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#just a teeny bit angsty

desiredcaramellatte · 2 years

Note

May im have part 3 of pure vanilla x reader with sorbet and chess it happen during the dark flour war y/n sorbet and chess run from all of that while the other ancients and vanilla go to fight with dark enchantress cookie y/n and the kids live in raisin cookie village when gingerbrave and his friends arrive y/n and the children go with them then they arrive in the castle dark enchantress it amused to see the rest of the royal family of vanilla kingdom may dark choco reaction too headcanons pls

Gasp :00 is this an... angsty part 3???

Angst my beloved 👀

Also yes there is an angsty kinda ending at the last few ones. I should have wrote this as a one shot but I have no clue how to do time skips in one shots so take headcannon form instead 😎 it can kinda be read as a one shot ig?

Pure Vanilla x reader ft Sorbet Shark and Chess Choco - pt 3

~| Life in Black Raisin's village isn't too bad. Despite having little food, of which is mostly raisin bread or anything edible that can be found in a barren wasteland, everyone looks after each other. It was a good place for you to keep Sorbet Shark and Chess Choco safe.

~| You had decided to tag along with Gingerbrave's group after hearing how they were going up into the castle, hopefully to stop Dark Enchantress. Pure Vanilla had been gone for a long while, and you were worried about him.

~| Sorbet Shark and Chess Choco were told to stay behind. Of course, they did the opposite and followed you from the shadows- which Black Raisin had detected as soon as Sorbet Shark stepped a little too loudly.

~| Welp, now you were stuck with your children on this dangerous mission.

~| You we're soon met with the ancients facing off Dark Enchantress. It looked like it had been going on for a while, all of them were tired.

~| First thing Pure Vanilla did when he saw you was hug you, and then freak out asking why the children were here. He was very much panicked.

~| Dark Choco was there as well. Probably fighting alongside Dark Enchantress with the other Cookies of Darkness.

~| Choco boy is very jealous that his father's friend is an actual good father. He would find himself wishing Pure Vanilla was his father instead of Dark Cacao.

~| Despite all of you- the ancients and Gingerbrave's group- fighting against Dark Enchantress, she was still too powerful, nothing would even seem to phase her.

~| You had managed to get Chess Choco and Sorbet Shark out of the room as Pure Vanilla performed his final gambit. Dark Choco was supposed to go after you and stop you, but he kinda just pretended to not hear Dark Enchantress and continue sword fighting his father.

~| And bam, everyone dies gets scattered and a good few loose their memory. Unbeknownst to you, that may have been the last time you would see Pure Vanilla in a very, very long time.

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piracyandpumpturns · 2 years

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i kind of hate everything just a little bit

#not like excessively but u know #just enough to still be a teeny bit angsty all the time

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gendersucksstartaband · 8 months

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been writing for the past 2 hours or so. it's been great! i've written a lot of character-building stuff for some of the characters i'm really excited to write, because there seems to be a lot of substance to them. i'm taking a break now tho. gotta take those breaks.

#just a teeny update #the character i'm really excited to write is a bit angsty #and i've never really written angst before #so it's going to be a challenge #but i'm up for it!#my life

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hannieehaee · 5 months

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if I could request a scenario(or reaction) where maybe you had a day planned with a member but they canceled to hangout with the guys, not realizing it was your birthday. I love your writing and angst so this would be perfect 4 me 🤭 thank you!! (Also for the member, maybe hhu 👉👈)

them accidentally ditching you on your bday - hhu

hhu, vu, pu

content: angsty, gender neutral, established relationship, mingyu's is a teeny tiny bit suggestive (they're mentioned to shower together, but nothing sexual occurs), etc.

part 2

wc: 2903

a/n: sorry it took me so long to get to this T-T i liked the prompt so i wanted to write something a lil longer hehe anyways tysm for reading and for requesting <3 pls lmk if anyone wants a vocal/perf unit version!

masterlist

seungcheol -

seungcheol always had a tendency of being a tiny bit extra when it came to his birthday. he expected all friends and family to be punctual on that day with a gift and some heartfelt congratulations. if you didn't wish him happy birthday at 12am on the dot, you were just not that good of a friend to him and he'd remember that moment with disdain.

in the same way that he was extra on his own birthday, he liked to do the same for his closest loved ones. he was always ready at 12 o'clock with some words of love and appreciation ready. he'd have had the gift ready months in advance. even on other people's special day, he wanted to stand out a little; show how good of a friend he was. there were no questions to he made about your birthday. you, his favorite person in the world. if he was ever going to make a day special, it was that one. he would count down the days until its arrival. it was always such a sweet gesture from him, you thought. which was why it was very weird of him to not be present right now. or all day, for that matter.

it was your birthday. you had planned this day with seungcheol a few weeks in advance. all you wanted was a calm day with your boyfriend, even cancelling plans on friends and family who had also wanted to keep you company on your special day. you were originally just going to eat a nice dinner with your boyfriend on whichever day of the week you had off that week, not minding whether it actually fell on your birthday or not. but your boyfriend had insisted on celebrating on the exact date, even telling you to call off work, claiming he would do the same once the day came. except those plans seemed to fall through.

you'd gone to sleep a bit early, deciding not to wait on your boyfriend to arrive from dance practice and just sleep in preparation for whatever cheol had planned for tomorrow. you assumed he would wake you up upon his arrival, which wouldve been a bit before midnight. you'd woken up confused when you had looked at the clock the next morning and noticed it was 6am, not having been awoken by him, nor spotting him in your room. he always left before you woke up, but today was supposed to be a day off for him, so it was all very odd. it continued like this for a few hours, until you gave up on waiting for his arrival and just called him. it was only 10am by now, so maybe he had left for some preparations not expecting you to wake up so early, but your phone calls went unanswered. for hours. it eventually became the afternoon. you had given up on calling him at around 2 oclock, realizing he just wasn't going to show.

by 5pm, you were beyond sad. the same man who whined and pouted at you if you dared wish him a happy birthday at 12:02am had also forgotten your birthday, clearly not even having called off of work that day (you'd checked his location some hours back, he was at the hybe building). he hadn't even bothered to check his phone all day either. you weren't usually one to get emotional, but this felt like a punch in the gut. you had gone out of your way to spend the day with your boyfriend, having been promised an amazing day, but were now just some forgotten rag, less important than his usual work day.

he arrived a little earlier than yesterday. whenever he left early in the morning, he arrived in the afternoon. it was now 6pm, and you had spent the whole day moping. you grabbed the cake you'd both left in the fridge a few days back, not caring anymore and just eating it out of sadness. that might've been cheol's first guess upon walking in, as you saw his smile fall the moment he landed his eyes on you, 'happy birthday' cake sitting across from you on the coffee table.

his eyes widened at the realization, and much more at your dejected appearance, "oh my god, babe, i'm so-"

you sighed, "you don't have to say it."

he quickly approached you, dropping his bag and coat before having hung them upon his entrance, "no! fuck, i'm so fucking sorry. i have no idea how it slipped my mind, i- i forgot to call off in advance, and it threw off my entire schedule. i swear i just forgot, i'm so fucking sorry, baby," he was rambling now, probably realizing how let down you were by his slip up.

"it doesn't matter, cheol. it's just a birthday. i'll just ... i'll just celebrate with my family next week or something. don't worry about it," you knew you didn't mean your words, but you also felt it useless to try and blame cheol.

"wait! it's only six. we can still do something! do you wanna go out? i'll take you to dinner. how does that sound?"

"i ... i don't really feel like it, cheol. i think i'll just go meet up with a friend. she called me last week asking to meet up, but i cancelled on her. i just wanted to wait for you to get back before i left. i'll see you in the morning," you knew you were being a little immature, but if he had wanted to be with you, he would've put in the effort.

"oh. you're sleeping over? but i thought ..."

"yeah. i'll just see you tomorrow when you get back from practice. yeah? bye, cheol."

you left without saying much else, feeling guilty at his look of rejection. you felt badly about leaving him on his own like this, but you knew there was no way for you to spend time with your boyfriend right now without feeling like an idiot.

wonwoo -

wonwoo had never felt like more of an asshole.

wonwoo had never been too big on birthdays, specially his own. to him it was just another day. it was only his family, friends (and carats, of course) who ever made that day special to him. if it had been up to him? he would probably even forget about the day, but he had the fortune to have a lot of people in his life who loved and cared about him enough to cherish that day as if it were a national holiday. and you were one of those people. you would always shower wonwoo with love, but you'd go a little extra hard on his birthday, catering to every need you think he may have and even going as far as creating an entire itinerary of things he enjoys to do throughout the day. you were a little ray of sunshine that would somehow make him look forward to his birthday, something very uncharacteristic of him. which was why he had never felt like a bigger asshole than right now.

today was your birthday. a day which wonwoo had looked forward to for two years now. he had wanted to celebrate your following birthday with you, maybe plan something elaborate for you for once, but he had unfortunately been on tour at the time, causing you to be separated during that day. this only made him want to put even more effort into your birthday next year, which was now. today. the day in which he had ultimately forgotten your birthday.

there was not much to it. he had a nice day planned for you. he wasn't too good with surprises, so he had let you know in advance, allowing you to prepare yourself accordingly. you both had work that day, so he had planned a candlelit dinner for you, having even learned how to cook your favorite foods just to add that extra layer of care. the original plan was to come home from work early - earlier than you - and follow the recipes he had gone over with mingyu a few times over the past few weeks. it was simple, concise and direct. there was very little room for failure. but it had still somehow managed to slip his mind. he wanted to blame mingyu for his insistence in going back to their shared apartment after practice, something about some game he wanted to show him. but he couldnt blame his clueless friend, it wasnt his responsibility to know your birthday. he'd sworn he would only stay for an hour and then promptly leave to go home to you, but one hour turned into two and then three. it was a genuine slip of his mind, but that didn't make a difference.

wonwoo was quite surprised upon picking up his phone from where he'd left it charging upon arriving to his apartment, not realizing it had stayed on do not disturb the entire time. he was welcomed by a myriad of messages from you, all of them ranging in emotion.

from jagiya 💘:

(4:25) nonu?

(4:25) are you coming home soon?

(5:07) okay, its been almost an hour now. is everything okay?

(6:35) baby?

(6:48) i tried calling you already. where are you?

(6:48) just checked ur location and ur at ur apt. did you forget?

(9:02) it's been over two hours now ...

(9:15) okay, nevermind. don't come. we can just do this another day.

(9:16) i'll be out with some friends. goodnight.

his heart dropped more and more the more he read. he immediately went to call you and spam with responses, but found no reply from you. it only served him right. he would now spend the rest of the night dreading how to make it up to you, feeling the worst guilt he'd ever felt.

mingyu -

you'd always thought of mingyu as one of the sweetest men alive. he had helped you restore your faith in humanity, seeing him as the prime example of what a man should be. he was the most selfless person you'd ever met. ever since you'd begun dating (and even before that, if we're being honest), he had always been at your beck and call, providing you with anything you could possibly need. he'd love and take care of you in ways that you hadn't imagined possible. you'd never been disappointed by mingyu. but now you realize maybe you had flown too close to the sun. mingyu was just human after all. you shouldn't have felt as disappointed as you did. but you couldn't help your emotions, nor did you want to blame yourself over this.

the issue at hand was, today was your birthday. today, at least basing it on prior years, was always filled with the utmost love and affection a person could ever experience. all courtesy of one kim mingyu. he would wake you up with breakfast, rush you into the shower and hold you close to him as he washed your hair and whispered words of affirmation in your ear. he would proceed to take you somewhere pretty and have a full on photoshoot as he hyped you up from behind the camera. he would plan some special outing for the evening and end the day with a moonlit dinner from the beautiful view from his apartment's balcony. it was always such a dream. but this birthday in particular had been the outlier.

he unfortunately had a comeback on the same week of your birthday, causing his schedule to be more hectic than usual. he had a few things scheduled for your birthday itself, but knowing mingyu you knew he would at least come home to you that night and shower you with as much love as his exhausted self could. but that never came. you waited and waited, knowing mingyu's day had ended hours ago. at some point you simply gave up and called him, wondering where he was, if maybe something was wrong. however, his response was one that left you feeling dejected, something mingyu had never made you feel.

"gyu? where are you?", you'd said as soon as he picked up.

"hm? hi, baby. i'm at the shared apartment. wonwoo hyung wanted to leave early today. what's up, baby?"

not even a quick 'happy birthday'? did he really not remember? you felt kind of embarrassed at having gotten your hopes up for yet another year of special treatment from your boyfriend.

