#but its such nonsensical crack shit like how could i | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lorebite · 1 year ago

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HERO OF THE DAY | L.K

↳ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: being an anti-B.O.W agent has never been easy; and you more than anyone else know how lonely it can get in this line of living. However, what you didn't expect was to have your heart stirred when you set eyes upon one Leon Kennedy - the newest recruit. ↳ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fem reader. cursing. 2 part smut; voyeurism, implied masturbation, handjob, switchy vibes. some sweet gentle love making, Leon cumming too quickly bc he's too fucking sensitive (i swear, i couldn't resist it 😩), age gap relationship (younger man x older woman), reader is Leon's CO, pet names used for reader: Lieutenant, miss, sweetheart, honey. very subtly implied depression, PTSD and sducidal ideations, rookie!Leon. ANGST (beware. i mean it) but also some sweet, sweet fluff. reader is a smoker. mutual pining (kinda?). idiots in love (or lust?). reader shows questionable behaviors at times. title is taken from a Metallica song by the same name. this fic is a prequel to my return to ashes fic but it can totally be read as a standalone as well. in this universe, Sherry Birkin and Jack Krauser don't exist cos i think it makes better sense for this fic that way. very inaccurate depiction of military training and whatnot. also, terribly OOC.

In the beginning, the whispers were overbearing. Nonsensical. Rare was a time a new recruit managed to cause such a stir at the base. And this was even long before those sweet eyes became a constant presence amongst the rest.

You were vexed. Much more you cared to admit even to yourself. Leon Kennedy – this fresh-faced ex cop who witnessed the hell that was unleashed upon Raccoon City. You were certainly empathetic; having the unfortunate title of a walking hoard of scarring memories yourself, you held significant regards for the young man. And besides that, most recruits hadn’t the first clue about the horrors of your shared reality.

However, you found it very hard to close your eyes to his bold antics. The same way every other one of his superiors – your colleagues – seemed to do.

A real troublemaker, this boy. Not that you have ever caught him in his roguery. But you knew. That face was telling enough on its own; the permanent look of mischief in his eyes and the faint quirk of his lips that made it seem as though he was always up to no good. And of course, word was always quick to spread around the base of all the shit he liked to do.

This boy had been caught out after the curfew one too many times; and for what goddamn reason each time, you could only wonder. You have seen him, multiple times, being dragged by the ear to someone’s office many early mornings. And you had to admit, he still had quite the mouth on him despite the number of troubles he got himself into. You were only grateful to have never been the one to deal with his shit, your patience too little to put up with such behavior.

But it didn’t help that he was one of your combat trainees. And those times offered a glimpse into the cracks of his well-behaved façade. He always made sure to stand ahead of everyone in the training field – just within your line of sight where he could have your undivided attention. And he knew he had it. Fully and completely. It was easily impossible for you to ignore the way his clear eyes glittered in the sunlight or how his hair glowed like molten gold. And he knew all of that.

Even during partnered practices – those times when you treaded between the rows of trainees – those were when he truly shined. He would deliver his blows a little bit harder, grunt a little bit louder, or boast more self-righteously to his opponent. Just to draw your eyes to him every time you walked past him. It was as if he’d made it his days’ mission to pester you until you snapped. Because, obviously, you couldn’t punish him for just being a cocky showoff, could you?

Now, to you, this wasn’t some peculiar behavior. You were used to becoming the currency for the attention slot of the younger men at the base. You were a hardened, experienced agent after all. An exceptionally talented yet young lieutenant with enough wins to your name to make an average man quiver in his shell just from your mere presence. The bonus factor was your incredible physic and a pretty face to go with which never failed to make heads turn. Therefore, very few and far in between were the times you were openly disrespected and many were for the recruits to seek your praise.

However, often times, you spared no more than a few curt words of affirmation to your trainees; which you were confident they lapped up like starved puppies. It was entirely out in the open and this was also why you weren’t a stranger to being at the receiving end of your coworkers’ relentless teasing. You only imagined this to become even worse if it ever got out that you were involved with one of the recruits.

But with Leon, it was different. With him, everything was different. He forced you to notice him even when you deliberately intended otherwise. It was too easy for him to walk up to you and gather enough courage to touch your shoulder when he threw his head back and laughed at your dry humor or palm the small of your back to guide you through a door. Almost as if he was driven by this quenchless greed to have your eyes on him at all times and envy when you didn’t.

You could only wonder where you went wrong with him.

Because it was sorely pathetic. Truly. The stupidly large smile that would part his face into two upon the simplest words of praise out of your mouth was comical. And perhaps, on your better days, you found it endearingly entertaining.

That was until your suspicions were proven correct. You had believed for long enough now that Leon Kennedy was nothing but a troublemaker and soon, you came to see for yourself why.

It was just another restless night for you; a regular one that fell into the damning familiarity of blood curdling nightmares, riddled with a crippling fear that trapped you within your shell and gripped your throat until it decided to let you go. The cruel souvenir of your missions and endless reminder of all you left behind and not.

You woke soaked to skin with cold sweat, heart pounding painfully fast against your ribcage. You were still at the base in that shoebox you called your room. You were safe. You tried to remind yourself as your thoughts shifted to overdrive. Fast and unyielding.

Moonlight filtered through the small window overhead, shedding columns of dancing shadows across the floor. You couldn’t let yourself just sit there and wallow in the darkness. You needed a distraction. So, you grabbed your lighter and a packet of cigarette and wandered out into the halls of the base in hopes of tiring yourself out enough to go back to bed for another hour of sleep.

But you had only made it to the mess hall when you heard it.

Moaning. Giggling. They were hushed and cautioned but they were definitely there. It made your pulse leap and your hand freeze on the double doors leading into the kitchen once you turned one last corner. Your cigarette sat loosely between your lips as a trail of potent smoke flitted out into the air. This was beyond your fucking pay grade.

Hell, you didn’t believe you could recognize it but you did – the piercing tone of Leon’s voice was unmistakable. He was the loudest of the two, his small hoarse whines hitching every time his body thudded gently against the wall. Holy shit, you nearly blurted out; your eyes finally finding him in the darkness. His arms were pinned by his head, a nameless face buried in the crook of his neck and fuck if he didn’t look gorgeous like that.

You should’ve just turned around and walked away. You knew you should’ve. You should’ve resisted. But your brain failed to make that very simple command to your body. It instead flooded you with vivid thoughts of all you couldn’t see when you ducked back behind the corner of the wall, igniting a rebellious flame that quickly engulfed you whole. You stood there rooted to your spot, obtusely searching in the darkness as your ears rang with the shameless cacophony of pleasure.

What the fuck am I doing? That remaining sliver of rationale screamed in your head, the burning heat of your cigarette creeping dangerously close to your lips. You were trembling, breaths labored, your one hand against the double doors clenched into a fist.

It had been too fucking long. You were smothered in work and work and more work. Taking something for yourself, just for your own plain indulgence was never an option. Or rather, you never left the room for that option to grow. Now you were loitering – cowering in the dark, listening to your bratty trainee get fucked into the wall while you ached and questioned everything you once stood for. Really. What were you doing?

You bridled at your newfound vulnerability in such a darned situation. So, you turned on your heels and hurried back to your room. Insomnia be damned. You had a throbbing need to nurse now.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered begrudgingly to yourself as soon as your back turned to the closed door of your room, fingers pressing ardently over your exhausted eyes. “Fuck. That was—”

But you shook your head, not allowing yourself to give anymore voice to your racing thoughts as you slipped back in your cot, twisting yourself in the thin white bedsheet and scolding your own misbehaving mind.

But too long. It had been just too long. You’d almost forgotten you harbored all these emotions deep inside that cavity which was meant to hold your heart. Years and years of working yourself like a machine finally collapsing to bits over your head. Why did it have to take him for you to realize? Why this?

And maybe one of these days, you’d curse yourself for it. But right now, you were brimmed full with want and it didn’t take long for your fingers to slide between your thighs and seek release to the filthy thoughts of that same recruit you’d sworn yourself off of. Oh, how shameful indeed. But this was your reality now.

Weeks after that night were hellish. Purely torturous. You could no longer be around Leon and not be reminded of that mouthwatering image of his fucked-out face burned in the back of your mind and the memory of what you did with it; as much as it made a gnawing guilt rise like a choking lump up your throat.

Leon’s goal to claim your attention was ever set in stone. And now, he intended to plant the seed of desire in you as well. Or perhaps, this was probably just you. You were almost convinced you were deluding yourself. But ignoring your newly budded suspicions offered very little resolution. Because you couldn’t ignore him. Not once did he yield his ways.

His touches had become more constant and lingering. His eyes practically two devouring maws downing you in one gulp. He only needed to open his mouth and he would dig a hole for your resolve to lie in. Yes, Lieutenant. Right away, Lieutenant. The way his tongue rolled around your title, and the way his voice swooped into a low melodious hum whenever he spoke it made your pulse race every damn time. The obedience and politeness a stark contrast to the devilish look on his face.

It was indeed infuriating the level of power he seemed to hold over you now. It was as though your places had been swapped. You were now at his mercy – of what he found frustratingly entertaining at your expense.

And finally, one late afternoon, his advances became much more targeted.

Mere minutes. That was all it took after your training ended for him to come barging into the changing room. You were only dressing back into your uniform when the door creaked open. You looked over your shoulder long enough to see Leon stepping in before you turned back around.

“Trainees aren’t allowed in here.” You commented flippantly. Though you didn’t believe that was enough to convince him to leave. He hardly ever sought you out privately like this so it had to be important. “And you forget how to knock?”

“I need to talk to you, Lieutenant.”

You hummed, sliding your fingers beneath the straps of your leather harness as you turned around to finally face the young man, brushing off the warm jolt of your heart upon hearing your title from his mouth again.

His eyes trailed the movement of your fingers donning your gloves. Those strong, deadly hands who were the despair of many enemies. He wondered how gently you’d take to him if you had the chance, burying such care and tenderness into his skin that could make him melt in your arms. The mere thought of it was making his knees grow weak.

It took him a moment before he offered a hurried salute, a furious blush fanning across his cheeks. You bit your lip as it forced to twist into a playful, knowing smile.

“I think I might need some help with my—with my form.”

You arched a brow. Leon didn’t need help. He was the golden boy. Any recruit would be damn lucky to possess a shred of his prowess. But you decided to humor him nevertheless.

“But you’re acing all your trials. What’s the problem?”

And there it was. That charmed grin that broke upon his face immediately at your remark. An amused smirk finally tugged at the corner of your mouth as you waited for whatever excuse he was going to come up with, his intention growing quickly evident to you.

“More training never hurt—right?”

Your smirk widened. “You mean you’re not sick of it, yet?”

A small smile ghosted over his lips, his eyes growing soft with fondness as he cocked his head. It made the hair bristle on the back of your neck, taken off guard by the sheer delicateness of his behavior.

“I could never get sick of you, Miss.”

“That’s the spirit, rookie.” You sat a gentle hand on his shoulder and his eyes flickered down to where it touched him. Your crooked smile returned to your lips. “But don’t worry. I’ll push you so much you’ll be begging for it to stop. There’re still months away from your first mission.”

“You really think I can make the cut?”

“Depends how bad you want to become throwaway meat.” You snarked, scoffing a laugh.

Leon frowned and the cold pinprick of realization of your own words swept over your face. Perhaps it was too soon to start talking to an overeager recruit about the indefinite lows of being an agent. You didn’t know anything about his motivations or what he really believed he was going to get out of this decision that begged a lifelong commitment. But then again, he, of all people, had to know what the future held for him… right?

“Listen—” You breathed out a sigh, squeezing his shoulder fondly before letting go. “Let’s focus on getting you through the rest of your trials first. One step at a time, hmm?”

He gave a slow nod, fingers clasping in front of him, wringing and fidgeting. The conversation seemed to be over now but he remained there, lips flickering wordlessly as if he wanted to speak yet again.

“What is it? You wanna say something?” You prompted.

Leon began chewing his lip, immediately drawing your gaze to his mouth. You swallowed dryly as you drank in the tempting pink of his plump skin turning white under the assault of his teeth. Your mind instinctively wandered to the sweetness of his mouth upon yours, the warmth, the delicious moans he would utter against your lips. Fuck, snap out of it, you chastised yourself.

“Well—you know how none of the other trainees can keep up with me.” He started, cheeks endearingly flushed red, breath stuttering when you stepped closer to him. “You’re the best around here and I know you can take very good care of me.”

Even though he was peering down at you, that mischievous look on your face didn’t fail to make his heart stagger. As if you could see right through him. And of course, why wouldn’t you be able to? A woman of your caliber had her fair share of admirers. He for one knew what the boys in the barracks whispered about you when the lights were off. Hell, he was sure even some of your colleagues had the eyes for you. And to say that made him jealous was laughably undeserving of its true nature.

“I know one on one training with you would do me good.” He smiled. “And maybe you, too. I’m sure you’re aching to get your fists on something.” He tilted his head to the side, gaze burning deep into yours. “I’d offer myself.”

You tossed your head back and laughed. It wasn’t cruel but sure as hell, it carried a hint of condescendence. There was a reason you refused to get on the training field with the rest of the recruits. After sweeping the legs from under one of the boys when he pestered you about ‘not enough hands on experience with a pro’, none of them dared to challenge you again. The memory of it was still fresh and yet, here Leon was making the same request to you.

“I like your ambition, rookie.” Your voice tapered into a low giggle; so seductive in tone, it woke goosebumps on his skin. “It’s adorable.”

He bit the corner of his lip before quickly letting go. It made your eyes trace back to his mouth again and he suppressed a smile. Two can play at a game, Lieutenant, he thought. All the cards were on the table. Weakness after weakness. This was a fair but draining fight, an aggressive push and pull that could only end with one side going against the currents. And it seemed as though you were both playing to make the other lose first.

“Please, Lieutenant. I really need your help. I’d do anything.”

He pleaded so longingly; it made warmth flutter dangerously low in your belly. Those round eyes and wet plump lips were your forbidden fruit. His hair looked so silky and soft; it gripped you with temptation to grab a fistful of it and pull without mercy until he was reduced to nothing but a whining, pathetic mess.

You smirked. “Then meet me after dinner at the gym. I might take you up on that.”

Leon was the first to make it later that evening. He had leapt from his seat as soon as he ate his last spoonful to head for the cramped indoor gym just across the mess hall. Adrenaline had already begun scorching under his skin and he hadn’t even seen you, yet.

His mind roiled with the thoughts of being in your proximity; to have your fingers touch him and your warmth caress him. To have your pinpoint focus on him and only him. Those simple thoughts excited him more than it probably should’ve and he quickly found himself adjusting the front of his pants and palming himself with a vexed heave of a grunt, desperately trying to tame the hardness growing just under the fabric. He flinched when he heard the double doors flutter open.

“Miss.” He quickly turned in your direction, fingers touching his temple in salute. “You’re early.”

Your hands were stuffed inside your pockets and a small smile adorned your face. The bitter tang of tobacco burned his nose as soon as you were close. You had just come from a fresh smoke, he could tell. Strange. He was just now starting to realize he’s actually smelt that somewhere before. Not just around the base and at the training field where he usually caught you with a cigarette between your lips but… somewhere specific.

“You know those stuff will kill ya.” He commented and you merely hummed, the sentiment not fully sinking in. He waved a hand at you. “I saw you start your second pack just earlier.”

You shrugged. “We all have our vices.”

Vices, vices. Of course. Though faded it was, the memory was slowly coming back to him; the vast darkness of the mess hall, a silence ruptured by the voice of his own desperation. And that familiar smell. Humiliation quickly reared its fanged mouth to sneer at him.

“Let me see your hands.”

Leon offered his white wrapped fingers and you took them carefully into your palm, turning them and eyeing the handiwork before unlacing the white strips to fix the looseness around his thumbs. Your attention drew to the furiously red scabs on his knuckles as they revealed themselves and you frowned.

“I better not hear you’ve been overdoing your training.”

He didn’t respond. His eyes followed your strong arms as they finished his wraps before stepping away to shoulder off your jacket and hang it over one of the machines. You turned to him with a cocked brow, gaze expectant as you rolled your white sleeves up to your forearms, leather-clad fingers shining under the ceiling lights.

“You—you were there that night, weren’t you?” Leon croaked; his throat uncomfortably dry as he swallowed.

Your eyebrows twisted into another frown. At first, you were confused but the deep red of his face was all the explanation you needed to make your pulse throb in your ears. Leon scoffed impatiently, his entire body growing visibly tense as he threw an accusatory finger at you.

“Don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about. That—that fucking cigarette smell.” His head trembled as if he meant to shake it but couldn’t manage enough strength to do it. “I knew I recognized it. I smelt it on that night, too.”

You opened your mouth to protest but words failed to come to your aid. You only stole your gaze from him and pinned it to the ground.

“Why didn’t you stop me then?

“It was none of my business.” You met his eyes again, your hands curling into loose fists in a futile attempt to steady yourself as your entire body began to quiver. The look Leon gave you was enough to let you know he didn’t really believe your excuse. “You’re upset I didn’t? It’s not too late. I can still write you up.”

“You were watching me.”

Your fists gripped painfully tight, the velvety leather squeaking from the pressure, teeth gritting as you felt your resolution quickly ebb.

“Is that why you kept it to yourself this whole time?”

“That’s enough.”

Leon nearly recoiled at the cutting look of pure fury in your eyes. His lips fluttered but he couldn’t find the words to speak, his face tingled with the cold wash of embarrassment.

“Are you done running your goddamn mouth, Kennedy?”

He bit his lip. “Yes, Miss.”

“Good. Now give me ten laps around the posts.”

He choked down the complaints burning on the tip of his tongue, defeatedly making his way to the nearest column. He could see you in his periphery as he readied himself; arms crossed tightly over your chest, the worn look on your face replaced by one of contempt. You weren’t trying to run away so that had to amount to something. This was a conversation to be had later. He was going to make sure of it.

You weren’t paying much attention to him once he began; Leon could clearly see it every time he ran past you. You stared off into the distance, only occasionally raising your head to announce the number of the laps he finished. He resented the heft of the silence that weighed down between you, the tension that seemed to be winding only tighter and tighter. The stinging in his legs were slowly fueling his frustration the longer he went on and he was nowhere near done.

“Why are you doing this?” He grunted as he circled you once again, his eyes only fleeting over the vacant look on your face. “Are you really that fucking scared to talk about it?”

You were scared. Very much so, in fact. Underneath the stern, hard mask you’d donned sat the trembling frame of a simple woman stewing in the barrage of her own harsh reality. You were already riddled with the shame of all that you have done in the confinement of your own privacy but Leon continued to dig at your core, persisting to exhume the emotions you tucked away behind a veil of indifference and authority.

Your arms gripped themselves more firmly across your chest, pushing yourself to ignore the distance that was shrinking between you as he progressively tightened the circles he ran around you. Your nails hooked themselves in your flesh, teeth gritting nervously.

“I just want to talk.” His voice came from behind you this time. He spoke so gently, it gripped at your heart. “I’m not upset. I just—” You felt the warmth of his hand caress the crook of your neck, carefully urging you to turn around. “I just want closure.”

You remained steadfast to stay very still, afraid to meet those bright eyes again, fearful of how terribly your own body might betray you. You merely offered a small glance over your shoulder.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

His fingers slipped down your arm, his body nearly pressing to your back. You could feel his all too welcoming heat embrace you like a cocoon, the gentle waft of his breaths over the shell of your ear. The closeness was enough to make you feel light on your feet. He sounded much more annoyed when he spoke again.

“I, on the other hand, think there’s a shit ton to talk about. So, turn around and look at me when I speak to you.”

You did. You spun slowly on your heels and finally faced him. His lovely face was crumpled. He looked utterly defeated. Debilitating shame began nipping at your heart again. Had you only stayed away that night – had you resisted temptation and did the only right thing.

“I asked you a question.” He demanded with a heavy frown, his grip turning iron tight on your arm and you stifled a grimace.

You didn’t have it in you to be honest but at the same time, you couldn’t find the will to spit a lie straight to his face. Your features distorted into a scowl to match the one on his, teeth clenched and bared through an ugly snarl. What you did next shocked even yourself.

Leon didn’t see the fist flying towards his face in time and he stumbled back before he could retaliate, releasing your arm to catch himself against the column behind him. His eyes were wide and disbelieved; a hand plastered to the rapidly blossoming flush on his cheek.

“I’m still your superior, Kennedy.” You growled. “You fucking respect me.”

A smirk, though faint, formed at his lips as he straightened himself. “Right now, you’re nothing but a desperate little coward to me. And since you’re too damn afraid to admit it—” He cocked his head, his glittering eyes hiding in the shadow of his unkempt fringe. “I’ll say it for you. You were there that night. I know because I smelt you.”

You stalked closer to him and in that instance, Leon suddenly felt truly unnerved. You no longer looked at him as if he were just a cocky recruit trying to get under your skin. You looked at him like a predator on a prowl, claws brandished to slash. Your shoulders were stiff and straight, your heels echoing menacingly in his ears as you walked closer towards him.

“You better shut your mouth before I shut it for you.” You said, low and deep, eyes twinkling dangerously. It made goosebumps rouse on his skin but he held his ground.

“You’re fucking pathetic.”

He knew very well he was playing with fire. He’d never seen you look so furious. So terrified. You were visibly shaking, furrowed brows twitching above your narrowed eyes – a cornered wounded wolf. That was what you were now. You were driven by anger or impatience and both were equally petrifying; the brilliant solider had leapt forth to project unto you.

“Did you really think you wouldn’t get caught?” A teasing laughter bubbled up his throat. “Be honest with me just this once – did you touch yourself, too?” The look on his face grew more wicked at your prolonged, struggling silence. “Mhm, I bet you did.”

“Don’t flatter yourself—rookie.” The nickname came with much more bite this time and a pang of offense began growing deep in Leon’s chest, tugging immediately at his brows. “You’re barely my type.”

That was enough to push Leon into motion. His punch shot straight for your throat. You dodged just in time for his fist to dart past your neck. Raising your leg immediately, you kicked him in the stomach and he staggered back against the column with a pained groan, clutching at his shirt as he curled into himself.

“That’s bullshit.” He panted, struggling to straighten himself back up, lips giving in to an unseemly smile. “I’ve seen you checking me out, sweetheart. Especially, when we train – you practically eat me up with those eyes of yours.”

A sharp, angry breath escaped through your nose, fists winding tight once more. Leon chuckled darkly. Bullseye. It was so easy to draw out those unspoken reactions that told enough all on their own; the stark change in your posture and face at every turn of his words was laughable.

