wanting to talk about it.

Joel makes quick work of putting the new battery in the truck and it starts, having half a tank of fuel your luck is beginning to change. You pack the supplies into the car and Joel begins to drive, it doesn’t take Ellie long to fall asleep in the backseat. Joel’s hand rests on your leg, trying to offer some comfort. “We don’t have to talk about it, jus know I’m here for you.” You look away as you start crying, tears just fall one after another. “Said he was gonna hurt our baby, I just lost it Joel, I blacked out I just- I had to protect her. I don’t even feel guilty, that’s the worst part. I took a life so brutally and I don’t even feel bad about it.” You look to Joel and his eyes are soft, the wrinkles on his head are prominent as he frowns softly. “You did what you had to do darlin’. You kept our family safe. He was a bad man, he got what was comin’ to him. You don’t ever feel bad for protecting your family. You won’t ever have to do it again. I ain’t ever leavin’ you two again, I promise you.” Joel’s own eyes start to blur as tears fell from them, from fear and relief. “Joel?” Your voice is quiet as he looks to you, “are you okay?” He sighs, trying to even his breathing. “I saw the windows and the door open and I just thought the worst, then I smelt the blood and I was terrified that I was goin to find you and-“ he chokes up, unable to finish the sentence, he thought he would find you and your daughter dead. “We’re okay Joel. I fought, just like you taught me to.”

“An now I’m never gonna leave again, can’t risk losing you two, not after everything.” “I know Joel, I believe you.” There’s a moments silence between you when you notice how burnt he is. “You’re sunburnt.” You deadpan, unamused. Joel looks bashful as he rubs the back of his sunburnt neck, “I know. Promise I’ll get a hat soon.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #angst #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x you #Ellie Williams #mum x reader Joel miller #dad joel Miller

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bones4thecats · 2 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you can do Poseidon X Goddess of music!Reader and the reader rarely come out of her house and if she does for example: when she goes to any meeting she always has this mask on:

and she always sits next to Poseidon for some reason she feels safe with him...?

Thanks if you do this request!

God of Music! S/O Feeling Protected

Type of Writing: Request Character: Poseidon Name: God of Music! S/O Feeling Protected Requester: @imperfectbloodmoon

A/N: These may not be the best thing I've ever written, but I'm trying my best to keep up with stuff from my classes and with these requests. But, I do hope you guys enjoy this!

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 Alright, let's get one thing clear; Poseidon is a fairly oblivious man when it comes to emotions, which should be obvious

🔱 Poseidon was fairly wary when you first started to get close to him. He just isn't used to anyone trying to bond with him in any way, because many see him as a dangerous being

🔱 Which he technically is

🔱 Now, if you were a mortal or nymph, this guy would just push you aside and claim you to be a worthless being, not worthy of his time and patience

🔱 But, once he asked you who you were and you introduced yourself as the Deity of Music within the Greek Pantheon, working alongside that of Hermes and Apollo, he began to see you with more worth

🔱 Poseidon enjoys listening to your songs that you either sing or play on an instrument. He personally enjoys more slow and calming songs while he looks over his underwater kingdom

🔱 And he does enjoy your more reclusive nature, since he's not a very large people-person himself

🔱 He understands a lot more about you than anyone could realize, even yourself for that matter

🔱 But one thing he never fully understood was your need to wear that beautifully decorated mask that covered your entire face whenever you were to leave your shared home

🔱 Poseidon has claimed his love for both your personality and your looks often, though he's fairly monotone sounding, you can hear the amount of pulsing emotion underneath

🔱 Whenever he gets notice that one of his brothers is coming over, he tries to get you to keep the mask off; these are your family members, after all. They know how you look because they attended your wedding all those centuries ago

🔱 If you were to give him a good reason (such as; you didn't want Zeus to try protruding into your backside) then he would understand a bit better. But if you claimed you believed you didn't look good enough, he'd be beyond shocked

🔱 Like I mentioned earlier, Poseidon has claimed his love for both your personality and physical appearance. So the fact that you would still be insecure would make him feel the need to prove you were beyond good enough for a God like him

🔱 Okay, beyond the topic of the role and mask. He, like I also mentioned, doesn't understand emotions fully

🔱 Because of this, Poseidon is quite confused whenever you wanted to sit by him (before your relationship) at meetings, since normally everyone, deities included, were scared of him

🔱 Yet, every time you sat beside him, he never tried pushing you away, much to both of yours and everyone else's surprise

🔱 Despite his inability to understand why you personally wanted to be beside him, he does have quite a few hunches that many believe is true

🔱 One is that you wanted to be by someone who you knew wouldn't be to loud, the second is that you wanted to be closer to him, as he is in your pantheon, and his third one is that you wanted to be with somebody because you wanted to feel safer and protected from other Gods who may have bad intentions

🔱 Poseidon always mainly leans to the third one

🔱 After you guys started your relationship and got married, he started to have you sit right next to him. And by that, I mean by he'd have you sit either on his lap or right beside him

🔱 If I haven't mentioned it, he's possessive of what he deems to be his. Yes, he does allow you to be your own person, but he doesn't want anyone to get any ideas; specifically Zeus

🔱 He cannot keep his hands to himself, and that is coming from his own older brother!

#Record of Ragnarok #RoR #Shuumatsu no Valkyrie #SnV #RoR Greek Pantheon #Record of Ragnarok Gods #RoR Gods #Record of Ragnarok x Reader #RoR x Reader #Shuumatsu no Valkyrie x Reader #SnV x Reader #RoR Greek Pantheon x Reader #Record of Ragnarok Gods x Reader #RoR Gods x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #God! Reader #RoR Poseidon #RoR Poseidon x Reader

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dungeonpuppykai · 2 months

Text

|| Magic ||

Description: One in which Rafe shows you his talent for making his fingers disappear in mysterious places of your body.

Pairing: Dark!Rafe Cameron | Naive!You.

Disclaimer: I do not own Rafe Cameron. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. For what it may be worth, Rafe and reader are very much adults. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Dubcon (only to be safe), Dark!Rafe, naive!Reader, dumbification/infantilization, fingering, manipulation, corruption kink, daddy kink, coercion, allusions to plushie grinding, Rafe smokes, slight dacryphilia, childhood friends trope.

Note: So, uh, I am supposed to be working on my research paper lmfao. Feedback is much appreciated 🩷

MASTERLIST

Your neighbor and childhood friend Rafe claims he knows magic.

"No, you don't!" You giggle at him, playfully swinging your caterpillar stuffie in his general direction as you patter your feet in the tiny puddle that keeps gathering and retreating on the tail of one of the many yachts his family owns.

Rafe is very nice.

He is always buying you candies, plushies and pretty dresses even though you try your best to decline.

Then when he isn't busy, he takes you on a spin on one of the many expensive vehicles that he owns.

He always has.

He says he likes to take care of you.

"What, you don't believe me?" Rafe has to squint his eyes against the evening sun as he turns his head to look at you, one hand subconsciously reaching out to adjust one of the silky pink ribbons that is part wrapped around and part mixed with the two half pigtails in which you are wearing your hair.

"When and where did you learn this magic?" You are not convinced at all. "All of a sudden out of nowhere, pfft…!" You mutter as you shake your head, snorting at the absurdity.

The devious and dark glint that appears in Rafe's eye goes unnoticed by you. "Now don't go laughing at me like that, bunny" there is a warning in his tone and you can't help but instantly whimper like the fiddle you are. "You know I don't like it when you act like that" he moves in a little, the menace of the action making you gulp even though he would never hurt you.

He never has.

"S- Sorry, Rafey…" He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

Uh oh, he's unhappy now.

There will be consequences sooner or later.

"No can do" he lights himself a cigarette and you can't help but pout a little. The smell makes you cough and you don't like it when he does that. But you know better than to condemn him because you remember the one and only time you did it all too well. "You acted like I was a liar or something, bunny" his free hand reaches for your thigh and softly drags up and down along its length. "Now I must prove myself, no?"

Your heartbeat has quickened up already. You don't exactly know why, but it always does whenever Rafe gets too close or touches you a certain way. "Y- Yes, Rafey…" You don't really know what else to say.

"Good girl" the way he says it makes you blush. "Now, as I was saying…" The dress you're wearing is one of his favorites. He had gotten you it last year but he always demanded– no no, requested that you wear it over and over. "I can make my fingers disappear between your legs" you cough a little due to his exhale as you hold your stuffie out of the way to allow him easier access to yourself.

Rafe says best friends can be naked in front of each other, it's not a big deal.

You trust him because he's always right and only means well.

"But, how!" You bite your lip when he bunches the hem of your dress around your waist and caresses your bunny part with the back of his hand since he took your underwear off when you got on the yacht. Rafe says it's important to let it air out every once in a while. Truly, your best friend is so nice and takes such good care of you! "There is no place for it to vanish!" As always, your voice wavers in reaction to his touch.

You feel strange things whenever he touches you between your legs, or on your bummy or your boobsies.

But Rafe says it's a good thing, because that proves that you really love him.

The male tsks. "Have some faith, will you, bunny?" Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he cups your bunny part and squishes your intimate lips open with the help of his thumb. "That's where the magic comes in" your mouth parts as you lean back, moving your arms behind you and placing your palms flat against the floor of the yacht. "See, you're healthily wet, bunny. This is why you need to minimize wearing pants, because your body is at its best when you don't" your slick coats his digit as he glides it over your folds.

"Y- Yes, Rafey…" You whimper shakily, feeling a tremble arise in your elbows. "B- But… it's not disappearing, yuno…" He scoffs and rolls his eyes at that.

"That's because I haven't started yet, silly" he locks the nicotine stick between his lips as he reaches for Miss Caty -your stuffie- and places it right in front of where his finger meets your bunny part. "Tsk, just so impatient, aren't we?" Now he changes the finger he has been teasing you with by adjusting his hand around you. "Say, don't you agree Miss Caty should also see this magic trick?"

Your throat is dry and mouth parched. "Y- Yes Rafey–" your words are forced to halt when he clicks his tongue repeatedly in obvious disapproval.

"You can do better than that, bunny~" you cough a little due to the smoke again.

"S- Sorry…"

"Sorry, what?" He raises an eyebrow and you nearly jump out of your skin at a strange and almost painful probe that some unknown area of your bunny part receives.

"D- Daddy…!" You whine out, knowing better than to complain. Rafey says good girls don't fuss with their Daddies. "Sorry, Daddy…"

"That's my girl~" discarding the burnt out butt of the cigarette, he lights himself another with his free hand while massaging your soaking flesh.

He only continues once he's done with fixing himself another cigarette, the stick propped in a corner of his mouth as he exhales through his nose. "Now," his free hand grasps one of your half pigtails in it to guide your head in the right direction. "Watch…" Your chin presses into the area between your collarbones as your head is forced oceanward.

Your eyes widen and mouth parts when his middle finger circles an opening you cannot quite see, a dull ache forming in your bunny part when his digit dips downwards and causes a strange noise in your moist nether regions before it starts to move in and true to Rafe's word, begins to disappear.

"Daddy!" You gasp, one hand reaching to snatch his idle onr as you wince. "O- Owie!" Your eyes well up in shock and discomfort.

Hell, you didn't even know such a place existed in your body!

"It's okay, bunny~" his coo morphs into a low groan when he hits you knuckle deep, unable to intrude you any further. "It's alright, just like that, you're doing so good."

"B- But… h- hurts, Daddy" as Rafe's finger slowly pulls out only to repeat its prior action, your bottom lip wobbles and cheeks wetten with thick, hot tears.

"I know, my sweet little bunny, I know" his free hand cups the side of your face to caress your cheek lovingly, the action causing you to tighten yourself around his finger. "But that's only because you're such a good and precious little girl" you softly cough due to the close proximity between you and his dangling nicotine stick. It makes you clench again and Rafe can't hold back his groan this time. "Come on, don't you trust me, hm?" His voice is rushed when your eyes release more tears.

You sniffle and nod. "D- Do, Daddy…"

"Good, then know that this is something very fun and more than just a magic trick…" His digit starts to gain pace. "Remember how weird you felt when you went jolly riding on Mr. Huggies for the first time?" Your face flushes harder at the mention but you nod obediently. "But you love doing that now, don't you?" A shaky whimper escapes you as you can't help but reminisce the odd, throat tightening and ear numbing climax that always comes after you hump your favorite teddy and just how good it feels every time, the thought making you clench once more. "Come on now, use your words" his lulls are lazy as he connects his thumb to the hood of your clit, swiping it across the flesh horizontally.