"uhh, nothing gyu. just checking in. are you staying there tonight?"

"yeah. thought it'd be easier since it's a bit closer to the company than your place. is that okay? sorry, baby. i shouldve let you know beforehand," even when he was unknowingly hurting your feelings he managed to be a sweetheart.

"it's fine, gyu. have a goodnight. you must be tired."

"okay, pretty," he giggled boyishly at the phone, fully clueless of your feelings, "sleep tight. love you!"

"yeah, bye."

you'd never hung up on him before a quick 'i love you' before. it mightve a dumb thing to even care about, but you knew that to mingyu's romantic nature it meant everything. which is why you weren't surprised when twenty minutes later your phone began to be flooded by calls and messages from the man, at first wondering why you had hung up like that, only to then evolve into him begging for forgiveness as he explained that he had forgotten your special day, and that it had taken wonwoo's reminder that your birthday fell this week for him to realize his mistake. but this was now his problem to deal with. if he wanted forgiveness, he'd have to come and get it.

vernon -

vernon had a bit of a tendency of being forgetful. it only came hand in hand with his tendency of being a little distracted while out and about. he wasn't careless by any means, but he could sometimes be too in his own world to notice what happened around him. which would sometimes get him into hot waters with you.

he hadn't noticed your hints, he swears! he didn't hear the suggestive tones nor the subtle nudges you'd been giving him for the past month. he hadn't thought much of it when you began texting him about places you two should visit soon, nor when you'd began to talk more about certain interests you'd been having as of late. he had just assumed you were trying to make conversation, so he treated it as such.

when your birthday had actually come, vernon hadn't known it was anything other than an ordinary day. he woke up, making sure to not wake you in the process. he'd gotten up, headed to the company, and followed his regular schedule. it was a particularly busy day, so going on his phone had been mostly out of the question. the two of you weren't really in the habit of texting much throughout the day, usually choosing to just catch up with each other at night when you could lay in bed together and dissect each other's days. he spent a majority of the day fully disconnected from outside contact, focusing solely on the harsh new choreo they needed to memorize for next week's awards show. he knew you were aware it was a busy time of the year for the industry he worked in, so he felt it fine to stay a little extra time today without messaging you first. this was something that happened from time to time anyway, so it shouldn'tve been a problem, right? or at least that's what he thought until he finally plucked his phone out of his bag, where it had been hiding the entire day.

from: baby 😖:

(9:23) u left so early :((

(9:23) shouldve woken me up so i could say goodbye!

(12:58) nonnie, it's been a few hours now ... did u forget something?

(1:20) no reply still?

(1:21) did you actually forget? :(

(1:21) i've been hinting at it for a month. i thought u were being obtuse on purpose :(

(1:48) can u at least come home a little early today? im sure soonyoung wont mind

(2:35) okay, ill take that as a no :(

(4:48) hansol ...

(6:12) okay, i guess you're gonna be home later than usual today.

(7:10) it's my birthday btw, in case it didnt click by now.

(7:16) maybe you should stay at the dorms tonight. not really in the mood for you to spend the night. im sorry. love you

fucking hell. vernon had never felt like more of a careless asshole. he had spent the entire day away from you, completely clueless to the fact that it was the love of his life's birthday. you weren't one to ask for much, so he knew a simple happy birthday accompanied by even just his presence for a shared meal wouldve been more than enough to make you happy. but his stupid distracted self couldn't even muster enough care for that. he wasnt sure what to do now. should he go to your apartment and beg for forgiveness? or stay here, like a dog with his tail between his legs as he pondered some way to make it up to you? all he knew was that he messed up. hugely.

a/n: i hate writing unresolved angst but uhh yeah if u want a pt 2 lmk <3

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen angst #svt scenarios #svt reactions #svt angst

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lovebugism · 7 months

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AH HI!! so... i love the way you write ditzy!reader, and especially with steve idk it just warms my heart yk? The way they interact 😭 it's so lovely

Since I'm an angsty girly at heart, I thought about a situation where steve gets a teeny tiny bit frustrated with ditzy!reader, but it's just seconds, even less than that but it's enough to make her upset for making him upset but also a super fluffy moment between both of them and steve being mesmerized by her and just so much in love

ahh thank u lovie! pls enjoy!! — steve gets frustrated with his sensitive gf and makes up with her accordingly (hurt/comfort, established relationship, 2.7k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

You keep Steve company during the last half of his shift like you always do.

He’s grumpier than usual, though — all pouty and visibly brooding.

You plop yourself on the front counter of Family Video and ask him what’s wrong, and he tells you that the day’s been hell and he’s just tired. There is no “but I feel better now” like there usually is when he’s upset but doesn’t want you to think it’s your fault.

The “because you’re here” is typically implied.

Not so much now.

You’re having the complete opposite day of your sulking boyfriend. Yours had been dreadfully boring, or at least you say it had been, but you find a million different things to tell him. You’re too excited after having spent so many hours without him, like a dog with a wagging tail. You’ve got the zoomies of the mouth, if you could even call it that.

“—And then I saw the cutest dog on the way over here. His name was Cappy, and he was huge, and the owner was so nice. He even let me pet him, and he literally felt like a cloud— the dog, not the owner.”

Steve is used to this. The whole rambling about nothing thing. He loves it about you, actually. It took him ages to coax you out of that shell after your asshole ex told you that you talked too much, convinced you that no one cared about what you had to say.

You’re more comfortable now, and Steve loves that you are, but right now he just can’t concentrate.

Keith’s been on his ass about inventory all day, and he just learned how to do it on the old, bulky computer this morning — but only after Robin made him an hour late to his shift. Everything’s just too much now. He’s overwhelmed to the point of spontaneous combustion.

For the first time ever, you’re not helping.

“—And, like, I know when we move into our apartment, we’re technically not allowed to have pets, but like… What about a fish? Or a turtle?” you wonder aloud but don’t stop to let him answer. Sitting on the edge of the counter, you kick your feet and flit your eyes to the spotted ceiling. “What if I start feeding the deer in the woods, and they just start showing up at our backdoor? ‘Cause technically—”

“Babe, please,” Steve snaps suddenly when your sneaker knocks his chair. He’s buzzing with anger, and even though it’s not because of you, he doesn’t know where else to put it.

Your eyes go wide at the newfound bite in his tone. He’s not shouting at you, but it makes your heart stop like he is. You feel like a kid again, getting scolded for being “too much.”

“…What?” you squeak.

Steve sighs. A deep, heavy sigh. It doesn’t remove the leaden weight from his chest, though.

“I’m… I’m really trying to concentrate here, and you’re just— you’re making it really hard,” he tells you through gritted teeth, trying hard to keep his composure.

You deflate like a popped balloon. “Oh…”

He can hear the waver in your tone, the way your voice sounds wet with unshed tears. But he’s too overwhelmed — internally raging and selfish with it. His sweltering temper makes his woe feel more important than yours.

“Yeah, so… Can you just— go bother someone else for, like, five minutes?” he asks, fists clenched on either side of the clunky keyboard, his gaze concentrated on the pixelated screen. “Robin’s probably sulking in a corner somewhere. Go find her.”

Your face crumbles like a balled-up piece of paper. Your chest gets all tight, and your eyes start to burn when tears gather behind them.

You’d always been a flower of melodrama — blooming eternally and constantly sensitive. So when Steve cut you off as you fantasized about a family of deer living in the backyard of an apartment you were supposed to share together, it felt like a knife in your chest.

The irrational thought that he no longer wanted any of that with you was fleeting and vivid and burning. Irrational, still.

But now you’re annoying him. He’s told you as much, with an unusual harshness he’s never spat at you before. And now your fears feel much more real.

“I’m bothering you?” you ask him, barely intelligible through the whimper in your throat.

Steve huffs again. His elbows thunk against the desk when he puts his head in his palms, swiping his fingers through his hair like he always does when he’s antsy.

“I just really need to get this done,” he tells you, softer now. He makes himself mad all over again, though, and gets sharper once more. “I need to finish this before I get fired, and then we have no apartment to move into because we have no money, alright?”

There it is. The root of all his anger. A lingering feeling of inadequacy.

He wants a life with you, but all he’s got is a measly Family Video salary — which he’s lucky to have apparently, because he can’t seem to do anything right. It stirs like a fire in the pit of his stomach.

After another deep breath, he finally turns to look up at you. His honey eyes are wet and stern. The chiseled edges of his features are sharp. Gently, he pleads. “I really need to work here, babe.”

You nod, understanding and internally weeping. “Okay. I’m— I’m sorry, I was just— I’ve been missing you all day, and I got too excited, I think,” you confess, wringing your clammy hands in your lap like a scolded child.

“Don’t apologize,” Steve says with a huff, leaning back against the squeaking swivel chair. It’s old and has lost all its cushion. His stiff back aches all the more. There’s no relief, to any of it.

He sits back up again and puts his unsure hands back on the keyboard. “Just— Just go, okay? Let me finish this.”

He leaves little room for argument.

You wouldn’t, though, even if you wanted to. Which you do. You’re just not strong enough.

—————

Steve tells you to go, but you end up in the kiddie corner across the store.

Mr. Rogers puts on a bright red cardigan and sings a tune that makes you feel like crying. You sit on the color-blocked carpet, surrounded by block toys, and clutch a stuffed bunny to your chest. You can’t tell if the vintage VHS is making the screen blurry or if it’s the tears gathering heavy at your waterline.

Robin walks by you, does a double-take, and immediately reports to Steve.

“What did you do?” she interrogates with narrowed eyes, strolling up to the counter with a cart full of tapes to put away.

The hearty tap, tap, taping of the keyboard fills the silence.

Steve doesn’t look at her until he’s finished up the last of his work. Only when it’s fully and finally complete does his hardened gaze dart to her. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend. She’s upset.”

“What do you mean she’s upset?”

Robin rolls her eyes at his obliviousness. “I don’t know. She’s singing the Mister Roger’s theme song and, like, crying. It’s weird.”

Steve’s brows pinch. His heart does, too. “Crying?”

“Well— not crying, exactly. It’s this really weird blubbering thing.” She fails to explain it so she tries to imitate it. A sobbing, sniffling sort of noise. She fails at that, too. Her scrunched face goes back to normal. “Like that.”

Deadpanned, Steve nods. “Wow, Robin. That was really helpful. Thank you.”

“Just go comfort your girlfriend, dingus.”

Steve still thinks she’s joking. Robin doesn’t lie, but she does have a tendency to overemphasize the mundane.

He goes to see you anyway, though, and doesn’t think twice about any of it — about what Robin said or what he had said to you before that.

He finds you in the kid’s section, in front of the tiny television, surrounded by brightly colored toys. He smiles at the sight of you, exhaling a sharp laugh through his nose.

“What are you doing all the way over here, huh?” he questions to announce his arrival, which you seemingly hadn’t noticed. “This area is usually for kids, ya know? Well, kids and Dustin Henderson.”

He doesn’t sound as annoyed with you anymore. You’re grateful for that much, but you still feel a bit sick about the whole thing.

Your nervous hands pick the cotton of the fuzzy bunny in your arms. You keep your gaze on the television in front of you, but you aren’t really watching it anymore. “I used to watch this stuff a lot growing up. The nostalgia sorta makes me wanna puke. But, like, in a good way.”

Steve scoffs. “Well, maybe we should turn it off then, ‘cause if I have to clean up vomit after the day I’ve had, I might actually go insane.”

He’s kidding. Mostly. The universe tends to be cruel like that, but he’d clean up all your messes a thousand times over if he had to.

He laughs at his own joke as he crouches to sit down next to you. He bends his knees, props his arms on top of them, and looks over at you. You don’t crack a smile for him, which is weird because you always laugh at his jokes. Even the ones that aren’t funny. Especially the ones that aren’t funny.

His smile ebbs to a wavering half-smirk as he knocks his shoulder with yours. “You okay?”

You think for a moment, jutting your lips out, unblinking at the television screen. “No,” you answer after a few seconds of silence. “But I’ll get over it. I think.”

Your honesty makes his heart wrench — like you’ve wrapped both your tiny hands around the beating organ and squeezed. It knocks the breath out of his lungs, a fish so ruthlessly pulled from the water. He tries to speak through the sudden lack of air. “Wh—What happened? Was it… Did I do something? Did you—”

“No,” you cut off his stammering with a firm shake of your head. “I did something.”