He grinned slyly as he continued, “can’t say it doesn’t stroke my ego a bit. You don’t give anyone the time of day. Yet, here you are.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits, chin tilted up as you stared at the young man down your nose. He held your gaze with his unwavering smile, knowing he now had you exactly where he wanted you most. Trapped with no way out. That was bound to make you finally spill your guts.

“So, you might be saying one thing but everything you’ve done so far, isn’t convincing me.” He finished with a nonchalant shrug, his boyish smile growing wider across his lips. “It’s okay to have favorites, Lieutenant. Just admit it that I’m yours.”

You were stuck. Leon was adamant to do you in until nothing was left of you but the toxic concoction of your emotions; until you were stripped down to nothing but the bare bone of that terrifying truth hiding just within. You were truly stuck and you could feel yourself sink rapidly into despair. The quicksand you’ve created finally starting to swallow you whole.

“I know you like the big boys better and I promise you, Miss – I’m very big. I can show you. You just have to ask.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking for right now?” You rasped, face stricken with one look of pure defeat. Your inhibition slowly becoming lost to the beckoning cry of desire.

He nodded. “I know that I want you. Really fucking bad. And I told you I’d do anything.” He carefully reached for your wrist and held your hand close to the front of his pants. Your eyes fell on the bulging tension of his crotch and you swallowed, breath hitching in your throat. “So, I’m asking you to touch me and see for yourself. I’ll be good for you. Promise.”

You hooked your lip between your teeth, eyeing Leon’s pleading face before letting your gaze drop again to his crotch. He squirmed ever so slightly under the weight of your probing eyes, his fingers twitching over yours as they held onto you. This was it. You could finally have him.

He moaned shakily once your palm enveloped him, head lolling back against the wall. His hand gripped your shoulder as if you were his lifeline and he would collapse if he didn’t cling to you. Heat rushed through you as his hardness poked your hand and a wry smirk curled the corner of your mouth, confidence returning to your words.

“So hard already?” You chuckled teasingly. You leaned into his ear, breathing gently against the side of his face, your voice turning deep and husky. “Who’s the pathetic one now?”

Leon whimpered incoherently and a wicked grin broke upon your lips. You began pressing a trail of wet kisses to his jaw, humming softly against his skin the more he moaned, intrigued by the generous reactions coaxed by such simple gestures. Any louder and he could be heard through the doors had someone walked by.

“Such a needy little puppy. You’ve been dying to find a way to get my hands on you. That’s why you wanted to train in private, didn’t you?” He only whined in response, writhing against your hand to seek a rougher friction in spite of your miserly touch. You giggled. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

“Please—please, Miss. I—I—”

His trembling fingers pressed your hand harder to himself, holding your wrist firmly just to slide your palm back and forth over his cock. You let him have it, relishing in the succession of high-pitched moans that slipped through his lips.

“If you want something from me then I need to hear it first.”

“More. I – I need more.” He rasped. “I need to feel your hand on my cock. Please.”

You smiled as you kissed the corner of his mouth, your fingers starting to fidget with his belt and undoing his pants as quickly as you could. He breathed out a quivering sigh once the fabric grew loose and began slipping down from his waist. You slid a finger under the hem of your glove but Leon stopped you immediately.

“Keep them on. I don’t mind the leather.”

Your smile broadened, twisting into a crude crooked grin at the corner of your mouth. Leon laughed breathlessly.

“God—that look in your eyes…” He sat a hand on the side of your neck, looking up at you through his long lashes, eyes sweetly round. “You’re dangerous. You could ruin me and I’d fucking let you.”

You shushed him and he nodded obediently, sinking your gloved hand in his boxers with teasing speed. A loud moan erupted from Leon as the cold smooth leather engulfed him entirely. He bucked unwittingly into your touch, slipping clumsily in and out of your hold once you began stroking him.

He plastered his palm over his mouth to sheath the uncontrollable noises tumbling freely out of him. You couldn’t help but snicker and his face immediately glowed a pretty flushed pink, a window of apprehension opening through the dazed look in his eyes.

“You’re so fucking cute—gosh.” Your mouth pressed to his ear and he shuddered as you growled, “I want to eat you up. I want to fucking eat you all up.”

Your lips slipped below his jawline to trace the span of his soft neck. He gasped at the first kiss, a tiny giggle rising in his chest as his head jerked at your ticklish touch. You gripped him more tightly and the jovial bounce in his throat waned into a loud whine. His hips twitched at the firmness, his hand lightly pushing at yours as if he was suddenly too sensitive to touch.

“S—so rough. Mhm!” He whimpered.

You eased your hold on him and his shoulders instantly relaxed, a content huff of breath escaping his parted lips. But soon, he began moaning a complaint. “Use me. I can take it.” He mumbled through the slow pumps of your hand. “Don’t hold back on me, honey. Please.”

No more needed to be told. Your speed upped instantaneously and so did the tone of Leon’s moans, piercing and loud, and he had to muffle them against his palm again. Your teeth latched onto the delicate skin of his neck, roving and bruising every bit of free expanse they claimed.

His curses were strangled, his moans purely made of inaudible sobbing sounds, spitting and shrill and filtering with ease through his fingers. He was getting close and you could also tell by the way he throbbed and leaked in your hand; and by the simple way he couldn’t get a proper string of sentence out to let you know.

“I’m… I’m… I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna – you’re gonna make me cum.”

“It’s alright.” You cooed under his ear. “You can cum for me. Go on, sweetheart.”

And as though you tugged on the strings of his orgasm like a puppet master, he came apart with a sonorous and dulcet moan, pouring himself into your fist. You carefully withdrew your hand as his erratic breaths slowly turned calm and even.

Leon eyed the glistening sleek coating your gloved fingers as they went back to hang at your side again. You really did it to him. Him. That was surely the unthinkable and he couldn’t believe his stroke of luck. His lips parted with a grin; a gesture which you returned as well until your eyes sought the large clock on the wall and a faint frown pulled at your face.

“Guess you have to skip laundry day this time.” He tried to earn back your attention as you turned away from him and slid off your gloves. But it was pointless. You weren’t looking back at him anymore. Worry quickly weighed down on his eyebrows as he busied his hands with his jeans. “But what about you?”

However, you were already moving towards your jacket. He was confused. What happened?

“I have to be up in a couple hours.” You sighed, adjusting the lapels of your jacket. “I’m going on a mission. If things go according to plan, it shouldn’t take more than a day.”

It was as if he was struck by the full weight of a crushing wave at the news. He knew this was your job and soon to be his. But he hadn’t anticipated the anxiety to hit him as hard as it did now. The lines of worry etched deep between his brows. You smiled.

“Don’t look so nervous now or I’ll start thinking you actually care about me.”

He scoffed in defiance but he didn’t say anything. Of course, he cared about you. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak it. It was embarrassing and he doubted this – whatever this was – went beyond just plain entertainment. Not that he minded. But your assumption felt like a stinging stab of insult.

“I’m only doing a short protocol run in Raccoon City. But I won’t be on my own.” You explained. As if that could help.

His eyes shot up to yours at the mention of the city and you immediately regretted ever opening your mouth, muttering a curse under your breath. He strode towards you and gripped your shoulders.

“I’m coming with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re staying at the base just like the rest of the recruits.”

“But—”

“None of that.” You raised your palm defensively. “My job right now is to protect you and this isn’t up for debate.”

“I’m perfectly capable. I survived an outbreak. A small protocol run is nothing. I can do it. I know I can.”

You raised your voice, your tone growing biting and authoritative. “You listen to me, Kennedy. I don’t care what your status was before you came here but right now, you’re not a soldier. So, when I say you can’t come along then you won’t. Am I clear?”

Leon turned solemn. His eyes, now hopeless and downcast, fell to the ground. You heaved a heavy sigh, sitting a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Look, I can only imagine what you’ve been through,” you started, voice hushed and soft. “And I can tell that city means something to you. And I promise, one day, we’ll go there together. But today – try not to be a hero today.”

He nodded even though you could see how hesitantly, and you finally let your hand drop from his frame, a content smile ghosting over your lips. Leon reached for your wrist once you turned to walk away, his fingers pressing gently to your skin.

“Please be careful.”

You nodded. “Always.”

You were gone by the time Leon woke to begin his day. Training wasn’t the same without you as the substitute soldier watching over the field only reminded him of your absence. It shouldn’t have taken more than a day. So, he awaited your return impatiently.

But how naïve he was to believe that? Of course, you had to have been merely comforting him. One small look at that pitiful look on his face and you leapt to remedy his worry. Because now it had been more than a whole day. Days even. And yet, no sign of you or the team who had gone with you.

He asked around the base for you, the mission, anything that could ease the deadweight of dread in his stomach. However, the unresponsiveness was driving him insane; and learning to expect the worst since not long ago, he couldn’t stop from convincing himself that something had gone terribly wrong.

Then, at long last on the eve of the third day, your helo showed in the clear sky over the base. But the air was already heavy as it landed and the soldiers deplaned, their number significantly less than when they first left. Something had truly happened.

Leon held his breath as he sought your face amongst the rest, his pulse quickening more and more the longer you remained missing. And finally, the helo took off back towards the sky without you ever even showing up.

He felt his stomach sink, his knees nearly giving away underneath his weight. His eyes frantically searched the perimeter filled with the returning soldiers and the crowd gathered to welcome them back, hoping he had somehow missed you walking among them.

“Did you hear what happened to those poor fuckers?” He heard a voice pipe up beside him. “Almost found none of their remains. Makes you glad you aren’t one of them, huh?”

Another voice chimed in. “It sure makes you believe in the cross and the lord.” A muffled chorus of laughter rolled between the bunch.

Leon didn’t wait any longer to hear the rest of conversation, rushing back inside the base to where he could get a proper fucking word from someone. (Y/N), please, please, please be okay, his mind reeled with the thoughts. Fuck, I knew I should’ve convinced her to take me with them.

Without thinking twice, he turned the corner that led down to your office. He blinked and instantly, realization dawned on him. You were always there for him whenever he sought you out – always in possession of the answers he was looking for. And now you weren’t here to quell his fear like you always did. As he neared the polished wood of your door and raised his knuckles to knock, he feared you wouldn’t be there to welcome him like you always did. He feared that the unfortunate fate of those soldiers had befallen you as well.

All of a sudden, his eyes were drawn to the passing figure just down the hallway, catching enough sight of it to quickly realize the man was one of the soldiers accompanying you into the mission. Leon called out to him, his voice lost in the commotion, chasing after him through the narrow walls.

“Sir. A moment?” The older soldier only spared a brief glance at him, not stopping to fully acknowledge him. “Where’s Lieutenant (L/N)? Did she – did she make it back?”

For a long moment, the man remained silent and Leon thought his question was going to be unanswered yet again. Then he began dreading the actual answer – if it was going to put the seal of confirmation on his worries.

“She’s in the interrogation room.”

That was all that came through that tight-lipped mouth before the soldier hurried off. Leon’s steps slowed to a stop. He was a dizzying turmoil of emotions; relief that, finally, he had word that you were okay and the ebbing adrenaline giving way to mere confusion. What had happened that’s sent everyone into such a feral panic?

It took him a while but eventually, he managed to find you. Or where he believed you to be. A few soldiers loitered outside a door, waiting for something. White light flared from the small window that peeked inside the room. He stalked closer, heart hammering in his chest to having had at long last found you – safe and alive – sitting behind a table.

Across from you was a person, wound in obscene layers of chains, head completely sheathed within a thick wrap. Their shoulders were slouched, shifting erratically with every breath they drew as if they were shaking. They were very still for a few seconds until Leon noticed your lips move and they shot straight to their feet, too keen to lunge at you before they were promptly subdued by their restraints; and they slumped back in their seat.

You were rather calm, a loose fist flexing slowly on the tabletop. But a faint frown tugged at your brows and that was enough to let Leon know you were frustrated. The conversation, whatever words being exchanged, wasn’t going too well.

It didn’t take long for you to finally resign and walk out of the room. The soldiers outside straightened to your attention, awaiting your commands. Only then Leon noticed the sling over your shoulder and his pulse began to race once again.

“Lieutenant!” He beckoned impatiently as soon as the door fluttered shut behind you.

A weak smile crossed your lips, nodding at him before turning your focus to the other men in the hallway.

“Alert the medics right away. She needs DEVIL.”

“But, ma’am—” Objected one of the soldiers and you interrupted. “We don’t have much time left. We need her compliance if we want any information out of her.”

The bunch nodded and offered their salutes before entering the room to follow your orders. That was when you slumped against the wall, a worn breath heaving in your chest. Leon came to your side immediately.

“Jesus, (Y/N)—I was so worried.”

His lips pressed to your forehead, fingers gently cradling the back of your neck. The kiss was lingering and firm but relieved. It almost managed to wash away the exhaustion weighing on your shoulders. You smiled timidly at him once he leaned away.

“I came back a few hours ago – I’m alright.”

“You’re hurt.” He bridled, gesturing at your arm. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve — I should’ve done something.”

“Leon, I promise. I’m fine.”

“What the hell even happened out there?”

“We just ran into a nasty surprise.” You rubbed your eyes with a deep sigh, struggling to keep the wearing impact of the mission at bay. “Found a survivor. Can you believe it?”

“Her?” He motioned with his head at the window, the bound person inside the interrogation room and you nodded.

“She’s damn lucky we found her when we did. As much as she dealt us some damage.”

He waved a hand at the cast around your arm and you suddenly felt the urge to shrink away from him. The fury was pure evident in his voice when he spoke again, his voice low and gruff. “She did this?”

“Calm down.” You scolded gently. “She’s been through it. If you can’t tell, that’s not her right now.”

You started down the hallway, the same path Leon had come earlier to find you, and he trailed behind you like an orphan puppy, continuing to pummel you with his arguments.

“Which means It’s stupid to show her this level of mercy. Did no one learn from what happened?”

“Leon,” you breathed out another sharp sigh, turning your eyes to glance at the visibly annoyed look on his face. “This was a group decision. Do you trust your superiors?”

The silence he responded with grew questionably long. You stopped and he only did so a few steps ahead of you, turning his shoulder hesitantly, knowing fully well you were expecting him to say something.

“Do you trust me?”

He nodded. “I do. Yeah.”

“Okay. Then I promise you, this is for the best.”

Then it hit you; a stab of debilitating pain sending your vision churning as if you were stuck inside a blender. You braced a hand against the wall as you groaned, eyes squeezing shut. Leon looked horrified. His gaze fell on the dark splotches of blood seeping through the white bandage of your arm and he began to panic, rushing to hold under your good arm.

“I’m fine.” You croaked, willing yourself to move without his aid but the blood loss was finally taking its toll.

He frowned. “Really? You’re bleeding.”

And with that, he dragged you to the hospital wing despite your irritated objections.

You were fine. You continued to insist and insist much to Leon’s disdain. Of course, this wasn’t anything you couldn’t recover from and you made sure that was ingrained in his brain by the time you were nearly done with your blood transfusion. And by then, he had shot down every one of your complaints with a lenient glare which did little to silence your petulance.

He kept his distance until your nurse stopped frequenting your bedside and then he crept closer to you like a scared stray. As if he was afraid to set something off and send things into a spiral. Though the look on his face told you he was still slightly irked.

“You’re insane. In case I haven’t told you, yet.”

You laughed drowsily, a bitter edge to the otherwise joyful sound. Leon’s hand slipped over yours, hesitantly at first, then he gripped them tighter, fingers threading together.

“You worry too much, rookie.” You offered a lopsided smile, taking in his face that was silhouetted against the fluorescent ceiling lights. “There are much bigger things than me here.”

“Don’t.” He choked out and your brows furrowed, initially confused by the sudden change in his voice until you noticed the glistening line of tears coating his lashes.

“Oh, Leon—”

“Jus—st stop saying things like that.” His eyelids flickered rapidly, blinking back the impending fall of hot tears. “It’s not fair. Why does it have to be you?”

You scoffed another laugh. “Jesus. I know I don’t look like it but I’m still alive, you know.”

His lip began to quaver and he bit it into his mouth, stealing his face away from your eyes as a streak of tears streamed down his cheeks, his fingers trembling between yours.

“Leon, look at me.” You crooned sweetly, squeezing his hand. He refused, his gaze still glued to the ground. You smiled. “Come on, baby. Look at me.”

The soft tone of your voice, the pet name, captured his ears, and he finally returned his attention to you. His rigid shoulders sank as you slid your hand from his grasp to pat on the mattress. His glossy eyes locked onto yours momentarily before he sat down on the edge of your bed and helped you sit up.

You brushed away the wet trail of tears with your thumb before holding the side of his face, pulling him in just slightly before he eagerly closed the distance between you, kissing you chastely on the lips. The anxious tension thawed out almost immediately, giving its place to a swelling comfort.

“I’ll be fine, okay?” You murmured once you let go. “I don’t want you to worry so much about me.”

Leon nodded but his eyes weren’t looking at you anymore. They were pinned down to where your fingers sat woven together on the hard mattress.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, almost inaudible. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want anything happening to you. But he couldn’t speak those words, fearing it would turn real. That he would curse the one good thing he had going in his life for once. “I know you got this.”

“Is this – what is all this about?”

He hooked his lip between his teeth, the warmth of his hand leaving your fingers. You waited patiently for his answer – if there was going to be any. His silence was enduring and heavy and all of a sudden, you felt as though a thick wall of glass erected between you.

“It’s nothing.” He murmured.

Your lips curling into a sweet compassionate smile. As much as he fought to hide it, his fear was laid bare before you. You could tell what could be going through his mind when he was faced with the possibility of loss. Something you had to experience many times – with loved ones and otherwise. You never got used to the grief and you could easily understand him.

“I was a bit younger than you when I first signed up,” you started. “Back then, I thought I was only running away from my old life; but I was also leaving someone very close to me behind. Someone who loved me more than anyone ever had.” Leon glimpsed at you from the corner of his eyes and at the bitter quirk of your lips as you recalled the memory. “When I left, I became a dead soldier walking in her eyes. Then that goddamn outbreak happened and… and…” You drew a shaky gasp, shaking your head lightly at yourself. Your fist folded against your chest, clasping around a pendant hiding beneath your shirt. You heaved a sigh before you continued, “when I went back to the city for the first time, this was the only thing left of her that I could find.”

The dull silver dangled over your shirt, the frail thing blackened in parts, no doubt an aftermath of the government bombings of the city; the locker’s tiny hinge was askew and its delicate carvings had almost completely melted off. A sullen huff of laughter pushed through your lips.

“In a twisted way, I was the one who outlived her. That doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

Leon remained quiet. He didn’t know what to say. He knew this was a realistic way of seeing things, almost expecting what your next words meant to be. But he couldn’t shake the bothersome weight of cynicism laced in your tone – in everything you said. It all sounded much too bleak.

But maybe this was what everything meant to be: bleak. Bleak and unredeemable.

“What I’m trying to say is—” You breathed out another sigh. “You can’t keep guessing what cards you’ll be dealt. You just have to put your best one down.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal.” He mumbled in weak protest.

Your shoulders shifted in a lazy shrug. “I really hope so.”

They codenamed her Banshee; that strange woman who ambushed the mission team and ended up being held captive at the base.

Leon never saw her since the morning of your return. You were strangely secretive about it unlike how often you were there to ease his mind in the past. The confidentiality was troubling him even more. What was so important about this woman? What information could be needed from her? Why was she being held like a prisoner?

All the suspicions and the questions were why he discovered those agonized shrieks himself – one night when he passed the infirmary room on his way back to the barracks a little before curfew. Or rather, snuck. Because you had refused to take him with you. Again.

The mazelike hallways leading to the infirmary was restricted for most, he soon came to realize. Guards littered the vicinage. Security cameras hung from every crevice with every corner he turned. Just what the hell were they trying to protect? Leon had to find out. He had to know what ungodly things were being done to Banshee to rouse such gut churning noises out of her. If she was treated then this was blatant torture; and that altruistic part of him couldn’t close his eyes to it.

Of course, he wasn’t capable of much in his position. But now, your words weren’t enough to convince him anymore. For once, he was doubting you. Because he’d seen you on the very same night he snuck into the heavily guarded unit. You were definitely in on the matter, you knew the complete extent of it; yet, you refused to confide any in him, pretending things were sound and fine. Lies, lies, lies. It was driving him up the wall.

Though maybe his haste had fueled his recklessness a bit. As much as he moved calculatedly, making it on the precise minute the night guards were changing post, it was completely lost on him that a higher rank soldier could arrive at any given instance. Because that was how you caught him.

You saw the faint shape of a shadow shed onto the floor, its source evidently cowering just behind the corner of the wall. It remained completely still as you squinted with suspicion into the distance, one hand reaching slowly for the pistol in your holster and brandishing it.

“Who’s there?” You called out, cocking your gun. “Show yourself.”

Leon looked to his side where he had just come from. The new guards were going to assume post soon and they were going to find him here if he didn’t do something quickly enough. He could hear your slow footfalls as you crept closer to where he stood in hiding.

He raised his palms, sheepishly slithering into sight beneath the pale red ceiling lights. You breathed a relieved sigh, lowering your arm. But then, a deep look of anger struck your features.

“Somehow I knew you’d still come here.” You said through teeth. “Do I wanna know what you’re even up to?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” He choked out.

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him and he grew visibly tense; straightening his neck, eyes avoidant and staring right past the top of your head. His throat shifted as he swallowed thickly. Your frown deepened, eyes turning narrowed.

“Wrong, Kennedy. What are you doing here?” Your voice was low as if you didn’t want to be heard.

Leon fought himself to meet your eyes again. You were (Y/N). He didn’t need to fear you. But he was quickly losing faith once his gaze crossed yours again. His words were crippled by his anxiety and he merely gaped as your heated glare remained fixated on him.

A snarl twisted your lips at his helpless silence. You grabbed a firm hold of his wrist and began walking up the hallway, dragging him along with you. He trailed behind like a ragdoll, letting you force him through the winding ways and evade the incoming guards until you found a vacant room and shoved him inside.

He stumbled into the room as if his feet had gone lame, only slowly turning around to face you when you closed the door and flickered the lights on. Of course, you still looked furious and he hadn’t yet found the words to defend himself with. Not that he had prepared much for when he was going to be caught.

“I’m waiting.” You said curtly, the scowl on your face never changing, slipping your gun back into its holster.

“I—well, I—I don’t know. I just wanted to see what was going on.”

All of a sudden and without any warnings, you charged at him and Leon recoiled into the edge of the desk behind him, eyes blowing wide with shock. Your curled knuckles sat against his chest, pushing at him firmly.

“You decided to go against my order. And here I thought you trusted me.”

“I do—” He stammered, voice shrill with panic. “I do trust you.”

“This doesn’t look much like it now, does it?”

“I can explain.”