Stars are beginning to form in your vision already. "Y- Yes, Daddy. Yes…" Your back arches when his finger reaches a foreign point within your cavern and you moan out loud. "Oh, yes, Daddy! F- Feels so good! L- Love doing it!"

Rafe can't help but bite down on the butt of his cigarette as he wordlessly marvels at how perfect you look all disheveled and pearl skinned due to the orange sun hitting its sweat decorated pigment in the most breathtaking way.

All because of him.

The trembling of your legs is just the sweet cherry on top.

"Buck up, now~" his voice always adds to the pressure that builds between your hips whenever you two play like this. It doesn't matter what he says, your body just melts in reaction to how big and authoritative it sounds. "Come on, let go for Daddy" you moan and throw your head back. As though your body has developed a mind of its own all of a sudden, you feel your hips start to grind against his finger.

"OH!" Your squeak nearly bounces off the mountains that are on one side of the yacht, your hole squelching loudly at receiving another finger inside it. "Oh, Daddy!" Your toes curl and pussy lips vibrate because of how fast he's going now, the swiping of his thumb bringing you to a climax much stronger and satisfying than all of your old ones combined.

"Good bunny, let go for Daddy, he will take care of you~" your arms give out and you collapse against your back, spasming on the yacht floor as you can't help but scream out loud when hypersensitivity kicks in regardless of how euphoric the feeling is. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as momentary vitiligo forms in your ears, your blood revolting its way through your heart with each hammering beat.

Your back curls and you clench as you move towards recovery, everything happening way too quickly and all at once due to your lack of experience. Rafe prohibits your legs from coming together by holding them apart with his free hand, dark need swimming in his eyes as he stares at you, fingers fucking your orgasm out. The breeze has brought your dress all the way up to your neck and your braless erect nipples are staring back at Rafe; teasing and inviting him.

"See?" He speaks once you have somewhat calmed down and he has plopped his fingers out of your tight cavern. "Wasn't that some great fucking magic, huh?" You tiredly nod your head at him, whimpering out a smile as you sensitively grip his hand that is palming one of your breasts with both of yours.

"Y- Yes, Daddy." Your yawn makes him chuckle and he retreats his hand only to slide his arms under your sprawled form to gather it between them.

"Aw, tired already, bunny?" You softly giggle when he stands up holding you bridal style. "But I haven't even shown you all my tricks yet" you have no idea why but a shudder escapes you at that. Rafe bends down to pick Miss Caty up and place her on your tummy before he makes his way towards the cabins. "Don't you think she liked my magic, bunny?" He refers to the stuffie as he nods in its direction. "I think she liked it."

You submissively nod before agreeing. "Y- Yes, Daddy."

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 6 months

Text

Such a Good Girl

Crosshair can’t shake this strange feeling in his chest, especially after you save his ass during a mission. Perhaps it's worth finally exploring.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 4.2k

Rating: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: praise kink, competency kink, pet names, Cross hates having feelings but has to deal with them anyway, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), fingering, heavy eye contact, dirty talk, the armour stays on, light D/s tones, sprinkle of quirofilia, idiots falling in love, mention of inappropriate use of rifle rest, brief Soft!Cross, brief aftercare.

A/N: DBB once described Cross as ‘a coiled snake’, and it’s the most fitting description I’ve ever read.

The ache had started in your calves but was now working up your thighs. You tossed and turned in the small bunk, trying desperately to get comfortable, but nothing worked. With a quiet groan of frustration, you sat up, your flimsy standard-issue blanket tossed aside, and hauled yourself off the bed.

Bare feet on the durasteel floor, you winced as the cold shot up your legs. It took a moment for you to walk without wobbling, but you persevered, quietly moving past the other bunks. Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech had conked out when you entered hyperspace, with Crosshair taking the first watch.

The last mission had been rough – the intel you’d received from Command had been flawed, vastly underestimating the number of droids you’d have to face. Then a damn electrical storm had rolled in, thrown out your comms, and messed with Hunter’s senses. Everything that could’ve gone wrong had, but you shouldn’t have been surprised given everything that had happened over the last year.

A whole year. It had gone past in the blink of an eye. You could still remember the day you’d been introduced to Clone Force 99 and assigned as their civilian handler. It was your job to keep in contact with Command, feed the boys their missions, and ensure they had everything they needed to complete their work and return safely.

While most handlers chose to remain on Kamino, away from the blaster fire and chaos, you’d elected to go with the Batch, to live on the Marauder with them and share their barracks on the rare occasion you could return to base. After all, you couldn’t keep them safe if you weren’t with them.

They’d been distant with you at first – still polite, of course, but hadn’t opened up or engaged in conversation about anything other than the current mission.

Wrecker had cracked after a month, inviting you to watch a holofilm with him in the gunner’s nest. Tech had been next, optimising your datapad when you’d been in the fresher. Hunter followed afterwards, teaching you how to play dejarik. And then Crosshair had been last, sitting silently beside you to field strip and reassemble his rifle before he’d pushed it in your direction for you to repeat his actions.

They were your family now, The four chaotic brothers.

But they’d come close to becoming three today.

Your slow, steadier steps continue through the ship until you reach the closed cockpit doors. It was a courtesy for whoever was on watch to close the doors and dampen any noise for those resting. Pressing your palm against the panel nearby, the door gave a quiet whoosh as it opened, sealing shut behind you as you stepped in.

The cockpit was quiet; a lone figure sat in the co-pilot chair. “You’re meant to be sleeping.” The serpentine slink of Crosshair’s voice filled the space as he turned the chair around to see who was up, momentary surprise flickering in his eyes as he caught sight of you before he tampered it back down.

“Would if I could, Cross.” You answered dryly, sitting in the seat behind him. The nickname slipped out easily these days, though you could remember the scowl the sniper had thrown your way the first time you’d used it. Ultimately, he’d warmed to it and secretly enjoyed every time you used it.

“Hell’s wrong with you?” He asked as you shifted in the seat, the well-worn leather giving a little as you tried to get comfortable. He pushed his toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue, sharp eyes raking over your body as he took quick stock of your condition.

Your lips fell into a flat line as you stared incredulously at the man opposite you. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe my whole body is protesting because I had to race up the side of a damn mountain this afternoon to save my snarky sniper from a platoon of droids.” You huffed, the tension palpable in your voice.

As usual, Crosshair had found the best vantage point during the mission, but the unexpectedly large number of droids had caught you all off guard. You’d been mid-way through fighting a platoon back when you’d spotted another cresting over the mountain. Crosshair had been focused on picking off the droids coming after you and his brothers, and without comms to alert him, you’d been left with two options – furiously field sign the warning and pray he caught it through his scope or haul ass up the mountain and deal with the problem yourself.

You’d chosen the latter.

Your blaster bolt had cut through the first droid just as they’d rounded the corner and spotted Crosshair in a prone position, his rifle aimed down the mountain. And though every muscle in your body had burned and protested, you’d valiantly held them back long enough for him to turn and help fight them off.

The corner of Crosshair’s lip twitched, a tinge of amusement in his hawkish gaze. “Your snarky sniper?” He quips, trying to ignore the warmth in his body at your words.

“Of course, that’s what you take out of that. Not the fact that my legs feel like they’re on fire.” You roll your eyes, arms folding across your chest as you meet his gaze. You weren’t really mad, and you both knew it.

For a moment, you silently stare at each other until Crosshair breaks the contact and reaches down, drawing your legs up onto his lap. A noise of surprise slips past your lips as you slide down a bit in the chair, but you adjust your position. His thumbs press against your ankles, sliding slowly up your calf as he works out the ache in your muscles, one leg at a time. His hands are surprisingly gentle as he pushes and rubs, the pain starting to fade with every pass of his fingers.

The cockpit falls silent again, the streaks of hyperspace throwing soft light through the space, illuminating Crosshair from behind like a halo. The idea has you suppressing a smile, knowing he’d baulk at such a comparison.

He can feel the weight of your gaze on him, but he studiously ignores it, focussing instead on trying to ease your pain. He’d been so intent on ensuring the safety of his brothers, picking off the droids attacking them, that he’d missed your scramble up the mountain. It had only been the sound of your blaster fire nearby that had snapped his attention to you and the oncoming droids. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d have likely been overwhelmed without your quick actions. He was better than any Reg, without a doubt, but without backup, an entire platoon of droids was too much even for him.

The surprise he’d felt at seeing you up on the mountain with him had been short-lived, replaced with a strange sense of attraction as he watched you protect him before instinct kicked in, and he’d joined you in the fight. That feeling had returned just now when you’d called him yours and prompted him to reach for you to ease your aches. It was confusing and infuriating. Sure, over the last year, he’d fleetingly thought of you in a less than professional way, but he’d never had the urge to act on it until today.

Your body sinks into the chair, relaxing as the tension is worked out of your legs. It feels too damn good, and a moan slips from your lips before you can stop it, your eyes widening as you inhale sharply, going stock still. Crosshair’s hands pause, toothpick slowly sliding to the other side of his mouth as he finally lifts his gaze, those sharp brown eyes dancing with something dangerous. “What an unexpectedly pretty sound, kitten.”

A strangled noise escapes you, wide eyes locked onto the sniper. The nickname is nothing new, usually thrown at you with a playful barb or some snark, but this time it’s different. This time, he purrs it.

“S-Sorry.” You stammer, clearing your throat as you try desperately to ignore the sudden heat in your belly. “It slipped out. Felt good.” You gesture vaguely towards your legs before pulling them out of Crosshair’s lap. But those slender fingers of his wrap around your ankles, keeping them in place, his eyes refusing to leave yours.

Crosshair knows he’s playing a dangerous game right now, knows he’s teetering on the edge of something that could go favourably for you both or go wildly wrong. But your moan…fuck. He’s grateful his codpiece hides his half-hard cock as one of his hands trails up your calves, skimming across your knees and thighs. He stops himself from sliding his hand under the hem of the oversized sleep shirt you’re wearing, a strange pang of something clawing at his chest as he realises it’s one of Wrecker’s old shirts.

Your own chest is rising and falling rapidly with tiny breaths. Crosshair’s eyes take in the flutter of your pulse in your neck, the way you’re watching him so intently. The pads of his fingers smooth across your thigh as he weighs up the situation. He could play this off, joke about riling you up and never mention it again. Or, he could figure out this strange feeling and why he’s picturing you naked, writhing beneath him with nothing but pleasure painted on your gorgeous face.

He, too, chooses the latter.

“You did good today.” He states lowly, fingers skirting ever so slightly under the hem of your shirt, eyes focused on your face. That feeling in his chest expands as he watches your pupils dilate as you inhale shakily.

Warmth sits in your belly, the compliment curling around you like a blanket on a cold day. “Just doing my job.” You decide to play it off, even though the words and the way he’s touching you make your heart pound a little wildly. You’d never been good at accepting praise and certainly weren’t expecting it from Crosshair.

“Maybe. But I’d like to thank you properly.” He tilts his head ever so slightly, the usual bite to his words gone as his eyes flit down to watch his fingers shift, dragging down the inside of your knee.

Brows furrowing for a second, you swallow, wondering if you’re reading the room correctly. “Are you…propositioning me?” You ask quietly, a shiver sliding down your spine as Crosshair’s fingers still.

His eyes lift, locking onto you. And the silence stretches.

You can’t deny he’s a good-looking man, nor can you deny how your heart somersaults when you see the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips after you say something amusing or when he reaches around you for something and crowds into your space. Now, watching him, you swear you can see a hint of apprehension in his eyes.

“Forget it.” Crosshair insists, going to move your legs from his lap. He feels stupid for even suggesting it – you could have any man in the galaxy; why would you want him?

You grasp his wrist, having moved on instinct. Focusing on him, your expression softens as he avoids your gaze, shifting that damn toothpick across his mouth again. You reach for it with your free hand, prying it gently from his mouth. The motion makes him finally look at you, and you can see the walls he’s trying to put back up. That can’t happen. “I don’t want to forget it.” You confess, your eyes momentarily betraying you as you glance at his lips.

His mouth is on you before you know it, firm, demanding lips pressed against yours. The toothpick falls to the floor. Hands grasp at your thighs, hauling you into his lap. You go willingly, tongue sliding against his lips, seeking entrance to deepen the kiss. One of your hands slides to the nape of his neck, and the other grasps at his bicep.