“Oh,” is all he says, pink lips pouting and wide eyes darting. “What does… What does that mean? Did you, like, step on a rogue VHS or something? ‘Cause I do that all the time, and technically, that’s Rob’s fault for leaving them out, so—”

You shake your head again, digging your nails into the delicate cotton of the well-loved stuffy in your arms. “No. I was just— I was botheringyou, and now I feel bad,” you confess, all quiet like a meek child who’s learning what it means to be sorry.

Steve — your oh, so oblivious one — goes aflame with embarrassment. He’d been too clouded by his own anger to recognize the venom spilling from his mouth; to understand that it would inevitably hurt you.

With chiseled features twisted in confusion, he shakes his head and stammers. “What? No! You weren’t— You weren’t bothering me!”

You turn to look at him, for the first time since he sat down beside you. Your eyes are glassy and swimming with hurt. You try to keep your trembling features stoic. You don’t want to seem as hurt by it all as you really are.

You feel like you should, anyway. What right do you have to be sad when you were the one being a bother?

“You said I was,” you remind him, still soft but sterner now. “You told me to go bother someone else—”

“Oh, babe…” Steve says, deflating just as you had.

He knows how sensitive you are, how deeply you feel things. You’re vulnerable, raw — it makes everything feel more personal than it really is. It makes grumpy jabs from your dumbass boyfriend hurt like a lemon on a weeping wound.

He tries to apologize, knowing that he hurt you and that it’s not up to him to decide that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to, babe,” he murmurs, swiping a tense hand through his hair and then gesticulating wildly with it. “I was just being a dick, you know? I’ve been super stressed all day and—”

“Don’t apologize. I was being annoying.”

Steve blinks at you with wide, wet eyes — like you’ve hurt him by talking so cruelly about yourself.

“Baby, no. No,” he urges, ducking down to meet your gaze when you look away from him. “I’m just an idiot, okay? I put off inventory until the last second, and Keith’s been on my ass all day about it, and I just— I took that out on you, and that’s not fair, and I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, pursing your bitten lips to the side and twisting the long ear of the bunny between your fingers. “It’s not your fault, Steve…” you murmur, almost inaudibly.

He scoffs. It sounds like a bitter laugh. “Well, actually, it kinda is.”

“I just… I don’t really understand what’s going on sometimes. Or, like, a lot of the time,” you admit with a distracted gaze, eyes flitting everywhere but to the boy beside you. You’re too ashamed to look at him now. “And it’s harder for me to know when I’m talking too much, you know? Or if I’m being super annoying.”

“I know…” Steve nods, trying his best to be sympathetic of you. He loves how soft you are — too much to understand you completely. He loves how gently you treat the rest of the world, how unusually giddy you get in your gentleness.

You swallow through a tightening throat and shrug to pretend your world doesn’t feel like it’s crumbling around you. “And I don’t care about annoying other people— well, I do, but it’s different with you, you know? Other people can’t break up with me for being too much.”

“The idiot that told you you were too much had exactly zero personality,” Steve tells you, mostly because he means it but also to see you smile.

You do, just barely. A grin so soft only someone deathly in love with you could see.

“You’re never annoying me, okay? Ever. I love hearing you talk. I love having you around.”

“Yeah?” you ask him, blinking back burning tears.

“Hell yeah! You’re, like, the best part of my day! The only good part of my day, now that I think about it.”

Biting back a grin, you tease, “Well, what about Robin?”

“Robin made me late today, so we’re kinda not friends right now.”

“That’s mean,” you scold despite the growing smile on your face.

Steve shrugs. “We’ll make up before I clock out. No big deal.”

You go suddenly shy, smiling sheepish and tilting your chin to your chest to peek at him through your lashes. “Are we gonna make up before you clock out?” you wonder quietly.

“Only if you’re willing to forgive me for being an insufferable douchebag,” Steve answers, only half-joking. He very seldomly feels worthy of your softness.

You look at him with it, anyway.

Full on beaming now, you reach across the short distance to wrap him in a firm embrace. The position is only slightly awkward. Sitting side by side with your asses on the hard carpet, your arms wound tightly around his neck — a bit like a snake smothering its prey.

Steve feels grateful to be held so ardently.

His nose smushes into your neck. The sweet scent of your perfume entwines with the warm scent of your sweater. He smiles into your shoulder when it makes you giggle. You pull back from him then, just to steal a quick peck a moment later. Your lips smack audibly against his grin.

“Can we make out before you clock out?” you lilt with a shy smirk.

“…That is the single best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Your giggle fills the empty store when Steve rises suddenly and pulls you with him. He leads you toward the back, tugging you by the hand down the short corridor and rambling all the way. “Keith left for the day, so his office is empty, which means it’s fair game—”

“I am not making out with you in Keith’s office!”

“But his desk chair is crazy comfortable, and also, he’s a dick, so… who cares?”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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satoruxx · 6 months

Text

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: best friend!satoru is everything to me, fluff, teeny tiny bit angsty, but only bc of pining (my favorite), here to add to my simp satoru agenda, he’s trying his best but reader is oblivious (same), pls notice him rheya’s note: i cant stop thinking about best friend!satoru so i’m here to share this silly little blurb LMAO that’s it enjoy !! part 2

if satoru had known that being your best friend would be this difficult, he would have turned away from you when you said hi to him on your first day at jujutsu high.

it's not that he doesn't care about you. no, quite the opposite actually. he's always cared about you more than he'd like to admit. he can remember the way he used track the eyes of fellow students trailing you when you walked by. he can remember the sting of his nails as they dug into his clenched palms, and how suguru would pat his shoulder sympathetically when he noticed. he was sixteen at the time.

back then it seemed like he would grow out of his teenage crush, after being dismissed as your good friend for so long. but no, just his luck that these stupid feelings would grow and grow until they were tangled up around his very soul. a vice-like grip.

and now almost seven years later, nothing has changed.

"and he told me that if i wanted to be more interesting i should learn to fence, like he does!" you rant, throwing your hands up as you pace the length of his kitchen. satoru leans against the counter, arms crossed as he watches you vent your anger over yet another failed first date.

"uh huh." he acknowledges, trying to stay focused as you continue your annoyed speech. his fingers flex against his biceps, a thinly veiled attempt at controlling his frustration. whether he's frustrated with you or the man you were with, he has no clue.

"then he asked me where i was from, and then said i didn't look like it!" you rage, face hot as you finally unload the frustration you've been carrying all evening.

satoru huffs in mild irritation, trying hard not to roll his eyes. but you hear it and turn to him, half ticked off and half curious. "what was that?"

he clicks his tongue.

"you do this all the time. you always pick guys who treat you like shit. i'm not even surprised anymore." he snaps, a bit more forceful than he intended to be.

there's a silence that follows, and satoru’s unlucky enough to catch the mildly surprised look on your face. he tongues his cheek, brows pinched as he watches your expression fall. an ugly feeling that reminds him suspiciously of guilt rolls around in his stomach.

"you’re right…" you sigh, shoulders slumping as you cross your arms with a defeated shake of your head. "it's just tiring, you know?"

he turns his back to you, reaching across the counter to start slicing up an apple, trying to keep his hands occupied because they're itching to touch you. but he can't keep the bitterness out of his tone when he answers with a clipped, "yeah i know."

he can practically feel your confused stare on his back. but then you chuckle in amusement, mirth clear in your tone. "what do you mean you know? you literally get attention from random people on the street. you can have anyone you want." you laugh.

"are you serious?" he asks, eyes wide with disbelief as he spins around to face you again. you only blink at him, expression so annoyingly clueless it makes him sigh. he turns away from you once again, going back to cutting the apple.

"what?" you cock your head, not understanding why he's so forlorn about it. "most people would jump at the chance to date you. everyone wants you, you know?"

"not everyone. not the one who matters." he mutters bitterly as he places the apple slices onto a plate. you said all of it so casually, like it's supposed to be obvious, but all satoru feels is an overwhelming wave of disappointment wash over him.

"you…never mind." he relents, biting his tongue. "it's not important."

he hears your sharp intake of breath as you gasp, curiosity no doubt brimming in your barely concealed grin.

"ooh interesting! are you telling me you have a thing for someone, toru?" the teasing in your tone is palpable, and satoru feels his stomach flip pleasantly when you say his name. he turns around to face you, letting his shoulders drop as a helpless smile stretches across his face.

he walks up to you, pushing an apple slice past your lips and chuckling quietly. you're still giving him those curious little eyes as you chew, and he tries to swallow down the overwhelming wave of pure affection that threatens to burst from within. clearly today wasn't the day you were going to realize what kind of feelings he's been keeping a secret for so many years.

that's okay. he'll wait as long as you need him to.

he flicks your forehead gently, before reaching down to tug on your cheek. "don't worry your pretty little head about that, sweet thing. you'll figure it out soon enough."

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ft-3racha · 4 months

Note

Yunho, size kink, lots of hands pls 🤪, with a lot of fluff, lovely aftercare

new necklace (ft. jeong yunho)

pairing: jeong yunho (ateez) x gn reader

warnings: smut!!!(minors dni!); established relationship, clear d/s dynamics, bigdick!dom!yunho x curious!sub!reader, hands (🤪), size kink (heavy), degrading, praise, fingering (reader rec), choking, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl), breeding kink, creampie, multiple orgasms (reader rec), a little teeny tiny angsty bc of problems regarding their sex life, ending with fluff and aftercare bc yunho is a gentle giant at heart <3

author‘s note: your wish is my command! how could i not write this ask??? as soon as i read this, the gears in my head started spinning and produced this piece. enjoy. :))

wc: 3,6k (oops-)

____________

„i‘m cumming, baby.“

i know, you thought to yourself, before your boyfriend pulled himself out of you to release himself on your lower back. as always. yours and yunho‘s relationship was absolutely beautiful, and so was the sex. the only problem: it was always the same. he made you cum with his hands, then you guys fucked until you came a second time before he chased his own release, which always resulted in him unloading on your back, kissing you on your forehead and getting a towel to clean up the mess he produced.

it was good, but you sure as hell missed something. you always had the feeling that yunho was holding himself back, for whatever reason that may be; he just absolutely didn‘t look like the vanilla kind of guy he was trying to be. or so you were hoping deep down.

a couple of days, and a shopping spree online later, you find yourself in your shared bedroom, the parcel on your bed opened up and it‘s containments already on your body. as you look into the mirror, you admire the white silky robe against your skin, hiding your nude body from unwanted eyes; actually, any eyes other than your boyfriends were unwanted. together with that beautiful shining piece of fabric you ordered another thing adorning your lower half: it was a beautiful bottom piece completely made out of white lace. that color was chosen on purpose, because it made you look the most innocent; what you were planning was far from that though. just a few minutes prior you had taken some sultry pictures of yourself posing in your new undergarments, not even thinking a second before sending them straight to yunho. it didn‘t take him longer than five minutes to reply with a casual „i‘m at work, love“. well, no shit, that was kind of the whole point. your answer was a question, straight to the point with a little bit of attitude: „what are you gonna do about it?“.

silence. all that followed was unanswered, mysterious and unsatisfying silence. you were hoping that yunho would understand what you were trying to do, that you wanted to tease him and rile him up with your bratty behaviorism. but he unknowingly ended all potential fun and experimental games before they had even begun. you threw your phone to the side, exhaling heavily while closing the robe with a knot in the front. the rest of the day was spent with chores as you tried your best to get your mind off of the disappointment that was spread all throughout your being. the sun was close to being set, and you just finished wiping down the kitchen, when you heard your phone go off. nonchalantly, you went to check it, and you did a double take when you openend the message you received. it was from yunho.

„wait for me in the bedroom in that outfit. on your knees. be home in 15.“

speechless. absolutely no words were leaving your mouth, but more so roaming in your mind as heat spread through your entire body. you did exactly as yunho requested you to do, his message making it sound as if you had no other choice but to obey to him. exactly how you wanted it to be.