“Then fucking explain.”

He swallowed again, eyes fluttering rapidly as they shifted around in search for an indefinite point of focus until they found yours again. Your jaw was clenched, a single furrowed brow twitching with frustration. He had to say something to remedy the damage.

“I just think this isn’t humane.” You arched a brow and his remaining sliver of courage began to dwindle. Thinking of the words to say, he was quickly realizing how idiotic what he did truly was but he continued to speak what was truly on his mind, “it’s not right to do all these experiments on her.”

“You think that’s what’s happening here?”

“No. I—I don’t know.”

You scoffed. “Was it worth it then? Getting in trouble for this. What if someone else saw you?”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated himself timidly.

“Jesus, this isn’t about that,” your voice rose an octave. “This is dangerous. You could’ve gotten fucking killed.”

Leon stared at you with a slack mouth, eyes wide and scared. You shook your head and stepped away from him, suddenly caving into the sharp strike of pain through your shoulder, a grimace distorting your face. Your hand instinctively rose to put pressure over the bandage dressing your wound.

He so terribly wanted to hold you and soothe your aches, to place kisses to your hair and comfort you. He hated seeing you so hurt. He reached a hand out towards you, fingers nearly beckoning but they dropped limply back at his side again, thinking better of it.

“One word out of your mouth,” you lifted your head to say with a cutting glint in your eyes, voice almost breathless from that brief episode of pain. “One fucking word about tonight out of your mouth and I’m signing your papers myself. Am I clear?”

He nodded. “Yes, Miss.”

A deep sigh rushed through your nose. “Does anybody else know about this?” Leon shook his head no and your lips pursed into a crooked line, something slightly akin to a smile. “At least, you were smart about that – come on.”

You gestured with your head towards the door and Leon frowned in confusion, his eyes shortly darting to the pristine white wood before returning to yours. You could easily read the unspoken question written on his face.

“I’m walking you back to the barracks. I can’t have you wandering around on your own.”

The way back to the unrestricted sector was slow yet comfortably quiet. Your focus rest upon avoiding the main hallways where soldiers stood guard and cameras roved the vicinity. He felt oddly safe despite the circumstance – safe with you.

Leon walked alongside you, the back of your hand warm against his. His fingers begged to spread over your palm and clasp tightly around it. They traced coyly across your wrist and right then, he caught you glancing at him from the corner of your eyes and this might have been a trick of the shadows but he could swear he saw a smile form on your lips.

Your fingers threaded through his. “I’m sorry for lashing out back there.” You whispered, squeezing his hand before raising it to see the healing scars strewn all over his knuckles. You kissed them with caution and Leon drew a gasp, shivering from the gentleness of your touch. “I was so scared for you. I kept thinking about what would’ve happened if someone else—”

He interrupted, “(Y/N), I know. You don’t have to explain.”

The shadows cast over your face made the soft frown tugging at your brows much more twisted as you continued to stare ahead into the darkness.

“You’re not gonna pull this shit again, are you?” Leon almost didn’t hear you with how quietly the question came. “I was serious about it being dangerous.”

An oppressing silence settled between you as he pondered your words. You tilted your head to glimpse the troubled look on his face. Of course, the curiosity wasn’t going to just vanish all on its own. And knowing him, you were quite certain it was only a matter of time until he found another way to the infirmary. You sighed. Maybe sharing some information wasn’t entirely terrible.

“Banshee’s had some interesting developments since getting her first dose.”

Leon perked up at that. “What do you mean?”

“She’s very strong. Three men can’t hold her down when she starts throwing a fit.” You explained. “And she heals quickly. Tooquickly. The medics have a hard time keeping her IVs in. They think it has something to do with her infection.” You looked at him again. “She still has her intelligence, so combined with everything else – that’s too much power for just one person.”

“What’s she being kept for?” He asked but he had a feeling he already knew even though you refused to answer anymore.

“Just promise me that you will stay away. For your own safety. And stop asking questions for fuck’s sake.”

He stopped and the link between your hands held you back as well. You turned with a frown. Leon’s face was cloaked in the shadows but you could still see his glistening eyes. He tugged you forward and cradled you against his chest.

“And what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be safe, too?”

“Leon—”

“I know we talked about this. I’m not doubting you. I just—” He trailed off, biting his lip before he started again, “I don’t want to lose you.”

There. He finally said it. But your silence was too telling. Then you slowly began to pull away from him.

You were startled, the plane rawness in the confession making your skin crawl with goosebumps. This – all of this – erased any remaining shred of distance between you. Intimacy had become such a stranger to you after so long, it was difficult for you to welcome it again now. Affection lending all but true comfort, you had come to learn years ago.

“You can’t. No.” You protested, shaken with panic, pulse racing.

Leon’s grip became tight around you, keeping you firm against himself. “It’s you who can’t. Listen to me—” He gave your shoulder a gentle jolt when your head began whipping around as if looking for a way out. “I won’t let you keep treating yourself like you’re disposable. You’re—you’re so much more than that to me.”

A fragile lump knotted in your throat as your eyes met his again, your lip quavering of its own accord. He held your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as an adoring smile curved his mouth. You shook your head but to what question or depiction of disagreement, you couldn’t tell anymore. You only knew you were protesting the silent wailing of your heart that called out to him.

But this felt right. He felt right. Everything about this snippet of time was perfectly that – right.

“Please, (Y/N)—let me show you. Just one chance. Just—just for tonight.”

Your eyes searched his face in the darkness, your heart beginning to hammer in your throat. He was so close to you that you could feel his cool breaths feathering over your skin, slow and even – unlike your sharp ones. His arms held you protectively as if he could shield you from yourself. And in this moment, the idea of letting go seemed all too inviting.

At last, you nodded sheepishly. “Okay.”

Leon followed you again as you led the way to your room. He had seen your office many times before; the flourishing link between you afforded him confidence to seek you in solitude at times. However, he was never once inside your private quarters.

The room hardly looked lived in; the bed was clean and made, the desk against the wall barren of any belongings – a room fit for a soldier prepared to depart as soon she was called upon. It all was cold and vacant except for a small pot of plant which sat on the windowsill. The leaves were young and fresh, swaying slowly in the breeze wafting in from the small crack in the window.

You distanced yourself to shut the window before turning your eyes to the tiny plant, stroking it carefully between two fingers as a smile adorned your lips. Then you peered back at Leon who was still standing at the door, watching you silently with a warm expression, gaze soft and loving. Your heart began to flutter again.

“I’m all yours, Leon.” You admitted quietly, longingly.

He approached you slowly, arms twisting around you once again, engulfing you in his warmth. His lips were merely a breath apart from yours, caressing you ever so lightly. You could feel their tempting softness from this small distance. So sweet. So incredibly sweet. You were already growing weak in the knees.

Leon held your face and at last, his lips pressed gently upon yours. His kisses were paced and sensuous. Careful. His fingers sank in your hair to brace against the back of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek absentmindedly. Your fist gripped loosely over his chest, the collar of his shirt crumpling between your digits and pulling him tighter to yourself.

A breathless moan escaped him as he stumbled into you from the force and he giggled against your lips, leaning away to smile down at you.

“You’re so beautiful.” You whispered and his face became flushed, his smile growing bashful. You pushed away the hair from his eyes, letting your fingers rest within the soft locks. Leon pressed a small kiss to the heel of your palm. “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything, honey.”

“Please never cut your hair.”

An adorable, boyish grin lit up his pretty face. “I take it you like it then?”

“It makes it easier to boss you around.” You finished as your grip tightened on his roots and his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw becoming visibly clenched. A tight-lipped moan trembled on his tongue.

“Always have to make a point to be so mean to me.”

He offered no time for you to gather a response, dropping his hands to your knee and lifting it just slightly over his own leg. “Up,” he muttered and you jumped, coiling your legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he caught you against his hips. His lips were back upon yours soon after.

His head was tilted, mouth parted and tongue flicking teasingly at your lip. Your hand flexing in his soft hair coaxed moan after moan from him before his fingers dug mercilessly into the flesh of your thighs, leading you both down on the edge of the bed. His hands slipped under your shirt, spreading wide over your back as if to claim you beneath his touch.

It was almost instinctual to begin grinding against him, shifting your hips again and again over his cock that slowly became tangibly hard under you. Leon moaned sharp and drawn out, stuttering them against your lips as his kisses grew slow and clumsy. He pulled away a mere hair’s breadth with his eyes still closed, forehead pressed to yours.

“I want to make it up to you.” His nose brushed yours, his wet lips agape and desperate to be put to something as they traced the air, blindly looking for yours again. “Can you lie down?”

You nodded and his hold tightened around your waist, helping you down gently against the hard mattress. His fingers soothed your clothed thighs as he seated himself between your legs. His smile was soft when he pressed a kiss to your knee, nodding approvingly once you began stripping your jeans.

Leon discarded the article onto the floor once it came undone, his hand then quickly returning to your legs to push them carefully apart. He moved with a certain care that made a shy smile grow on your face and a pleasant warmth in your cheeks. You bit your lip, unable to hold in the giddiness that bubbled deep in your throat.

“What?” He crooned with a soft smile of his own, fingers still caressing your legs.

“Nothing. It’s just – this is perfect.” He cocked his head, eyes bright as you spoke. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Leon smiled again. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

The ensuing silence that formed between you was gentle and comfortable, sitting with its featherlike weight in the air as you both relished in each other’s warmth, doing nothing but merely sharing delicate touches and chaste kisses in between soft loving glances.

It was as though time had slowed to a stop in the room; no worry or caution waiting to cast doom upon your little square of joy. The turbulence of the vast world lost under the delightful heft of peace seeded within this very moment. Nothing could steal this away from either of you.

When the quiet broke apart, it was you who had reached a hand between your thighs to hold Leon under the chin. He closed his eyes with a content smile before he tilted his head to press another small kiss to your knee, his fingers gliding slowly up the side of your leg.

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” You confessed, voice low and timid. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it soon enough.”

He shushed you softly, leaving a trail of kisses lower and lower on your thigh, carefully making his way down to the throbbing wet center awaiting the warmth of his mouth. His gaze flickered up to yours once his lips were a breath shy of your swollen clit.

“We have the rest of our time to make up for it, honey.”

And when the sentence reached its last, Leon’s tongue sat flat against your pussy. Your chest hitched from the heated contact, breath knotting in your throat. Your core gripped with need as your clit became embraced in the wet heat of his sweet mouth and pinched playfully between his slippery teeth.

He took to you carefully; his eyes attentive to the flitting emotions on your face and his ears to the soft noises escaping your parted lips. He took in the small movements of your hips as they circled slowly against the mattress, writhing and coaxing bigger moans from you every time you met his mouth more firmly.

Your fingers soon sought purchase in the thin white sheets below you, gripping them tightly in your grasp as Leon upped his pace. He moaned heatedly once your other hand – the same hurting one –reached for the mess of hair on top of his head and threaded through the roots gingerly, pushing his mouth tighter upon yourself.

That was what he needed to lose all sense of self and bury his face into your cunt with a low groan, mouth panting and reeling against you. He took you onto his tongue with fervent vigor, making himself more and more breathless with every flutter along your clit, spurred on only by your encouraging moans and sharp gasps.

“Mmmgod… you taste heavenly, sweetheart.” He moaned breathily, his senses whelmed by the clear flavor of your pussy and your soft smell that made him want to dig into you with the neediness of a starved man’s first supper. “Want my tongue inside you—yeah? Want me to fuck you with my tongue, baby?”

You whined softly at the twist of desperation in his voice as his tongue continued to flicker rapidly over your clit, his mouth slurping your sleek through the urgency of the question. You nodded quickly, moaning your approval right before the firm tip of his tongue slithered into your folds, making you arch your back at the assault of heat lurching deep within your core.

He slid his tongue in and out of you swiftly, moaning as he downed more of your taste, the lucid flavor sending his mind into a feverish turmoil – the focal of his attention stranded in only your pleasure alone. He returned to suck on your clit with a newfound tenacity, his breaths coming short and shallow against your fevered skin.

“God, you’re incredible,” he muttered through a mouthful. “I need more… I need more.”

The small cot squeaked as Leon began to grind himself against it, his fingers digging crescents into the meat of your thighs, his own desire reaching a melting point as the winding heat in your body mounted the delicious borderline of collapse. Your fingers gripped tighter in his hair, your body growing tense with the anticipation of your release.

“I’m so close. I’m gonna – I’m gonna…”

But the warning came too late as your orgasm coursed through you like a storm and you came with a soft cry, pushing your head back against the mattress, the heat at last breaking loose inside your core. Leon’s lips roved your inner thighs as your high gradually ebbed, pressing slow gentle kisses to your skin. He listened to your soft gasps of breath, relishing in the gentle way your fingers continued to flex in his hair.

You were strangely meek and sweet in a moment like this, Leon thought to himself; so vulnerable, so… human. The perfect soldier lain on a cheap hard cot, reduced to a whimpering mess at the mercy of his mouth. It made him smile adoringly as he raised his head to look at you.

“You’re still with me?” He said with a soft huff of laughter, noticing how your dazed eyes are still pinned to the ceiling as your chest rose and fell heavily, ever lost in the throes of an utter bliss.

Your head inclined in a small nod before you finally met his gaze with a lazy smile. A nearly silent chuckle slipped through your lips.

“Yeah. Still here.”

Leon lifted himself and over your body. His thumb reached for his own mouth to swipe at the smear of your arousal glistening on his kiss swollen lips. You linked an arm around his shoulders, letting the other sit comfortably down at your side, urging him closer to yourself. He met your lips with his, giving you a small kiss before parting once more. He fingered the side of your face as he looked down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

“You’re amazing.” The smile on his face was broad as he spoke, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You rolled your eyes with a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“I mean it.” His eyebrows raised, giving you a stern nod. “You are amazing. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

You sat a gentle hand against his cheek. “What are you doing to me, Kennedy?”

A cheeky, lopsided smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he leaned down and pressed the tip of his nose to yours. His fingers slipped from your face to your hair, brushing through it with care but that playful expression was ever persistent on his face.

“Right now? Probably blowing your mind.”

You rolled your eyes again but a chortle erupted in your throat, making Leon laugh with you in return. He traced his pinky finger over your lips, teasing them apart as his eyes became transfixed by them; his own mouth parted slightly as if in anticipation of another kiss. He looked back up in your eyes once more.

“I just want you so bad right now.” He whispered, his voice a low scratchy rasp, waking goosebumps down your spine. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot to ask for. I just—”

You interrupted him with a kiss, holding the side of his neck to bring him even closer. His content sigh flitted against your mouth as he melted in your embrace. When you pulled away to look at him again, his bright blue eyes were half-closed and smoldering with lust.

“I want you, too.” You smiled.

Leon gave a quiet laugh, his cheeks bright with pink. “You do? You sure?”

You nodded and his smile widened even more. He began speaking something but the sudden spike of excitement in his voice made the words string together in a mess of incomprehensible words as he stood to his feet to rid himself of his clothes. You chuckled as you watched him discard the layers without even looking, an infectious grin carving his face in two.

An amused smirk curved your lips as Leon climbed over you again. He blushed furiously upon noticing that devilish, teasing look in your eyes. He laughed breathlessly, running his nails over the side of his flushed cheek.

“Don’t you dare tease me about this.”

You laughed more loudly. “I didn’t even say anything.”

He leaned down with a faint smile, his eyes flickering over your face as he squeezed your thighs tightly between his long fingers.

“I know that look, sweetheart. You don’t need words to drive me crazy.”

You raised an eyebrow, still smirking. A playfully stern look crossed his features, his fingers slowly reaching higher for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your stomach.

“See? You’re doing it right now.”

“Christ, Leon!” You exclaimed through another fit of laughter.

Leon’s gaze softened again, his thumbs brushing over your exposed ribs, his lips curled into a dreamy smile. “You have no idea how much I love it when you call me by my name.”

A gentle smile turned your mouth as you drank him in – as if you were looking at him for the first time. You pressed your fingers gingerly against his face, tracing a borderless map across his smooth skin, brushing your fingertips over his lips, his nose, every line, every crevice. He smiled down at you as your touch wandered his features, making a face at you once your eyes met his again.

“I can’t believe my luck.” You whispered with an endeared smile.

Leon nodded his head, a mischievous smirk sat in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, me neither. I mean, let’s face it. I’m quite the catch.”

“Shut up.” You scolded gently, your voice roiling with a small chuckle.

“Make me.”

A wicked smile tugged at your lips as you buried your fingers in his hair and forced his lips upon yours. His small delicate moan of surprise stifled against your mouth before he gave into you with a small murmur, his fingers caressing your cheeks as he reciprocated the kiss. Then he giggled and leaned away just enough to speak again, his breath one with your own.

“Alright. Point taken.”

You gave an easy laugh, shaking your head, your fingers still threaded in his hair. Leon smiled down at you again, a much more gentle, sincere one that made your heartbeats stutter.

He slid his hand over your torso, slowly making his way up to your chest. Two of his fingers slipped beneath your sports bra, soothing over the curve of your breast before his nails grazed your nipple, drawing a soft gasp through your lips.

A glint flashed in Leon’s eyes at the sound – a sweetly inquisitive light. His pupils were wide, like two pools of ink; but the mirth was laden there somewhere in those depths, leaping forth through the burning lust. It made his face soften once more as he peered up at you, a tender yet impish smile curling his lips. He moved his hand again, his touch picking up in confidence as he swiped his fingers over your nipple once more.

Another small sigh of pleasure escaped your lips and all of a sudden, Leon was brimmed whole with the need to put his lips to your skin again. He pushed his mouth against your ribs, his tongue flickering out to claim a taste as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your skin. Then he remained there, his lips trailing a wet path up to the middle of your breasts before his fingers began peeling your sports bra back.

You let him unravel you even more, carefully prying the tight fabric away from your skin. He stared down at your exposed body with his mouth parted in awe. His tongue swiped over his lips before he surged forward again, driven by a need that he rendered to your breasts, taking each nipple with renewed fervor.

Your chest arched into his touch, moaning breathlessly as he began moving towards your neck, his face practically burying itself in your skin with how hard he was pressing his mouth onto you. His kisses were much less forgiving now, fluttering from his lips with bruising intensity, as if each lustful stroke meant to strip your soul down more and more.

Leon raised his mouth to your ear, his breath warm and uneven against your hair. “God, I need you,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice no longer bearing its previous hint of airiness, a rich beckoning of desire taking its place instead. “I need you so fucking bad.”

The breath knotted taut in your throat as you searched for words. You nodded fervently, moaning something incoherent before you rasped your agreement, weaving your fingers through his hair to push his face deeper against your neck, pulling a sharp breath from his lips.

He thumbed your sides as he glanced down between your bodies, his temple pressed to your collarbone, he lifted his hips just enough to position his hard cock between your thighs. His tip pushed gently against your entrance and a soft groan escaped him as though he was already too sensitive.

“Is this okay?” He paused to meet your eyes again; his face so close, his nose bumped against yours as he shifted his head.

You nodded with a reassuring smile, coiling one arm around his shoulder as he squirmed ever so slightly, bringing him closer to yourself. A trembling breath flitted through his flushed lips once his hips thrust forward gingerly, the movement slow and cautious, yet his cock finally managed to slip through your sopping cunt.

Another heated groan rumbled in Leon’s throat once he burrowed himself deep inside you, the noise quickly morphing into a desperate, breathless moan. He had to stop for the briefest moment to gather himself, his breaths already short and labored.

“Oh, my god,” he whined softly, readying himself to move. His face was nestled in your neck, his mouth pressed to you with every single breath flickering like a hot spark against your skin. “You feel amazing. You feel so amazing.”

Your walls burned deliciously as they molded around his cock, the sensation rousing a satisfied noise from deep within your chest. His entire body was so incredibly warm and the weight of him pushing down onto you was nothing but pleasant; his skin was smooth beneath your gentle fingertips, a sheen of sweat glistening along his neck. He trembled like a leaf as though any moment, his threads were going to come undone.

When Leon began to move, he pushed into you with deliberate care; each thrust was slow but each sank deeply within you, drawing through your walls like a match engulfing in flames. He downed sharp gulps of breath, each exhale then leaving him in quivering wisps. He whimpered softly under your ear, his fingers pressing indents into your hips. He simply refused to pick up his speed.

His words came rushing through his warm mouth. He kept murmuring incoherently under his breath, the sentences �� if you could even hear a proper one, for that matter – twisted into high moans and shaky whimpers as soon as they toppled over his lips. He was a mess. It was pure evident that he was teetering on the brink already. And with how you kept clenching so tightly around him, his will to hold himself at bay was quickly fading.

“Oh, baby… oh, baby…” He kept chanting hoarsely in your ear, the words never finding a fruition, the sentences never fully realized. But even you could tell now: he was close.

You wound your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer to yourself; your fingers moved to his hair again, coiling tightly through the soft locks. Leon whined deliriously into your neck before he raised his mouth to press it clumsily upon yours, his breathless noises flitting against your tongue as it flicked coyly at his.

The movement of his hips have become erratic, almost shaky, his pace only slightly faster now. His hands held your thighs in a vice grip, the skin beneath his fingertips beginning to protest the pressure but the ache only stoked the pleasure building to crescendo within your core.

“Fuck—I’m so close,” Leon groaned. “Oh, god, I can’t hold myself back anymore.”

You pulled his face to yours again, your lips colliding roughly with his; and you whispered through the kiss, “go on then. Cum for me, baby.” To which he shook his head vigorously.

“No, no. I want you to cum with me. Please.”

He slowed his speed without waiting for your objection, returning to plowing deep thrusts inside you instead. He grunted with every effort, sweat rolling down the side of his face. You could see this was taking more out of him than he let on. He scrunched up his face, his teeth sinking into his lip. He was just so close. And it was taking every shred of will within him to not just empty his load inside you right then and there.

“Come on, baby. What are you doing?” A soft frown curled your brows. “I want you to cum.”

You glided your fingers over his back, caressing the skin along his spine. You cooed a string of encouragements to him but he continued to shake his head at you, his body practically vibrating against yours now. You held his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes were half-lidded and shiny, his breaths leaving him in short rapid bursts.

“Leon—listen to me. You’re gonna be good for me and cum. Alright?” He didn’t respond immediately and the small frown on your face turned into a stern raise of a brow. “Are you gonna be good?”

Leon gave a resigned whine and nodded his head at last. “Fine. Okay. Fine. I’ll be good.” He sucked in a quick breath and finally, he upped his speed once more. “I’ll be good for you. Fuck.”

“That’s it, sweetheart. I want you to let yourself go for me.”