Crosshair’s mind is spinning, though he forces himself to appear composed. Your gentle weight in his lap is delicious, the way your ass presses against him, your hands clutching him. That feeling in his chest grows, and he silently luxuriates in it, lips parting as he feels your tongue pressing forward. He tastes you, a groan erupting from low in his throat. There’s something else he wants to taste more.

Supporting your body, he eases you back until you’re sprawled once more in the opposite seat. His lips refuse to leave yours, steady hands positioning you at the edge of the chair before he pulls back. Watching as your eyes flutter open, his cock strains against his codpiece. You’re breathing rapidly, lips shiny, desire burning in your pretty eyes. He did that to you. He can’t fight back his pride.

Dropping to his knees, Crosshair barely feels the cold floor beneath him, his armour buffering the impact and the temperature. Hands slide back up your thighs, fingers hooking on your panties. They slide down your legs quickly, and a smirk tilts his lips as he pulls them off you, eyes locked on yours as he tucks the scrap of fabric safely in one of the pouches on his belt.

Drawing your legs over his shoulders, he leans in, breaking the eye contact to take in the beautiful sight of your pussy spread before him like a buffet.

It’ll be the best meal he’s ever had.

The edges of Crosshair’s armour bite into your thighs, but the sting of pain evaporates the moment he drags his tongue through your slick folds. Head thunking back against the seat, your hips buck as you gasp.

“Maker, your pussy tastes good.” You hear the slink of his voice, a needy whine leaving you as you glance down to watch him feast. The almost permanent frown lines on his face are gone, a borderline serene look on his features as his tongue presses against your entrance, pulling a stuttered exhale from you.

His eyes snap open at the sound, watching up the length of your body as you writhe when he flicks his tongue across your clit, sucking the sensitive bud. The taste of you on his tongue is addictive, and though he’d deny it if he’s ever asked, he could quite happily live between your thighs. Right hand sliding up under your sleep shirt, he drags his fingers across the gentle swell of your breasts. You’d always been softness and smiles where he was hard edges and scowls. His other hand joins the party, two fingers pressing against your entrance, sinking in slowly as his tongue laves over your clit.

He silently preens as your hips buck, back arching while you moan. But then you’re tapping his hand under your shirt, head tilting down so you can catch his gaze. “Swap hands. Please.” You insist, a desperate look in your eyes.

Crosshair isn’t sure why it matters, but he does as you ask, sliding his right hand down your body as he removes his left from your pussy. Swapping them over, he presses his pointer and middle finger into you, prying his mouth from your clit so his thumb can run firm circles across it.

“You gonna tell me why, doll?” He questions, tongue darting out to lick his lips and enjoy your taste as he watches you cant your hips, chasing the pleasure his fingers are bringing you.

Heat rushes across your cheeks, and you avert your eyes, a mix of pleasure and shame flowing through you. “It’s…” You start, cutting yourself off with another moan as Crosshair twists his fingers, firmly pressing their pads to your g-spot.

Crosshair smirks, delight blooming inside him at your reaction. He stills his actions. “You can have more of that if you tell me…” He bargains, enjoying your groan.

Swallowing thickly, you bite the proverbial bullet. “Trigger finger.” You admit, eyes screwing shut.

The delight blooming in Crosshair’s chest now flits across his face. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected, but it went straight to his cock. “You like that thought, of my trigger finger buried in your pretty pussy, coaxing you to cum?” He teases, repeatedly pressing against your g-spot, rewarding you for your honesty. “Knowing this same finger will keep you safe on the next mission…”

Nodding eagerly, you rock your hips, chasing the building pleasure. “Yes. Always feel safe with you. Please, I wanna cum.” Desperation coats your voice.

Your admission makes him feel good – knowing how much you rely on him. Watching the slide of his fingers in and out of you, the way you writhe with every press against your g-spot and circle of your clit, he makes a slight noise of approval. “You really did do well today.” He comments lowly, enjoying the little whine you let out at the praise. “And brave girls get rewarded.” He tacks on, enjoying your chest’s rapid rise and fall as you pant, your hips still rocking, grinding against his hand. “You can cum.”

You’d never wanted a man’s permission to climax before, but something about Crosshair makes you want to please him. His fingers crook a little more, a little more pressure added to your clit, and you finally cry out his name. The pleasure slams into you, making you gasp as it floods your body, the tension snapping as your hips and thighs shake through your release. Your mind feels foggy, but you’re distantly aware of his fingers still buried inside you, drawing you through your orgasm.

Watching you fall apart might just be Crosshair’s new favourite thing. Your body is beautiful, the noises you make are absolutely sinful, and the thing clawing at his chest earlier is soothed, knowing he was the one bringing you such pleasure.

As you come down from the high, trying desperately to catch your breath, you feel yourself lifted, manhandled onto Crosshair’s lap as he retakes his place in the co-pilot’s chair. “There you go. So good for me.” The low rasp of his voice brushes against your ear. You feel something press against your lips, and your eyes open to see your sniper pressing two fingers to your mouth — the two fingers that had been buried inside you.

“Taste yourself. Get them nice and clean.” He instructs eyes darkening as he watches you suck them into your mouth, feels your tongue swirling around them, cheeks hollowing. And you hold his gaze will you do it, sending his heart racing and making his cock throb.

You make a show of cleaning him off, moaning around his steady fingers, the taste of your release hitting your tongue. Slowly sliding your lips up, a small ‘pop’ fills the cockpit as you pull off them. The effect you’re having on Crosshair is achingly obvious – his hawkish eyes are filled with a swirl of emotions, his hips shifting underneath you.

“On your knees, kitten.” He commands, easing you down gently off his lap, hands guiding you to the floor. You shudder as the durasteel meets your warm skin, Crosshair’s legs parting until you rest between them. Eyes tracking up his body, you slide your hands across his armour, fingers finding the small gap between the plates on his thighs. The brief contact makes him grunt, and you smirk as you reach his codpiece, undoing the latches and prying it off.

You knew the boys chucked their armour around, the katarn-class kit could withstand more than regular plastoid, but you placed his codpiece down on the floor with reverence. After all, it was part of what kept him safe.

Crosshair watches you intently, swallowing thickly as you place his armour down on the ground. An odd sensation of nervousness crashes into him as your eyes return to his body, homing in on his hard cock, which strains again his blacks. He tampers the feeling down – you’re not the first woman to get her hands on him, but he silently acknowledges that you’re the most important.

The cockpit is quiet again as you lean forward, focused on his outline. Your lips ghost across the taut fabric, the contact dragging a sharp grunt from Crosshair. His right hand finds its way into your hair, holding you steadily as you pull the waistband of his blacks down, revealing him.

Tongue darting across your lips, you tuck his blacks under his balls, pushing them up just so. Dicks weren’t inherently lovely to look at – or at least the ones you’d seen up until now weren’t. However, Crosshair was in an entirely different league.

Just the right thickness and a little longer than average, he curved gently to the right. Heavy balls sat just below, and you had to suppress a smile at the thatch of neat, silvery hair at the base of him. The colour wasn’t a fashion choice after all.

Wrapping your fingers around his base, you look up as you press soft kisses along his underside, dragging your tongue across velvety skin. His groan echoes around the room, fingers tightening in your hair. “Keep looking at me like that, doll. Let me see those pretty eyes.” He instructs, voice low and coiled, igniting heat in your belly.

Your lips wrap around the tip, tongue sliding into his slit to lap up the small bead of pre-cum. His hips buck and you bring your free hand up to rest against his abs to help stabilise yourself and apply gentle pressure to keep him seated. Your eyes stay locked on his, holding steadfast even as you bob your head, moaning unabashedly at his weight on your tongue.

Pulling off him completely, you dragged the head of his cock across your lips, shiny with your spit, watching him track the movement. Laving your tongue across him, you take him back into your mouth, sliding down a couple of centimetres, cheeks hollowing.

Crosshair knows he’s fucked. That strange feeling in his chest…yeah, he knows what it is now.

He can��t pretend this is some random hookup, that he’s just thanking you for saving him earlier. He can’t pretend it wouldn’t bother him for other men to hit on you during shore leave or for you to go home with them. You’re his. And while he might not be able to say it yet, he’ll damn well show it.

His free hand moves to your chin, gently tilting your head so he can slide in further, gasping as he feels the head of his cock bump against the back of your throat. “So perfect at sucking my cock. There’s my good girl.” He croons, watching how your eyes light up, how you bob your head that little bit faster, making him hiss with pleasure.

Spurred on, you take a deep breath and press forward, sliding more of him into your mouth until you can feel him in your throat. You exhale through your nose, hearing his choked moan before you pull back, desperately in need of air. You cough, drawing in a ragged breath, a string of saliva still connecting you to his flushed cock.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Crosshair grits out, feeling his balls tighten with every glide of your lips across his shaft. Your mouth was heaven – warm and wet – and it only excited him more for the day he could bury himself inside your pussy.

Alas, the Marauder wasn’t the most comfortable place for that. And with what he had in mind, you’d need a comfortable surface.

Taking him back in your mouth, you set a steady pace, feeling the twinges of ache starting in your jaw. But you push through, deep-throating him repeatedly until you can feel his thighs tremble and see how tight his balls are. Your focus shifts to the tip, lips wrapped perfectly around it as you suck and lick, tongue flicking against his frenulum on the upstroke.

He was moving more, unable to stay still as he hurtled towards the edge. Your eyes darted to his rifle rest, the winged extension shifting as he grasped the arm of the chair, knuckles white. It didn’t escape his notice, and a foul thought crossed his mind. “Think you could take it, kitten? Fuck, you’d look so pretty with it buried inside you.” He voiced, hips thrusting upwards as he chased his orgasm. He’d never be able to look at the piece of armour the same way again if it had been inside your gorgeous body.

You moaned around his cock at the idea, and that was all it took. Fingers tangled in your hair tapped at your scalp in warning seconds before Crosshair let out a stuttered groan, hips pressing forward as he came. The tang of him filled your mouth, and you greedily swallowed down everything he gave you, tongue gliding softly around the head of him as he collapsed back against the co-pilot seat. Gently, you cleaned him up, licking the last remnants of his release away, knowing he was extra sensitive.

He guides you off the floor, dragging you back onto his lap, his softening cock pressing against your damp folds. One of his thumbs tugs at your lower lip as you finish licking them clean, and his gorgeous brown eyes are focused on you as you both catch your breath. For a moment, you see a hint of vulnerability pass through him, and he leans in to give you an unexpectedly soft kiss. “Maybe I should save that fine ass of yours some more.” You murmur, voice a little hoarse.

Crosshair’s fingers move to your jaw, and he gently massages it, having spotted the subtle twitch of the aching muscles. The corners of his lips quirked up ever so slightly in a small smile. “I’ll be sure to thank you every time.”

#the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #crosshair x reader #crosshair bad batch #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #star wars #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #ct 9904 #bad batch crosshair #crosshair the bad batch #soft smut #idiots falling in love

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bitchy-craft · 5 months

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What Love Will Come Your Way | Pick A Pile

Hello and welcome to this Pick A Pile! In here you'll find out what kind of love will come your way. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful. Do make sure to leave comments down below on your experience! I do want to remind you all that this is a General Pick A Pile which means this is for a lot of people: therefore keep what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Masterpost > Questions > Paid Readings

Pick A Pile!

Pile 1:

This is the only pile where the kind of love won’t come from the outside. The kind of love that will come your way will come from yourself, self-love you’ll gain. Something in you will change that makes you realize you’re so much more worth than you made yourself believe. You will stop constantly comparing yourself to others, to things others have made. You’ll learn how to start chasing your dreams and not chase what you thought you needed.

You’ll get closer to finding out who you really are, you’ll make realizations that might sting at first but will find peace with. You’ll not only grow in your self-awareness but also as a person.

If you ever feel like you’re not growing or not developing whatever it is you want to get better at, you’ll see it soon, you’ll realize it soon, and you’ll be so proud of yourself. For some of you this feeling of confidence might feel a bit uncomfortable or odd since you’re not used to feeling this kind of love for yourself. The kind of love that will come your way, is self-love.

Pile 2:

A love of friendship will come your way, a kind of love you might not realize is a form of love. It will be given in a playful manner, in ways where you get excited and creative. In ways where you’ll have fun and your mind goes wild with excitement. It won’t be slow or unnoticeable, it will be a lot and obvious, it’s just that this kind of love isn’t always recognized as such.