14 minutes and 52 seconds later you heard the front door open and lock back up. normally it took him about 20 minutes to get home from work, you figured he went a little over the speed limit for the perfect reason. if he were to get a ticket, you would definitely forgive him. and while you were doing as he asked, yunho came through the door, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and his thoughts going wild. nevertheless, he calmly took off his jacket, hung it up neatly and placed his bag down in it‘s designated spot before taking off his shoes as well. a deep breath left his plump lips, the exhaled air hot and heavy; with slow and heavy steps he made his way towards the bedroom, cuffing the sleeves of his white button up and pushing them up to his elbows in the meantime. it was exciting to him, almost as if he was a predator on the hunt, because he could only imagine what the current scenario did to you; how it made your breath hitch in your throat with every single step that was taken, how a shiver ran down your spine at the thought of what he was going to do to you, how excited you were about not knowing what was going to happen.

yunho slowly opened the door, and what he saw kicked all the air out of his lungs. you looked so stunning, so ready for him to destroy you: perfectly sat on your knees in front of the bed, your robe untied, the white lace still adorning your lower body. your gaze faced towards the ground, palms neatly sat on your legs. so good for him, and him only. the door closed, but you didn‘t dare to lift your eyes. yunho stepped closer and came to a halt right in front of you, yet all you could see was his feet and the beginning of his black slacks that were covering his beautiful long legs from your desperate view.

„beautiful“, was the first word that left him, and it made a chill creep up your entire being at how deliciously deep his voice was. „did you do all of this for me?“ you nodded, his presence so domineering that it took away your ability to speak. you knew he wasn’t as vanilla as he was pretending to be. „you should use your words when asked a question, sweetheart.“ sweetheart. you considered yourself lucky to be sat in this very moment, otherwise your knees would‘ve given out. wanting to please him in every way possible, you slowly lift your gaze and almost inaudibly answered: „yes, i did. all for you.“ „good baby.“ a needy whine escaped your throat at the praise, not used to yunho being as vocal as he turned out to be. his dark eyes raked over your submissive form; glossy and half-lidded, irisis almost eaten up by enlarged pupils. he slowly made his way over to the bed and sat down on the edge, instructing you to get up and sit on his lap. you do as you‘re told without another word, finding yourself on him only seconds later. his big hand cradled the side of your face, the calloused pad of his thumb slowly pulling at your bottom lip, it snapping back in place immediately after he let go. „kiss me, please“, you begged him, overwhelmed with the feeling of him surrounding you entirely. „you sound so fucking pretty when you beg“, is all he said before giving in to your request, his lips engulfing yours in a kiss so passionate it made you throb with need. it was all tongue and teeth, desparation visible on both sides. but it might‘ve just been the best kiss you‘ve ever shared. you felt him everywhere, long fingers digging into your scalp, slightly pulling your head to the side as his lips traced your neck, wet kisses spreading all over it. „my god, you are so stunning“, he spoke lowly into your ear, earning a moan from you in response, „can you feel what you are doing to me?“ indeed. as soon as he said that, you could feel how hard he was inside of his pants, his cock trying to break free while poking at your center. experimentally, you started rolling your hips, to which yunho responded with an almost animalistic sound escaping his throat. „so desperate“, he mumbled, his hand itching its way from your scalp to the front of your throat, „want me to choke you, baby?“ „god, please“, was all you could say, the thought of his hand around your neck causing you to involuntarily clench around nothing. you’ve always had a thing for his hand, and yunho knew; he saw your little glances here and there, but never said a word. it was cute, almost naively sweet even, how something so normal to him could rile you up so easily still, even after having been together for awhile now. he had never asked to choke you before, but feeling those slender fingers expertly applying pressure on the spots where your charotid artery lays had you crying out his name, your thoughts revolving around nothing but him while your hips ground into him with more pressure in search of any kind of friction. „look at you“, he almost growled, hazy eyes scanning you with a smirk on his deviously handsome face, „all it takes is my hand around your neck and you start acting like a desperate little whore?“ the name had you internally screaming, the combination of praising and degrading words tumbling out of him hitting you just right.

next thing you know his hand leaves your neck and you find yourself on your back, the white robe having been cascaded in the process. „are you gonna be a good slut for me, hm? you gonna behave?“, yunho asked, his dominant frame hanging over you as his big hand lays on your inner thigh. „i promise“, you answered so fast it was almost pathetic, „i‘ll be so good. just want your cock inside of me, please.“ „i have to stretch you out first, baby. don‘t think your tight little hole can handle it without.“ and he was right. there was a reason to the beginning of your usually bland sex routine: he had to make you cum with his hands first to help you relax, to help you adjust to him easier, because he was a sight for sore eyes. he always stood tall, not only having been blessed in height but also in size. thats why, even after many times of sharing the bed with him, you find yourself still not used to his impressive length. slowly testing the waters, you reply: „give me your fingers then, so i‘ll be able to take your big cock.“ he groaned, and you added a very obvious size kink to your mental notes; you had suspected it for a while after having been asked if „it will even fit“ and being reminded of „how tight you are“ a couple of times before. yunho pulled down your panties almost in a hurry, attaching his fingers to you as soon as the lace left your body and hit the floor. finally. „inside, please“, was all you were able to say, mind foggy with the need of him filling you up. and he did just that, his pointer and middle finger breaking past your entrance and into you, deliciously stretching you out. both of you moaned at the feeling, yunho finally realizing how badly you really needed him after feeling your wetness trickle down his hand, and you because you almost came from him just inserting two fingers. the chokehold this man had on you in this very moment was absolutely driving you crazy. „always so fucking ready for me, shit“. he cursed before driving his long digits into you with force, hitting the spot that made your toes curl and your hairs stand at the back of your neck. your hands flew to his back, clinging to the thin material of his dress shirt. the fact that he was doing your fully naked form fully dressed drove you insane, the humiliating feeling adding to your pleasure. his name left your lips like a prayer, as if he was the only thing that mattered in this world, and for you, he was.

the way your orgasm approached so quickly left you shocked, not even being able to warn him before it happened, and you swore to yourself in that very moment that you never came that incredibly hard because of just his hands; in fact, you probably never came that hard in your entire life. he helped you calm down, softly stroking your thigh to soothe you and help you calm down from your orgasm, letting his gentleness peak through for just a second, checking in and making sure you were okay before all of it left again in the blink of an eye. his newfound duality was crazy, but crazy attractive indeed. relishing in your post-orgasmic state, you barely realized that yunho had gotten up, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and leaving it to mingle alongside your panties on the floor, his slacks and boxers joining just a minute later. as he hovered back above you, you saw him in all his glory, the tip of his long cock leaking precum, and you couldn‘t help your hand finding his shaft, stroking him slowly. „so big“, you state softly, doe eyes finding his, „it‘ll stretch me out so nice, will hurt so good.“ „fuck“, he cursed, tip prodding at your abused hole, „i‘m gonna fill you up so good, and you‘ll take it all.“ with that, you felt him slowly fill you up, and you nodded alongside that burning feeling you loved so much. „look at how you swallow my cock, greedy little slut can never get enough of it, isn‘t that right?“ his pelvis met yours as his tip kissed your spot with the right amount of force, making you see stars in the process. „yes yunho, feels s‘ good.“ you couldn’t even form coherent sentences anymore, already too fucked out from him just entering. he bottomed out slowly, barely having left you before pushing all the way back in with a little more strength. you arched your back and clawed at his, moans and whimpers leaving you, and that‘s all it took for him to finally let go. his cock rammed into you hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoed from the walls. it was as if the english language had left you completely, barely understandable mumbling and cries of pleasure being the only things leaving your mouth alongside his name. „shit angel“, yunho panted above you, your nails raked down his back at the nickname, marking him up, „you feel so fucking tight around my big cock. tell me, who do you belong to?“ „you“, you answered immediately without a second thought. „i bet nobody could ever make you feel the same.“ „never“, you reassured, causing him to speed up even more, „y’ make me feel so fucking good. cock‘s so big, can feel it in my tummy.“ as those words left your mouth you felt that familiar feeling built up again. yunho must‘ve felt it too, probably because you kept clenching around him, because he leaned down, lowly whispering in your ear: „cum for me, now.“ and you did, your second orgasm of the night not washing over you, but rather hitting you like a brick. your vision turned blurry as your whole body tensed up, thighs spasming and hole clenching around yunho to the point where he had to still completely to ensure he didn‘t spill, wanting to relish in the feeling of your heat just a little longer.

he helped you again, gently stroking your hips, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you slowly came back to this planet. you feared it was over, were scared that it would be the same as always from now on, but you were met with a stern gaze again as soon as he realized you were good still. „on all fours, ass up.“ that was a new one. usually sticking to just missionary, you were surprised when you found yourself with your face pressed into the pillow and your back arched, ass up in the air. yunho stood behind you on his knees, his cock now glistening in a mixture of your fluids. „hands behind your back“, he instructed as you gave him your hands to hold behind youf back with one of his giant ones, the other one used to guide his cock back into you. the new angle made you moan, mentally cursing yourself for not suggesting this position sooner, because fucking hell, did it feel fantastic. he could reach even deeper, making you feel fuller than ever before. now you could really feel him rearrange your guts. he wasted no time. snapping his hips into yours at a ruthless pace, no mercy to be found. „you feel so fucking good“, he praised, „my good little whore. all mine.“ this man and his filthy mouth will be the death of you. „so full“, you whimper. „yeah? gonna fill you up even more.“ the moan that escaped you after that statement could put pornstars out of business. „you‘d like that, huh? want me to pump your tight little hole full of my cum?“ all you could do was nod in response, the thought occupying your mind completely. breeding you was never a topic of discussion; it has been a silent agreement from the get go for him to pull out, eventhough the thought of him filling you up had crossed your mind multiple times beforehand, and not once did you mind it. not at all. so you nodded again, clenching around him before answering with a desperate tone: „please fill me, use me. i can take it all.“ you didn‘t think it was possible, but after that he sped up even more, not only chasing your third orgasm of the night but his own as well. he pulled you up by your neck, your back colliding with his chest as his big hand wrapped around your throat again, choking you from behind while relentlessly pounding into you. you could feel your orgasm approaching again, hearing him mumble some more praise into your ear, always mixed with those delicious derogatory words. „my good little slut, so ready to take my cum. gon‘ give it to you, just a little more.“ his thrusts got sloppier after that, not once going down in roughness as they did. „yunho, i‘m-“, was all you managed to stutter out, before your third and final orgasm hit you like a truck, your whole body clenching and tensing up in yunhos arms. and as he felt you clench and pulse around his cock, yunho‘s orgasm hit him as well, causing him to spill his seee inside of you. it felt good, almost animalistic; as if he was marking you up from within, and you loved every second of it.

all that was heard after was both of your heavy breathings in the heavier air. yunho slowly lowered you onto the bed, caressing your hair while you snuggled up to his chest. the room probably reeked of sweat and sex, but you couldn‘t care less. „you did so great, my love“, yunho spoke up after taking a minute to breathe, „so incredible for me. i love you so much.“ „i love you too“, you smiled up at him, before laughing lightly, „you fucking animal.“ he laughed, his cheeks coating themselves in redness. „i always felt like you were holding back“, you stated, to which he just nodded. „i did, yeah. didn‘t wanna scare you away.“ you could (metaphorically) hit him in the head for not just speaking up about his desires, but neither did you, so you chose not to scold him for that. instead, your heart swell at the fact that he didn‘t wanna scare you, and you lifted your head, slowly entangling your lips in a sweet kiss.

a couple of minutes of you guys reflecting on your session and cuddling in bed passed by, before yunho got up to run a bath for the both of you; your sore muscles couldn‘t thank him more. he came back seconds later with a wet towel, the water running in the background. „is it okay if i clean you, or do you wanna do that yourself?“, he asked cautiously, and you appreciated his thoughtfulness, especially in moments like these. „you can do it. thank you, love“, you answered as he slowly spread your sore legs to clean up the mess both of you produced. once he finished that up, he picked up the clothes from the floor, tossed them in the washer alongside the towel and got you some water and snacks for you to hydrate and gain back some energy. and as you laid in your warm bath yunho sat behind you, massaging your shoulders skillfully. „that feels really nice. thank you for preparing all of this, i really appreciate it.“ you letting him know that made his head spin and his belly fuzzy. „no worries, beautiful. thank you for letting me take control of your body and making you feel good. it means a lot, and it‘s not something i take lighthearted“, he replied and you blushed. yunho always let you know that he appreciates your body, but hearing him say it after such an intense session was extra special. „i trust you“, was all you said, before letting your head fall on his chest, his arms snaking around your waist and connecting with your hands in the front of your body. „how about we lay in here for a bit more, then we wash up, get into something comfortable and i order our favorite while you pick out a comforting movie?“, yunho asks with a soothing voice, playing with your fingers absentmindedly. you nodded in response, a shy smile grazing your features, before you guys get back into conversation about nothing particular, sharing love confessions, laughter and mindless kisses surrounded by bubbles and sweet lavender air.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #jeong yunho #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x reader #jeong yunho smut #yunho smut #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #ateez x reader #kpop smut #ft-3racha‘s ask

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headkiss · 1 month

Note

I’ve got a slightly angsty idea for Hotch if you’d like it:

Reader gets into an accident of some kind and ends up in the hospital, and Hotch is worrying out of his mind the whole time because he’s on a case or something, but all is well and it’s fluffy at the end and just love and “don’t ever scare me like that again” and all that good stuff

hiii thank u so much for ur request!!! sorry it’s taken a couple of months to get to </3 i hope u like it!! | 0.6k mentions of a car accident and a teeny tiny injury, and fluff (duh)

“Aaron?”