He nodded eagerly again, his lips, once more, seeking refuge against the soft skin of your neck. He bade your ears whimper upon whimper – those sweet delicate sounds that tickled your senses, growing more and more pronounced the closer he crept on the edge. He continued to shake and you had to wonder if he was still fighting against his own body.

“You can go faster than that. Come on. I know you can do it.”

A groan escaped from somewhere steep in his throat and now you knew, the last of his will had finally ebbed. He began fucking into you with much less reverence, the small cot beginning to squeak beneath the both of your weights. You arched your neck as a sudden tide of pleasure broke over your body, your mouth parting for a soft moan to flee.

“Yeah, keep going like that. You’re doing so good.”

In response to your words, another breathless whine rushed through Leon’s teeth as he kissed along your throat, his hands rising to your sides and gripping you tightly against himself.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m so close again.” He moaned into your skin, his voice small and high-pitched, nearly breaking as it bounced lazily over those few words.

“I know, baby. I know. Don’t stop now. Just keep going.”

Leon groaned softly beneath your ear. His hips snapped against yours in a few short successions before his body grew suddenly still upon yours. A choked whimper rolled off his tongue, a desperate attempt to muffle himself as he prodded his face deeper into your neck again. His warm cum gushed through your folds, burying the seed within you as he continue to remain between your legs like that.

His breaths flickered sharp and heavy against your skin as he slowly came down, his grip over your body loosening ever so slightly. Once that blissful haze dissipated, his lips began tracing your neck again; but this time, the kisses were much softer, bearing a sated gentleness that made your heart swell with warmth.

“I’m sorry,” you heard him mumble, his face refusing to lift from the crook of your shoulder. Then he finally leaned away to meet your eyes; his cheeks sweetly red, an adorable crooked grin curling the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me.”

You chuckled, your fingers dancing coyly on the back of his neck, toying with the silky wisps of hair plastered to his damp skin.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” you reassured him but then, a wicked smirk grew across your lips. “You’re way too cute though.”

He rolled his eyes, scoffing softly, with that ever persistent smile still adorning his face. You snickered when his blush deepened, spreading all the way to his ears; and he gave a loud embarrassed groan, hiding his face against his own arm.

“Stop it,” he whined.

Your laughter grew in volume as you reached for his chin, holding it gently between two fingers before you turned his face towards yours again. His eyes were glassy and bright, a translucent shade as they peered down into yours with a lingering hint of sheepishness.

“You’re so fucking cute,” you repeated, your voice a low growl through gritted teeth as if your heart couldn’t contain all the fondness it bore for your rookie.

Leon shook his head slowly, a small giggle bursting from his lips. His eyes were twinkling when he looked at you again, his lips giving into a doting smile.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You gave another chuckle in response before he rest his head down against your chest. He took in a deep content breath, his fingers falling to your waist to begin trailing aimlessly over the skin. Your heart thumped slowly beneath his ear and he couldn’t help the smile that overcame his lips.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” He asked, his eyes slowly falling close, his voice barely a mumbled whisper. “This is… nice.”

“Of course.” You smiled when he gave you a short hum in return and you looked down at him, noticing the calm and the sweet innocence which had now replaced everything else on his face. You ran your fingers along his neck again. “You didn’t even hear me, did you?”

He was already fast asleep.

Something loud stirred Leon from his sleep; an obnoxious wailing of a siren that startled him awake. It took him a moment to gather his surroundings, finding himself still naked from the night before, tangled in your thin white sheets. He blinked drowsily and frowned at the realization of your absence and then panic began to set in his stomach.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

He nearly staggered to the floor in his haste to get out of the cot, clumsily reaching for his clothes that were scattered around the small room. His breaths were already short and labored as he got dressed and rushed out into the hallway, grimacing once the blaring noise embraced him whole.

The only thought on his mind was to find you.

He took off in the direction of the mess hall, his eyes widening in surprise when a group of armed soldiers hurried past him, bellowing demands over the shrieking noise. This wasn’t just a regular drill, Leon quickly realized, his cheeks tingling from the cold wash of dread. He caught up to the commanding officer whose face was red with sweat and distorted into a scowl.

“Kennedy! The hell are you doing here?” He yelled gruffly.

“What is going on?”

Leon flinched as the loud echo of gunshots rang out through the space, instinctively grasping his head between his hands. A light tremor broke over his body, his heart racing at the very possibility of something truly horrifying.

“We’re on lockdown. Get yourself to the hangar. NOW.”

He nodded fervently in response and began running again, finding another group of soldiers who were headed in the same direction and followed them out to the warm air of the early morning. The dawn was slowly breaking in the distant horizon as he made it to the hangar.

It was easy to make out your frantic voice above the agitated chatter in the room. You were yelling about something but this time, your anger was turned towards another high ranking soldier. He was a much older man. Someone he could tell to be your superior. However, that didn’t stop you from leaning close to his face to scream at him.

“Corporal, with all due respect, that’s the worst choice in this situation.” Leon heard you spit angrily as he stopped in the front of the hangar, standing just ahead of the rest of the crowd of soldiers. “We can’t use the recruits as fucking bait.”

The older soldier straightened his back, his chest puffed out, leaning forward in your space in return to your defiance; a snarl was set deep in his features, his tall domineering stature doing very little to quell your confidence. You didn’t back down. Not even slightly. You held his gaze with as much fortitude even though you had to tip your head back to keep glaring at him.

“We need all hands on deck, (L/N). My word is final. Hand out the damn guns!”

Leon walked closer to you as Corporal distanced himself. He put a careful hand on your shoulder, his heart skipping a beat when you flinched in response to his touch. Your wide eyes met his immediately, a gentleness growing amidst the feral fury within them as soon as he offered you a small but strained smile.

“You’re okay, Lieutenant?” He asked softly, leaning closer to your shoulder. “What’s going on?”

He watched quietly as you heaved an exasperated sigh and knead your eyes before you turned fully to face him.

“Banshee broke out of her restraints at some point in the night. We’re trying to take her down but—”

Leon frowned, his grip tightening slightly on your shoulder, waiting patiently for you to explain but anxiety was threading deeply through his body like thorny vines, clutching painfully at his pounding heart. You sighed again and a speck of that previous anger returned to your voice once you started speaking again.

“But we dealt some fucking casualties already. Now somebody,” you sneered begrudgingly, throwing a sharp thumb over your shoulder at Corporal, “came up with the idea to dispatch the recruits.”

His pulse throbbed in his ears as he listened to you, a soft frown weighing on his features, trepidation sinking deep in the pit of his stomach. Eventually, he let his hand fall slowly back to his side and managed another pursed smile.

“I can do this—”

“NO!” Leon cringed at the unexpected raise of your voice. You grabbed his shoulder and peered deep into his face. You looked scared. More scared than he’d ever seen you. Your eyes were blown wide and your pupils were trembling; a thin veil of glassiness coated them, making them glisten, almost as if you were tearing up. “I cannot – I will not let you. You’ll stay here.That’s an order.”

He smiled again, much more kindly this time, a warm look in his eyes. He squeezed your hand on his shoulder with his reassuringly, before raising his fingers to touch your face.

“With all due respect, if we’re going to fight then we’re fighting together. Besides,” his lips curved into a warm smile, “I’m not letting you go out there without me.”

You shook your head in disbelief as you heard your own words thrown back at you, tears welling up in your eyes. Leon fought the urge to engulf you in his arms right then and there, his chest gripping with ache at the sight of your distraught face. His thumb began brushing over your cheek.

“I can handle this, I promise. Let me come with you. I feel safer that way.”

Your fists curled tightly as you averted your eyes, gritting your teeth. You were in war with yourself, caught in the crossfire of your heart and your mind – the urge to protect Leon and the sensibility of letting him take care of himself. At last, you let a sharp exhale through your nose and gave him a defeated yet determined glance, your head dipping in a small nod. Then you, albeit hesitantly, handed him a gun.

“Stick close to me. Am I clear?”

Leon smiled, letting the gun mold comfortably in his arms. “Yes, Miss.”

“Alright.” You turned your attention towards the room. “We do this as Corporal planned. Everyone, assume your positions.” You unsheathed your own pistol and cocked it with a dirty glare. “We’re taking down the mutant.”

A deafening silence surged through the hangar as recruits sought their assigned groups, their thudding heels against the ground the only noise tearing through the thick air of uneasiness.

Leon stood closer to you, his skin crawling with goosebumps as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. This was really happening. The only thing soothing his nerves was your mere presence beside him, filling him with a calming sense of security even as you stood with just one good arm to go into the battle with; the pistol sat in your palm as if it could belong to you alone.

You turned to him, your face grim as you addressed him once again. “It’s on sight, Kennedy. You see Banshee, you shoot. And you don’t aim at anything but her head. Understood?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” He nodded curtly, donning a courageous look as he cocked his own weapon.

“Good.” You turned to the crowd once more, yelling much more authoritatively this time when you spoke again, “we’re moving out!”

Everyone moved quietly. It was as though their feet were gliding upon air as the formation of the recruits hurried outside towards the base, the first rays of the morning light shedding a blanket of pale gold over the moving bunch.

Leon trailed close behind you the entire way, watching you make gestures with your hand once near the building, ordering the formation to dispense and cover as much ground as possible. Then you turned over your shoulder to look at him as Corporal joined your side.

“We’re going in. Stay on guard.”

You nodded once at your superior and without hesitation, he kicked the double doors open. Your small group rushed inside, enfolded once again by the shrieking siren. Disembodied demands were hurled constantly, the words faint over the thunderous noise as you led the way inside.

Gunshots reverberated through the halls, distant agonized screams bouncing off of the white walls. Mutilated bodies littered the once pristine tiled floors. The thick stench of blood was overbearing, its sight a constant nauseating presence.

Leon was overwhelmed. His mind kept flashing back to Raccoon City, his thoughts racing with those tainted memories that were quickly riling him up. His grip began to shake on his gun, his heart practically hammering in his throat and all of a sudden, he froze. The sight of the pile of carcass through a corridor was enough to lock him up inside his own brain.

“LEON!”

He heard the yell too late, only coming to when another shot was fired. He recoiled as the unexpected sound ripped through the fog of his thoughts, his eyes snapping to yours. You grabbed his arm and hauled him to a safe corner as bullets hailed down upon you.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, slowly gathering his bearings again.

His eyes searched you and a frown quickly formed at his brows. You slumped to the floor with a hand clutched tightly at your stomach; blood seeped through your fingers, spreading rapidly over your shirt like ink. You were shaking, panting, and your eyes were wide with panic.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Leon dropped to his knees beside you on the ground, his voice low but frantic as he took in the dire state you were in. “Stop, stop. Calm down, sweetheart. Please.”

He pressed his hands over your wound, trying his damndest to ignore your shallow erratic breaths, the awareness of what had happened dawning on him. His broad, terrified eyes staring at the gaping void in your stomach that continued to gush with blood.

“Shhh… shhh… please, baby. Take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay. You—you’re going to be okay.” His eyes raised to yours, sweat beaded at his brow. He spoke in a hushed yell, “why the hell did you do that for?”

Your panting finally slowed when you tackled the initial bout of panic but your body continued to tremble. Leon chewed his lip as he watched you; your eyes were lidded. He could see the hard movement of your chest as you heaved every breath with difficulty. This didn’t look good. He struggled to shove down his mounting terror as he stared helplessly at you, his hands still covering your wound with pressure. Warm tears began stinging the corners of his vision.

“Leon…” You muttered weakly, reaching your bloody fingers to his face. “I’m so sorry. I…” You trailed off, never finishing that train of thought.

He leaned into your touch as your hand palmed his cheek, gritting his teeth and blinking back the downpour of tears.

“I’m – I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“Please stop talking.” He said hoarsely.

“It’s okay. I’m not scar—” You were caught off by a rattling cough, blood spitting through your lips. “I’m not scared of dying. I’m content. For once.”

Leon held your wrist and clutched your hand against his chest, his tears wetting his lashes, his nostrils pink and flaring.

“Take care… alright? You’re my – you’re my favorite vice.”

Vices, vices. Of course. You were struggling to speak, to move, to breathe. He could see it. His heart sank when more blood trickled down your lip. He held the side of your face as your neck began to go limp, lifting your head and forcing you to meet his eyes again.

“Don’t you die on me. Please.”

You managed a small smile and gave him a weak nod of your head. “It’s gonna be okay.” A futile attempt to comfort him as you squeezed his hand with the last sliver of your strength.

His bloody fingers raked through your hair, unable to do anything else but watch the glimmer fade in your eyes. Once your grip over his hand was gone, he knew that you were, too. Yet, the revelation dropped like an anchor in his stomach. His hold tightened in your hair, moving your head from side to side as if he was trying to wake you from a deep sleep.

“(Y/N). Please, no!” His voice wavered as he spoke. “Oh. Oh, god…”

But he had no time to mourn; a hand soon found his shoulder and forced him back to his feet. His eyes broadened as he watched you get farther and farther away from him, his feet moving against his own will.

“Let’s go, rookie.” He heard Corporal whisper to him in a gentle tone – one unheard of him until then.

Leon’s eyes fleeted over the older man’s face. The wrinkles between his brows were drawn deeply, his lips pursed as if he was holding himself back from speaking anything more. But the heartbreak glistened in his dark eyes as he stared straight ahead, his hand still wrapped securely around his arm.

“We have to get her.”

“We will.” Corporal responded with a firm nod. “But first, we survive.”

And survive they did.

It was a few hours of sheer hell. Many were slain and, in the end, Banshee escaped after nearly wiping out the entire base. However, Leon stood among his remaining comrades outside in what was once the training field, taking in the ruin which has become of the base. Smoke wafted over the white roof of the building, uncoiling like a black serpentine, a taunting dance of defeat in the clear sky as the sun slowly set over the horizon.

Leon fell to his feet in exhaustion; and as he laid there on the dirt, staring at the fading skies overhead, the weight of reality finally crashed down over his head. So many great soldiers dead. So many lives felled. And you. He drew a deep, quivering breath.

You.

The last few months of training were an uneventful blur. The surviving recruits were moved to a different base and Leon felt utterly lost. For the first time in a while, he didn’t know what to do. It was as though he had survived Raccoon City all over again. But this time around, there was no you to help him navigate, to forget. Even if only briefly.

Alas, he managed to finish those months that seemed to drag on end. He knew that was what you would’ve wanted from him; to live on – hence why you weren’t there anymore to see him graduate. But if that was all it took to help him through day after day, he was going to hold onto it like his lifeline.

After graduation, the first place Leon visited was that same city you had promised to go with him one day, to show him around the ruins and rubbles of what once pledged a great change to him. The same place that led him down a spiral instead, a cursed shadow now hanging over his head which only seemed to grow thicker and thicker.

He wasn’t going to miss it. Not this damn city. And certainly, not your absence. As he emerged slowly on the brink of Raccoon City, returning from his visit with one of his old commanding officers, he turned to look at the demolished skyline one last time as the first winter snow began to fall, the white beads glowing shyly against the vast darkness of the night.

The wait was over now. He could finally go out there and leave all of this behind.

His warm sigh left him in a pale cloud as he slowly turned away and towards the flaring headlights of the military truck behind him. Without looking back, he walked to the car and slid into the backseat. He met the driver’s eyes through the rearview mirror and gave him a small nod.

“I’m ready to go.”

He leaned his elbow against the car door as the engine spurred to life, his eyes momentarily flickering to his side at the box of his belongings, that fresh and young pot of plant which was once yours sat atop.

A faint smile shadowed over his lips as he picked the plant up with one hand and held it under the passing blur of streetlights that poured inside the vehicle. He stroked one of its leaves between two fingers, his smile turning downward as he sighed again.

It’s gonna be okay, he thought solemnly to himself.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy #re2 #resident evil x reader #resident evil leon #resident evil 2 #leon x reader #resident 2 remake #resident evil #re2r leon #leon scott kennedy #leon resident evil #leon kennedy

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bulbabutt · 6 days ago

Note

Thank you for being a bastion of sanity amidst the growing "but proshippers! But incest! But RPF!" purity culture's nonsense.

I'm so tired of being afraid to admit that I've even read a fanfic/fancomic because that same person might have a DIFFERENT ACCOUNT where they indulge in a problematic ship. And therefore they are "bad" and by association, I could be labeled "bad" for having looked at something completely unrelated and tossed on a block list.

It's asinine. Yet I'm too afraid to even get off anon because I know I don't have the mental fortitude to survive a potential online witch hunt.

So thank you, I wish you all the strength to keep screaming the words I cannot.

honestly youre not the first person to send me an anon about this, i just tend to feel just as afraid of responding to them as much as you are afraid of coming off anon. i think because while ill post things in vague context, it becomes another thing when someone says it out loud, yknow? but i appreciate it, knowing im not just screaming into a void where no one likes what i have to say.

i think what i will say is im not the only one who THINKS like i do, but i am just dumb enough to be loud and annoying about it. its kind of a thing where i'd never say anything specific because like... some people are so vicious and will demand blood if they get a whiff if i mention anything vaguely. the fact i have to be afraid to say 'people dont mind' for their own safety is crazy, huh?

i think that thing youre saying about being worried by association from association was the same first time i had this thought. i was reading something so good so deep something that effected me so deeply from how well it was talking about the realistic effects of incestuous abuse, and then i went to see what else the author had written and i was like. oh. theres just regular incest in here too. and that was kind of a moment of hm.. perhaps i need to think more about what really matters here. the fact i can engage with what i want and just say 'oh i see what else you do, thats not for me so i will just not engage with that'

so it hurts worse when theres the idea of someone engaging with art they like that has nothing 'weird' going on, then suddenly getting hit with screaming that that artist has a side account theyre not advertising where they make weird art that they are keeping FULLY separate from the account in question. like i do not see how that helps anybody in that situation.

then theres the generalization of it. the idea that maybe all you did was draw like. 19 yr old versions of two 15 yr olds kissing, and suddenly that gets you put on a list of people who will draw literal children in sexual situations, gets you put in that same boat without question. that shit is so cruel to me, that these things all get painted with the same brush. equally as bad, equally as deserving of being ostracized. or the idea that you get put on that list for not caring about if strangers ship things on the internet, makes you just as bad as someone who makes it. i really just hate this entire culture.

idk im... old school i guess? back in my day youd watch a shitty cartoon that had over 20 characters in it so you could smash them together in whatever ship suited you. crack ships were the bread and butter of me and my friends, shit that made no sense but in your own head. the idea of being anti... shipping at all is so... thats very weird. shipping as a thing is very much what fandom was ever made for in the first place? like. im not kidding, learn your history if you dont know that (middle age women shipping kirk and spock)

back when i was a kid i watched this tv show called kim possible, and i was a kid who didnt know shit about themselves seeing a pretty villain lady for the first time who called the main character who was a girl princess. i didnt know what to make of that, i didnt know the age difference between them i was a dumbass child, they were both drawn the same way! then im like 12 years old on the internet, i see theres a ship of the teenage girl and this like 30 yr old villain woman. do you think my 12 year old self saw the problematic nature and thought deeply about the morals of said ship? no. i was like 'holy shit i wish i was the teenage girl dating shego. why do i like this? oh god im a lesbian'

again. i was a child. what are you gonna do, go back in time and arrest my 12 year old ass for looking at pg rated fanart of women kissing on the internet? we didnt HAVE real representation yet! there was no korrasami, no rupphire, no bubbline, no lumity! shipping was the only place you could see stuff that was gay! and it being GAY would get you in more trouble than it having an age gap!

the fact is people WOULD cancel me now for that, wouldnt you?! thats where we're at. that IS a problematic ship, id be put on a blocklist in todays internet for being a child who crushed on villains. i didnt make it, i didnt create for it, i just looked at it and that would get you in trouble now!!! thats crazy.

i know thats a random tangent to go off on, but like..... hhhhh i dont know man. sometimes it seems like people want the internet to pass by broadcasting standards and practices and thats!!! bad!!! let people experiment with their weird shit as they figure themselves out, its so fucking normal. youre not a bad person for looking at things on the internet, youre not a bad person for engaging with things, youre not a bad person for being horny online! especially if you make your own fucking space for it?? a space easily blacklistable, with trigger warnings and EVERYTHING... we didnt have those when i was a kid, so some things are better, but culture is just worse.

i dunno. i just think i would not have thrived in this environment as a teenager. im glad im old and know better, but i worry about the lessons kids are learning from this. to feel ashamed, to bottle shit up, its not good for you. be kind to yourself, be kind to others. we're all working through shit in our own ways.

sorry for another long annoying post

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writefightandflightclub · 2 years ago

Text

The light is blinding (Joel Miller x fem!reader)

Summary: When he's hurt, you offer to wash Joel's hair for him. Turns out there may be other forms of comfort you can offer him too.

Genres: character study; angst (sorta); hurt/comfort; SMUT. Joel's POV.

Author's note: I watched TLOU ep 1 last night, then made bad choices today in favour of hyperfocussing on this 8k Joel fic. I mean, this was sort of inevitable tbf. We've been handed a sad, scruffy, brown-eyed, dusty apocalypse DILF, and there was no chance of me not adopting him as a blorbo. Anyway, this is my first attempt at Joel, I wrote this in a trance so god knows what it says and I haven't spent any time on editing/correcting. Can't promise it's any good, but if you want to wash his hair as much as I do (lol) maybe you'll enjoy it, who knows. P.s. I promise it does get super smutty. You just have to survive the extensive internal monologue and many rounds of haircare first. (I'm just like that :P)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Minors interacting will be blocked. EXPLICIT SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, totally ignoring practicalities like birth control in the apocalypse bc we can); canon-typical themes such as grief, apocalypse, infection/disease, trauma, injury. SPOILERS - if you know the core plot points or have seen episode one you'll be okay. Joel's POV.

Word count: 8.2k

GIF by @joelmjller (Pls lemme know if you'd like me to remove this!)

How did he get here, exactly? All stretched out on his back, your careful fingers twining through his wetted, grizzled hair?

Well, he supposes he got here because a smuggling deal had gone sideways - like usual.

He got here, because he’s getting too old for this shit, and because someone precisely young enough for this shit had garnered the advantage just long enough to land a gun barrel blow to his head. A blow which then made room for all manner of nonsense, of course; like Joel being teep kicked into a desk. The desk - owing to its sturdy construction and deliciously planed hardwood - had withstood the blow. Joel’s body, however -far less sturdily constructed - had reacted far less favourably to that particular transaction.

Most of all though, cracked ribs and busted shoulder aside, Joel is here, because of you. He is here, because you offered to wash his hair.

Joel isn’t a clean man, by any stretch. Who could be anymore, with the way things are? In truth, he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be coated with a layer of dirt and smoke and ash. But apparently, even in the midst of an apocalypse, the dried-in, caked-up, days old blood matting his hair had left something to be desired.