This love will make you more confident in the things you like to do. As example; if you like to draw but find your art ugly, you’ll learn to find it beautiful and enjoyable to look at over time. You’ll be able to share the love that you’ll gain with friends and family, with pets and everyone around you because of stories you can tell, because of energy you’ll subconsciously share when you think about all these beautiful happenings that will come your way. Playful love will come your way.

Pile 3:

Trust. You’ll gain a new connection where the amount of love you guys share will result into trust. You’ll finally have someone you can fully be yourself with, even if you might think you already have a person like that. You’ll be able to talk to each other about your deepest and darkest secrets, be able to get advice on it and put your mind to rest.

You’ll find this new love precious, you’ll adore it and love it will all you have. You’ll make sure they won’t get hurt just like they’ll make sure you won’t get hurt, you’ll make each other feel happy and safe. Not only you will be affected by this love, people around you will notice how you’ll be way calmer than before, and how good you feel in your skin. The love that will come your way is a person, a friend, a love.

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candycandy00 · 6 months

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The Doll House - A Geto Suguru x Reader Fanfic Part 4 (Final)

You sell yourself to a brothel to feed your family and Geto Suguru is in charge of training you to be the perfect submissive sex doll.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Geto’s. I’m not sure how many parts it will have. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Dubcon. Submission. Extreme humiliation. Voyeurism. Light degradation. Masturbation. First time sex. Fem Reader. This Divider by @benkeibear!

When Suguru enters his room, he finds his doll huddled in a corner, shivering. She’s pulled his shirt on, but it dwarfs her, the sleeves covering her hands. He approaches slowly, and stops a few feet away before kneeling down to her level.

“Can we talk?” he asks her, his voice soft and even. “Not as trainer and doll, just as people.”

She looks up at him. Her eyes are puffy and wet. Seeing the anguish on her face makes him feel like he’s been stabbed. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she says. “You said I can trust you, that you’ll keep me safe. But when I felt unsafe, when I was scared, I turned to you! And you… you…”

“I hurt you, and I’m sorry,” he began. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I thought this would upset you, yes. But I didn’t realize how much it would hurt you. If I had, I swear I wouldn’t have put you through that.”

To emphasize his apology, Suguru bows down low to the floor, touching his forehead to the carpet. “Please forgive me for failing you as a trainer, as a person.”

He doesn’t look up to see her reaction, but after a few moments of silence, he hears her voice say, “I want to know why. Why did you do it? What did I do to deserve punishment like that?”

Finally lifting his face, he gazes at her wet but determined eyes. “The truth is, you scared me this afternoon,” he tells her. “I could tell you’re getting too attached to me. Remember what I told you? The cruelest fate for a doll is falling in love with her trainer. Because that trainer is going to hand her over to some other man and then move on to the next doll. I’ve seen it absolutely devastate dolls in the past, and I didn’t want that to happen to you, so I thought if I did something drastic, it would stamp out your feelings for me.”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him. It’s agony not knowing what she’s thinking, but he goes on. “That’s also why I haven’t had sex with you yet. I’m afraid it will only make the attachment worse.”

He doesn’t say so, but he’s even more afraid of the fact that he’s growing attached to her. He denied it to Satoru, but his longtime friend knows him better than anyone, and he’d hit the nail right on the head.

His doll narrows her eyes at him in a look of disapproval that sends a shock of panic through him. No doll has ever looked at him this way. “You’re selfish,” she says. “You decided what you thought was best for me on your own. You didn’t even ask me how I felt or what I wanted! Yes, I’m attached to you. Yes, I’m in love with you! But maybe I’m prepared for whatever heartache I’ll feel when we separate. Maybe I still think it’s worth it!”

Suguru blinks in surprise. Is his doll actually stronger than he thought? Looking at her now, with steely resolve in her eyes, he thinks she’s more beautiful than she’s ever been. Not to mention the fact that she’s wearing his shirt. He’s seen her naked this whole time, but somehow knowing his shirt is against her body is getting him riled up.

God, he’s falling for her.

He bows his head down again. “To make things right, I will submit to you for twenty-four hours. I’ll do anything you want, no matter what it is.”

******************

You stare at Suguru’s bowed, submissive form. Is he serious? Is he really going to do whatever you say? You decide to test him.

“Tomorrow morning at breakfast, I want you to go to the dining hall naked! And jack off in front of everyone!”

His eyes become as round as saucers, a blush creeping over his face. Then he takes a deep breath and looks straight at you with a strained but determined expression. “Okay. If that’s what I have to do to make things right, I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

He nods.

You can’t resist laughing. “I’m just kidding! I wouldn’t make you do that. I’m not that cruel.”

His face shifts from relieved to guilty. “I really will do anything you ask. Just tell me what you want.”

You think for a moment, then climb to your feet. “Take your clothes off, and don’t wear anything for the rest of the night.”

He stands up from his kneeling position on the floor and looks down at you. Again you see that fire in his eyes. He’s already shirtless, so he unbuckles his belt. Then he kicks off his shoes, opens his pants, and slides them down his legs, leaving only his boxers.

You find yourself breathing a little faster as you watch him push his boxers down and step out of them. There’s something lurid about seeing him stark naked here, outside the bathroom.

His body is divine. Perfectly toned, with smooth skin, eyes like darkened amber, hair a black river pouring down his back. His cock is growing hard before your eyes as he looks at you. Why? You’re actually covered up for the first time in two weeks. Regardless, you can’t stop staring at him.

“Now sit on the edge of the bed,” you say, “and pleasure yourself.”

He seems surprised for a moment, then gives you a sensual grin and lowers himself onto the bed, sitting on the mattress, facing you. He opens his thighs slightly, now fully erect, and begins lightly stroking himself while looking at you.

His hand moves slowly at first, sliding up and down his shaft, his thumb brushing over his tip. Then he starts to move a little faster, a little harder. After a few minutes, you can see a sheen on his skin as his hand smears precum from the tip over the rest of it. You want to wrap your lips around it, but you don’t. This is his punishment after all. Instead you stand just a few feet away, watching. His eyes never leave your face, and just to tease him, you lick your lips.

You hear his breaths come harder, see his face flushed pink as his hand strokes faster. His hair is still loose, some of it in his eyes as he moves. You’ve never seen a hotter sight in your life. You rub your thighs together under his shirt, but it’s not enough. Not enough friction. While he stares at you with lusty eyes, you reach down and press the soft fabric of his shirt between your legs, against your bare, wet pussy, and rub.

The fire in his eyes becomes an inferno. You hear his creamy voice gasp out, “Fuck, you’re so…” But he stops before he can finish. He’s breathing fast, jacking off faster and faster, and you know he’s close. You can’t resist any longer. You drop to your knees in front of him and open your mouth, extending your tongue. He looks surprised, but then he quickly presses his tip to your tongue and releases, cumming into your mouth in great spurts.

When he’s empty, he falls back on the bed, panting, one arm draped over his face. After he regains his strength, you insist that he takes a shower while you watch. You’ve done this every night, but somehow it feels different when you’re covered up and he’s not. You also order him to dry his hair but leave it hanging loose.

You finally get to shut the door while you shower, reveling in the comfort of the warm water and the privacy. You steal another one of his big comfy sweatshirts to wear for the night, but when you start to put the one you wore earlier in the hamper, he stops you.

“I’ll wash this later,” he says, gently pulling it from your grasp. You watch him fold it and shove it into a drawer, thinking that’s sort of gross, but a little flattering.

“I’m sleeping in the bed tonight,” you tell him, already crawling under his covers.

“Of course,” he says, getting the blanket you’ve been using from his closet and preparing to sleep on the floor.

“Wait. I want you to sleep in the bed too.”

He pauses, looking at you. “Are you sure?”

You nod, then look down a bit shyly. “And… I want you to cuddle me.”

*******************

When she said those words, Suguru made his decision. But it will be weeks before he tells her.

He slips under the covers, then scoots as close as possible to her. She’s lying on her side, facing him, looking at him with wide, glassy eyes. He pulls her into his arms, the warmth of her delicate frame wrapped in his sweatshirt feeling incredible against his naked body.

For a while, they just stay that way, the only movement coming from the rise and fall of their chests as they breathe each other in. She smells sweet, like the cherry shampoo he put in the shower for her. Finally she shifts, turning her face up to look at him. “You aren’t too cold, are you?”

He smiles down at her. “No, you’re keeping me warm.”

She snuggles even closer to him, and he’s overcome with a feeling of guilt. He can’t stop thinking about what he did, about her terrified face looking to him, hoping for him to stop that whole nightmare. Feeling the way he does for her right now, with her in his arms, he wishes he could go back in time and punch himself in the face.

But it’s done, it happened, and he can’t change it. He can only work to make it up to her. Right now, he only wants to make her happy, to make her feel good, to be even closer to her.

He tilts his face down, and does something he’s never done to a doll before: he kisses her lips.

She blinks, surprised, before her eyes slide closed, her mouth opening to allow him to deepen the kiss. She tastes as sweet as she smells, and his hands glide over her body beneath the covers, sliding under the shirt.

He rolls them both over, leaving her on her back with him on top of her, and kisses her again. When he stops to take a breath, he looks down at her and asks, “Do you still want me to fuck you?”

Her eyes seem to light up with excitement. “Yes!”

*****************

You thought you’d be scared. You’ve imagined your first time over and over, and it always left you feeling both excited and nervous. But right now? With Suguru sliding his sweatshirt up your body to reveal your breasts, his lips planting kisses down your neck and collar bone before taking one hardened nipple into his mouth, you only feel elation.

Every touch is gentle, soft, warm, as his hands explore you in ways they never have before. His movements are intimate, affectionate. He lightly grinds his hard body against you, and you can feel him all over. His hair, still loose, flares out around him, falling over both of you like a curtain. Your hands can’t resist grabbing it, running your fingers through it as he pushes your legs apart.

His fingers slip between your folds, stroking your clit until your pussy is glazed and ready. It doesn’t take much. You’ve been aroused all night, with him walking around the room completely naked. He scoots forward, positioning himself, then looks at your face.

You raise your head from the pillows and kiss his lips, confirming that you’re ready.

Suguru presses himself inside you, slowly, inch by inch, watching your face intently. There’s discomfort, but no pain, as you feel yourself stretch around him. He’s going slowly enough to give your body time to adjust, careful to avoid tearing the delicate skin. When the stretch becomes a bit much, you wince, and he pauses.

“Are you okay?” he asks, so sweetly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you tell him.

“Can you take a little more?”

You nod your head. “I want all of you.”

He pushes further in, and finally he sighs in pleasure. “It’s all in,” he says.

For a while, he doesn’t move. He’s letting you get used to his size. The discomfort you felt fades away, leaving only a pleasant sensation of warm fullness. He’s inside you. The man you’re in love with is inside you, and just thinking about that makes your whole body tingle.

“I’m going to move now,” he says, and then he slowly pulls part of the way out before pushing back in. He watches your reaction carefully, and when you show no signs of pain, he begins thrusting slowly in and out of you.

Your breath hitches as his cock goes in deeper than before, hitting a spot that makes your toes curl. He looks down at you with that fiery expression, eyes almost dazed, hair messy around his face. And he begins moving a little faster, going incredibly deep each time, continuously hitting that sweet spot until you’re moaning under him. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck, pulling his beautiful face closer so you can kiss him again as his thrusts become stronger, faster.

He’s using one arm to brace himself above you, the other is curled around beneath your head, holding you up, fingers in your hair, as his mouth devours yours. The way he’s looking at you, the way his breathing is matching your own, the way his thrusts are so deep and deliberate… he’s not having sex with you. He’s making love to you.

As if you have no control over them, your legs automatically wrap around him, and then your whole body is clinging to him, pulling him impossibly close.

“Feels so good… Suguru…” you moan out, barely noticing that you forgot to call him Master. You feel him twitch, feel his body becoming tense, and you know he’s on the edge, just like you. “Please… cum inside me…”

He’s breathing hard, staring at your face with such a lovely, lustful expression. Then he plunges deeper than ever into you, pressing against that heavenly spot, kissing you at the same moment.

It pushes you over the edge, and you cum around him at the same time he releases his seed inside you, your mouths drinking in each other’s moans.