Hotch knew something was wrong as soon as you’d called in the middle of the day while he was away. You’d always wait for him to call first, to make sure he had the time.

So, the buzz of his phone in his pocket worried him. Even more so when he heard the way your voice shook through the speaker.

He walked away from the rest of the team, leaving their temporary conference room at the local police station and finding somewhere quiet before speaking, “what’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m okay, I promise, but…” you paused to clear your throat, forcing your startled tears back, because you really were okay. “I got in an accident. Nobody’s hurt, but they want to take me to the hospital to make sure I don’t have a concussion or anything.”

Aaron’s heart was pounding, and he had to remind himself that you weren’t badly hurt, that you were right there on the other side of the phone, talking and breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand through his hair, wishing he was closer to you.

“Okay,” he says, though it comes out in a breath. “Okay, I’m gonna try to get home.”

“No, Aaron, you really don’t have to. I’m not injured, and they need you there.”

Truthfully, you’d love to have him beside you, his hand tight in yours, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears, his presence calming enough. But you knew what you were getting into as soon as you started dating Hotch, and you’d never expect him to have to choose between you and his job.

“The team is more than capable of doing this without me, I promise. I’m coming to you, alright?”

You know there’s no changing his mind, and selfishly, you don’t want to. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

He doesn’t want to hang up the phone, doesn’t want to leave room for the worry and fear that’s already creeping up on him, but he does.

The team, of course, is very understanding, reassuring him that they can handle this case and that he should get home, telling him to let you know they all hope you’re okay. He’s driving to the airport within minutes.

It’s only a few hours later that Aaron lands, rushing back to your place straight from his flight after confirming with you that’s where you’d be. His hand shakes the slightest bit as he slips his spare key into your door.

Aaron breathes your name when he sees you on your couch, a small bandage on your cheek. “You said you weren’t hurt.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest as he crosses the room and crouches in front of you, cradling your face in his hand so gently your eyes well up. The shock seems to catch up to you, the relief you didn’t know you needed just by having him near is almost overwhelming.

“I’m not,” you sniffle once and his eyebrows furrow. “I’m not hurt, I promise. It barely even bled. I guess it’s just sinking in now.”

You blink and a tear slips down your cheek, but Hotch is quick to wipe it away with his thumb. He moves to sit next to you on the couch, tugging you as close as possible, your cheek buried against his collar, his hand running up and down your back.

You can hear his heart beating in his chest, quicker than usual, but you don’t call him out on it.

“You’re okay,” he says, and Aaron’s not sure who he’s reassuring more.

“My car’s probably totaled,” you mutter against him.

“Cars are replaceable, you aren’t.” He drops his mouth to the top of your head, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“I was scared,” you admit quietly.

“I know, honey,” he says, shifting so that his cheek is resting atop your head. “I was, too.”

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sweatervest-obsessed · 2 months

Note

okay so i'm thinking post!prison reid and reader break up bc he's not ready to be in a relationship after everything that happened in prison. they just don't get back together bc when spence is finally ready it's been a while and they both think it's too late and no one makes a move and they remain as friends UNTIL jj's love confession brings some feelings back onto the surface - reader finds out about it and (cue jeid and their weird, longing glances🥲) has a whole it's all really over moment and then there's distance between her and spencer until there's a confrontation about it and BAM a love confession and second chances😁😁

THIS IS SUCH A MESS but i hope you get my point</33

Um yeah so, absolutely. Some angst for you indeed. I love a convoluted and angsty fight, especially whenever someone is arguing in circles with someone else because they're both just so passionate but angry, anyways, heheh, enjoy!!

WC: 1.5k

TW: Arguing, mentions of violence, mentions of prison, mentions of guns, honestly if you watched CM then that is your TW.

“I just want to know why you’ve been so distant lately. I mean, this is the first time I’m speaking with you one on one in over a week, and it’s because I manage to catch you in the office at nine fucking pm Y/n.”

"So what do you want me to say, Spence? What could I possibly have to say to you? I'm pretty sure Jennifer said everything there is to say."

This caused Spencer to lose all of the oxygen in his body. It froze up. You weren’t supposed to know what JJ had said, no one was supposed to know what JJ had said.

You and Spencer were in the bullpen of the BAU. Luckily for both of you, since it was so late, no one else was there. Neither of you were extremely public when it came to your relationship, which meant neither of you would have chosen to have this conversation fight in a public place, but no one else was around.

I want you to say something you're afraid to say. Something you'd never tell anybody. And you better make it good. Cause if it's not, it's going to be the last thing you ever say. What's it gonna be?

“How did you know about that?” He whispered.

“JJ asked Garcia to go through the footage, apparently she wanted to make sure no one could ever access the audio from it.”

"Y/n I--" Spencer closed his eyes, his jaw set. He didn’t even know what to say at this point. You had both clearly made up your minds about this, yet neither of you wanted to see the carnage, the outcome of it all. So, instead, you chose to stand in the middle of the bullpen, fighting against one another.

Fighting for one another.

"I just don't understand why you're so upset about this."

“Spencer–you didn’t even tell me about it, I had to find out about it from Penelope, and who knows who else she told. You were afraid to tell me, yet that giant genius brain of yours can’t, oh I don't know, comprehend just a teeny tiny little bit why this makes me upset?" For the millionth time this evening, you scoffed.

Something you would never say aloud, not even to your partner. Your deepest, darkest secret. Impress me, or I'll kill him.

"Y/n--"

Spence, I've always loved you. I was just too scared to say it before, and now things are really just too complicated to say it now. I'm sorry, but you should know.

"Fuck Spencer I have been in love with you since I first fucking joined this team." You gasped out. The air around your head got thinner and felt dizzying like you were floating through the air now that this was off your chest. "And I loved you when you asked me on a date. I loved you through Emily's death. I loved you when you asked me to move in with you. I loved you through when Morgan left the team. I loved you through Hotch leaving. I loved you through fucking Cat Adams. I loved you even after I came home one night and you were making out with her against our fucking door. I loved you through every single case and every single flaw. I loved you when you fucking relapsed a few years ago. I even loved you when you went MIA for weeks and then found out you were in a fucking Prison. And I still fucking love you now. But, instead of being together, you asked for a break."

"That's not fair..." He whispered.

"What? Respecting you and your boundaries? Knowing that you needed time to readjust after you had been released, and believing in your promise that once you felt ready to try a relationship again you'd come to me and talk to me about it? And then watching as you fall for JJ all fucking over again? With your stupid fucking glances. This isn't a goddamn tv show Reid, I can see when you both stare at one another across the room, I can see it."

"We don't.."

"You do. You both do. And then, you tell me that Jennifer fucking Jareau is willing to make her last words the fact that she has always loved you and has always been in love with you, and you---" Your voice froze, the sound cutting out. You looked straight at Spencer, not caring about the tears running down your cheeks. You watched as his hand twitched up. When the two of you were dating, Spencer used to wipe away every single of your tears. But now he wouldn't even lift his hand.

"I--what."

You took another breath, trying to calm down, and really think through your words. "This woman who has been your best friend for over a decade just fucking confessed her love for you, in a life-or-death situation, and you're telling me, that she just fucking made it up, pulled it out of her ass, or at least is telling you that she did and now the two of you are going to act like everything is normal and okay?"

"Y/n..."

"You were in love with her for years Spencer. And now, all of a sudden she confesses her love to you, and that changes nothing?"

"No, Y/n, it doesn't. It changes nothing. Does it hurt a bit? Yes. Does it change the fact that I love you? No." Spencer was trying to keep his voice level, hoping you'll continue to match his volume since he didn't want anyone to potentially stumble by and hear your argument. His hand reached for your wrist, but you couldn't bear to feel his skin against yours.

This caused you to let out a water laugh, tears sliding into your mouth, ugly but pouring down your cheeks. A waterfall of grief in all of its rawest forms.

"You still love me."

"Why-Why is that funny."

"I have been waiting to hear those words since you walked out of that fucking prison and the first time I hear it in years, it's because you're trying to justify loving someone else."

"That's not true."

Make it a million and one, you scoffed.

"I have loved you since the moment you first walked through those doors. You were in a pale blue pair of pants, and a black sweater--I remember it because Emily complimented the pants. I spend my whole life loving you and manage to never fully give you every single piece of love I have because there's simply not enough time in the world. I would kill for you. I would go to prison all over again if it meant you would be okay in this world." Spencer ran a hand through his hair, his voice strained. But his eyes never left yours. "Last week, when that unsub had his gun against your head, I fired before he even spoke, not because I assessed it was the right time or whatever fucking excuse I gave to Emily. I fired that bullet because if you died in front of me, I'd......The only thing I was thinking about the entire fucking time JJ and I were stuck in that room was how the fuck I was going to be able to tell you I love you one last time because I wasn't fucking smart enough to take my chance and say it to you every single day."

Your chest was heaving, but you didn't move towards him. It didn't feel right, it didn't feel real.

Spencer was able to take your hand in his, enclosing it between both of his, trying to get you to look at him. "I should have told you the moment I was ready to try a relationship again, but I thought you...I thought you had moved on because I wasn't worth waiting for."

This caused you to laugh again, eyes red from crying. "Don't fucking start with that shit Spencer.''

"I'm telling the god's honest truth."

"I waited for you throughout all of Prison. I waited for you through Maeve. I am still pathetically standing right fucking in front of you, waiting for you to hopefully realize that you still love me."

He kissed your hand. "And I don't deserve you at all for it."

"Do you still love her?"

"Y/n."

"Answer the question, Spencer. Or I'm done. I-I can't do this any longer, watching you....the way she looks at you just--"

Spencer pulled you into his arms, enclosing your body in his arms and kissing the side of your head. "I have always, and will always, love you Y/n Y/l/n. And I want to spend the rest of our lives proving to you that I would choose you, I want you, over and over again."

“That’s not an answer Spencer.” You whispered, rigid in his arms.

“I-I.” He closed his eyes. “I did. And I still do love her, but not like that. I haven’t been i-in love with her since the moment you walked through those doors.”

Spencer felt the weight of your head against his shoulder as you finally conceded and hugged him back, tightly. “Let's go home.” He muttered into your head, waiting patiently for you to hum in agreement.

Neither of you moved though. You both stood there, locked eternally in the other’s embrace, enjoying the peace you felt for the moment, even though tomorrow was a new day, where you would have to sort through how you really felt about all of this.

But tonight, you stood with your arms around your love, forever.

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milswrites · 13 days

Text

The Trials of Aphrodite Part Three

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Series summary: Hopelessly in love with Elain, Azriel enlists your help in order to win her over. The only problem? You have been in love with Azriel for as long as you have known him.

Chapter summary: Azriel receives a lesson in flirting.

Warnings: A bit of angsty pining. Teeny bit of suggestiveness.

It was a familiar scene; you staring at Azriel.

And Azriel staring at her.

Want swimming in his hazel eyes as he absorbed Elain's glowing figure as she pottered about in her garden, lips parted in awe as he took in her soft features and natural beauty.

All the while your eyes stayed locked on him. Wonder filling your own gaze as you marveled at the admiration which flowed freely from the male next to you. Azriel's intense stare providing you with an insight into all the love he had to give. A love that would never be reserved only for you. A type of love that he would only ever feel for Elain.

"So how's this going to work?" you ask in an attempt to break Azriel from his lovestruck spell, swallowing your pain as you noticed the love draining from his eyes as he turned his gaze to you.

"I don't know, I was hoping you would tell me what to do" he nervously mumbled, peeking back over the rosebush the two of you were hidden behind to double check that Elain hadn't spotted you.