He’d agreed to your offer only because - honestly - it was starting to itch. Because this time he truly couldn’t do it himself, the searing pain in his ribs seeing to that. Making sure he couldn’t quite raise his arm high enough or dip his head low enough to get the job done.

He’d agreed to your offer, in part, because he thought you would be quick. And - he now realises - you are being anything but.

You have him stretched out on his back, on a repurposed dentist chair. The worn, dark green leather creaks beneath him as he adjusts, positioning himself just so. You’ve installed a makeshift neck rest and basin to the rear of the chair, and Joel’s head is currently dipped backwards into the warm water, your fingers diligently combing through the strands to release the debris and muck.

You use a cup to cascade the water from the basin over his head, cupping it with the other hand to guard his face and neck from any rogue rivulets. Then, you ease your fingertips over his scalp, massaging in circles, being extra careful -he notes- around his recently closed wound.

Yes, to Joel’s dismay, you are taking your time. You are being so thorough and so attentive, in fact, that Joel even wonders if you will end up washing the gray right out of his hair - Joel’d never been wholly convinced that his newly-developed colouring was ever anything more than a thick, impenetrable layer of dirt and ash.

You hum thoughtfully, a sweet, innocuous note as you assess your next step. “I’m switching out the water, okay?”

That doesn’t sound okay at all. That doesn’t sound done. And Joel had thought that this would be quick. Had needed this to be quick.

Before he can grunt an answer though, you are winding a towel around his hair, presumably attempting to save the drips from reaching the floor as you swap out one basin for another, setting down the one now filled with muddy brown water, and bending carefully to lift a second steaming basin of fresh water on to your makeshift plinth.

He needs to stop this here. “That’ll do,” he says gruffly, motioning to sit up -carefully- despite the pain in his ribs.

“Lie back,” you insist, the sound of your voice muffled through the towel wound over his ears but soothing nevertheless. “I’ve only managed to rinse out the blood and bird’s nests so far. We still need to wash and condition.”

Joel would protest more vigorously -means to, in fact- but the soft smile on your face dissolves him like sugar before he can do so.

He frowns though, for good measure. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

“The quicker you relax Joel,” you sing song, “the faster I’ll let you out of my seat. Deal?”

He grunts. He doesn’t relax. He can’t relax.

“And,” you add playfully, as if reading his mind. “If you can’t relax, you’d better learn fast to fake it.”

Joel sighs deeply in frustration as he lies back, and you usher him gently into position. However, the slow, deep breath he expels does genuinely serve to sink him more deeply into the chair. Does force him to release just a jot of the tension snaking through his taut muscles.

You hum again, softly, in satisfaction, and he thinks he can even hear a smile on your mouth as you foam his hair with some sweet-smelling product, your fingers resuming their careful ministrations across his scalp.

It’s nice, he notes, unwilling as he is to admit it. Your touch could knock him out better than a barrel full of oxy and a bottle of the good stuff. He almost lets himself enjoy it - an attractive woman like you working your hands into his hair, massaging with your thumbs, your fingers, your palms. Applying pressure and sensation, even into the tight muscles in his neck. Loosening some of the tension at his temples. He even consciously relaxes his forehead, feeling his frown soften. Closing his eyes instead of fixing his stare on the broken picture rail he’s sure he could fix with a few tools and a little bit of effort.

He breathes more deeply as he closes his eyes, focussing in on the sensation of your touch. On the scents flooding his nose. Floral and sweet and fruity. It smells of you, and he breathes it deeply. He tries not to think about how his pillow will smell of you later.

It shouldn’t be possible for you to smell as good as you do, Joel ponders. You even have him wondering whether perhaps he’s not the only game in town. Whether there’s another smuggler dealing in contraband which hasn’t even occurred to him to barter with. Perfumes and oils and essences. He doubts that you would be mixed up in smuggling, but he doesn’t doubt that you are capable of far more than surface-level assessments might suggest.

After all, people only survive this long with one of two things: brutality, or blind luck - and no-one is that lucky that they’ve never had to dabble in the former. Everyone who has made it this far is only out for themselves.

Therefore, who knows what secrets you hide behind your sweet facade, Joel contemplates. Though, if he did have to believe there was anyone selfless left on god’s blighted earth? If he had to believe in someone, Joel would bet cards on it being you.

He sucks in another long, slow breath, and the scent of you envelops him all over again. For a moment, he finds himself wanting to believe in you. But it’s never too long before he recalls he gave up a long time ago on believing in anything. Anything except his wits and his fists and his gun, at least.

“That’s it Joel,” you praise as he relaxes - uncoils - just a shade, and the smooth tone of your voice slides right under his skin. The thought that you want to make him feel good makes him tingle. Makes him forget - almost - that he doesn’t deserve that.

Meanwhile, your deft fingers and thumbs continue to work nimbly into him, sliding over the contours and bones and ridges of his skull. Applying a warm, steady pressure against the muscles at the nape of his neck. Circling your thumb against a spot that sends a buzzing, suffusing warmth skittering down the length of his spine. Blooming through him - and, it has been so long. So long since Joel felt anything resembling pleasure that when he feels this warm honey trail down his back, an involuntary moan overspills his parted lips.

Shit. There's no chance that you didn't hear that.

The moan reverberates in the tight, quiet room. Lingers far longer than it sounds out for. Lingers, despite how quickly Joel cuts it short - clamping his mouth shut and hoping he can pass it off as a grunt or some expulsion of pain from shifting in his chair.

Your fingers halt, still tangled in his hair. “D-Do you want me to stop?” There is a heat in your tone, Joel thinks, the vowels and consonants warm and full like the pop and crackle of a hearth.

It's new. And it occurs to him, ever so suddenly, that maybe you are enjoying this too? Touching him?

After all, he’s not insisting upon it. Didn’t suggest it. Has not attempted to prolong it. And yet, you continue, working diligently. Soothing him. Freely offering your praise and those little, contented hums - those small, burgeoning sounds which make his fingertips ache to have your skin beneath them, so that he can keep on making your lips overspill with those sweet sounds of satisfaction.

Indeed, Joel’s hair has got to be cleaner now than it’s ever been. He’s been in your chair longer than he ever intended - and you don’t seem to be working any other angle. Don’t seem to be after any contraband that he can get his hands on. Haven’t submitted any requests. Fished for any information.

Perhaps then, you are enjoying him. Enjoying performing this act of service for him - though god knows why. Perhaps you are even looking down at his body right now while he’s all laid out for you in this worn-out chair. His long limbs stretched out, clothes tugging taut over his tight, muscular frame. Perhaps you like looking at him like this, his hair slicked back and away from his sharp face and his hawkish nose, watching the twist and pull of the muscles as he sets his jaw - needing to consolidate all of his resolve simply to resist your sweet, sugary touches. Perhaps you liked when you watched his eyes flutter closed under your touch. When you watched his lips part with that sound. That throaty, undone moan, all for you.

Joel’s not stupid.

He’s clocked the way you look at him sometimes. With this gentle, inviting hunger. The way you always make the effort to come over and speak with him whenever opportunity presents itself. The way your appealing body bends to him like a flower to its sun, as though he has anything nourishing about him. As though he has anything but darkness to offer.

He’s clocked you too. Has seen the way kindness and warmth dance across your features like a living, licking flame. Has seen you glow brightly too with a steady, constant fire, which he is sure must run hotter and more fierce beneath the surface than any would estimate. He had noticed too, of course, the swell and contours of your body, hiding beneath your clothes in all the places he most enjoys.

He’s thought before how he’d like to find out where the hunger in your eyes could take him if he chased it; but in the end he knows there is never any further to go than here. That every road is a dead end since the world ended. That the quarantine zone is the only place with walls more impenetrable than his own.

Still; he’s thought about you more than he’d care to admit. To Tommy. To Tess. To you. To himself. Has thought about the way your lips might feel on his. How soft and warm your body might be if he held it up against him. The way his calloused hands might look with his fingers sunk into your flesh, grabbing up handfuls of you like you are his daily bread - the very thing he needs to survive.

Of burying his head between your thighs for hours and trying to suck the impossible sweetness out of you, as though, somehow, he could then begin to understand how someone as good as you is capable of existing in a world as shitty and cruel as this.

He’s had darker thoughts too though. Thoughts of filling you rough and sudden - if you’d let him. Of burying his anger in you with every thrust, deep enough that he could attempt to forget it. Of letting you take his rage from him for just a few moments - as if it could ever truly leave him for a moment longer than that.

But of course, in actuality, he’s done none of that. Joel hasn’t pulled on a single one of those threads. He hasn’t unravelled.

Instead, for the most part, Joel has simply ignored you. Ignored you, because that’s the precisely the last thing he wants to do. Ignored you, because the safest option - Joel has established - is usually to give himself the opposite of whatever he thinks he wants.

That is… he’s ignored you until today. Until you offered to wash his hair. A simple yet towering offer of kindness in a world blighted by dark and rot. An offer that feels like more than he deserves when all he’s ever done for you is to give you the brush off. To answer you tersely, his aim with every interaction to have it over quick.

Still… he’d said yes. Or, at least, he’d declined to protest. Had nodded. Had followed you.

If he’s being honest with himself, he could have asked Tommy to help him, even if he was trying to obscure the severity of his latest injuries from his dear ol’ brother. Even Tess - she’d have done it. With plenty of griping, but she would have done it.

The truth is though, that he wanted it to be you. Needed it to be you. He’d gravitated towards you, even before he knew what you might be prepared to give him. Even without any trade to offer. For you, he’d unravelled. Just a little; in a moment of weakness. He hasn’t slept and he hasn’t succeeded and he hasn’t succumbed for so long, that he finally slipped. Finally gave into one of his wants. Finally gave in to what he wanted most. To seat himself in front of the warm hearth of you and to feel a little god dang comfort.

Joel opens his eyes, expression washing clean with a new resolve, and your fingers still frozen in his hair. He fixes his gaze on the broken picture rail. Precisely at the point where it fractures. Where it needs fixing. He needs a little fixing too, he thinks. He’s sure now, that he’s chosen the right tool for the job, when not another damn thing could do it.

“No,” he finally responds, his voice unwavering, blinking his bitter coffee eyes, sweetened already by your sugar. A gentle gulp sinking down the corded column of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

From behind and above him, he hears you release a breath as though you may have been holding one, tight in your chest, and you slide your fingers from his hair. “Good.” Good. The word rattles pleasantly in his chest when you say it. “We’ll do your conditioner next.”

And, for the first time, Joel unclenches his fingers from where they have been curled around the arm rests of the chair, clinging on to the lip until his knuckles had turned white.

This time - for all he can tell via his scalp - your touch feels a little bolder. A little looser. You even drag your nails over his head now, applying long, sizzling scratches which send that same buzzy warmth snaking down his back. You massage him more eagerly, blood flooding to his crotch as he thinks about having your strong, supple, precise hands work him in other places. He imagines, as your nails graze over him, how you might claw harsh stripes down his back in a moment of ecstasy. As your thumb massages a circle into the spot behind his ear, imagines how you might circle the soft pad of it around the swollen head of his cock, collecting up the glistening bead of precum as he leaks for you. Imagines, as you carefully pour a cup of warm, cascading water over his head, how he could bathe himself with the warmth of your skin on his. Imagines, as he hears the subtle wet sounds created as you scrunch sweet-smelling elixirs into his hair, how it might sound if your own juices were being coaxed out of you by his fingers until they began to drip, working down his veined, muscled forearm.

He allows himself to imagine everything he plans to deny himself. He at least allows himself to have that.

“That temperature still okay for you?” you ask as you lift the cup of water once again, fracturing his sordid daydreams.

Joel gives a terse grunt. It’s all he can manage.

“So,” you ask breezily. “Are you going anywhere nice for your holidays?”

It takes Joel a few moments to realise just what you’re doing. To twig. It’s a decade - shit, more - since he had a haircut like that, so it takes him a while to pick up that you’re echoing the banal small talk which used to occur as you sat down in the barber chair. Those memory cogs are stiff. He hasn’t turned them in a long time. He doesn’t want to remember that there was anything before. At least, not a lot of it.

Still, your bit takes him by surprise. It’s such a ludicrous contrast that it makes him laugh to think about how things have changed. Who can even go on holiday now? You can’t even leave the quarantine zone. Shit. Even if you could, you wouldn’t want to. And so, Joel laughs. He laughs and he barely recognises the sound from his own mouth. He laughs… and he instantly regrets it, because he knows better than to pull on any of those threads.

But; it’s too late now.

He laughs and you mirror him, the sound melodious and hopeful, and all of a sudden Joel can imagine everything he’s been avoiding you for.

He hasn’t been avoiding you because he wants to fuck you - not really. He’s fucked plenty of folk, and he’s moved on.

He’s avoiding you, because of how easily he can imagine you in a summer dress, twirling in the yard to show it off to him. How easily he can imagine you sitting on a front porch gripping your morning cup of coffee and the sun shining on your face as you smile up at him. How easily he can imagine you lifting a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven, batting his hand away as he steals one before it cools.

Truthfully, he has no idea whether you ever did a single one of those things before - before all this. He doesn’t even really care whether you did. He knows it’s a flat, idealised, empty picture postcard version of you.

But, even so, it still hurts.

It still hurts, because of just how easily he could imagine waking up beside you in his house.

The house that no longer exists.

The house with Sarah in it.

And that’s why he never pulls on that thread.

That’s why he avoids you.

That’s why this can never work.

Because you?

You make him remember all the sweet things. All the sweet things the world used to contain before the rot and the death and despair painted over everything. Infected it.

You make him remember the taste of fresh mangoes. The feeling of sand beneath his feet and waves washing over his toes. Saturdays at the mall. Picking away at his guitar in the living room. The easy jubilation of ball games on the TV on Sundays, with Tommy in the kitchen plating up chicken wings. Of bad movie nights. Of mornings spent around the kitchen table, and his daughter cooking up birthday pancakes.

That’s why he can’t ever start to be happy with you. Why he can’t pull on that thread; because all the good things in life are attached to it. All tied and knotted and tangled up with “before”.

When he dreams of you - when he lets himself - he dreams of then too.

He has to, doesn’t he? Because the past is the only place to build a future when the present is apocalyptic, isn’t it? When you are the only thing he hasn’t lost yet, and everything else -pretty much- is already dead and gone.

It kills him that he found you now.

Found you too late.

It kills him because Sarah would have loved you, and because he thinks he could have too.

You don’t know all of this, of course. You can’t ever know this. And so, your oblivious fingers continue touching him, until he feels another moan begin to spool itself tight in his chest, getting ready to unravel. This time though, he is less sure whether it is a moan of pleasure or of anguish. More and more these days, those two feelings have been starting to feel precisely the same.

“Can we move this along?” he asks gruffly, some of the weight settling back into his brow. He asks, predictably, for the opposite of what he wants. It has to be like that. There’s no other road anymore.

“We can stop whenever you like but… that’s a shame.”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

“Because your hands had only just started to unclench.”

Joel’s heart clenches at the thought you were watching him that intently. That you were weighing the state and tension of his body. Valiantly trying to release some of that weight from him, even when you must be so heavy too.

And of course, knowing this, he only tries to push you further away. Before his dreams of you are seared even more brightly under his skin.

“You know what. I should go.” His chest constricts - throat grows tighter, a lump forming.

Joel idly wonders if his grief will ever stop feeling so raw. That’s the second disease, he thinks. The other monster infecting everything around it. The shadow of the original cloud. He wonders if it will always be this debilitating, even after he’s pushed it down as far as it can go. It’s not only a grief for what was lost, he ponders. It’s also a grief for what he can never have again. It's a grief for you and all the ways he could have loved you.

He sits up -carefully but abruptly, hand clamped over his aching ribs- and his wetted hair sends rivulets snaking down his face, his neck, his chest. Inching beneath the collar of his green button down shirt. Collecting on his shoulders like a pattern of indoor raindrops.

“Joel,” you scold, tutting lightly. Following quickly after him with the towel, trying to mop up after him. Hastily, you towel off his hair. Sneak your hand beneath his collar, gathering the drops up from his chest and neck.

With effort, and a grimace, Joel swings his legs around, until he is sitting upright, feet planted on the floor. But, whether for the pain or for the promise of pleasure - he’s not sure - he can’t bring himself to move any further than that. Especially not as you finally round from the basin, the damp towel slung over your shoulder, your hands and wrists still shined and wet from caressing his hair in a way he can only describe as reverent.

You kneel before him, drying your hands off and setting the towel down before boldly sliding your palms up his denim-clad thighs. “Joel. Would you just let me take care of you?"

He meets your eyes and finds them soft but determined. Empty of darkness, even with the black expanding abyss of your pupil eating away at the colour of your iris.

Joel looks down at your hands as you begin to smooth them up and down, inching slowly up towards his crotch before retreating - repeating the pattern. He looks at you in displeasure, but there’s nothing about your touch which is unwelcome - and that’s exactly the problem. He swallows. Gathers his question up in his throat before he offers it to you gently, as though in cupped, outstretched palms. “How?”

Your beautiful eyes flash with pity then, he thinks, or something like it. It seems like a silly question, but after all this time he doesn’t recall what it’s like to be cared for. He doesn’t know how to let you.

Your palm reaches up to the scruff on his cheek. You smooth it fondly. “Lie back,” you encourage, with a soft smile which seems to glow from the inside, like a porch backlit with the glow of home. “And just let me take care of the rest.”

Joel has always found something to fight for, but today, he has no fight left in him. In truth, he doesn’t want to fight this. To fight you. It is easy to give in to you. In fact, it's too easy. That has always been the problem.

Your hands continue to travel up and down his thighs, and he feels the warmth of you bleed through the fabric.

God. He’s already hard for you. Already full and throbbing in his jeans. Already, he is imagining your hands wrapping around the thick, straining mass of him. Imagining the way that -in moments - you may be unloosing his belt, threading leather through denim loop. The way you might pop the button keenly with your thumb, and he might groan as you relieve the pressure. The way you might unzip the straining fly to have his substantial length spring free, so rarely touched and so so ready to be taken care of.

At the thought of that alone, he’s straining against the seams of his pants, a pressure which sits smack bang between pleasure and pain.

“Joel,” you whisper softly, and he realises he hasn’t yet moved from his position.

“Right.” He swallows. He lies back. Stretches himself out, feeling far more exposed this time, even if he is still fully clothed.

You stand, quickly disappearing the basin away and soon you’re back, standing over Joel and watching him laid out all needy like this. His eyes travel over you, entranced by your form, and he suddenly needs friction. Needs the relief he didn't even know he was waiting for until you offered it - or, implied it. He bucks his hips up, not even caring if he’s being subtle, and the denim and leather creak as he shifts. He punches out a breath as he strains in his pants, chasing any morsel of friction he can. The feeling of his shaft pushing harder against the seam as his whole cock twitches for you. For those hands. For that plush mouth. Maybe for that cunt of yours.

As usual though, when Joel feels anything good, there is a familiar swell of guilt too; this time, riding in on the flood of arousal to his cock. This time, there’s something new to be feeling guilty for too. Something to add to that already long list. He feels guilty for having all of these thoughts about you, despite never having asked you where you were from. Before. What you used to do. Who you lost.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, before he even knows that his mouth is moving. Before he’s even figured out what it is he’s sorry for.

Truth is, he’s sorry for so many reasons. For what he’s done. What he’s lost. Whatever you’ve lost. For not asking you about it. Mainly, he realises, because he can’t make you any promises. None that he could keep. Not to keep you safe. He can’t promise you that.

He thinks you’ll ask him what for - why he’s sorry. But instead, you say something else.

“Don’t be.”

If only it was that easy.

Even so, he looks into your eyes as your hungry gaze skims the length of his body, settling at the bulge at his crotch as you drag your tongue along the pillow of your lower lip. You’re beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and lust and hunger. Alive in a dead world; and suddenly, it doesn’t matter one bit to Joel where you came from. It doesn’t matter what happened before. It only matters where you’re going. What you want. How he can give it to you.

But it is you who gives him something.

You hinge at the hips, slanting your mouth against Joel’s, and he feels your lips brush up against the scruff on his top lip. Feels the pillow of your plush mouth meet his before your tongue fleets out, licking into him like a searing, dancing flame. You hum hungrily into his mouth and his lips chase you as you pull away, another backlit smile dancing on your face, your features already beginning to resemble home to him in a world where there's no such thing.

Joel watches you move now, with quiet fascination, as you kick off your boots. As you wiggle your pleasing hips, untying then easing your cargo pants and panties down your thighs. His tongue curls around his lip as he is gifted glimpses of your skin - although you are still covered to your upper thigh by the yellow tunic top you’re wearing - and now he can’t help but palm himself through his jeans for a morsel of relief.

Still. What you're about to offer him? It feels like far too much. “What are you doing? You don’t have to-“

“-Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” you promise, meeting his eyes, open and honest and ready to back off if he doesn’t want this. But shit, how could he not want you? Look at you - and so he can’t. He can’t possibly tell you that, even though he thinks that he should.

“No. God, I want you,” Joel pleads, voice hollowed-out with need. All spent, like ash.

“And you’re going to have me.”

You kick your pants and panties off, leaving them to pool discarded on the floor, and Joel palms himself a little harder, grabbing the fat roll of himself through the denim as he catches a glimpse. They’re nothing sexy, of course; but from the way they’ve fallen he is able to note the telltale wet spot on the crotch. It looks like you’ve soaked them through, and God he wants to feel your wetness for himself.

You ease over him, settling your knees on to either side of the leather chair, where Joel’s legs are stretched out before him, sturdy thighs slightly parted to accommodate the arousal between his legs.

You’re still wearing your tunic top, bright yellow like sunshine, and the length of it dances and clings at intervals to your hips and thighs as you move. It’s driving him wild that you are bare beneath. All he can think about is that warm, delicious wetness of yours spilling over him. God, he wants to hear it. Wants to squeeze it out of you. Wants it to drip down the veined shaft of him.

You straddle his thighs, knees folded, the soles of your feet pointed up towards your ass cheeks, and your heat settles just below his own - not quite grinding over him, but tantalisingly close.

You take a moment like this to simply look at him. To gaze into his coffee brown eyes as though there’s something more to him than being sorry and bitter. Like you could see anything sweet there. Anything worth wanting. Then, you comb his damp hair back with your fingers, drawing the strands back from his forehead. Tucking and curling them around his ears.

Your touch - your tenderness - makes him ache. Makes him throb. Makes him want to bury himself in you. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, his feelings - anything of him you’ll take. And, as he wraps his arms around you a wracked moan unspools from his chest as his rough fingertips find the soft skin beneath your yellow tunic. As his touch traverses the contours of you he’s always admired from a distance.