When it was over, he helped you pull his shirt back down your body and the two of you fell asleep snuggled into each other’s arms.

*********************

Several weeks later, you find yourself standing in the welcome room of the Doll House, wearing your own clothes, waiting to meet your new owner. Your suitcase is sitting on the floor beside you, and you’re a nervous wreck.

Ordinarily, buyers are expected to come in for several in person visits before the transfer of ownership, so that the new owner isn’t a stranger to the doll. But your buyer preferred to remain anonymous and forgo the visits.

You said your goodbyes to the other trainers and dolls this morning at breakfast, then to Suguru this afternoon. You were a little sad that he didn’t seem as bothered by your separation as you were, but you suppose that’s to be expected. After all, he’s said goodbye to countless dolls before you.

You tried to stay calm and strong. You promised Suguru you could handle this, that you wouldn’t fall apart or make a scene, but it’s hard. You want to cry. You want to storm back into his room and beg him not to let you go. But you won’t do that.

Ever since that first night you made love, the training changed. Suguru insisted you wear one of his oversized shirts every time you left his room. He let you sleep in the bed every night with him, cuddled up like lovers. You still had to call him “Master Suguru” and obey all his orders, often doing lewd things to him or in front of him, but you came to enjoy those orders. There was a softness to him, a warmth in his smile when he looked at you. Because of that, you’d hoped… Well, best not to dwell on it.

As you stood there fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Excuse me, miss? I’m in the market for a doll.”

You whirl around to find Suguru standing behind you, grinning. You look at him in confusion. “What?”

“All trainers are allowed to pick one doll they’ve trained to keep as their own, just once during their career,” he says. “So I’m your new owner, if you’ll have me.”

Tears are stinging your eyes already. “If? If I’ll have you?!” you ask, wiping your face. “What a silly thing to say, Master Suguru!”

With that, you dive into his arms, feeling safe and comfortable for the first time since you signed the contract. There was no longer a looming shadow of some unknown owner who would control you for ten years. There was only Suguru, the man you loved.

The next ten years were looking very bright.

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto #geto suguru #geto smut #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto suguru smut

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nicromancytarot · 3 months

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3 OPPORTUNITIES TO MAKE THE MOST MONEY, WHICH ONE WILL YOU PICK???

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t change for these readings and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I got but I pull like 20-30 cards each reading and that just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what 3 opportunities coming into your life would give you the best and most successful financial abundance, pick a pile to find out.

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

1) Office/corporate job.

This will unfortunately be a place of unhappiness for you, you may feel as though you always have to keep your guard up to protect yourself from your colleges. This is certainly a workplace where you will have to work with others and contribute to the working aspect of it, but you may not feel safe or comfortable around some of the other people. This is most likely due to the fact that this is showing to be a workplace in which everyone is pushing each other out of the way in hopes to reach the top, but so many fall from the climb.

The reason I believe spirit is saying that it’s a good place for financial opportunities is because it truly does pay very well, the only downside being the people and environment you have to work with. You may feel as though you cannot leave this job due to the money and may feel oppressed by it.

ADVICE: Focus on your mental health before caring for others, give yourself a pat on the back for being able to deal with this situation and start by healthily and safely moving away from this.

2) Building a business or partnership.

It will be a risky jump at first and may even make you wonder if it’s worth it at the start - it very much will be so continue, persevere and do not give up. This will give you the best financial opportunity out of the three and I see the money rolling in quickly with the ace of wands. You will be able to share this money with those you love and even have the ability to flaunt it as you please.

To do this opportunity you will need to leave whatever current situation you are in at this moment. It will appear scary at first but it will become an uphill climb and you will reach it to the top.

ADVICE: Before starting this business or partnership you will need to take some time to clear any debts you have, ensure you will not have to deal with them after embracing this opportunity and make sure it is all taken care of prior to this new beginning.

3) Relationships.

I see you getting into a relationship with someone who will give you the opportunity to either work alongside them or allow them to supply for you. They have enough money to sustain the both of you, and even a family if needed. This is truly up to you and you will not feel financially burdened by them with whatever decision you make.

I do however unfortunately see this being a short-lived situation (around 2-3 years.) There will be an end to this relationship and at that point if you haven’t already, you will need to begin finding ways to make your own money. There will be a short period of stress and stagnancy at the beginning of the end of this relationship, but you will make it out unscathed.

ADVICE: Use manifestation and prayer to your advantage, God, spirit or source are always listening and are ready to give you the treatment you deserve, do not be shy of asking for help.

PILE 2

1) Humanitarian work, turned fame.

I see you working alongside charities or advocating for humanitarian causes. I’m being shown someone who is giving their everything while not expecting anything in return. With the knight of swords I notice a person leading a protest and it truly looks and feels like they are making an anticipated difference. Your angels, God or the universe is seeing this and preparing a reward for your hard work.

Unfortunately there will be a short time filled with gossip and hate, I see this reaching the media and that is what will fuel people to talk bad on you and what you are doing. Do not let this get you down because this will bring good karma your way and you will receive abundance in all forms, I see someone who is now able to spend money on what they want while still helping out with these important causes and spreading the word around the world.

This energy is so powerful, with the lovers I can tell that you, my pile 2 are destined to do this and to take this path. Your voice and your influence is sure to change the world, it will make people open their eyes up to the important things and you will be noticed for making the world a better place.

ADVICE: Visualise abundance in all forms, you guys are extremely talented at bringing your visualisations to life so use this ability to bring the most positivity and money your way.

2) Lawyer/place of law, defamation, lawsuit, divorce.

I know this doesn’t seem very positive in itself but I see many ways of this playing out for you. In some cases it may be that a few of you are becoming lawyers or even judges, if so I see this bringing in a windfall of abundance and you will once again be gaining money for imposing justice on those who have suffered injustice.

For those of you who don’t resonate with that, I see you going through some troublesome time with the law, I don’t see it being that serious but it would make sense having the fact that you guys are my famous pile. There’s something to do with either a tricky divorce, a lawsuit or a defamation case. Luckily, I do see you guys winning this and gaining a lot of money from it whatever it is. Weirdly enough I do notice you possibly meeting someone who could turn into a romantic partner in the future while in this place LMAO.

ADVICE: Let the lawyers deal with this issue, do not try to chase anything, you may get yourself in trouble. For those of you who are the lawyers/judges, continue what you’re doing, don’t doubt yourself.

3) Partnership or collaboration with friends.

For the time it would last it can definitely bring in a lot of money. I do feel as though the downfall would be caused by some type of betrayal or just an argument between friends. At the time of the end you will feel very trapped and not very sure what to do next and may even end up hoarding the wealth you have made.

Once this period is over, I notice that you will either begin working on this project by yourself or scrap it to create something new. I will not sugarcoat it for you - both of these decisions have the same fait, they either turn out to be very successful and bring in a lot of extra money, or they fail completely. Take some time to think what you want before rushing into anything.

ADVICE: Let go of guilt, there is no need for you to feel guilty for something ending, you can always try again or make it better, don’t be so hard on yourself.

PILE 3

1) Entertainment or public speaking.

This first opportunity is divinely picked, even if you decide not to do this for money, you will be doing it nonetheless (money is just an extra bonus.) I got the 10 of pentacles in two decks and the 9 of pentacles as well so I think we can both notice the amazing financial opportunities this can bring.

This will lead you to be very vulnerable and open, expressing your emotions and talking about past experiences. When doing this reading I had an urge to use one of my more “taboo” decks so I assume this has to do with something that a lot of people would frown upon. This could show as expressing mental struggles through music or even talking about trauma as a stand up comedian for example.

ADVICE: Use manifestation and prayer to your advantage, God, spirit or source are always listening and are ready to give you the treatment you deserve, do not be shy of asking for help.

2) Charity work + relationships.

I see that you’ll start some type of work just for the sake of helping others. This will bring in much manifested abundance in all forms. You will feel very shut off to the idea of other people helping you out and you may refuse help from others during this time.

A relationship or perhaps job offer will come your way, this will bring great teamwork and abundance. I feel at the start of this opportunity you will try your best to balance these two things, but will inevitably come to the realisation that you cannot have everything at once and will end up needing to choose one while losing and letting go of the other.

ADVICE: Make a gratitude list for both of these things, which one makes you the the most grateful? Perhaps that the one you must continue on the path of.

3) Spiritual work/healing.

There’s energy of you tapping into the 4D and learning that you can manifest whatever you please while also continuing to help other people on this journey. There could be a sense of working with past lives and alongside your spiritual gifts, maybe even helping people with shadow work.

Another very destined path, I feel this would treat you very well and help you gain a large sum of money along the way. This will however become very time consuming and you will need to stay very motivated and focused.

ADVICE: Don’t shy from asking for help when you need it. Always have courage and do not give up.

#pick a card #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a pile #tarot #free tarot #tarot witch #money

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zialltops · 2 months

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honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his mouth connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck.

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write, I accidentally made it 9.5k words lol, but it was such a relief (ish) to write. Some new warning apply to this chapter, so please be advised of those. We get to see a whole new side to Joel this chapter and we’ll get to see some “in the making of” this chapter in the following one. A little bit of context on why Joel changes so abruptly and the reasoning behind his decisions. I hope you all know how much i love love love you guys for being here for me while i struggle to find time to write. I’m working on getting back on my feet every day and this is the one safe place I have to escape and indulge in my favorite coping mechanism. Much love, H 🤍

Chapter 7–You Don’t Want That Smoke

Your birthday falls on Friday this year, (lucky you) but it also means the First Friday dance falls on your birthday this year as well. It’s the first community event after the cold winter months and by that time, most people are itching to get out of their snow-buried homes. The town usually puts on the event to celebrate the coming spring, hosting venders of all sorts and games for the families. Growing up, your parents would take you to the petting zoo and let you ride the ponies, like you didn’t have a horse at home, like there wasn’t a whole ranch to attend to, animals to raise up and sell, like you could just for a moment, be a normal little girl from a quiet street who’d never sat in a saddle in her life.

If only that had been the case, ever. If only you’d had parents who pursued safe, reliable careers, where they had pensions and retirement, insurance and benefits, instead of breaking their backs for a ranch that had been dying long before it was left to your mother by her parents. Was it obligation that kept them here, or was it something else? Was it the same thing that got you through years of college, all in an attempt to keep your parents' dream alive for a little while longer?

It’s Wednesday, which means you have two more days before your birthday and Melly’s plane lands in a few hours from Colorado, but so far your morning has taken you five rounds in the octagon and is currently coming back for more.

“—No! The statements I just got in the mail yesterday said we have ninety days to come up with three months worth of the mortgage before the property faces foreclosure.”

The woman on the other end of the phone sighs at you and you can hear the way her hands hit her keyboard. “I know that, ma’am, but that was a month and a half ago and we still have not received any payments. The bank sent another letter, requesting that the entire six month worth of back payments be received by the end of the ninety days or the property will be foreclosed on.”

The routinely scripted response feels like an open handed slap to the face, white hot pain snapping through your veins like lightning on the Wyoming plains. You sink down into the dining room chair and let it soak in all the way.

“How many days do we have left?” You hear yourself whisper into the phone but it’s not you speaking, not really—its a absent reflex like blinking or breathing.

“That's…51 days, ma’am. We’ll contact you again in thirty days if we have not received the entire amount by that time.”

Your eyes burn and blur, tears for the years of your life wasted on a useless education, until they surge past the dam and plummet to the paper below. When you look down at the document, your tears are stained red by the ink on the foreclosure notice. “How much will it be, again?” Defeated, Inadequate and Doomed.

“Fourteen thousand, three hundred and forty dollars, for six months worth of the Mortgage and late fees accumulated.” She sounds annoyed when she reads off the obscene number, like she isn’t sealing the fate of your family home, the dream your parents have worked their whole lives for to pass down to you—all wasted on a backed mortgage that your parents took out on the farm when you were born.

The full circle indicates that losing your family’s livelihood was your fault, from start to finish. You didn’t make it in time. All your hard work, and you’re still going to lose it.

“Is that everything, ma’am?”

Click

You drop the phone and sob into your arms, your whole body shaking and heaving with every sharp inhale. In your best attempt to keep quiet, you attract the attention of the one person you long to keep this from, your sweet, well meaning mom.

She’s soft spoken when she soothes you, rubs your back while you dry up your tears against her chest and she doesn’t ask why, just kisses your forehead and smiles one of those sweet sweet smiles at you and says, “We’ll get through this, Honey, don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure this out together.”