"Gods this is ridiculous, Az just go over and talk to her!" you exclaimed, your raised voice being met with the anxious shushing of your worrisome friend who was afraid of being caught.

"Gee thanks I wonder why I haven't thought about doing that before. . . It's because I can't!" his sarcastic reply was met with a flat look from you, certain that the only reason Azriel was finding this difficult was because he was the one making it that way.

"Az, how hard can it be? Just compliment her or something!" you sighed, wondering how Azriel could ooze confidence in every aspect of his life apart from when it comes to romance.

"It's not that easy. I've tried. . . look last time I complimented her I asked her if she was the cauldron because I wanted to drown in her eyes" he awkwardly admitted, embarrassed eyes cast to the ground in shame.

"You compared Elain to the cauldron?" you asked unimpressed, astounded at your friend's boundless stupidity, "Elain who quite literally drowned in the cauldron in what was probably the most traumatizing event of her life."

"I didn't say the line worked" Azriel grumbled, not liking the chuckle of disbelief which slipped from your lips at his hopelessness.

"Obviously not, we wouldn't be crouched behind a bush right now if it did" you retorted, unable to stop the fit of giggles which followed as you tried to imagine Azriel's pitiful attempt of flirting backfiring on him.

"Are you going to help me or are you just going to sit there and laugh at me?" Azriel huffed, not sharing in your amusement at his misery.

"Fine, fine. Just go over there and compliment her dress, girls like it when guys notice that kind of thing" you suggest, trying not to turn red as you recall the time when Azriel had first complimented one of your own dresses, having continued to wear it every time you saw him for the next few months with the hope of him praising you again.

"Great, what do I say?" your friend asked, but not before you shoved him right into the heat of the fire by pushing him out from behind the rosebush. Azriel stumbling away from the safety of his hiding spot.

"Azriel? What are you doing here?" Elain's gentle voice called out from where she was stood. A quick flash of Azriel's burning gaze a warning that the two of you would be talking about this later.

"Elain!" Azriel loudly starts as he slowly makes his way towards Elain, his awkward manner already making you cringe in discomfort, "Your dress! it's nice. . . and pink. Nice and pink."

It took everything in you not to hang your head into your palm in shame, finding it incredulous how one person could fail so miserably when it came to talking to someone.

Thankfully, if Elain found his behaviour strange she didn't let on, instead replying to his strange attempt of a compliment with an airy giggle and a polite thank you.

"Great! Well um. . ." your ears perk, brows furrowing in confusion as you wait to see what Azriel says next, "Hope you have a nice day!"

With that Azriel swiftly left, abruptly ending the painfully awkward conversation before leaving the garden, hurriedly making his way up the nearest street in order to escape his discomfort. Chasing after your flustered friend, you followed after him, hoping that Elain hadn't noticed you were also there listening in on their conversation.

"Nice and pink? Have a nice day?" you laughed, having caught up to Azriel, “I’ve met Middengard Wyrm’s that flirt better than you just did." Not failing to miss the dusty pink hue that had blossomed across Azriel’s cheeks in wake of his embarrassment.

“I can flirt,” he swiftly defended, hazel eyes rolling towards the back of his head as he noted the teasing smile which had graced your lips, “I was just caught off guard that’s all.”

“Ah ok, you were caught off guard. Is that the reason why you practically screamed in Elain’s face?” you smirked, working to deepen your friend’s blush until the growing redness spread to his ears.

“I didn’t scream-” Azriel didn’t fail to miss the way your face contorted into a wince at his hopeless denial, his once heated words now converting into a low conscious murmur, “Was it really that bad?”

You stretch out a reassuring hand to come and rest against Azriel’s slumped shoulder, thumb instinctively moving to rub comforting circles into his taut muscle. Eyebrows knitting together in pained sympathy, you answer honestly, “Maybe it was a little pathetic. . .You won't be tending to Elain's garden any time soon if that was anything to go by."

There was no stopping Azriel’s despondent sigh, not even the gentle caress of his shadows against his shaking hands brought the male any solace, the swirling black tendrils failing to sate their master's rising panic as it washed over him.

It was a horrible sight, seeing your friend so dejected. Your heart twinging at the way his anxious breath rattled in his chest. You would offer him your understanding if you could, take his trembling hands into your own and tell Azriel that you were all too familiar with the feeling of getting tongue tied around the person you so longed for. Yet no confession of your shared failures in the romance department would fix this, not when Azriel was the one who owned your heart. Not when you had promised him help in winning over another.

And so you didn’t share your hidden truth with the male, instead opting to lock it away into the darkest depths of your heart. It was a secret you were willing to keep forever, so only to ensure the happiness of your friend. A secret you would carry with you to your grave if Azriel’s plan goes as intended.

Instead you offer Azriel the only thing you could; your comfort. The supportive hand which had been resting on his shoulder now travelling down his arm. His shadows parting briefly to allow you to lock your fingers with his own, the smoky wisps resuming their soothing dance once your hands were comfortably entwined.

One touch. That was all it took to pull Azriel from the wave of panic that had consumed him. The familiar touch of your palm against his own enough to steady his uneven breaths and calm his shaking hands.

"Its ok," you promise, confident gaze meeting his own uncertain stare, "you've not ruined anything. All you need is a little more confidence and she'll be under your spell. Trust me, one flirty little one liner from you and it will be impossible for her to be anything but in love."

"I can manage one I suppose" Azriel attempts to agree confidently yet his words read more like a question, removing his hand from your own to ruffle his hair in thought.

"Maybe you could ask Lucien for tips, Feyre tells me he's quite the flirt'' you tease, hoping the mention of Lucien's name would spur on Azriel's desire to act on his feelings for Elain.

"I don't need help when it comes to flirting, and certainly not from him" he grit the words through his teeth having predictably taken the bait you had laid out for him.

"Hmm I'm not sure, your skills were a little lacklustre from what I could see" you continue to goad him, each prod and poke working to build your friends confidence bit by bit.

"Lacklustre?" Azriel scoffed in disbelief, all anxiety having been drained from his eyes and replaced with the spark of a challenge.

"You wouldn't have me swooning" you shrug casually, mouth twisting into a playful smirk at Azriel's displeasure.

“No?” Azriel asked in faux surprise, the male taking a slow step towards you, “not even if I did this?”

A gentle push of the tips of Azriel's fingers against the exposed skin of your chest found you stumbling backwards until you were pressed against the wall. Your teasing smile fading as your shock consumed you, heart fluttering as Azriel's arms came to cage you on either side. “Or this?” he continued, leaning in close enough that the warmth of his breath against your neck began to send shivers down your spine. Your knees wobbling at the intensity of his gaze.

“I thought flirting included words?” you breathed out heavily, trapped under the heat of his gaze.

“Why use words when I could take you apart with less than that?” he lowly whispered into your ear, a glint of darkness in his eyes as a cruel smirk appeared on his lips. You found yourself speechless, entranced by the playfulness of his devilishly handsome features, your deep breaths falling in time with his own as he witnessed your stunned reaction to his words.

"I think Elain will find my flirting perfectly adequate" he smiled, shattering the moment as he mentioned the woman that he truly wished was captured between his arms. Reminding you that his flirtacious quip wasn't for you; it was for her.

"Maybe that's a bit much Az" you state sourly, moving your hand to his chest in order to push him away and slip under his outstretched arm, "I don't know how well Elain will take it if you come on that strong."

"You didn't seem to mind" he answered cheerfully, failing to notice your sudden change in mood, the male still trying to continue his teasing banter.

"I think you'll find there's more to women than just sex and physical attraction" you scoffed, desperately wanting nothing more than to move on from this conversation. Yet Azriel wouldn't provide you with that mercy, his next question almost enough to make you sick.

"What would you say then? To someone you loved, someone you pined after?"

You debated not answering him, dismissing his curiosity to spare you from the pain and embarrassment that would no doubt ensue. Yet a small part of you wondered if this would be your only chance. That perhaps you had the wrong idea, locking away your feelings, maybe all you needed was to get them off your chest. To lift the weight from your shoulders, allow yourself to finally move on from the male who would never be interested in you.

So you took the leap, looking your fear in the face as you stared into Azriel's expectant eyes.

And you confessed.

"I would tell him the truth. Tell him how not a day passes where I don't feel madly, uncontrollably in love with him. That any moment I'm not near him I find myself unable to breathe, unable to be satisfied until I am in his company. And I'd tell him that loving him makes me a fool, that I would never fail to sacrifice my happiness if only to see him smile. That love has made me it's servant and I am all too willing to bow before it."

"Sounds to me like you're an expert in love" Azriel answered after a thoughtful pause, a flicker of a smile working its way onto his face.

"I don't think I know what love is" you replied, still waiting for the moment of relief to come, failing to understand that it was a gift you would never receive.

"Nonsense, he's a lucky guy. I'm sure he feels for you as deeply as you do for him" Azriel cheerfully reassured you, looking absolutely delighted by the prospect of you being in love with someone. Completely unaware that he was the male you were speaking of. That he was the person you would struggle to live without.

And as you shook away the consoling shadow which had tentatively approached you, you wondered if your heart would ever be free from the chains of Azriel's own design.

Part four

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Thank you to @daily-dose-of-sass for unknowingly falling into my trap and giving me the most perfect pick up line for Azriel to have used 😌

Bit more of a look at the dynamic of their friendship in this one!

Taglist Part 1:

@a-cup-of-nightshade @yearninglustfully @illyrianbitch @ninaduchess @sarawritestories @annaaaaa88 @antiquecultist @madelyncullen @erencvlt @chaytea06 @dxjaaaa @saltedcoffeescotch @spark1epuffba11s @thestartitaness @amysangel @historygeekqueen @thelov3lybookworm @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @willowpains @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @dreamlandreader @sidthedollface2 @leeknows-wife @riorgail @eve175 @evergreenlark @anuttellaa @daily-dose-of-sass @Jesus-is-me @tothestarsandwhateverend

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel series #azriel oneshot #azriel shadowsinger

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laurfilijames · 2 months

Text

Bulletproof

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Mentions of being shot through a bulletproof vest. Bruises and welts. Swearing. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: After a close call in a gunfight, Jax turns to you to remind him of all the things in life worth living for.

A/N: I'm sorry I couldn't help it. This is a teeny bit angsty and full of feelings. I needed to write something "short and sweet" (it's neither of those 🤣) to get my writing back on track, and well, here's this... enjoy!!

---

The buzz of your phone that sat on the nightstand beside your head woke you from a decent sleep, taking you a few minutes to register it was happening for real and not in a dream, a soft moan passing your lips as you reached over for it and hit the button to accept the call.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice groggy and unable to disguise your sleep, your eyes too heavy and blurred to have read on the screen who was on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me,” Jax’s voice registered in your ear, making you become a little more alert and sit up while running your hand over your hair.

“I’m on my way over,” he explained, his tone short and wired, like he was on edge or adrenaline was pumping through him.

Glancing over at the alarm clock, you simply agreed, not asking any questions, knowing if he was calling you and needing to see you at this hour that something more than just sex was on his mind.

The roar of his Harley came through before he hung up, and flinging the covers off while swinging your legs to the side of the bed, you did the same.

You walked through to the front door, wearing only his Reaper t-shirt that had become your nightly staple, flicking the bolt to unlock it as you leaned against the frame, peeling back the curtain that covered the small window to look out onto the dark street as if he would be rolling in any second despite him having just left to get there.

Letting your eyelids close, you continued to lean, wrapping your arms around yourself to try to keep some of the lingering warmth from your bed on your skin, partly hoping that Jax would be tired and ready for sleep when he arrived.

The familiar rumble of his engine sounded in the distance and grew louder with each second, and an automatic smile tugged at your lips, your heart picking up pace just as his motorcycle did to quicker close the gap between him and you.

You watched through the window, your fingers toying with the thin fabric as you held the curtain aside, seeing him roughly push down the kickstand with his white sneakers before quickly standing up and dismounting his bike, unfastening his helmet at the same time.

The way he was rushing made your pulse hammer, his deliberate strides a clear display of his desperation, and you opened the door for him before he blew through it and knocked it off its hinges, his expression a mix of frenzy and relief as his blue eyes landed on you.

Gloved hands gripped your cheeks roughly, pulling you into him equally as much as he pressed himself into you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so hard it stole your breath.

A slightly surprised gasp blew out of your mouth when he parted from you and gave you an opportunity to get air back into your lungs, your eyes searching his features with concern as you took in the sweat clinging to his reddened cheeks, his hair damp and darkened.