As his jaw falls open, slack with desire, you drink down his moan, catching the resonant sound in the cave of your mouth. Kissing him with a gentle yet constant hunger. With a red hot spark of deviance in your sweet eyes which almost makes Joel spill creamy ropes into his pants there and then. Your tongue travels along your lower lip. Your gaze drops, lust dark and heavy to the bulge at his crotch, and you unloop his belt with those hands of yours. They'll look small next to the size of him, he thinks. He likes that thought a lot.

“Let’s see what contraband you’re smugglin’ in these pants of yours, cowboy," you smile, and Joel's eyes crinkle with rare amusement. His face tips up with a lopsided smile which is quick to drop - all of him focussed on where you're about to touch him.

He twitches eagerly in his jeans thinking about how tight you will grip him, but you don’t touch him just yet. Instead, you shuffle yourself back, down his legs, giving yourself enough space to tug on his clothing and to ease it down his thighs. Once his pants and his boxers have reached his knees you stop there, abandoning them almost as soon as his thick, veined length is sprung free, nestling all tender against the hatch of greying hair trailing down his abdomen - where his shirt is lifted.

He’s flushed a deep colour already. Veined and needy and weeping for you. His need becomes even more urgent yet as he thinks of your hands and the way they move - the way they might touch him. Take care of him. As he thinks about you sliding your thumb over the pearl of precum at his head.

Still, he is not quite ready for the feeling when you dip forward to slide your tongue around the head of him instead, gathering that salty bead with your tongue, lapping it up with relish. He feels you hum around the head of him, the vibration sending a zip of pleasure flooding along his length. Making his balls tighten and ache already.

He wants you. He needs you. He wants you with an urgency, and yet here you are, still taking your time. Taking your time to suck at him and feel him weigh heavy over your tongue until your jaw aches from it. To grip him in your hand and marvel at the girth of him. At the way he is so sensitive that every motion and shift of your pattern makes him melt into the chair, increasingly boneless, his brow burdened with need.

You are tender with him. Careful, of his injuries. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You touch him like he’s wounded; everywhere. His whole body. His whole soul too. And he is, isn’t he? All of him is hurting? Has been for so long?

Joel groans, his lip almost splitting from biting down and stifling his moans. He never was a vocal lover but God, it’s different for you. And this time, the sound punches out of him as you shift. As you settle your cunt over him and he feels your sopping heat glide along his length for the first time. It is a non-descript sound, halfway between pain and pleasure; and instantly, concern flashes in your eyes. You pause; lift off of him with a rise of your thighs and check-in with him.

“Joel. Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

Are you? His breath is searing in and out of his lungs. Ragged breaths, jolting his pained ribs. You have him on the edge and so alight with desire for you that his need feels unbearable. He’s aching to fill you up. His face is contorted and crumpled by his need, brows drawn down, eyes half-lidded. But is this pain? Or is this something else? Something he has forgotten.

For a moment, then, he almost answers “yes”. Yes, because he doesn’t remember anything else but pain and so, the sensation he’s feeling now? Isn’t that pain too? Is there anything else?

He’s almost grateful when he shifts slightly, writhes against the chair to buck his hips keenly up in search of you as you withdraw so cruelly from him, his muscles coiling up. He’s grateful that the shift does indeed send pain blooming through his side; because he knows then, with certainty, that you are bringing him nothing but pleasure.

He’s grateful too though, for the pain, because a pleasure like this? A pure hit of it, not cut through with anything he's more used to? Joel thinks it would be too much for him to take. Joel thinks you are too much for him. Far more than he deserves.

“Joel?” you prompt, sliding your palm against his scruff. He hears it rasp like a scraped match. “I want you.”

You don’t want me, the voice in his head sounds out. I have nothing I can give you. But those are not the words that make it to his lips. Those are not the words at all. “Then have me, sweetheart.”

Joel may have nothing he feels he can give you, but holy shit he wants everything you are offering. He wants your plush, velvet mouth. Your smooth thighs. He wants the pooling slick between your legs - and for once, just this once, he intends to allow himself to satisfy his needs.

He figures he will simply owe you a debt. Find something that you want or need and acquire it for you. He simply has to think of this like a transaction, doesn’t he? Something familiar. Something he knows. That way, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t deserve - and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.

Once invited back to his body, sure of what he wants, you kiss him. Deeply, hungrily, your tongue rolling and writhing against his. Your breaths just as ragged as his. Your thighs quaking next to his, your want more than evident.

You break for air and you rise up on your knees again so that you can settle over him, notching the fat, swollen head of him against your folds.

You look like a dream on top of him, and with this yellow fabric dancing about your thighs, you look to Joel like you’re wearing a sun dress. Indeed, when he looks up at you - when he blocks everything else out - you make it feel like nothing ever happened. Like nothing was ever lost.

You look just like you’re about to fuck him on his bed on white crisp sheets. Like you’ll fall asleep beside him and in the morning he’ll make you breakfast.

You look like everything he wanted and found far too late.

You are beautiful. You are good. You are gentle. Gentle still. Gentle despite everything. And where on earth did you learn that from - how on earth did you hang on to it - in a world like this? A world which has not been gentle with him. Which has been out to get him at every turn.

You are gentle with him, even when he is undeserving. Even when he has been anything but.

Gingerly then, you settle yourself over him, and once his head is notched there and your slick hand is guiding him home, he slips easily past your folds. His eyes flutter closed as he feels your warmth wrap around him, the tightness of you hugging his girth. You’re so tight that he feels like he must be splitting you apart, but the way you’re shaking for him, the way these delicious moans unravel from your mouth tells him it feels just as good for you too.

You’re gentle with him. Sinking down on him slowly. Being ever so cautious of his ribs and his bruises and scrapes. You’re making him feel so good. So close to coming undone.

But god, he’s not planning on being gentle with you.

There’s a part of Joel that wants to make love to you, sure; but he’s not even sure he’d know how to do that anymore. How to be tender. How to be gentle. And so, he reaches for you in the only way he knows how. Reaches for you with his arms, his hands. With a body that doesn’t remember pleasure - not really. With a soul that doesn’t remember anything good - not really. He reaches for you, with hands that only know how to kill things.

In the end, it’s clunky, when he extends his touch towards you. Rough - and far too desperate. He reaches for you like it’s survival - the one thing he knows how to do - and he claws at your hips, the rough pads of his flesh sinking into your skin like dough. He has the sense, at least, to check with you, to ask with words rasped through gravel in his throat if he can fill you up. And as soon as you say yes, as soon as your breathy affirmatives and pleas lilt to his ears, Joel is dragging you down on him. Spearing you -abrupt and sudden- with the fat length of his dick, surging into you all at once.

The motion, along with the sudden swell of him punches a breath from your lungs, your rib cage flaring with quick short pants. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as you mewl his name, and god, if he wasn’t hurt he’d be drilling into you already, fucking himself up into you at a brutal pace, so long as you’d let him.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, with effort. “Too much?”

“Almost. Joel - fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He stills as you breathe around him, adjusting to his size, and as soon as you’re ready you rise up on your knees, dragging electric pleasure all along his shaft as your cunt strokes and grips him tightly.

Then, when you sink yourself down once more, impaling yourself on his length, Joel screws his eyes shut as he eases -glides- into the wet, warm cushion of you all over again. You’re so soft and tight and forgiving, your walls relenting to the girth of him, yet providing such glorious friction that it makes his head spin. Makes him see spots, the edges of his vision whiting out.

Next, Joel moves too, adjusting his hips slightly. Helping you impale yourself on him over and over like this. He keeps it going, despite the burn of pain in his ribs and his shoulder. He tries to guide you with the claws of his hands at your hips, until it begins to hurt him too much. Until all he can do is lie back and take it from you. All he can do is feel it, emitting gusty, billowing breaths from the shocked “o” of his plush lips as he attempts to stave of his end. To do all he can to take care of your end too before he spills himself.

He needs to. Needs to take care of you like this, because he can’t offer you any other damn thing.

He can’t promise to take care of you.

He can’t promise that to anyone ever again.

He will only break it.

So, no promises. But surely, he can feel pleasure, for these fleeting moments? Surely, he can give you that too, because even if he doesn’t he’s damn sure you deserve at least that much.

He reaches for you. In desperation again. Like it’s survival. Like he can’t live without this. Without you. Even though he has already. Even though he'll have to again.

For now though, for right now, he's filling you all the way up. Squeezing your juices out of you. Pushing them out with every thrust until he’s fucking you with wet, obscene sounds. Until your slick is coursing down his shaft, coating his balls, inching over him.

With a grunt, Joel gathers some slick with the two forefingers of his left hand, and he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers into your clit. You yowl at the pressure -the pleasure- and then you guide him with your hand over his, Joel quickly learning your pace and your patterns, replicating it perfectly when you release your guiding touch.

It feels so good. It feels so good and your eager, pleasured moans are billowing down to him, your cunt clenching down on him and his dick is feeling fucking blissful as you repeatedly sink yourself. It feels good - so good - and it’s more than he deserves but god, he’s going to take it. He's going to take it even if he has to be punished for it later.

He’s pretty sure the world has been punishing him for years anyway. Pretty sure it’s keeping score and will be sure to let him know about it if he dares to take too much.

For now though.

Holy shit.

It feels so good and you’re so beautiful. So perfect. Better than he could have imagined, his flattened daydreams of you nothing compared to the real thing. You’re a vision, and you’re too good for this blighted earth and you’re every bit deserving of the life Joel knows he can never give you.

It’s bittersweet and you’re beautiful; but you’re too beautiful to look at - bright like the sun in your yellow tunic, fabric moving around your thighs like a sun dress, like something you might have worn in the before times. Like you might have worn in his yard if he’d still had a home to offer you. Maybe. Maybe you would've. It kills him that he'll never know. Never know what you could have had. What he could have given you.

You’re beautiful, and god you’re too beautiful to look at and so he drags you down to his lips as you clamp down around him, squeezing him like a vice, causing pleasure to sear white hot from his middle, creamy ropes of cum filling you up as you convulse. Your spasming cunt sends jolting aftershocks zipping through his length, ekeing every last drop from him, draining him dry.

You’re too beautiful. Too good of a thing for him to hold on to - and so Joel keeps kissing you, his hands coming to cup your face as tenderly as his killing hands know how. Kissing you, for long enough that he can quash the tears which threaten to squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He kisses you softly, his sentiments dissolving like sugar against your mouth - as sweet as he can muster.

He kisses you, until he feels the shape of your mouth morph into a smile, and that’s it. That's when he stops.

That’s when he stops, because he can’t let himself feel this. He can’t let himself feel this because he can’t pull on that thread. Not when everything he has worked so hard to push down is all knotted and tangled together. Everything he’s loved and everything he’s lost, all bundled up in his chest.

He can’t let himself feel this because it was far more than he expected to feel.

He’d thought that you would be quick. Thought -hoped- you were just using him. Like this was a transaction. That maybe this was how you collect advantages. How you’ve managed to survive. Instead though, you gave, and you took, but it was not transactional in the slightest. And Joel has nothing left in his heart or his pockets except ration cards. Nothing he can give you in return.

Most importantly though, he can’t let himself feel this, because happiness died when the world did.

Died when she did.

And, happiness?

Well - Joel doesn’t believe he deserves to feel it again.

That’s why he encourages you off of him a little too quickly, even when you pepper kisses along the column of his neck. Why he moves away a little too abruptly, even when you tongue hungrily at the salt-slick sweat which has pooled in the hollow of his throat. Why he sets his face, all stern again even as he’s still leaking out of you.

Anyway, he stands, grunting out in pain. Maybe in anguish. Pulling his pants up with his good arm, and preparing to go.

He sets his face, and he looks back at you, where you have huddled yourself in his spot on the chair, your makeshift yellow sun dress hitched up around your hips, exposing where you glisten, all slick with the evidence of what he just did with you.

You're beautiful. Too beautiful. You look like summer when he meets your eyes. A sun that is bright and constant, like it used to be before the rot clouded over the skies.

A light that is far too bright for him.

Part of him expects you to look sad. To look surprised that he has leapt up like this, motioning to leave so violently. Expects you to plead with him to give you more; but instead, you look at him levelly. Knowing, not naive. Maybe you too are clear on the limits of what’s possible. Clear that there are some things that can never be.

Still, as that soft smile plays over your face, as Joel holds the memory of your touch over his body, the bitter coffee look in his eyes sweetens just a little.

“Listen. Thanks," he states brusqely. It’s not enough. Not by any stretch. But unless you want some contraband or some shit, it’s all he’s got.

“No problem, Joel-y. I... I just wanted to take care of you. I thought you deserved that - at least once.”

Tears prick at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Stinging; but pushed down and flattened before you can even notice it. He’s not quite sure. Not quite sure whether hearing you say he deserves something he’s sure that he doesn’t counts as pleasure or pain, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. He’s back to not knowing the difference. Not recognising pleasure or happiness when they stare him in the face, because now they have become strangers.

Joel nods efficiently at you. Picks up his rucksack and moves towards the doorway, trying not to think about the fact you’re still full of him. About the fact that you’re still smiling, that backlit glow of home imviting him in.

Truth be told, he can’t imagine ever being happy again.

If he could imagine it though? If he could imagine being happy, he’s sure as all hell that it would be with you.

You’re like summer, he thinks. Bright. Luminous. It's just that Joel’s not looking for the light.

For someone who’s so used to the dark? Like him? The light is blinding.

Still, he pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you for one moment more. From the surprise on your face now, he can tell you didn’t even expect that much from him - and by God, you deserve so much better.

His eyes sweeten, just a little further, and his face sets - now with a different kind of resolve. He offers his words, like they’re cupped in outstretched palms. Like he could be gentle. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t owe me a debt, Joel.”

He nods, but that doesn’t mean at all that he accepts your assertion.

His eyes tick over to the broken picture rail, right where it fractures. His gaze lingers on it for a moment, cataloguing what tools he might need to fix it. Clocking the picture frames of salvaged art you have leaning up against the wall, not yet hung.

“I said, I'll make it up to you.” You nod efficiently back at him, and Joel drinks one more long measure of you in before he leaves. Maybe it's not quite a promise, but right now, it's all he's got.

He’d burn the world down for you, he thinks, if it could change a damn thing.

Thing is though, the world has already burned.

He can’t make you many promises. Can’t keep you safe. Make you happy. Offer you a home.

He’ll only let you down.

Maybe all of that is true. Maybe it is - but Joel knows one thing for sure. You’re brighter than the sun, and, in a world full of darkness? He just can’t look away, even though you’re blinding.

#joel miller x reader #tlou #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers

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hadesrise · 1 year ago

Text

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐈𝐍.

summary ➳ you’re sinfully divine, an addicting drug no rehab could fix. it’s not like mickey wanted to, anyway.

pairings ➳ mikhailo “mickey” milkovich x male reader

warnings ➳ nsfw content, foul language, top!reader, bottom!mickey, attractive nerd reader (with glasses n’ shit), rough sex, choking, praise kink, degradation if you squint, pet names, size difference, reader’s a freaking giant with big dick lmao, slight possessiveness, belly bulge, dumbification, dacryphilia

author’s note ➳ mickey milkovich brain rot. also tumblr quality being shit 😠

MINORS & FEM READERS DNI !!

Mickey found himself unable to keep his eyes and hands off of you. He would convince himself there’s nothing to the way he stares at you from across the room, how his eyes would cloud with unspeakable lust as they run along your tall frame, checking out every hidden muscles he knew was underneath your slightly oversized clothing, how he unconsciously licks his lips when you tilt your head back and stretch with a tiny moan of satisfaction over the cracking back bones leaving your lips.

He convinces himself he isn’t into you.

At least, he does in daylight. But when the sun falls and moon rises instead as the sky darkens into a midnight blue, those denials and convincing ends up disappearing into the void within his mind, thoughts consumed by you alone. Your low voice as you speak praises and degrading words to him simultaneously, your hand wrapped around his throat and squeezing while the other grips his hips and no doubt leaving bruise, your hips thrusting relentlessly at a speed he didn’t know you could muster, your fucking cock that’s long and thick and hits every right spot.

There’s a little sense of triumphant in him, the knowledge that only he could ever see you like this — so rough, so dominant, wild, like a beast had been freed from its chains. Your usual angelic demeanor and personality drastically changing behind closed doors as you slowly pick him apart piece by piece, the want and need to break him flashing itself dangerously in your dark and lustful eyes, sending waves of thrilling excitement throughout Mickey’s body.

You had him bent over the cold desk, his wrists pinned to the surface by one of your big hands as the other held his hips in a bruising grip, roughly and relentlessly thrusting into him that had him moaning loudly and spurting series of curses and nonsense words. His hole still tight and almost sucking you in despite how used it already was being a proof that you managed to rearrange his guts into the shape of your own cock, making them perfectly fit against each other.

“(Y/n)— Oh, oh, fuck!” Mickey cried out as you continuously rammed your dick in him, keeping a steady rough pace, grunts leaving your lips once in a while. He had already came three times, the side of the desk stained in his cum and dripping down to the floor, his legs trembling from the overstimulation.

“Take it so fucking well, Mikhailo.” You nearly growled, punctuating your words with strong thrusts that had him seeing stars, your cock reaching deep into his guts with each snap of your hips. “Taking it like a good slut, letting me use your cunt whenever I want...” You let out a dark chuckle, sending shivers down his spine.

“More, please,” He whined and arched his back, both hands gripping the edge of the desk, not even struggling against your tight hold on his wrists. Surely, there would be a hand-shaped mark around them once you’re done with him. “Deeper, fuck, wanna feel it poking my fucking stomach, pleasepleaseplease,” Brain too fucked out to think coherently, Mickey babbled and pushed his ass against you, moaning.

“Look at you,” You whistled, leaning over to lick the back of his ear, making his hips jerk. “So fucking pathetically drunk on my cock. Almost want them to see what a whore Milkovich you are.” The whispered humiliation going straight to his brain and cock, you felt him clench around you as he mewled, tears spilling from his pretty little blue eyes. Even your words alone could make him feel this euphoric, almost cumming right then and there.

Mickey could never get over how you drastically change between morning and night — so divine and angelic in the morning with your hands reaching out to people in need of help, gaze soft and welcoming as melody of kindness and warm heart spill from your lips. You’re soft and warm, practically the epitome of peace with how everyone finds themselves relaxed around your presence. The sunlight creating an illusion of halo above your head. Light colored clothes and round spectacles adding more emphasis to your gentle tall giant persona. However, at night, you pull off that kind and perfect mask only to Mickey, soft smiles turning into cocky or arrogant grins and smirks, atmosphere entirely changing to that of lust and filthiness as your lips speak sinful words that never failed to make his head spin and heart jackhammer against his ribcage. You’re sly and arrogant, and too proud, to say the least. Very very prideful due to the knowledge that only you can manhandle, use, and ruin the Milkovich. An angel suddenly morphing into a sinful being.

He couldn’t get fucking enough of it despite the internalized homophobia tightly attached to his soul.

But with you, he doesn’t have to think about that. Insecurities that are drilled into his mind being pushed back by your sole presence; he doesn’t have to be afraid of being feminine or not matching the Society’s gender stereotype, because with you, he can be weak, vulnerable, good. There’s no toxic masculinity to hold him back.

Mickey was fucking addicted to this angelic sin, and you sure as hell felt the same even though words of confirmation never left your lips.

His mind started to go blank as you angled your hips to adjust your cock inside him, wanting to make sure it perfectly hits his prostate, before abruptly snapping your hips to his. Mickey cried out, nearly screaming when you started going deep and fast on him, the roughness of your thrusts making the desk almost move with each movement. “Oh! Ohhhh, fuck! Ahgh, mm!” His moans were loud, you’re sure the neighbors heard it. The stinging pain of your big fucking dick stretching him more open with each drag of your hips causing him to see stars in pleasure.

“Come on, baby,” You cooed, a big contrast to your relentless pace fucking his brains out. “You can take it more.”

Mickey whines, throwing his head back and eyes rolling back to his skull when you sink into him deeper, he could feel his stomach bulging from the thick and big size of your dick. “F-fuck, too deep... Yesyesyes, please, (Y/n), fuck— Fuck me more.”

He fucking loves it, the way your massive size and height never fails to have complete control over him. How your big body traps him between you and the desk, figure towering over him; it makes it so fucking easy for you to assert dominance and manhandle him however you please. He loves everything about you and your large frame.

“You love it, don’t ya? Having my cock so deep in you that it’s pokin’ your stomach? Ruining you, fuckin’ you dumb?” You chuckled, fastening your pace as uncontrollable moans and whimpers fall from Mickey’s lips. His mind in a daze, drool dripping from his open mouth that long forgot to close itself, fat tears running down his cheeks, the euphoric pleasure becoming too much.

“Y-yes, oh my god!” Mickey moaned, nodding his head vigorously. “Love—love it so fucking much,” He stuttered as another broken moan slips out.

You hum appreciatively, “Pretty little slut.” Leaning over him, your hand reached over to his throat and squeezed, earning a guttural moan from Mickey as his hole clenched tightly and his cock twitched. He tilts his head back and allows you more access to his throat, which encouraged you to squeeze more until he became light-headed.

“F-fuckfuckfuck, gonna cum, gonna cum,” Mickey breathlessly cries out, legs shaking violently as cum spilled from his rapidly twitching cock, vision seeing white and mind going absolutely dumb.

Groaning, you cursed quietly and let go of his wrists to grip his hips with both hands, continuing to pound into his oversensitive hole and ignoring his sobs of stop i just came, followed by screams of pleasure and overstimulation. He’s so sensitive it hurts, but he didn’t want you to stop despite his pleas to. He wanted you to use him, be your cum dump until you’re satisfied, wanted you to fill him to the brim and feel the white sticky cum dripping down his legs. He wanted you to take your frustrations out on him. He wanted to be your toy.

Mickey knows you know that. You know how he feels and how he thinks. It made excitement course through his veins, knowing you’re willing to fulfill every bit of his unspoken desire. You were angelic like that.

“Such a good boy,” You whispered, kissing his shoulder and making goosebumps rise on his skin. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you? Let me fuck you ‘til I’m satisfied like a good boy, hm?”

“Yes, yes,” He nodded dumbly, slamming his hand against the desk and arching his back. You snapped your hips harshly, which made Mickey’s eyes roll back into his head as he came once again with a guttural moan, painting the side of the desk with his seed.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” You groaned, slamming your dick into him mercilessly, uncaring of how Mickey’s legs were giving up as your hands are the only thing that kept him up. His toes curling, nails scratching on the desk’s surface, sobs wrecking through his body. God, you were fucking ruining him. It made you shiver with sadistic thrill. Your thrusts slowly becomes sloppy with your own orgasm getting near, cock twitching inside him.