And you believe her, enough to reel in your hiccups, enough to ease your searing tears. “Why don’t you take a break from work, Melly gets here soon, yeah? You got everything you girls need?”

You smile at her, thankful for her ability to distract you from the things that keep you up at night. She knows you better than anyone, she’s your best friend. “Maybe we can stop at the store after we get her, but we gotta leave soon—“ you check the time, one hour until her plane touches down in Jackson and it takes forty five minutes to get there alone.

“Actually Honey, about that…I can't go with you. I’m not feeling up to it and I thought I would whip up dinner for you girls. But I got someone to go with you,”

You stand up from the chair and put the papers back into the envelope. “Mom, I really can go alone, I drove all the way here—“ she stops you with a quiet scuff. “You got stuck in the snow and Joel had to pull you out.” Joel, that son of a bitch…that big, sexy cowboy son of a bitch who left you in the snow. Who huffs and puffs and walks around like the sweatiest, filthiest, most delicious version of every nasty fantasy you’ve ever had. Of course she would drag him into this, maybe she’s the one who’s after the help.

“Speak of the devil,” she has this knowing look when her gaze travels past you to the doorway of the dining room. You glance over your shoulder to find yourself smack dab in the middle of one of those filthy dreams, dressed in green plaid and his brown Carhartt jacket, his black cowboy hat resting atop his head with curls peeking out of the sides, kissing the tips of his ears. His beard has grown out a tad too, making him look soft all over, scruffy and curly with a dimpled smile. The sight of him comes with a sudden rush of soothing comfort, warm eyes that make you feel safe, hidden in the shadows of his hat.

“Heard I was takin’ you somewhere?” He’s broad and sturdy, with a slight sheen of sweat on the peaks of his collarbones under his shirt. Under his beard, his neck is taught and his muscles are strained, his pulse visible beneath his skin despite his cool composure. If you know Joel, he did a days worth of work this morning to clear his schedule for the rest of the afternoon. He probably smells like sweat and dirt, like horses and leather under all that damn southern charm he possesses.

Actually, you can take me anywhere. On the couch, in my room, hell—in the glow of a fridge light.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to bite off your involuntary groan, shooting your mom a sharp look. She may play coy, might act like she's this innocent and sweet, cookie baking, laundry folding, house making mom who knows no better, but you see what she’s really up to. How she hides behind her little false oblivion, a facade she usually only uses for good. This doesn’t feel like it was for the greater good.

“You—“ you sneer at her quietly and she smiles with a “Not sure what you mean dear, but you better get a move on. I have to get dinner in the oven!” She scurries out of the room and into the next, letting the door swing closed behind her. Joel remains in the same spot, one shoulder pressed against the white wood frame of the old door, his muddy boots on the dark hardwood floors. Your eyes drag up the rest of him, his pants are tight in the middle, hugging his hips and probably just barely restraining what lays below the dark blue denim. There's a soft curve to his belly, made apparent when his arms cross over his chest and pull his shirt tight against his front.

His belly looks so damn soft. So fucking round and bite-able. A few more clicks up, his chest nearly bulging out of the buttons of the flannel. The buttons hang on for dear life, but you’re afraid if he flexes, they will scatter to the floor with your resolve.

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. “Doin’ alright there, darlin’?” If his presence wasn’t enough, the bourbony southern drawl and the way he cocks his hip makes your thighs squeeze together involuntarily. “Yeah—Yep, just need to get dressed and I’ll be ready.” You’re still in a big sleep shirt, have been all morning because work for you doesn’t require pants half of the time. When you start to breeze past, his eyes drop to the exposed skin of your thighs.

“Been wonderin’…” he stops you with a big hand, pressed against your sternum when you try to pass by his solid form. He’s still faced the opposite direction than your body, only his head turns to look down at you, gone still beneath his stern fingertips. “If you always walk around naked under these shirts, or if you’re wearin’ somethin’ under there when mom and dad are ‘round?”

His eyes flick back to the door leading into the kitchen, where your mother is currently hiding from your scowl, then back down to the hem of your oversized shirt. The hand on your ribs shifts when you haul in a deep, stuttering breath. It slips a few inches lower, the tips of his thick fingers dipping into the flesh of your stomach, just below your belly button. He’s so close and so fucking firm where he holds you in place.

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself, Cowboy?”

You challenge him back and you swear he stops breathing beside you. He meets your dare with a low growl, reverberating inside his rib cage like a shout in a vast canyon. What the hell is happening right now, did he hit his head or something? Is he finally getting the fucking hint? How desperately you want him to have his way with you? Then again, the last time he saw you dressed like this, you were bent over, knowingly showing off everything you had to offer, the place you wanted him most, while you listened to the guttural sounds leaving the unsuspecting man behind you. You aren’t going to complain about the sudden shift in his attention, hell no—you’ll soak in what you can get from the leery cowboy.

You hardly register the way he moves until he leans forward and warm fingertips graze the skin just under your ass. He’s looking when he lifts the shirt all the way up to your tailbone slowly, covered by smooth black satin, a thong that hugs your hips but leaves your cheeks exposed to his greedy sight. His eyes are everywhere, your thighs and the curve of your bare behind. His fingers dip just under the black satin band on your hip, his expression is just shy of a devoted man as he drinks in the contrasting sensation of your smooth skin and the silky material.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, letting his hand slip from your panties to travel back down, unsure fingers tracing along the crease of your ass, curling under your cheek when he gets to the bottom. It’s the softest touch you’ve ever felt, full of admiration and barely restrained desire. It sets your skin on fire, radiating behind your eyelids. “Those are…damn pretty, sugar…but you better go get yourself ready, before you’re late.” His hands slip away from you completely and he turns in the direction of the door, already on his way out before you even fully process what just happened. What flipped inside of Joel on a random Wednesday afternoon in late February?

He leaves with a satisfied smirk with intentions of starting the truck while you stammer against the doorway and remind yourself to breathe. When the front door closes behind him, you lean against the wood he was just propped against, hoping his heat will still linger there. He instigated something, a secret whisper of want, the thought makes a grin break out from one side of your face to the other, pulling your cheeks tight. He wants you.

You get dressed with that same stupid grin plastered on your face. You shift through your closet a few times, but you keep falling back on the same outfit. A pair of flared jeans, light in color with stitch work on the sides. With a pair of boots, they make your ass look like a dream—just what you are going for, just so you can rile Joel further. You find a tight top and a thick wool flannel to throw over it, before tracking back down the stairs to the front door.

It’s the rush of adrenaline that shocks the agony from your brain, but the moment you bound down the front steps to his waiting truck, the door already propped open, you pause.

You stop at the foot of the stairs and turn, looking up the steps you’ve known your entire life, the screen door you’ve spent numerous summers swinging in and out of. The porch you’ve watched storms roll in from, the porch swing where you had your first kiss. All this and…your heart sinks. When you turn back towards the running chevy, Joel is staring back at you, his once knowing smirk traded in for a furrow of concern on his handsome features.

You climb into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt while Joel puts the truck in gear and pulls away from the house.

There’s a long stretch of road that passes in near silence, before it’s you who just can’t take it anymore. Joel, sweet fucking Joel sat beside you, respecting your emotions and your boundaries once again. “Ranch is ‘bout to be foreclosed.” You tell him. Once it’s spoken aloud, you realize just how imminent your family’s demise really is. How quickly you are going to lose everything, watch your parents walk away with no retirement and nothing to show for themselves, for generations of hard work.

You expect something, questions about how you know, how long you have, if there's anything he can do to help you, but the questions never come. Instead, Joel reaches over and presses his fingers into the latch on your buckle, pulling it off of you with one click.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” His tone is low, soft enough to not interrupt your thoughts, but enough to have you drawing across the bench seat and slipping under his sturdy arm while he drives. He keeps you tucked in close beside him, his hand trailing up and down your arm to ease out the pain residing in your veins. He takes one glance down at you and leans forward, his lips connecting with the crown of your head. “We’ll get through it. We ain’t goin’ down without a hell of a fight.”

Because after the years you’ve spent away from this place, Joel has come to think of the Rising Sun ranch as his home just as much as it is yours. He’d raised every one of the cattle on that ranch, he’s worked day and night to ensure its survival, he’s lost sleep and nearly limbs fighting to keep them afloat while you were gone. This is his home, his fight right alongside yours. Finally, the weight seems to ease up, shouldered by Joel's sense of responsibility for your family’s livelihood.

Beside you, he’s solid and warm, he’s alive and overflowing with strength, enough to spare, for something to cling to. You turn your head and bury your face in his shoulder, covering yourself in the shield of protection he has to offer, sturdy, devoted support that makes you feel lightheaded with security. He doesn’t push you further, doesn’t prod you for details. He just hangs on, keeps your body tucked in close to his while he drives into town. At some point, the rattling of the old truck along patchy highway roads lulls you into sleep with your head against his shoulder and one leg across his lap.

Joel, with all the strength he can muster—holds on tight.

“Hey,” your senses come rushing back when the truck comes to a stop and your warm pillow jostles under your head. You lift up off his weight a little and glance at him through a sleepy gaze, a soft smile present on his lips. “As much as I like you droolin’ all over me…” he gestures to wet stain on his flannel. “Think your friends plane lands soon, don’t want you to miss it.”

You get yourself together enough to look out the window. Joel parked right outside of baggage claim at Jacksons little airport and his arm still sits tightly around your shoulders. A deep sigh sets in to your bones and you lean against him for just a moment longer to soak in the warmth. “Hey, look at me, darlin’,” his hand wraps around your chin gently, coaxing your eyes up to his. “Don’t think about the ranch, at least till the week is over. Ain’t nothin’ you can do right now, so don’t let it ruin your birthday. Everythin’s gonna be alright.” His words trail off when a broad thumb swipes across the underside of your bottom lip, his gaze caught in yours so tightly you’re half sure the jaws of life couldn’t draw you apart. He breaks out into a grin and heaves a shallow laugh. “Had a little drool there.”

The little laugh that bubbles up in you breaks the eye contact and Joel shuts off the truck, untucking you from his arm. You check the time for safe measures, there's still a few more minutes before the plane lands and she still has to make it out the gates.

“Joel?” He’s fiddling with his key chain, adjusting a few backwards keys. “Hmm?” He barely makes eye contact—is he embarrassed? From holding you while you slept? “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me—for my family while I’ve been gone. I can't think of a way to…repay you for everything.”

Joel glances over at you and something flashes in his brown eyes, something that looks like discomfort and shame. He takes a sharp breath in and squeezes his knuckles around the keys. “I didn’t do it all selflessly…please don’t take this wrong. I haven’t felt a sense of belonging in years. Me and Tommy have been drifting since I was twenty eight, working on one ranch after another. We’d stick around a town for six months and he’d get antsy, stir up trouble and we’d have to hit the road again.”

He brings his hand up to his mouth and chews on the corner of his thumb. He’s anxious, you can tell by the way his eyes flitter to you then away quickly. “I’ve covered his ass more times than I can count because I don’t know if I’ll be the same if I have to leave here. It feels fuckin—selfish, like I’m usin’ your folks. M’gettin’ old, my bones are tired and all I want is to…stop. Slow down for once in my life. I’ve never been more at peace than I am here, with your parents and the ranch. I was doin’ so good, gettin’ my mind right, hatin’ myself a little less and then—“ he trails off with a distant look in his eyes.

And then…what? What’s caused Joel to lose that sense of peace and stability? “What happened?” You sink back in the bench seat, run your fingers along the stitched pattern of color adorning the warn padding. “S’big snow storm came in…I was comin’ back from town because I took Tommy to pick up flowers. He’d been a real asshole to a sweet lady who didn’t deserve it. Was pissed off he was smokin’ in the truck, pissed he was jeopardizin’ our home again, when we see this little car stuck in the embankment, met this—real pretty girl, and she…” he sneaks a glance over at you, but he’s doing his best to find anywhere, anything else to look at. Cars passing by, the sun reflecting off the bright white paint on the cross walk. The older woman in-front of you, helping what looks like her daughter, load her luggage into the trunk.

“She got under my skin and I was flustered for the first time in a really long time. Kinda freaked me out—and then I left here there—‘cuz I was scared shitless and nothin’s ever been the same since. Sorta think she hates my guts half the time for it.”