His chest rose and fell sharply, and tearing off his gloves, he raked his long fingers that held a home for his chunky rings through his messy tresses, exhaling a shaky breath as he looked down at the floor and then back up at you.

“Jax, what happened?”

He shook his head and chuckled falsely, pulling his bottom lip in his teeth before looking at you with what he must have thought was a convincing expression.

“I’m fine.”

His eyebrows sat high on his forehead and brought out the creases on it as he stared at you, and when you held his gaze almost challengingly, he blinked away the moisture that you caught building up in them and moved into you again, his sigh emptying out into your mouth as he kissed you slower this time, but with equal passion.

Your hands slipped up beneath his kutte, the heat of his skin pouring off of him as you rubbed his back in soothing motions, the act comforting yourself as much as it was him.

The familiar taste and smell of smoke assaulted your nose and transferred onto your tongue, knowing whatever stress he was under right now had caused him to light up one cigarette after the other to try to settle his nerves.

As your kiss faded out, Jax rubbed his nose against the side of yours, his breath hot on your cheek, the stickiness of his skin transferring onto yours.

He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing for a moment while he let his hands roam up over your bum and onto the small of your back, bringing your body even closer to his.

Swaying slightly on the spot, he nuzzled his face into yours even more, a moment of softness before he met your lips again, claiming you in another kiss that started slow and quickly increased in fervor.

His breathing became laboured, struggling to draw in enough air as he kissed you harder and with more desperation, his hands gripping at your flesh beneath his worn shirt.

You could feel his hard cock pressing into you as it strained against his jeans, making you rub yourself on it a couple of times with a teasing grind of your hips, your fingers moving down his stomach to work at the button and zipper while he shrugged out of his kutte.

It landed carelessly on the floor beside you, and you couldn’t mistake the slight wince on his face before it disappeared in his hoodie as he lifted his arms and pulled it over his head, immediately moving back to capture your lips again.

He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans, walking forward to force you back and further into your house, your hand rubbing him through his boxers before diving inside the waistband to take hold of his cock, stroking the hot, velvety skin of his length that made you moan into his mouth and him push harder on yours.

Both of you blindly made your way toward your bedroom, only pausing your kisses briefly to peel the white t-shirt that clung to his body off of him, your breath knocking out of you as he slammed you against the wall and began lifting the hem of the shirt still covering your body.

Once your naked form was available to him, he trailed his lips down your neck and along your collarbone while his hands smoothed all along your waist, one moving to your breasts where his fingers plucked one of your peaked nipples, the other traveling downward to slip between your legs.

“Jax…” you breathed, your tone needy and filled with lust, the sensation of his fingers entering and withdrawing from your slick hole making your eyes close and your head knock back on the drywall.

After losing yourself in ecstasy for a couple of minutes, you refocused, needing him more than ever, your thumbs hooking in the band of his boxers to tear them down his legs.

Jax took your hand and turned to lead you the short distance to your room, giving you a view of his back where your eyes were drawn to different spots of dark colouring that weren’t part of the ones that made up the large tattoo that covered almost all of it.

Peppered between the image of the Reaper and letters that spelled out ‘California’ were round bruises, his skin raised with welts, and your heart sank in realization of what had caused them; the impact of the bullets that had hit him unable to be disguised even with the protection of kevlar.

You instinctively reached out to lightly trace each one, counting three in total, a mix of emotions rushing through you that were half grateful and half terrified.

“I’m fine.” He repeated the same lie as before, glancing back at you as he paused in his steps and turned to face you.

You dove into him, wrapping your shaky arms around him to hug him so tight you didn’t care if it hurt, feeling his arms encase you in return and his lips press multiple times on the top of your head.

A sourness crept up your restricted throat, your guts twisting almost painfully at the thought of one of those bullets striking a place the bulletproof vest hadn’t been covering, and you frantically began kissing him everywhere you could reach, starting on his chest and making your way up his neck, your hands moving to cup his cheeks where your thumbs smoothed back and forth on his blond scruff. Your lips met again, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths as you transferred all your worry and grief into a display of love, his cock nudging at your core to remind you of what it was he needed right now.

The oncoming tears stung when you squeezed your eyelids together tightly, one slipping out and down your cheek as you retrained your focus on the feel of his tongue tangling with yours instead, the simplicity of needing to just be with him beginning to outweigh anything else.

You finally made it into your room, sitting on the bed and scooching yourself back to lay down with spread legs as he settled between them and sank overtop of you, continuing to kiss you with as much ardor that the skin around your mouth was already beginning to feel raw.

His knee pressed up on your thigh to guide it higher, spreading you out further as he covered your body completely with his, his fingers running along your scalp to send shivers across your skin.

You adjusted your hips, angling yourself to allow for his leaking head to push through your folds, lingering with just the tip of him inside you that somehow already made you feel full.

The skin on his back was tacky as you ran your hands gently up and down it, feeling his muscles flex as he began to move against you, his cock stretching you out inch by inch as he slowly pushed all the way in.

It was ironic; catching glimpses of the silver shell casing that hung from the chain around his neck in the light shining in through the window as it wagged and glided along your chest, filling the space between your hearts that hammered furiously and proved his vitality as if it hadn’t been threatened.

As soon as Jax had pulled into your driveway he felt better, the need to see you and be with you at the forefront of his mind, having bolted out of the clubhouse the minute he had changed out of his tac vest and clothes that were sprayed with holes from the gunshots he could still hear going off in his head.

Now that he had felt your lips against his and the softness of your skin beneath his palms, he was filled with an appreciation for you that he knew he took for granted too many times before, the relief he felt at being with someone who made him feel alive after a close call with death sobering him in a harsh bite of reality.

The way you made him feel was undeniable, giving him a vigor that was too often misplaced and diluted even though you showed him a brighter side to all the darkness that surrounded him, his lack of commitment to anyone but his club wrongly applicable even to you.

He thrusted harder into you, deepening his strokes as he peeled his mouth from yours to watch his cock pump in and out of you, the sound of your pleasure coming out in beautiful whimpers and soft moans while requesting more from him reiterating every reason why he came here tonight in the first place.

Jax dove against your lips again, needing to kiss you in order to stop himself from saying things that he feared may only be a result of how fucking scared he had been earlier, but deep down knowing the words that portrayed how he felt weren’t coming from a place of fear.

It felt different. Crazed and desperate and meaningful, the way he fucked you hinting at something more intent and unwavering than usual.

Sex with Jax was always mind-numbing and intense, but you never let yourself get too far into things knowing he could be gone before you even woke the next day and carrying on without thinking twice about it meaning anything more, his nonchalance always reminding you to take nothing from it other than pleasure.

Gone.

The potency of that little word had your eyes burning again, burrowing an emptiness in your chest that ached to be filled by anything he was generous enough to give.

There were never any labels put on what you were to each other or what this was, but the possibility of losing him at any moment made you desperate to show him what he meant to you, your fingers digging into the flesh on his upper arms so hard as if adding marks of your own on his body would make him stay with you forever.

You reached your face upward to press harder against his mouth, happy when he reciprocated and drove his tongue deeper inside yours, the long, rolling motions of his hips continuing, only now with more calculated force.

Heat bubbled within you, building up into that familiar tingle that taunted to be chased, every nerve in you warning of what drew nearer with each pump and drag of his long cock in and out of you.

The way his hands roamed your body in a calm, but needy way had your mind spinning, like the more he touched you the more it grounded and convinced him that he was still here to enjoy something this good; the gravity of today in no hurry to lose its effectiveness.

Jax paused for a moment, rubbing his hand over your forehead as he searched your eyes for permission or assurance or something more that scared even you, the sound of your panting breaths the only thing audible in the dark quiet of your room. He dipped down to brush your lips again, his scruff holding onto the sweat that had effectively coated every part of his body, lightly teasing with a softer kiss before resuming the purposeful tempo of his hips, the silence between you able to voice that you were both ready to find your high together.

Letting your bodies say what your words couldn't, you met his pace, grinding and rolling deliberately in time with him, the need to help him find his release with the use of your body seeming more important tonight than it ever had.

Jax gripped your face tightly, his fingers squeezing your jawline in an almost frantic way, groaning into your mouth desperately as a signal of his climax.

His thrusts never faltered, continuing to pound you while his hot cum filled you up in aggressive spurts, throwing you into your own orgasm as your clit rubbed against the coarse hairs on his groin. The feel of his cock sliding his thick seed in and out of you drew out your high, prolonging every blissful spark and shudder that tore through your body, the way his sweaty form laid heavily on top of yours a necessary weight that helped you stay rooted in the moment.

He remained buried inside you while you kissed, catching your breaths by sharing each other’s until he slipped from between your legs and crashed onto the covers beside you, his arm falling over his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

Despite having just been as close to him as you possibly could be, you felt a vacancy and longing for him, glancing over at him where you watched him close his eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly as he drew in sharp breaths.

His necklace fell to the side from where it rested on his pec, hanging in his armpit as he continued to breathe, and you carefully picked it up between your fingers, the silver cold against them and a stark contrast to the heat that radiated off his body.

Even though his eyes remained closed, you couldn’t mistake the pained look on his face, a sort of fear and vulnerability that was rare to see on his features, his mortality shattering the usual invincibility that was layered on falsely by his cockiness.

Your chest felt tight, watching him let everything the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling earlier course through him, and you leaned over and traced your fingertips along the creases beside his mouth before pressing your lips to his, relieved when he didn’t hesitate to kiss you back.

His arms came down to wrap around you, pulling your body to rest more on top of his, his hands carding over your back in a comfortable, soothing way.

You couldn’t recount the times sex with Jax had turned into a quick goodbye between smiling kisses and promises to see each other soon only to have days turn into weeks, convincing yourself and him that this was nothing more than a casual, fun fuck, having to disguise the way your heart ached for him and how many butterflies erupted at the mention of his name alone.

None of that mattered tonight, no longer caring if you let your cards show, the severity of tonight outweighing any need to try to stifle your feelings or bother denying that you felt more for him than you ever intended to let happen.

Jax remained pensive and quiet, his boisterous self clouded by his brush with a graver fate, but with the occasional kiss to the top of your head and the way his heartbeat had steadied in your ear, you knew he was comforted in your embrace.

As you laid entwined in your sheets, your leg hooked over his waist while he held your hand and played with your fingers, interlacing them and listlessly running them through his, you thought how you would never be able to control or guarantee if he would be yours to love forever, the way he lived his reckless life a threat to any sort of assurance.

A soft smile tugged at your lips when Jax shifted slightly lower on the bed to line up your face with his, kissing you slowly and clutching your hand in his where he brought it into his chest.

His nose rubbed against yours a couple of times before he settled his head on your pillow, a quiet hum sounding from his mouth, his blue eyes shining with a vitality and promise that for at least another day, he was yours.

---

Please consider reblogging and commenting if you enjoyed reading this story! 💗

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @rhoorl

#jax teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller smut #jax teller x female reader #charlie hunnam #jax teller x reader #sons of anarchy fic #charlie hunnam characters #jax teller fic #samcro

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nekooru · 11 months

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₊ ☾⋆ tripede boys cuddle hcs ⋆⁺₊⋆

vash. wolfwood. knives.

synopsis: some cute lil cuddle hcs for the tripede boys!!

tags: trigun stampede, headcanons, cuddling, cute, fluff, short hc drabbles, knives is just a teeny tiny bit angsty

w/c: 1149

a/n: yep yep been wanting to post some tripede for a whilee

headcanon

˙⋆⁺₊⋆.

vash

☾. vash will cuddle you in every method virtually possible, most of the time adapting to whatever position you're already in. are you sitting up on a flat surface? he's on his stomach, laying between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist as his head rests in your lap. laying down? most of the time, he wiggles against you to be the little spoon, but will be the big spoon every once in a while. in a chair? is there room beside you? if so, he'll lean against your side and drape an arm over your shoulder. no room? he picks you up, sits down, and places you in his lap. vash will always find a way to be attached to you.

☾. just out of politeness, he'll sheepishly laugh and ask if he's invading your space. he prays to whatever is out there for you to reply that he's not, and when you affirm that he's not, he gets a burst of energy and squeezes you tightly in elation. if you say that he is, in fact, too much in your space, he immediately separates and apologizes. although he tries to hide it, his disappointment is apparent as he childishly sulks for a minute before his mood improves again.