“In me, fuck, in me, please.” He whined, reaching back to grab your hand that was gripping his hips.

A grin spreads across your face and you intertwined your fingers with his, “Of course, sweetheart. Wouldn’t cum anywhere else.” You thrusted harshly a few times before burying your cock completely inside him as the orgasm hits, filling every bit of him with moans erupting from your throat. Mickey mewls, followed by a whimper, feeling the warmth inside, face showing absolute bliss. He touches the formed bulge on his stomach while letting out soft moans and whimpers, seemingly in trance.

Thrusting sloppily to ride out your high, you press kisses on his back before sinking your teeth on his shoulder to leave a bite mark. Mickey’s hips buckled, moaning.

“You’re mine, Mick.” You mutter in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “No matter how much you deny, you’re mine. And at the end of the day, you’ll always come back to me, begging to be fucked and stuffed full.” Wrapping your hand around his throat again, you squeezed lightly as Mickey whimpered at the possessive gesture. “Can’t escape me forever, sweetheart.”

Mickey closes his eyes, humming and melting against your body, the denial dying down deep within his mind, looking almost in content.

He wouldn’t dream of it. You’re an angelic sin he could never repent of.

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fallecupid · 5 months ago

Text

"how could i love you?"

.ᐟ.ᐟ warnings :ㅤ angst!dean.ㅤvampire!reader.ㅤgn!reader.ㅤㅤㅤword count: 6k

( author's note : i apologize in advance for errors in this text / vague wording / words that are incorrect in meaning ( if any are present in the content. ) english is not my native language, everything written below has been translated by a translator. )

The heavy clanking of chains and the dampness of the basement hit you like cold water in the morning. Confusedly trying to get some focus of events, you shook your head, almost instantly calling out an irritated lurch somewhere behind you. The gears were slowly banging one against one in your brain, not ready to acknowledge the worst of it. Though it was clear in the back of your mind that it was Dean. You could have sworn you were about to meet his disappointed gaze, or worse, a silver bullet to the forehead.

The man grabbed your chin sharply, not even trying to control the force with which he squeezed the soft skin that once held you so sweetly against him. "Don't look away, the least you can do is look at me." Dean leaned in slightly, gritting his teeth almost to the point of grinding. "After all the shit you pulled on me. How long did you think you'd be a doormat?" He cut himself short, pulling away and crossing his arms over his chest as a low rumble came from you.

The noise intensified behind you, and within minutes Dean Winchester was standing in front of you. His green eyes darkened, like he saw some bastard he should take his life, but damn it was ironic. You pressed your lips together, unable to even look at him.

A tiny signal of how much pain he was holding you in. To his inner turmoil, Winchester let go, he would blame himself again and again later, but not now. "Just let me explain..." Your parched lips cracked as you tried in vain to moisten them with saliva. Winchester, squinted his eyes, unable to hide the way his inner demons were eating away at him.

He couldn't get his mind around how disgusting you were. The little snake he held close, the bloodsucker in the same bed as him. It was utter nonsense, but it was true. And the worst part was that he loved you, even now, through the prism of hatred, he loved you.

The man paced the damp floor, which creaked treacherously beneath him, sagging wetly. "Try explaining." The chilling tone cut into you like a knife to the heart, but with the stipulation that it had been spun a few times. Under that invisible vise, the only thing you could do was stare meekly at the floor, swaggering your words.

"I wanted to say earlier...But i was enjoying the moment too much, you know? All your love, your affection, your smile, those damn teases.... Everything was available to me, like I'd won the damn lottery." You didn't dare look at him, just squirmed.

Dean stopped, looking at you, pursing his lips. A weak excuse, you knew full well he was smashing heads with the likes of you every damn day, yet you still lived off of fortune. Either you were a goddamn lunatic or crazy in love. He almost suppressed a smirk, running those words through his head.

But the moment of weakness didn't last long, he would remember again the moments where you almost got caught. The perpetual night walks, the drops of blood caked on your clothes, the odd behavior, after all. But Dean was just a brainless puppy in love for turning a blind eye so easily. Now all he wanted to do was bang his head against the wall a few times to beat the crap out of himself and the idea that you deserved forgiveness.

Still circling beside you, he hissed in your ear, warm breath stated with dry speech. "That's a weak excuse. If you'd lost control and gnawed on a neighborhood, right? A city? You're dangerous as hell." The man touched your neck, nuzzling it in a light touch, averting his gaze. Now the gears were already working in his brain. It was as if some contradiction was showing its ugly head every time he spat those caustic words at you, every time he wanted to take your head off. God damn him.

Still clutching your neck, his eyes followed yours, those damn eyes full of fear and despair, those damn eyes in which he was drowning and still is. Those lips, now pressed almost to white, used to kiss him supplely. Your hair, the familiar tuft of hair that rippled against his skin. And it was now that it overwhelmed him, as if he were looking through an old family album.

But that's the thing about scrapbooks, they hold those memories that can only be remembered, not realized. You're a monster, you killed innocent people, manipulated them. Torn in a cycle of doubt, he didn't notice how damn hard he squeezed your throat, of course it wouldn't kill you, but noticeable discomfort it might bring.

"Shit shit shit shit, I-" As if coming out of a trance, he recoiled, looking at your face, you almost on the verge of tears. The irony was eerily funny, because he too felt a lump somewhere in the middle of his throat.

"Just tell me, what the hell? Why are you torturing me?" He pressed his lips together, running his fingers through his hair. "You know damn well I can't kill you, but you look at me like I'm the ultimate evil of all." Muttering quietly, Dean took a few deep breaths, looking at you slightly blurred.

Shit. He can't just take your life, not after you pulled him out of a shit hole, not after you helped him rebuild Sammy, not after you gave him a goddamn house. He found a piece of himself. He'd already lost one, his father, and he wasn't ready to lose one by his own stupid oversight.

In fact, you'll handle everything together, won't you? Dean knelt down in front of you, his hands convulsively squeezing your cheeks, on which tears had long since flowed. The man pressed his forehead against yours, his voice shaking like he was in forty-degree cold. "I'm sorry, i'm sorry i'm a fool." He looked at you. "No, you're not.... Anyone in your shoes would have done the same." You muttered, meeting his gaze.

"I'm in my place right now and i'm being an idiot for letting myself love you." Bitter longing mixed with the heaviness of his voice as calloused fingers drew faint circles on your cheeks. "Hey... don't cry." Winchester leaned toward you, absorbing the regret in your eyes.

"That's right, you're a complete idiot for not shooting me in the head." Trembling, your hand tentatively reaches for his hair, groping the area. But here you are: he suppliantly reaches for you, unable to look at you anymore. It's as if all his hateful feeling has been washed away by the speech water, as if you were never a blood-singing brat and he never dreamed of killing you.

It's like everything's back to normal. He's beside you, you're stroking his hair, and he's tucking his lips into your shoulder. It's all so familiar, so warm. So much so that it could have been a happy dream, but no. We're in a harsh reality where every parasite will get to every innocent.

Just by that, you receive a crushing blow to the heart, his revolver filled with silver bullets poking into your soft chest. He doesn't even try to hold back the tears that are traitorously pouring out of him, the only thing he can do is scream as he stares at your now breathless body. Dean could have sworn there was a phrase frozen on your lips that cut his heart worse than any knife. "I love you."

Winchester's always been a hunter. No matter how long he pretends this doesn't concern him, he can't just leave it alone. Even if he's ready to shoot himself now, even if he feels himself shattering into a million pieces right now, he's still a hunter. And you, you're the vampire, the one he's hunting.

#sketch #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #reader x dean #reader x dean winchester #꒰ㅅ´ ˘ ꒱ . my works

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katboykirby · 1 year ago

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mc: i come to thee requesting aid for a terrible problem that hath just occurred. without you i may perish

satan: you need me to kill someone for you? of course. what are we thinking? immediate and painful or more of a death trap situat-

mc: there's a kitty stuck in a tree and i can't reach it :(

satan: GUIDE ME TO THE POOR BEAUTY AT ONCE

Satan would 100% be ready to kill for you at a moment's notice. Remember in the "Blue Spring Paradise" Pop Quiz event story, when MC asked if they were going to beat the shit out of Levi's bullies? Satan was the first one to stand up and agree with you. He was IMMEDIATELY ready to kill and maim the moment the suggestion came out of your mouth.

So you'll probably have to help him turn on the brakes first before you can explain yourself properly. He gets fired up over you very quickly, so you'll need to help him focus on the actual reason you need him before he goes off in a killing frenzy in your name.

As soon as he's calm and you explain that there's a cat stuck in one of the trees out in the garden, Satan goes into a whole new, different kind of frenzy - he's overtaken by the need to save and protect that precious, innocent ball of fluff!

He'll drop everything he's doing, no matter how important. He'll grab you and pull you with him as he runs from his room and dashes as fast as he can for the door, moving at speeds that a mere human could never hope to achieve. You're already outside in the garden of the House of Lamentation before you know it, and Satan has both hands on your shoulders as he asks you "Where is it? Show me where it's suck, which tree did you see it in?" and you point out the exact spot you had seen it, leading the way so Satan could come to the kitty's rescue.

Lucifer could hear the racket, and he came looking for you to make sure that his brothers weren't getting you into any trouble. He follows the sound of your voice shouting something, and he heads outside to check the garden, standing on the porch and staring at the sight in front of him with mild bewilderment.

You are standing at the foot of one of many trees, looking up at something in the branches and shouting instructions. Lucifer follows your line of sight and heaves a weary, exhausted sigh when he sees Satan climbing up toward something near the top of the tree.

"What in the Devildom are the two of you doing out here?" Lucifer asks, coming to stand beside you and craning his neck up to watch Satan crawling along a branch. "What nonsense is it this time?"

You explain that you're trying to help a cat, pointing out the tiny fuzzball that Satan was slowly inching closer and closer to. Lucifer just shakes his head, rubbing at the space between his eyes like he was staving off a headache.

"Really. You know, you both could have come to me first" he tells you. "I'd have sorted this out for you easily, without Satan making a fool of himself"

You were glad that Satan was too high up to be able to hear what his older brother was saying. You took a step back to make some room, and you watched as Lucifer muttered a few words and cast a spell. There was a glowing blue light, and then -

Suddenly, Satan was standing back in front of you with both feet firmly on the ground. He had a few leaves stuck to his clothes and there was a twig caught in his hair, but otherwise he appeared to be fine. Thankfully, he had the kitten safely in his arms. He looked a little surprised to be back on the ground all of a sudden, but quickly got over it when the kitten mewled happily and batted at his sweater with its little paws.

"Look, I got him" Satan beamed at you, holding up the little kitty for you to see. "He's safe and sound, thanks to us"

"Thanks to me, you mean" Lucifer exhaled, crossing his arms. "If you had fallen out of that tree and cracked your skull open, it would have been your own fault. Just come to me next time instead of doing something so foolish"

Satan was either ignoring Lucifer, or his joy at saving the kitten was so great that he didn't even notice his brother was talking to him. He was too busy petting the baby in his arms, babbling to you about how you were its hero and what he wanted to name it. He was flushed and breathing a little heavier than normal after scaling the height of that tree, but he couldn't stop grinning.

"Just make sure you clean yourself up before coming back inside" Lucifer sighed. "And we aren't keeping that cat"

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me satan #omswd #satan #obey me lucifer #lucifer #obey me mc #obey me reader #x reader #reader insert

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jinwoosbabyboo · 23 days ago

Note

Hey babes,

Idk why but there's been a headcannon that was just stuck in my head and hear ne out on this...

When you posted the chats 'small but mighty', all I could think about was them having to deal with an MC in the adhd spectrum. Like her going on random rants about different mutliversal theories and then getting distracted by like, idk, a cat bouncing off the walls??? OH OR LIKE HER USUAL MOOD BEING A CRACKHEAD AND THEN SWITCHING UP WITH THE MOST MIND BOGGLING YET GENIUS SHIT POSSIBLE.

((I literally wanna see my boys {SYLUS} to just go through whiplash with her mood switches. This could also continue with bpd or MC being on the autism spectrum. I just thought it would be interesting to see MC in that way.))

[P.s. excuse the rant, midnight crack shits hitting my good ol' noggin up like someone's bitchy ex.]

Hey Lux 🫶🏾 I made a text smau for this one with mc just spouting nonsense that actually strangely makes sense. I also did a headcanon??(now you're wondering Nika why tf does that have question marks 🤨) its different from the way I usually write my headcanons it's certain things I deal with having adhd and how I think they would react.

Headcanon coming tomorrow you get the text smau today.

#nikaaaajusttalkin

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kingofech0park · 5 months ago

Text

because i look for you (everywhere i go)

In which Oikawa Tooru is a man on a reconnaissance mission, a reclamation mission, a how-to-find-your-best-friend-you-fell-in-love-with-after-almost-a-year-of-falling-apart mission.

(The link to the fic on a03 is in the title! I know its bad guys I KNOW. It's my first fic in like five years okay and probably one of my first oneshots and definitely my first iwaoi fic but i hope u enjoy!!)

______

“This will never work.”

That’s what he had said, word for word verbatim. He had watched his best friend’s face crumple, the briefest moment of vulnerability before the mask came back up, hard and determined to hide the way his heart was cracking. But Tooru knew him. He knew when Iwaizumi was holding back tears, eyes green and fierce in their resolve. And he hadn’t said anything, kept his eyes cold and stared hard past his best friend’s pained eyes, his gritted teeth.

“Okay, Tooru.” Iwaizumi had said, real quiet, not holding eye contact. Jaw set. “I understand. I won’t push it.”

“Thanks.” Oikawa had said, barely a whisper but somehow so cold.

His best friend had nodded, one short, curt movement. “No problem, Oikawa.” And then Iwaizumi had stood and walked out swiftly, without a second thought, like a story closed, like an ending set firmly in steel and stone and everything permanent in the world.

He was thinking about it again. Shit.

Tooru glanced down at his fingers, slender and pale and wrapped around his café lagrima, nails that had once been manicured to perfection chewed down to nubs, cuticles red and chapped. His misery was nonsensical. It was a beautiful day; the faint sea breeze drifting into the cafe, sun bright and hot along the white-sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the wind. It was picturesque. His entire life was perfect, a dream; he was the starting setter for the Argentinian National team. He had trained under José Blanco; he was the starting setter of every team he played on; he was going to the Olympics, for god’s sake. But here he was, moping in the vague direction of his coffee. Thinking about… well… goddammit.

“I couldn’t be prouder to have you as a partner. And you’re the absolute best setter.”

I know, Tooru thought miserably. Glared at his fingers that he had been chewing, picking to shreds. His usually perfect setter fingers. Cut it out, he admonished himself, and felt his stomach sink as he realized that was the kind of thing Iwaizumi would say. His brain drifted back to it again– his best friend’s eyes as he told him, a declaration so full of conviction it could almost convince him he was good enough: I couldn’t be prouder to have you as a partner. Iwaizumi’s eyes were so green, so beautiful in his memory– his brows were sharp and dark and slanted down with determination, his cheeks flushed and sore from crying, his mouth screwing into a smile so full of an adoration Oikawa didn’t know how to find on his own. Was sure he could never deserve.

It had been later that day. His best friend had set his jaw and cupped the setter’s face and told him, voice gruff and hoarse and maybe the littlest bit shy, I love you. And Tooru had kissed him, at first careful and nervous, and then firm, hard, sure– you’re the one I want– I don’t want anyone but you, Hajime, I don’t love anyone like I love you, Hajime– and the rest had been history. Until it wasn’t, and Iwaizumi was pushing past him, walking away, newly single and lost after years of being with his best friend, after a whole life spent loving him. The moment had been the end, a clean break that would surely never heal; one day he had been there, and the next he had not.

It was all Tooru’s fault, anyway. He had been the one to have doubts. He had been the one to tell Iwaizumi it would never work out. That they were too far apart. That Iwaizumi deserved to be loved by someone close, someone who really could. His best friend had really loved him. Had begged him to stay. And Tooru had stuck to his guns, stubborn, hard, until he had forced Iwaizumi to walk away.

Tooru thought about that for a while. The way Iwaizumi had pleaded with him. Reasoned with him. Said I love you ten thousand times like it could change the stupid fact that their relationship didn’t make sense. He stared at his coffee and didn’t drink it. Once the thought had crossed his mind, he couldn’t put it back. Couldn’t quiet it. It was his mistake. He would have to be the one to fix it. Please, god, let this be fixable.

Texting him would be too casual. Calling wouldn’t be enough. Tooru booked a plane ticket to Tokyo.

______

He had forgotten what it would feel like to be in Japan.

Everything had been strange. Foreign, uncanny. When he had shown his Argentinian passport at the airport, because he wasn’t a citizen anymore. Didn’t belong. Speaking Japanese had been uncomfortable on his tongue, random words like mirror or ticket slipping his mind. He felt alien, especially in Tokyo, a city that he’d only been to a few times. But Oikawa pushed through the awkwardness; he was a man on a reconnaissance mission, a reclamation mission, a how-to-find-your-best-friend-you-fell-in-love-with-after-almost-a-year-of-falling-apart mission.

He had gotten his intel from Hinata. Iwaizumi never posted on his Instagram, so Tooru had been forced to call upon the shrimp– who he was much closer to, after Hinata’s beach volleyball training in Brazil– and the spiker had let him know that Iwaizumi was living in Tokyo, having briefly acted as stand-in athletic trainer for the MSBY Black Jackals, and probably was working somewhere else in the area. Tooru had hunted for him on Facebook, too, hoping to find a professional page that would list where he worked– but it had been entirely unspecific, like his best friend had disappeared off the face of the earth. He had also asked Hanamaki, who had been entirely unhelpful and kept pressing as to why he was looking for Iwaizumi, anyway, until Tooru hung up.

Oikawa wandered around Tokyo and let the memories float around in his mind. His Iwa-chan had always loved agedashi tofu. He wondered if he still did. He remembered them, learning volleyball together, fighting together in middle school, at the Inter-High later, always striving, believing in one another. He remembered secret kisses and touches shared through the last of that senior year summer– long hours spent on Skype while Iwaizumi attended university in California and Oikawa training in Buenos Aires, the time zone making it hard but never impossible to love one another, no matter how far; and then Iwaizumi moving back to Japan to become an athletic trainer, a full 12 hour time distance, calls becoming infrequent, visits too short and sparse, until eventually, Oikawa had sat him down and said those four fatal words:

“This will never work.”

Tooru gritted his teeth at the memory. He had to find his Iwa-chan, his Hajime. Did it matter, now? He was sure. He couldn’t live without him.

The time apart had been melancholy incarnate. Everything he had ever wanted, at his fingertips, in his hands, easy and reachable or achieved, and yet, it had not been enough. He had longed for his best friend. His lover. His anything, everything. Did it matter if Iwaizumi didn’t want to be his boyfriend again? They were partners. They had to be together. If Oikawa had believed in the red string of fate, it would be with utmost certainty there, tying him to Hajime all his life, always pulling him back into his best friend’s orbit. They belonged in the same world, he was sure of it. He was less sure things could go back to normal, but he had to try. His best friend deserved someone who would try for him.

It wasn’t late when Oikawa finally crashed out in a hole in the wall ramen shop, but he was so tired, and so jetlagged from the 12 hour time distance. His search could continue tomorrow. Iwaizumi was probably asleep, anyway.

______

“Shittykawa, why the fuck are you here? Get up.”

A dream. He was dreaming of his Iwa-chan. It felt so real, like he could reach out and touch him, his beautiful boy in front of him, angrily shouting, shaking him roughly. The setter felt a twinge of annoyance. If he could have him in a dream, he’d prefer it not be like this.

“...my dream, Iwa-chan…” he mumbled. “Mean… my dream? Do what I want…”

“You’re not fucking dreaming, stupid. Wake the fuck up.” Iwaizumi said roughly, harshly.

Fuck.

“Iwa– Iwa-chan!” Tooru shot up, eyes wide. He recognized the scenery now as he slowly came to; he had fallen asleep in the middle of dinner hour at the ramen shop, collapsed down onto the counter. Tokyo was cold, so much colder than Buenos Aires, and goosebumps were raised all along his tan skin. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s not even 9pm, Shittykawa. Get up.”

The nickname made it seem like everything was normal, fine. But the tone of Iwaizumi’s voice was new, cold, unreadable– foreign. It struck Tooru that he might not know his best friend anymore. That they might be alien to each other now, that a year might be too big of a rift to patch. So he was quiet, the silence uncomfortable and omnipresent when it had once been okay because they were together, and Iwaizumi dragged him behind him through late Tokyo evening, the city lighting up in a thousand colors that were dazzling and too bright all at once. Iwaizumi continued to drag him, up six flights of stairs wordlessly, angrily, cursing to himself as he struggled with the key to his blue-doored apartment, and shoved Oikawa inside before shutting the door behind them.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” The spiker shouted, and only then could Tooru see the anxiety, the fear in his best friend’s eyes. “Why the hell are you here, anyway? And you didn’t even fucking– fuck, Oikawa, what the fuck?”

What the hell could he do in this situation? Iwaizumi continued, pacing, ranting in the small of his barren apartment, shouting obscenities that were never quite aimed at Tooru and always hit the walls instead. The setter felt himself tear up. Even now, Iwaizumi didn’t want to hurt him. Didn’t want to shout at him, because he knew Oikawa would crumple.

“Why the hell didn’t you even–” Iwaizumi quieted, green eyes dropping to stare at the setter’s sneakers, face deadpan, voice hollow and hesitant. “Why didn’t you even tell me you were coming?”

“Iwa.” Oikawa whispered.

“I still would’ve cared to know you were coming, even after… everything.” Iwaizumi’s voice cracked, unwilling to look in Tooru’s eyes, intentionally looking anywhere else. Staring at his hands, his knees, the floor.

“Iwaizumi–”

“Don’t.” The spiker held up one hand, voice and eyes so tired, like he hadn’t slept in the year since Oikawa had left him. “It’s fine. Just crash over and leave tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” Tooru got out as his best friend stalked off to another room. This was not how he had envisioned it. He had imagined finding Iwaizumi sunlit and tan and healthy, and run into his arms, crying and apologizing and pleading, and his best friend murmuring quiet into his perfect and silky hair, I still love you, I still love you, it’s okay, I waited for you, I love you, Tooru. His vision had, of course, had a few flexible elements– but he certainly hadn’t prepared for this. Looking stupid. Ugly. Pale and cold and miserable with chapped lips asleep in a ramen shop on the street, hair mussed, eyebags probably huge and swollen and blue from jetlag– and Iwaizumi yelling, cursing, and Oikawa being unable to tell him why he had come, a glassy marble stopping up his throat like he was a bottle of ramune.