There's this unsettling silence in the cab, Joel's nerves and his admission hanging in the air between you. He’s never ever been this vulnerable and honest with you before. You’ve talked to him more times than you can count now, a meaningless little conversation where you found everything you needed to change your mind about him. But he’s never opened himself up like he was right now, in the damn pick up line of the Jackson airport.

“Joel I…I already forgave you for that.” You forgave him for that when he gave you your necklace for Christmas. You forgave him when he carried a newborn calf half a mile through a snowstorm for you. You forgave him when you came down the stairs to him in that damn cowboy hat.

You forgave him when he came back for you and looked at you with those pretty brown eyes.

“What?” He looks over at you and you hold onto the eye contact for as long as you possibly can. “I don’t hate you. Furthest thing from it actually—I do hate how much you avoid me. Like I’m going to bite your head off any second—“ he snorts, cracks a white smile at you and his eyes crinkle at the sides, making your stomach flutter, little blue butterflies soaring through your abdomen. “You do bite my head off—often.”

Okay—maybe he’s a little right, maybe you let it get too far a few times, spent too many afternoons angry at his distaste for you, when all you wanted was a taste of him. “Well, I’m sorry…for all the things I’ve said to you, the things I’ve called you. But I’m not upset about that anymore. I forgave you for that a long time ago. You’ve already made up for it a million times, Joel.”

He’s grinning at you like you just told him he won the fucking lottery, his nervous hands drumming a absent tune against the steering wheel. He’s looking at you like it’s the first time you’ve ever met him, his eyes shining with mirth and admiration. “Think…you could give this ol’ cowboy another shot?” That nervous little shake of his jaw, the tick in his voice and the hopefulness in his eyes is enough to break anyone, but you? You’re so lost on him you never want to find your way back. Throw away the maps, toss the keys somewhere you’ll never find them again—you never want to go anywhere else in the world. Another shot? You’d give him all of them.

“Pretend you’ve never met me before.”

He blinks, cocks an eyebrow and makes a face of confusion at you. “I’ve never met you?” You nod, turn your whole body to face him on the bench seat of his old beat up chevy. “Like it’s the first time we’ve met. I’m Hank's daughter and you’re picking me up from the airport to take me home for the first time in years. We’ve never met. Try again, shoot your shot, cowboy.”

You’d like to imagine that's how it went—your mom and dad were too busy to come get you and you decided to fly because you knew your little car wouldn’t make it. They send Joel, because he’s trustworthy and punctual. They know he’ll treat their daughter with respect, they trust that he’ll use his better judgment, because they know he’s a good man. You know that under that rough, hard exterior is an anxious man searching for belonging, a good man.

Joel takes a deep breath, lets his mind drift out the window before he turns it back to you with a charming smile, one you’ve never been on the receiving end of. It’s smoldering, flirtatious—everything you imagined Joel to be after all those years of pinning after a man you’ve never laid eyes on. A Joel you’ve never met and desperately need to get to know better. “Prodigy daughter finally returns,” his drawl is thick and his eyes rake over you once, twice, before settling on your own. “I’m Joel.”

You giggle—rightfully so, because this Joel? This Joel is all quick wit and chivalry. You fake introduce yourself back, your grin mirroring his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joel.”

“Pleasure is…all mine, darlin’.”

You could stare at him forever with that damn goofy smile on his face. “Anyone ever tell you—you look good in this?” You tell him, reaching up to flick the brim of his hat, but it stays firmly in place despite your efforts. He snorts and snaps up to catch your wrist, holding onto it tightly in his big hand. “S’funny, I was just thinkin’ about how good you’d look in my hat.” His thumb circles the inside of your wrist slowly,’ pushing down the fabric of your sleeve with the effort. Slowly, he draws your appendage closer, till his mouth hovers just above your skin. His eyes are like witnessing something tragic, so devastating you can't bring yourself to look away.

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his lips connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck. There’s an image you’ll never get out of your mind—your hands on his sweaty chest, the brim of his hat falling in front of your eyes while you try to keep it in place, despite the way you ride him—

“Joel—Jesus, you can’t just—“

He breaks out into a chest filled laugh, his eyes slip close and his head falls back. His whole body responds to the way he laughs, his legs kick up, his chest heaves and his belly bounces. He’s a menace, a damn trouble starter—he makes you see hearts around his head and a sparkle in his eyes you’re sure you’re imagining. He calms his laugh down with a few deep breaths, a grin still plastered on his handsome face. “What can I say? I’m really bad at first impressions.”

He is, but it doesn’t bother you like it used to. Joel isn’t and never will be the perfect man you’d envisioned. He’ll never be the Joel you’d made up in your head for so long, because that Joel was made solely for you, from your interpretation of a man who’s perfect for you in every way. But that Joel and the one in front of you are two vastly different people—this Joel is gruff at times, opinionated and flawed. He wasn’t made perfect for you, but you find that the things that make him the least like the Joel in your mind—are the things that you like most about him. He’s gruff, but he’s punctual and takes no shit. He’s opinionated, but he’s wise about life, he’s earned the right to voice his beliefs. He’s flawed—he has crows feet by his kind eyes, graying curls and weathered hands—but it’s his flaws that entice you to learn more about him. They make him real in front of you instead of a made up, faceless man in your dreams.

Your phone chimes in your pocket and it sucks you from the void in the cab of this old truck, away from Joel's charming smile and his burning hand on your wrist. He pulls away and the moment dissipates into dust on the dashboard.

Melly: I just got my bag, headed out now!

“Be right back,” you slip out the door with a firm shut and try your hardest not to glance back at the man in the cab of that blue and white truck.

Finding Melly is easy, she sticks out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair and too-blessed chest. What did she do in a past life for tits like that, anyways?

She comes out the double doors and jogs to you with a grin your wearing on your own face. “Oh my gosh!” She squeals, finally getting close enough to throw your arms around each other. It’s been months since you’ve seen each other after spending everyday together for the last two years. You tumble around together in your hug for a few minutes before she pulls back to look you over, in a pair of flared jeans and boots. “Oh man, the country got you.” She jokes, faking a deflated sigh. “Would you fuck off?” She laughs menacingly, slinging her bag over her shoulder for more security. “Let me guess, you’re still trying to drive that cowboy crazy, right?”

With a deep eye roll, you finally look back at the truck. He’s looking right back at you, an easy smile on his lips when your eyes connect. You look back to your best friend and make a face. “He uhm…he actually drove me…to come get you. He’s in the truck, please be nice to him, okay?” She sneers and you know she means trouble when you help her with her things on her way to the truck.

“Please don’t fucking embarrass me, I swear dude—“ Mel gives you a little shove and huffs a laugh when you put her suitcase in the bed of the pickup. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin your shot with the old dude.” She looks around you, eyeing him from outside of the truck without his knowledge. “Holy shit, dude he’s hot. He’s like, stupid hot.”

You look over at him too and like he can feel your eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder, smiles warmly and you know it—

Know you’re fucked.

“Not a word.” Mel throws her hands up innocently and follows your lead when you open the door of the truck and climb in the middle, sliding in right beside Joel, reclaiming the space you’d taken up on your way here.

The whole drive back to the ranch, your body is on fire along the parts that connect to Joel, pressed so close you’re afraid you might melt into him.

Two days pass in a blur.

You spend a lot of time with Mel, catching up on how she's been doing since graduating, how she likes work—she’s a wildlife biologist in Colorado, who’s still learning the ropes of the job but she’s never been more excited to be a part of something. You don’t tell her about the ranch for a good reason, but she still asks and doesn’t say anything if she notices the look on your face when you lie to her.

We’ll get through it

You love spending time with her, but you don’t see a lot of Joel besides meals. He’s pleasant and soft, smiling at you like he’s never worn a frown on that handsome face. He sits too close at dinner, draws your gaze in far too many times for it to be an accident. It’s not anymore but it’s still so damn hard to make yourself believe that this isn’t just a fleeting moment—temptation breathing life into you for the first time in years, teasing you with possibilities.

He makes you burn but he doesn’t push further, doesn’t chase that desire down its narrowing path. It’s so close—you’re so close to finally making him yours.

When your birthday rolls around, he’s nowhere to be seen at breakfast. When you head out to the stables, the horses have already been fed and there's no trace of the man who plagues your every waking moment. The truck is gone and the tire-tracks in the driveway look old, like he’s been gone for hours. It’s not that he’s required to see you on your birthday, but you thought things were going to change. You thought that re-meeting him in the truck at the airport would restart everything, he’d realize you want him around more than the ranch hand who got under your skin and made you desperate for his attention. It feels naive, to watch out the window for his truck for most of the morning, pining after that faded powder blue and rust.

“This is depressing to watch from the outside, you know that right?” Comes Mel’s voice from the other side of your room when you check the window for the first time in the last half hour. She's painting her nails on the chair in your room while you peer through the blinds like he might appear out of thin air without you hearing the rumble of his old chevy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You do your best to defend yourself, stepping away and crossing your arms as you trudge to your bed.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I know you. You’re pacing your room wondering when you’ll see him. You know everyone can see the way you guys look at each other right? When are you guys going to like…kick it up a notch, get in his pants?”

You toss yourself on the fluffy sheets and close your eyes tight, letting your mind wander for a moment. “I don’t know…” what are you going to do, if you cant even see him long enough to get him alone? Tonight is the dance and you were hoping he’d be there, maybe he’d ask you for a dance. You’ve never told a boy in your hometown yes to a dance at this thing, but you’d change that for Joel. If he asked, you’d let him spin you around all night long.

Only problem is, he can’t do that if he’s still avoiding you like you're an illness he can’t afford to catch. “He’s so confusing. One second he acts like…he wants me, the next he’s hiding from me, probably—ugh, I just wish I could get him out of my head if he wants nothing to do with me!”

The room is silent, still for all of five glorious seconds before Mel breaks it. “Does he still run away to jerk off?” You snap your eyes over to her with a sharp glare. “Yes! And he drives me up the fucking wall, dude! All I want is to get my hands on that delicious man and he runs away every time. How am I ever supposed to accomplish anything if I can't even get him alone for five minutes. And every time I do, something happens and ruins it all.”

You can't seem to get a second with him no matter how hard you try. The last two days, he hasn’t been around aside from his work in the morning, a few meals he makes it to in between. If you’re being honest, it's painful to think about the way he’d smiled at you a few days ago and the way he doesn’t have the time of day now.

“If he shows up at that dance tonight, I’m making sure you get your second alone. Now come on, let me help you pick out your dress. He won't know what he’s missing out on.”

By the time you’re headed out the door for town, Joel is still nowhere in sight. You thought you’d heard his truck for a moment earlier, but when you’d peered out the window a few minutes later, there was no blue chevy in the driveway. No cowboy waiting out front for you.

You trudged to the car in your black dress, two slits up the sides where your thighs peak out and a back so low your half afraid your ass is going to fall out of the damn thing. You do your best to hold it up when you walk through the dirt, a pair of knee high red cowgirl boots are the only thing saving you from the mud right now.

Melly isn’t far behind, but she's not dressed in anything nearly as revealing as you. She’s making friends with Tommy who surprisingly hasn’t tried to flirt yet and claims to have no idea where his older brother has disappeared to. He’s endearing, but you know he’s playing for both sides here, hiding something for his brother.

On the drive into town, your parents take your dads truck, leaving you, Mel and Tommy in your car. When you get about half way, you finally break and ask if Tommy has seen Joel, if he knows if he’s coming. Tommy shrugs in the rearview mirror with a smile.

“I’m sure we’ll see ‘em.” Is the only answer you get.

It doesn’t happen for hours.

Hours of forcing a smile through mind numbing conversation with people you haven’t seen in years. The same old how have you been in the big city? and you tell them it was hard work and commitment. They ask no plans for the future? like you’re doomed without a ring on your hand at your age. You keep your head up through every comment, back handed compliment and pick up line that passes you by for a whole fucking hour on the dance floor alone.

“I think I want to go home soon. I’m having the worst fucking time, my feet are killing me and I think my eyelash is falling off.” Your whining and limping, faking distress and discomfort for any shot to get the fuck out of here, go home and maybe you can chance a run in with Joel.

Maybe he’s coming in from the north pasture where he’s probably been hiding all day. He’d be covered in muck and sweat, dirt clinging to the creases in his face. He’d be tired and worn out, vulnerable to the way you’d take advantage of his weakened restraint. “You sure you don’t want to stay a few minutes longer?” Melly muses beside you sipping on a tall glass of tequila on ice, watching the small town’s people converse and dance, laugh and gather together under the low string lighting.