☾. while you're cuddling, he loves nothing more than to hear you talk about anything and everything. he encourages you to talk about your day, dreams for your future, and anything else that comes to mind. he moves his thumb in circles over your skin as he stares lovingly, a light smile gracing his lips. you pause every so often at his dreamy expression to make sure he's still listening, and he always is.

☾. you run your fingers through his fluffy, blond hair as he tightens his hold around your waist. you note how the fingers of his prosthetic arm feel cold through your shirt, and inversely, his real fingers feel warm against your other side. his eyes are closed, and his chest heaves with each breath; you wonder if he fell asleep. the plant patterns on his face vaguely glow in the light at his comfort, and you can't help but softly touch them with your finger tips. vash's eyes slowly half open, and you retract your hand quickly. he smiles. "hey... do you think they're weird?" you blink, considering the question. "huh? your markings? i don't know, i think they're pretty." his smile widens and he exhales, touched by your answer. "not as pretty as you, though," he replies.

wolfwood

☾. despite all his complaining about how his arm is falling asleep, wolfwood's favorite cuddle position is laying in bed on his back with you curled against his chest, nestled in the crook of his arm.

☾. he secretly loves your before-bed zoomies, when you have the sudden burst of energy to pester him. a thin grin spreads across his lips as he provokes you into initiating a wrestling match, which he entertains for several moments, before showing you just how strong nicholas the punisher was. "that's not fair," you would whine as he rubs his rough, scruffy facial hair against your cheek. "yeah, well. life isn't fair, sweetheart," he replies.

☾. wolfwood wasn't often the type for late night conversations. he finds himself dozing off as you talk about whatever you're talking about; it's not for a lack of appreciation, but moreso a deep comfort from laying with you that hypnotizes him, lulls him into sleep. as a guttural snore cuts through your words, you jostle wolfwood awake, offended. "you fell asleep while i was talking," you scold. wolfwood will endlessly insist that he did not, in fact, fall asleep.

☾. one night, after you had told wolfwood that you were staying the night at a friend's, you decided to come home anyway. you slipped into the bedroom, feeling your way to your side of the bed, only to promptly fall against metal. you groaned as the collision echoed throughout the room. "nicholas!! you were cuddling with your cross?!" wolfwood groggily raises his head up as you sandwich yourself between the headboard and cross, pushing against the latter with all your might. it didn't even budge. "it's hard to sleep without you," he mutters, grabbing the cross and effortlessly swinging it over the edge of the bed to gently place on the floor. your frustration melted away the second he turned back over and pulled you against him.

knives

☾. more often than not, you'll have to be the one to initiate cuddling with knives as he lays up in bed reading, or at the very least, ask him to cuddle you. he loves you dearly, but he forgets that physical affection is a thing that exists. when prompted to cuddle, he'll reflect for a moment to analyze whether he's been giving you enough affection lately or not. "i'm sorry. i need to initiate these things more," he says, wrapping his arm along your side and holding your chin. you smile and and run your thumb over his frown. "don't worry so much," you reply.

☾. he loves to envelop you entirely; he places his hand firmly against the back of your head as you nestle in the crook of his neck, and his other arm presses your body tightly against his. his leg rests over yours, and your hands are against his chest. sometimes, he plants a kiss against your hair. you feel safe as his larger form curls around you, and he feels at peace in your presence.

☾. knives admittedly isn't the best at relationships or knowing exactly what will make you feel happy. he often asks for feedback, what he could do better, or if there's anything new he could try. although, he hates that he has to ask these things in order to understand— knives isn't used to concepts that don't come naturally to him, and he wants to be the best he can for you right away. no matter how much you reassure him, you can tell he feels inadequate as a significant other anyway.

☾. he scowls, although not in anger, but more like intense focus. his lips part to say something, but close for several moments, and open again. "thank you..." he begins, considering his words very carefully. "thank you for being so patient with me. i know i'm— i'm... different. and still learning. thank you for letting me be with you." his face softens as his sentence finishes, and he looks at you. you smile and hold his face in your hands; the fact that knives feels safe enough to express such vulnerability warms you to your core. "nai. i don't want anything in the world other than to be with you. you make me so happy, and you treat me so well, okay? i hope you'll always remember that." he bows his head, leaning into your hold, eventually melting against you in an embrace.

˙⋆⁺₊⋆.

☾. like/reblog if you enjoyed the story !

masterlist: x

#trigun stampede #vash the stampede #nicholas the punisher #wolfwood #millions knives #vash #tripede #trigun stampede headcanons #trigun stampede fanfic #vash fluff #trigun stampede hcs #trigun stampede x reader #vash x reader #wolfwood x reader #knives x reader #i can fix knives i can fix him i can fix him i can fix

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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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ratzquantum · 5 months

Text

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

— a teeny tiny bit angsty but big fluffy peeta mellark x reader blurb

mornings waking up next to peeta still feel a little uneasy after the rebellion. fortunately, you know just how to fix that.

the mornings were always difficult, especially when every morning was a different surprise. sometimes it felt like finally reaching the top of a tall mountain, then other times you felt like the mountain. he treated you like some barrier, a big obstacle. it was not a practice either of you had wanted to fall into—though you were also aware it could not have been avoided.

the fried egg you had been tampering with sizzled between two crusted bread buns. butter oozed off of the sides, dripping into a puddle of gooey, leftover residue. the egg's edges had been trimmed (burned) to a crisp, toasty brown. it definitely smelled good, even if the image itself looked shriveled and overcooked. peeta would enjoy the thought you put into the food, that enough was guaranteed. but everything about that idea in itself bothered you.

ever since peeta was rescued; ever since peeta was abysmally brought back to his conscience, food had lost its taste and peeta had lost his touch. peeta had lost much that he could not recover, but specifically his baker's touch. it was as if the capitol had drained him of his joys—his skills and prides—just because they wanted to. you despised it. baking was one of the easiest crafts, and they took that from him because it entertained them.

you baked bread for peeta because he could no longer bake on his own. you baked breakfast and dessert for peeta to recoup old emotions he hesitated to feel. even so, it bothered you that your baking was never good enough to bring back peeta's bubbly laugh; the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled deep enough. never good enough to rid peeta of that long, distant stare; the ache in his muscles; the gentle shake in his fingers when they engulfed your own.

you plated the fried egg sandwich atop the cool white kitchen countertop and reached up to release the window shades in front of you. rays of sunlight dripped into the room, glimmering off of the eggy-residue. if he did not enjoy the food today, especially after you managed to not burn the whole egg to a crisp, you might as well faint there and then.

the sun gave way to speckles of dust in the air, peppering the house with that unusual feeling of 'comfort'. you were never too sure of what the meaning of home was, but sometimes you could believe you were living in it now.

you ambled your way past the sun, past the dust, and through a small hallway into the bedroom you shared with peeta. the door was partially opened from your escape earlier, revealing the crumpled bedsheets on your side of the bed. you nudged the door open further with your foot. blonde tuffs shed themselves from behind heavy sheets. a smile seeped into the cracks of your lips. his nightmares were subsiding.

the fried egg sandwich was abandoned on a nearby dresser. you were clambering into bed beside peeta without any hesitation, leaving the lights dim and the sheets scattered. his warmth had found yours and engulfed you whole.

your arms stretched out to meet peeta's waist, fingers digging gently into his loose shirt to draw him back to you. he let out a soft groan, eyebrows deepening at the sudden movement. cloth tangled between your fingers as you lifted his shirt just enough to press two fingers against the low end of his back. peeta shifted against your chest, murmuring a ghostly whisper.

"y/n?" his lashes fluttered open as your fingers tenderly kneaded his back, massaging circles into his skin. his lips parted to sigh deeply in response to your touch. your fingers traced along his spine, soothing his woes. peeta's head fell back and bumped into your forehead, earning him a soft giggle.

"breakfast is ready," you cooed, planting a kiss on the back of his head.

peeta hummed dejectedly, turning over his shoulder to face you. "told you not to make me breakfast anymore," he huffed. his face painted his voice, squinted eyes and crinkled brows gazing at yours.

it did not take more than a minute for you to change his mind. his eyes found your unchanging smile, and those sullen wrinkles softened up.

"but you won't stop, real or not real?" he whispered, a brief chuckle paired with the usually solemn question. your eyes glimmered against his stare as he drowsily smiled at you.

"real."

you reached the top of a particularly lucky mountain this morning.

#peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games #reader #drabble #reader insert #peeta mellark #peeta x reader #fluff #angst #fanfiction #the hunger games imagine #imagine #blurb #thg

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doomsday-dj · 3 days

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Yo. Bestie. Do you have any Rizzles author recommendations for me??

You have cruelly seduced me into this teeny-tiny-weeny fandom and now I have galloped my way through (almost) all of your brilliant body of work I am cast adrift and quickly finding out that "sort by kudos" simply does not bring up the goods here...

Help a gay out?

Oh fuck yeah, bestie. Yes. Do I ever!! I am about to WEAR OUT the link function. But before the recommendations: aw shucks and thank you and all that. Your comments this week have been a highlight. I'm sorry to have dragged you into this but hopefully this post makes up for it! I've been dabbling in some other fandoms lately, ones with a LOT of fics, and there's a lot of great writers out there, but I have to say that especially relative to how many fics there are, there's an outrageous amount of good writers who have written Rizzles.

Okay! So disclaimer that I’ve had a really ungodly amount of coffee today so if this is a little on the “un” side of hinged then I apologize. I am definitely gonna be REAL effusive. I was silly and shy about leaving comments and kudos when I first got on AO3 and now I make up for those crimes by being unabashedly keen.

I have gone and sorted by kudos (and, sidenote, discovered that I'm in the top 30????) and before I get to the under-appreciated bangers, I will say that plenty of my faves feature in the first two pages of sort by kudos (though their most kudosed work is almost never my fave one). Here I’m thinking of coolbyrne, @julieverne, DanteBeatrice77. All of these authors are awesome.

Also, amongst the highly kudosed works, Attachment by @performativezippers is a classic for in the fandom for good reason (and their Bachelor AU is a romp) and law of the lever by sharkfights is one of my favourites all time.

As for the other stuff, what do you WANT out of your fic, bestie?

You want the feelings? You want the beautifully written feelings? @ladyriot has got feelings FOR DAYS. If you want some one shots that will take you apart and put you back together, you’ve come to the right place. Good feelings, angsty feelings, all the feelings you need. My favourite is Let Our Hands Tell the Story but I recommend all of them. Mostly it's one shots but the one complete multi-chapter fic, Transference, is CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED. Less than 200 kudos?! Fuck all the way off. I don’t know if it’s because it’s an AU or if it’s because of the doctor/patient element but unless that’s a trigger, I promise you it it’s handled very artfully and also it’s fucking fiction and no patient’s rights were violated in the making of this fic. Oh and put your ink on my skin 'til it comes off on me is both devastating and stupid hot.

Haven’t had enough feelings?? Take your insufficiently battered heart over to @sideadde’s work. I especially like Who Needs Two Kidneys When Another Heart Can Be Had? and Immersion Therapy.

You want a big meaty casefic you can sink your teeth into?? Domini_porter’s CMYK is so goddamn good. The smutty chapters in this one are just...chef's kiss. Among my favourites all time. I am also entirely obsessed with their Victorian AU, which deserves more attention. Also if you want some crack-your-chest-open-and-pull-out-your-guts angst go alllll the way back to their first fics on AO3.

OH. @kurtsvonneslut too. I think and you cooled my mind that burned with longing is probably my favourite post-finale type fic, bit of an AU with some major canon changes. They also have an excellent picking-up-from-the-Jane-and-Maura-season-2/3-break-up casefic, A Crime of Passion, and they wrote a devastating exploration of PTSD that just...oooof.

God, I could really just keep going and going. And this is just on AO3!!! I feel like I could do a whole part two of this that's just flagging all the best stuff that's back on ff.net. I might have to because this is already really long. But I'm stopping for now. Thanks for the BEST ASK.

*dramatic stage whisper* psssst do you want smut? I feel like I could also do a whole post on smut alone. Maybe later.

Note: I’ve tagged authors if their tumblr name is the same as their ao3 name, because I assume they’re okay with being found. If any of you would like to be untagged from the post just DM me and I’ll do that lickety split.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #rizzles fanfic #rizzoli and isles fanfiction #ask doomsday #love nothing more than talking fanfic #DM or ask me for recommendations ANY TIME

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