You take a long drag of the drink in your own hand, your third of the night that's finally starting to warm your insides. It’s not enough to ease the ache of wishing Joel would appear. You know he won't, there's only a few hours left and people are starting to get tipsy. “I think you might want to rethink that…the devil himself just walked in, twelve o’clock.”

You look up at her, in a pretty green dress with curly hair framing her face. She’s smirking over your shoulder at something—or someone behind you. You turn the rest of the way around and swear you’re in the middle of one of those movie scenes.

The ones where the love interest walks in and sexy rock plays while they walk in slow motion. With wind blowing this hair back even though they are inside. Joel fucking Miller was doing exactly that at this very minute, striding through the hall in his cowboy hat and a black button down, dark wash jeans and his boots. He looks like a wet dream standing there, looking a little bit lost and so damn handsome. Under his hat, you can see that his hair is slicked back and he looks clean like he’d gone home and gotten ready.

He’s here.

“Oh he looks…if you don’t ask him to dance, I will. He’s hot.” You wish you could explain to her that Joel is more than that, that he’s funny and endearing, that he’s honorable and loyal to a fault. He’s so many more things than just hot. You swivel around as he makes his way through the crowd, he’s bound to find you and you don’t want him to spot you gawking at him. “Do I look okay? Fuck he looks so good—is my hair alright?” You try to do a quick pat down but Melly grabs your hand with a smile. “You look fine. He’s not going to know what hit him, I promise—but he’s coming this way so whatever you do, chill out.”

She sets her drink on the tall table, the ones that adorn the outside of the dance floor for people who want to mingle. You take a long drink of yours and move to set it down when someone clears their throat behind you. The drink hits the table and you turn slowly, till you rotate around to face him completely. He’s even more devastating up close with pearl snap buttons on his shirt, his arms nearly bulging out of the damn thing. His facial hair looks shorter, his eyes shimmering with reflected light.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, standin’ here all by herself on her birthday?” He grins at you and takes another step forward. “Guess I’m just waiting for the right cowboy to ask me for a dance.” You tease back, reaching out for him once he’s close enough for you to touch. You start at his stomach, soft under his dress shirt. When your hands make contact, a visible shiver runs through Joel.

There’s suddenly two more hands to join the party, one high up on your waist while the other curves around low on your hip, his digits digging into the top of your ass. “I’ll be real’ honest with you here, doll—askin’ you for a dance is the only reason I came tonight.” He smells good for once, usually you catch a hint of his shower under the smell of dirt and manure, a faintness of his once clean skin. Now, it’s all you can focus on—how he’d taste like his soap, smooth and clean, every part of him reachable by your watering mouth. “Well, Cowboy…go on.” Your hands slip up his chest and over his broad shoulders, like you’ve imagined yourself doing a thousand times. He’s responsive, lowers his shoulders so you fit along him perfectly.

“Would ya make this old man's day, let me have a dance?” His hand drops lower, along the side of your thigh until he can dig them into the curve under your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to hoist you up, drag you into that vice-like grip you want to be at the mercy of every day of your life. “Can’t get me any closer, Joel.” You giggle, hiding your face against his neck. He smells like after shave and a little like whiskey. “I thought you were giving up drinking?” You nip at his jaw lightly, just to listen to the way he rumbles against you.

“I’m—tryin’ to keep my cool here, but you look fucking incredible tonight. Needed a little courage to walk up to you, s’all.” He leans back slightly, looking down at the way your dress squeezes your tits together, nearly pouring out of the black satin. “Fucking…gorgeous in this thing, you know that? You knew how sexy this little thing was, didn’t you?” He pulls at the slit that exposes your thighs, raking it up a little higher, until he can get a handful of bare skin. He’s not wrong—you’d put the dress on and thought about all the ways it would drive Joel crazy if he saw you in it.

“You better take me dancing before you take this off of me.” The dance around you has started to fade away. Melly took her cue to go and has started to make conversation elsewhere. “With pleasure, darlin’.”

Joel all but carries you to the middle of the dance floor before you notice his obvious nervous ticks, the shake of his hands and the way he’s fighting the urge to gnaw on his thumb. He’s anxious despite his obvious attempt at faking composure. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders again, he stammers. “Need to tell you somethin’.” His voice is a little shaky on the inhale when his hands find your waist again. “I went into town last week, there’s this dance studio on sixth street and I thought, maybe I could trade work for someone to…teach me how to use my damn feet.” For added flair, he reels away from you and spins you once before drawing you back into his chest as he moves. “So, I take it someone taught you?”

The song changes, something slow, romantic and sweet that couples join in around you, swaying together around the dance floor. “Lady said she’d been lookin’ for someone to replace the dance floor. Told her I just wanted to learn to dance, so I’d stand a chance against the other schmucks askin’ you.” He dances you around for a few more moments, pulling out all the stops—every new move he learned. Was that why he was gone so much, disappearing every time you turned around? He was replacing a damn floor and learning how to dance, all for you?

“Joel—“ you start, trying to grab ahold of him for long enough to make him still. “There's somethin’ else,” he dips you back and your insides flutter, looking up at him with those big brown hopeful eyes. He stands you up right again and the dancing slows to a stop, right there in the middle of the dance hall. You’re sure the towns eyes are on you, your mom and dad, friends from high school, older people you’ve been around your entire life. “She wouldn’t let me leave without payin’ me for it, said dancin’ lessons don’t cost that much after all.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a envelope, sealed tight with a number written on the front.

“Ranch needs it a whole hell of a lot more than I do. S’just two grand, but I’ve found a few other odd jobs, so there will be more comin’, but it’s a start—“ your hand clasps over his clutching the envelope. You push his hand down, stepping forward until you're nearly standing on his own feet. “Joel Miller…are you going to stand there all night running your mouth, or are you going to kiss me?” This endearing man, this big, expressive cowboy who can’t seem to get anything right in his own eyes, but everything right in yours.

He chuckles, the hand not holding the envelope finds the side of your face, sliding his thumb along the apple of your cheek. He’s not the one to make the first move after all—after all the leading him towards it, the teasing and the showmanship. It’s you that stands up high on your tiptoes and drags him the rest of the way in, until his mouth finds yours in the lull of the dance hall, surrounded by swaying bodies and sweet music.

He sucks in a breath through his nose and his mouth opens, slots your lips between his when he finally, fucking finally gives all the way in. It’s sweet, chaste while you stand there, smack dab in the middle of the floor. Joel stuffs the envelope back into his pocket and his other hand finds your body again, yanking until you're flushed against him, digging your hands into his shoulders when his tongue licks along the seam of your mouth, begging to be let into the slick heat. What was slow and steady, soon becomes frantic, hot and needy. Your fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt and someone shoots off a whistle from across the room, enough to have you reeling apart. Joel's mouth is red, his lips swollen and shiny from your spit.

“You want to get out of here?”

Yes. Fucking hell yes you wanted to, you’ve wanted to all damn night, but with Joel standing in front of you, a strained tent in his dark jeans, it’s all you can think about. Instead of a response, you grab him by his hand and all but drag him out the back doors towards the parking lot. It's quiet, dark—the dance isn’t even close to being over so there’s next to no one in the parking lot.

You never stood a chance, looking back on this moment right here. You never would have stood a chance, with Joel’s ragged breathing behind you when he closes the door tight behind him.

One look at his wild eyes and parted lips, you should have known how this night was going to end.

Joel was desperate. He needed you, needed to touch you every second of his day. He thought about you every second he spent awake and he dreamt of you all night long. When he’d heard about the dance, he wanted to kick himself for not learning sooner. Finding the dance studio was a fluke, learning to dance was a damn nightmare and the floor wasn’t much better, but he’d do it all again for another opportunity to press you up against the brick wall with your thighs pressed apart and his hips slotted between them while he all but devoured your mouth.

He’s ruthless, relentless as he drags your bottom lip between his teeth. You—you can't keep your sounds to yourself, hiking your legs up higher around his waist when he presses in closer. He can feel himself straining through his jeans, can feel the heat of your core against his painfully hard cock. He’d take you right fucking here if you let him. “Joel—Joel,” your hips roll down to meet his uncontrollable press forward. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” His movements are hurried and frantic, like this might be the only shot he has to get his hands on you. His mouth finds your jaw and he bites down on your flesh, relishing in the salty taste of sweat from dancing, the tang of your perfume and the sweet taste of your skin. It’s your sharp whine that gets him in motion again, his stilled teeth still hanging on to your delicate jaw. “Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

In a scurry, he drops his hand between your bodies, pushing the fabric of your dress to the side so his fingertips can work under the elastic of your panties, past the soaked material to the place he’s always longed to touch, always wondered what it would feel like.

And you are fucking drenched under his exploring digits. He slips them through your lips, your slick already dripping down his knuckles when he finds your clit and presses the pad of his thumb to it, swirling it around in a swift motion. Your head falls back and your mouth hangs open, a silent scream on your parted lips.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” He groans when your thighs tremble against him, trying to tighten up around his waist where he has you pinned to the cold wall. His thumb keeps its rhythm while his fingers dip lower, making him breathless at how easily your body draws those fingers in. You come apart like you were meant to do just that, your body rapidly chasing him towards the brink. If he hadn’t gotten himself off twice today, he’s sure he’d already have cum in his pants from just this. “Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum, please!” Your voice is wrecked.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your chest heaving in that pretty little dress—your tits are about to bust out of the damn thing. He picks up the pace, slams his fingers into your heat and curls them while his thumb makes quick work of your clit. It’s been so long since he touched a woman, but he’ll never forget the signs.

You are dangerously, furiously close in mere minutes alone. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.” You cry out sharply and he nearly covers your mouth with his other hand, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he revels in the pulse of your pussy on his fingers, the way you grind down against him while your body grasps for release. It comes to you with a whole body shake, a ragged gasp of his name and his tongue on your jugular.

When he pulls his hand free, it’s with a wet sound that makes his gut tighten and his knees weak. He has to get you somewhere more secluded, away from the prying eyes of the town folks. “Wunna taste you,” he growls lowly, dragging you away from the building despite the way you stumble, the lightheadedness from cuming on his fingers.

His truck is parked in the back for lack of a better spot, due to his tardiness. He’ll thank his lucky stars for it later, if he can remind himself of it. Now, he slings the door open and nearly throws you down on the bench seat. “C’mere, girl.” He’s running out of will power and common sense, the only thing driving his mind right now is sheer want, carnal desire to get his mouth all over what he’s already ruined. He’s lucky for the part of his brain that slips off his hat and sets it on the dashboard. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.”

His hands find the backs of your knees and he yanks you to the edge of the seat. At this angle, he can spread you out and kneel beside the truck, let you use the door jam to rest your foot on. When your eyes find him, he thinks you’re just as far gone as he is, blinded to the world unfolding around you, to rubber hitting asphalt nearby.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” He pushes your dress up with your hurried help, both of you desperately trying to rid you of your clothes as quickly as possible. The second he has your panties dangling between his finger tips, he pushes his head between your spread legs and buries himself under your dress.

The thing about Joel is, he’s always been too good at this. Half the time, it's the only reason women stick around. It must have been the only reason he got his ex wife to marry him.

He’s abandoned his shame and better judgment. He’s starved, famished for a taste of you. This man, this unhinged version of Joel eats pussy like he’s going to die without it. From the very second his mouth finds your center, he’s lost to your immodest cries, your mindless begging for him to keep going, never stop, never stop, Joel—please. He opens his mouth wide, slops his tongue through your folds like he’s trying to lick every drop from your sensitive skin. He pulls away for a breath and his eyes bounce up to meet yours, transfixed on his relentless attack. “Wunna split this little pussy open on me,” he says, muffled against your soft mound. He takes another long lap and moans at the heady taste of you on his greedy tongue.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” your head tips back and he pulls his mouth away completely. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body clenches on nothing and his eyes track the movement with a low rumble. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

You’d thought about this, about him. You’d thought about him while fucking yourself on a toy you’d bought to train yourself.

He doesn’t have the words to express the way it makes his chest tighten, so he presses his face between your thighs again and gets back to work, drawing out every secret you can no longer hold onto, how good he makes you feel, how hot and devastating his tongue is—how the sound of a car pulling up doesn’t even register until—

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

You should have known.

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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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