Fuck. Fuck. Tooru had not come all the way to Tokyo to sleep on Iwaizumi’s stupid couch and leave early the next morning and go on with his life. The setter pulled himself to his feet with the same determination he always approached everything with. Hit it until it breaks. Keep trying until you can’t anymore. He padded across to the door Iwaizumi had left through, socks quiet in the dark apartment, and opened the door as carefully as he could.

“Iwa-chan?”

And– shit. He felt his heart drop like a stone onto the floor. Iwaizumi was crying, duvet pulled up over his head, spiky hair shaking, arms tense and twitching as he clung to a pillow, shivering. He looked so vulnerable. So weak. Tooru hadn’t seen him like this in so long and felt a rush of affection hand in hand with horror through every bone. “Iwa-ch– Hajime.” He whispered brokenly.

“What the hell do you want?” Iwaizumi asked, eyes red and puffy as he sat up, pushing the duvet aside. He still couldn’t hold eye contact. “Just go back to bed, Oikawa, you can get to whatever it is you’re here for in the morning.”

Oh. “I’m–” Tooru swallowed his pride. It tasted lonely and caught in his throat. “I’m here for you.”

“What?” Iwaizumi finally met his gaze, eyes wide, confused more than anything. “What? Why?”

“I came because–” Oikawa felt the tears that had been brimming spill over, uncontrollable now as they ran down his cheeks, voice shaking, hands clenched in fists. “I came because I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid, Hajime, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m sorry–” He pushed down a sob as best he could– “I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I fucking love you, Hajime, I love you more than anything in the world. And I don’t care– I don’t care if you don’t want me, you’re my best friend and my partner and I don’t want anything in the world if I can’t have you–”

“Tooru.” Iwaizumi said quietly.

“It’s not living without you, Hajime, I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry.” He got out brokenly, staring at his socks and the aliens patterned on them blurring through his eyes too tearful to quite see properly, and all of a sudden warm arms, bare and muscular and so, so familiar were wrapped all around him, holding the pieces of him together like they had always been.

“Tooru.” Iwaizumi breathed, soft and relieved, into the setter’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”

The crying was ugly now, snotty with big sobs and hiccups. “You– you do? I’m sorry, Iwa-chan, I don’t deserve you–”

“God, you’re stupid.” Hajime smiled, brushing Tooru’s hair back, wiping his tears away with his thumb. His every movement was so certain. It was something Oikawa had always loved about him– his stability, determination, his ability to be so sure about him every time.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi snickered. “Your personality is really shitty, you know. I don’t know if I can forgive you.” Tooru’s sobs doubled in intensity, snot dripping all over his best friend’s bare shoulders, and he was vaguely aware of how unpleasant it must be for Hajime as he bawled out disjointed apologies.

“Okay, too soon. I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi murmured, planting the softest kiss to Tooru’s shoulder as he held him and rocked him in the dark of his apartment.

“I don’t deserve you, Hajime.” Oikawa sniffled as Iwaizumi pulled him towards the bed and sat him down, cradling him.

“I know.” Iwaizumi chuckled softly, burying his head in his best friend’s hair. “Did you get off the plane today?”

“I did.” Tooru whispered. “I’m ugly, Iwa-chan.”

“I think you’re the prettiest.” Iwaizumi whispered.

“Can I–” The setter swallowed hard, throat and stomach all tied in knots. “Can I have you back, please? I’m sorry if–”

“You always had me.” The shorter boy murmured, lips pressing to Oikawa’s cheek. “And I’m still so, so mad at you. But I love you. Even though you’re stupid.”

“I love you.” Tooru whispered.

“I love you, too, stupid.” Hajime whispered, eyes glowing determined and so, so full of joy. “We’ll figure this out. I know we will. I want you no matter where you are.”

“I love you, Iwa-chan. If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you forever,” Iwaizumi promised.

______

“...and don’t you ever do that stupid shit again, Shittykawa.”

“Iwa-chan!”

“I love you.”

“Yeah. I love you too.”

#iwaoi #haikyuu #haikyuu iwaoi #angst with a happy ending #angst #iwaoi fic #canon compliant #idk ive never used tumblr what tags are worth tagging idk bro #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru

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2baddiesfanfics · 2 months ago

Text

Losing Control

Pairing: Ningguang x Beidou

Tags: Orgasm Denial, Orgasm Delay, Sensory Deprivation, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Bodyguard, Hurt/Comfort, Blindfolds, Gags, Restraints

Summary:

Ningguang, Beidou, Yelan, and Yanfei set off on a journey together to bring a long-lost artifact back into the right hands. With Beidou acting as bodyguard while the Tianquan, agent, and law expert determine how best to handle the situation, the uncrowned lord of the ocean must deal with a demon from the past – despite Ningguang’s multiple warnings. How will the two handle such a delicate situation?

Read on Ao3

Beidou had always preferred roughing it on the sea as opposed to land. As the Uncrowned Lord of the Ocean, her domain was among the waves. But every once in a while, when she was asked for by name, she’d agree to missions that brought her away from the deep.

This was one such case. Ningguang had dubbed the occasion so important that she personally took the role of lead - an extremely rare circumstance. Beidou knew this wasn’t going to be easy if she was taking it upon herself to plan and execute.

They had received a report from Yelan that she and her network believed they’d discovered a long-lost artifact dating back to the time of Rex Lapis as they were exploring The Chasm. Ningguang had tapped Yanfei to make the journey with her so they could confirm its authenticity and determine how best to protect it as a part of Liyue’s history.

And that brought them to Beidou. As the muscle of the team, she’d act as a bodyguard in the event of any interference by outside parties. Naturally, this trip would require them all to camp out for multiple days, and she was already dreading hearing the Tianquan’s complaints about “roughing it.”

They had taken the route between Lingju Pass and Qingxu Pool and stopped for the night just before they made it to The Chasm. Beidou knew they could have easily made it there faster had it just been her and Ningguang, but with Yanfei in tow, she didn’t want to push.

“Let’s go over the plan once more,” Ningguang instructed as they sat around the campfire. “Yelan’s sent word that there are plenty of treasure hoarders out there who’d kill to get their hands on what they’ve found. Listen to me now because I will not repeat myself, Captain Beidou,” she said as she cast a serious glance in her direction.

“Uh, Yanfei’s here too, ya know. She can be quite the firecracker,” she shot back with a scowl.

“It’s not Yanfei I’m worried about, as I think she’ll agree with what I’m about to say next. We are to take these criminals back to Liyue alive with no serious injuries. I will have them answer for their crimes. They’ve terrorized the good people of the surrounding villages for long enough.”

“Yea, yea I hear you,” Beidou said with a roll of her eyes. She didn’t make a habit of roughing people up more than was necessary to get a job done. It was rare she ever needed to take more…drastic measures.

“Lady Ningguang, before we get a good night’s rest, there are a few different scenarios I’d like to run by you. Would you mind staying up just a bit longer?” Yanfei asked.

“Not at all. Beidou, please take this opportunity to sleep before your watch begins,” Ningguang said dismissively.

“You’re the boss,” Beidou huffed under her breath.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and Beidou had only slightly drifted off a few times. The group packed up camp and hiked for half a day before meeting up with Yelan and her squad.

“Wow, Beidou. You look like shit,” Yelan cracked. “Seems like not much has changed since the last time I saw you.”

“First of all, that’s Captain Beidou to you. Second, I can’t say you look any better, you fu-“

“Beidou! Yelan! Enough,” Ningguang barked.

The two looked back at her like children who’d just been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“We don’t have time for petty nonsense. Yelan, take Yanfei and I to the location. Beidou, I expect absolute vigilance. Violence, if necessary, but remember…”

“I KNOW. Alive. Heard you the first fuckin’ time,” Beidou said between clenched teeth.

The team had been gone for nearly an hour before Beidou heard a rustle in the trees.

Of course this wasn’t going to be easy.

One, two…three shadows appeared in the shade of the forest. She’d be outnumbered, but not overpowered.

“You might as well just come out. You’re not exactly Inazuman ninja. I’ve seen hilichurls hide better than you. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” she taunted.

An arrow ripped past, and she moved her head just in time to dodge it. The other two men charged forward, weapons drawn. Beidou raised her claymore, parrying their blows in succession.

“That’s the best you can do? Shit, I was hoping for a little workout, but this is just sad.”

One of them lunged at her, and with a swift chop to the back of his neck, he was out cold.

See, Ningguang? Unharmed. Not that hard.

Another arrow shot forth, this time close enough to leave a scratch on her cheek.

Damnit. Gonna have to take that sucker out before I deal with Mr. Thinks-he’s-a-samurai over here.

Driving her claymore into the ground, she let forth a powerful burst of electro energy directly through the earth toward the man taking refuge among the trees.

“Aghhhhhh!”

“Got ya!” She chuckled. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a boring fight after all. Turning her attention to the last man standing, she paused to catch her breath.

“So, tell me…is this all really worth it to you guys? What’s the endgame?”

“You cocky bitch! You’re privileged enough to not have any clue what kind of effect obtaining that artifact would have on our lives.” With a swing of his sword, the two fighters met once more with a loud clang.

“I don’t know, looks like you bunch of clowns are the ones with your heads up your asses. Didn’t your mothers ever tell you not to take what isn’t yours? From what I hear, this is a piece of history that belongs to all of Liyue, and we intend to keep it that way,” Beidou explained as she gave him a forceful push backward.

“What a load of bullshit! We know what kind of woman the Tianquan is. She’ll take it for herself and just add to the wealth she already has! She doesn’t give a shit about the people! It’s why I moved to Inazuma for a time.”

Now Beidou was getting mad. She and Ningguang had their differences, yes. But she, unlike anyone else, got to see a different side of her - in more ways than one - when they were behind closed doors.

“You better shut your fucking mouth before I do it for you,” she warned, taking another swing. “If you’re so dissatisfied, why are you back in Liyue, huh?”

The treasure hoarder jumped out of her range just in the nick of time.

“You really don’t remember me? Wow. You’re just like the Tianquan, aren’t you?”

Beidou lowered her weapon. “Excuse me?”

“Back in Inazuma, I fought for the shogun. You were there with the resistance, weren’t ya?”

She froze in horror. Her eyes narrowed. Beidou was now shaking with rage.

“You.” There was no doubt her crew’s participation in that battle was vital, but knowing that didn’t make the losses from that day hurt any less.

Now that she was looking directly into this man’s face, she recognized him. He had taken the life of one of the newer members of the Crux and it had pained her immensely. Someone so young, so promising…gone in his first battle.

“You fucking bastard!” With renewed strength, she struck his sword so hard it flew from his hands. Tossing her own weapon into the dirt, she nailed him across the face with her fist and tackled him to the ground.

“Beidou!” Ningguang had just exited The Chasm’s opening with Yanfei and was now rushing to stop her. Again, she screamed, “Beidou, STOP! What did I tell you?”

One jab after another after another. Blood marred her knuckles - whether it was his or her own, she could no longer tell. Ningguang’s warning was nothing but a hazy memory, her screeching voice not even registering in the distance.

“Is that…” PUNCH. “…All you’ve…” PUNCH. “…got?” PUNCH. The treasure hoarder jeered at her between hits. He spat in her face and laughed. “You better…end me…now or…that bitch…of a boss of yours…is next…” Blinded by fury, she wound up the strike that would end his existence. The mocking tone of his voice buzzed in her ears.

“BEIDOU, cease this instant!” Suddenly, she felt the familiar warmth of Ningguang’s hand grabbing her wrist.

“I…I…Ning…you don’t understand…” she choked out. Her vision blurred. Rage. Frustration. Guilt. Turning her head to meet Ningguang’s gaze, she collapsed.

The next time she opened her eye, she was looking at the unfamiliar canvas roof of a tent that wasn’t her own.

Where the hell am I?

She had sat up far too fast, her head pounding as if someone was slamming it against the ground.

Fuck.

Breaking into a cold sweat, every scene from the day came rushing back at her. She had been given one simple instruction and completely disregarded it. Surely Ningguang would understand. She had to. Didn’t she know what it was like to lose someone you were responsible for?

A hushed whisper blew through the tent.

“Beidou? Are you awake?” Ningguang’s head peaked through the opening.

“Ning…I’m…I’m so, so sorry. You have to give me a chance to-“

“Silence.” The Tianquan commanded. She didn’t yell. She didn’t even raise her voice. When she was truly furious, Beidou knew she need only utter this single word calmly.

“Tell me: Was I speaking a different language last night? What part of no serious injuries did you not understand?”

“You don’t get it, he-“

“Shut. Up.” Ningguang grabbed her by the chin forcefully. “He wasn’t just injured, Beidou. You beat him within an inch of his life. He’ll probably suffer for the rest of his miserable existence.”

“And he’d deserve it, too!” Beidou tore Ningguang’s hand from her face, gripping her wrist so hard her features contorted in pain. “He killed one of my men, Ningguang! Back in Inazuma!” Moisture gathered in her eyes and she fought to keep her composure. “He deserves much worse than I could ever do to him…”

Ningguang sighed deeply. This made much more sense. Beidou was hot-headed, yes, but never one to blatantly disobey her commands. She had always had a heart too big for her own good. When one of her crew members suffered, it might as well have been her own flesh and blood.

“Ok! Ok,” she shook her hand free and instead moved to stroke Beidou’s cheek. “I understand your anger, Beidou. You clearly have reason to be upset. But I need you to realize something. I cannot have you acting against my authority.”

Beidou was about to fight back, but Ningguang gently pressed a finger to her lips. “I know these circumstances were…unforeseen. But regardless, if I make an exception for one, it sets a precedent. What we have together is everything to me. You know this. But we cannot give others a reason to suspect you’re receiving preferential treatment. Please…understand.”

She leaned forward, her lips taking her finger’s place. Beidou felt her rage melt away. With this one act, she could see clearly. Taking one life for another would solve nothing. Pulling her closer, she let her actions reflect her apology. Her tongue begged entrance and Ningguang acquiesced.

Thankfully the rest of the group had retreated to the entrance of The Chasm, with Yelan’s spies taking guard duty in shifts.

Ningguang pulled back for a moment, her hand now seeking Beidou’s. She tenderly raised it, observing the damage. Layer after layer of bandages covered her knuckles, now swollen to twice their original size. Ningguang placed gentle kisses across the injured area.

“I love you, you know. It pains me to see you injured physically or emotionally,” she chastised.

“I hear orgasms are a great pain reliever,” Beidou muttered half-jokingly.

Ningguang rolled her eyes and let out a laugh. “You may be onto something.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” She kissed her neck and felt Beidou twitch.

“Mmm…you kidding? It’d take a lot more than roughing up that sack of shit to take me out,” she said, her hands wandering to grip Ningguang’s slender hips.

A moan escaped the Tianquan as she felt Beidou’s calloused fingers sink into her flesh.

You’ve got to keep the upper hand here, Ningguang. She’s not getting off this easy for going against your orders.

Gently brushing her hands off her, Ningguang moved to settle behind the injured woman. She didn’t want her to exert herself and exacerbate her injuries.

“Hey, hey! What’re ya doin’?”

“Oh, shush. You need this more than I do. Just relax and let me take care of you,” she whispered as her hands traveled across her chest and underneath her shirt. Her slim fingers, well-versed in pleasuring her, met with Beidou’s already taut nipples.

Beidou let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Okay then…who am I to disagree…” she hummed, her head tilting back on Ningguang’s ample breast.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not still upset with you, just so you’re aware,” she said as she gave her a rough pinch. A groan from Beidou made it obvious this didn’t feel like punishment to her. Ningguang moved one hand down to the hem of her pants.

“You’re lucky I’m merciful. If you were just some two-bit mercenary, you’d be sitting in prison right now. I’ll have Yanfei work her magic, of course…” Her hand slipped under her waistband and her fingers dipped into Beidou’s wetness.

“Ning…I already apologized…don’t ruin this…please…” If Ningguang really was perturbed, her fingers must not have gotten the message. Her slow teasing was building to a steady pace.

“Ruin this? Why, I’d never. That’d just be cruel. Do you think I’m cruel, Beidou?” She whispered, her breath heating her ear.

“N-n-no…so great and merciful…ahhh…don’t stop…” Ningguang knew by the pitch of her voice that she was teetering dangerously close to the edge of orgasm.

“Hmmm…I’m so glad you think that,” Ningguang said coldly as she withdrew her fingers from her. Beidou spun her head around at looked at her incredulously.

“What!? What gives! Ning, I was right fuckin’ there!”

Ningguang weaved a hand in the hair at the back of Beidou’s head and forced her to look her in the eyes.

“You will swear to me right here and now you will never do something so stupid again. One murder doesn’t excuse another, Beidou. Trust me when I say you would have regretted that for the rest of your life had I not stopped you.”

Beidou’s face crumpled. She knew Ningguang spoke with great wisdom. She didn’t do what she had just done to spite her - it was to make her pay attention and learn a valuable lesson.

“You’re right,” her head fell forehead first on Ningguang’s shoulder. “You’re right,” she repeated, nearly inaudible. Ningguang kissed her temple. Once more, her hand dipped down to where it had been.

“I know I am. But thank you for admitting it. I think that deserves a reward…” Again, the pad of her thumb circled Beidou’s clit, eliciting chokes of pleasure from her. “It’s ok…let go…”

Beidou pulled her in with a vice grip. The intimacy they shared was a comfort that brought solace to her heart after a long, difficult day of revelations and rule-breaking. Having Ningguang break her free from her own thoughts in this way was enough to help her over the edge.

The two held each other for quite some time before they knew the others would come looking for them.

“Get some rest. We start the trek home tomorrow,” Ningguang informed her as she gave her a chaste kiss goodbye.

The next day was spent hiking back to the city they called home. Once more, they’d have to stop and set up camp just before they hit the base of Mt. Tianheng. Yelan pushed for them to make the trip in one day, but Ningguang had advised against it. She was still worried about Beidou’s injury and didn’t want her overexerting herself. Clearly irritated at the situation (she had always suspected something had been going on between the two), Yelan reluctantly agreed.

Funny enough, Beidou felt great. Ningguang always did have an indescribable calming effect on her, and her words last night had hit her just as hard as the orgasm. She had been foolish to let her emotions get the better of her. Why had she let that scoundrel get under her skin?

Yanfei had come to her tent before bed to quietly comfort her with the knowledge that he would answer for the crimes he had committed both here and in Inazuma. Beidou was able to take solace in this and ruffled the young lawyer’s hair before bidding her goodnight.

Well, that’s a relief. But I still don’t feel like going to bed just yet. Maybe I can see what Ning is up to…

Beidou used her good eye to look out of the crack of the opening of her tent to see if the coast was clear. Ningguang had warned her if someone caught her, it’d be a pain to come up with a cover story. It appeared everyone was worn out from the long day of travel and had decided to head to sleep early.

She made her way over to the Tianquan’s shelter, careful not to step on any stray branches or anything else that would make too much of a racket. Slipping through the fabric that served as doors, Ning glanced up with a worried look on her face.

“What are you doing here!?” She questioned in a harsh whisper. “Beidou, are you crazy?! What if someone comes in to check on me? Go back to your tent and go to sleep!”

Beidou had a devious grin on her face. “Shhh! I felt bad you didn’t get anything in return for last night, so here I am. Dealing with treasure hoarders this weekend gave me a fun little idea. I figured we’d create a new memory to associate with this archons-forsaken hell of a trip.”

Ningguang cocked an eyebrow. “…I’m listening.”

Beidou strode over to her bedside, surveying the tent for materials that would work for what she had in mind. Thankfully Ningguang had everything they’d need on hand.

“Do you trust me?”

Ningguang pondered for a moment. “I suppose, although this incident wasn’t exactly a booster shot for confidence,” she mocked. Beidou rolled her eyes.

“Actually, that attitude of yours only makes me want to do this even more,” Beidou said as she walked over to a corner of the tent. She grabbed a length of extra rope they had brought in case they needed to secure more than they originally had thought, as well as a handkerchief she found hanging out of a backpack.

“I think you’ve done enough chastising for a while. Open,” Beidou said as she took the handkerchief and tied it around Ningguang’s mouth.

“And you won’t be needing these either,” Beidou stated as she brought both of Ningguang’s wrists together and tied them with a secure but safe knot. Testing to make sure neither restraint was too tight, Beidou pulled her to her feet.

“I think there’s a part of you that fantasizes about being at my mercy. Lacking control over your senses and letting someone else take over. You’re lucky those treasure hoarders were a piece of cake to take down. Maybe I’ll be a bit gentler than they would if they had you in this position,” she whispered in her ear. Dragging her to a corner of the tent where some crates sat with extra supplies, Beidou bent her over one.

Unable to speak, the whimper she let slip was enough to confirm this was the truth. Thankfully she wore pajamas that provided easy access to all the right places. Standing behind her, Beidou’s hips pressed Ningguang’s further into the edge of the crate.

“Then again, I think you’ll be even easier to dominate than they were,” she said seductively as she pushed Ningguang’s long hair out of the way, giving her better access to her neck. Her tongue trailed down to her shoulder, and she bit down. The pressure made Ningguang clench her teeth around the makeshift gag.

“Mmmmhmhmmmg!”

“Hey, now. I thought you were the one who wanted to stay quiet,” she chastised. Her hands wandered under the thin silken fabric of Ningguang’s negligee. “This is a pretty little thing…how come you’ve never worn this for me before? Oh, right, I wouldn’t be able to hear your answer anyway.”

Beidou’s fingers were still chilled from the walk across the campground, causing her to shiver. Palming her breast, Ningguang arched back into her. As she kneaded with one hand, her other snuck under the hem of her pajamas.

Ningguang sighed as her body heat began to warm Beidou’s fingers. Sliding her knee between her legs, Beidou coaxed her into a wider stance. Dipping her fingers into her core, Ningguang let out a muffled groan.

“Too bad you can’t use your hands…I’d make you take care of yourself after what you put me through last night,” she said, punctuating her words with thrusts of her fingers.

“Mmm…mmmm…mmm!”

“I’m glad I can’t understand a word you’re saying, because knowing you, it’d probably be some smart-ass remark. It’s kinda fun to see you this helpless.”

Her other hand joined in the teasing, one playing with Ningguang’s clit while the other pumped in and out of her. She could feel the Tianquan’s knees start to wobble and figured she just needed one more push.

“Next time maybe I’ll fuck you like this in front of Yelan. Show her who owns you...”

And that was that. Just as she hit her peak, Beidou yanked her gag free.

“Fuckkkkkk Beidouuuu yessssss!”

They froze as they heard a flurry of footsteps approach the tent. As if on cue, Yelan’s perturbed voice penetrated the tent.

“Will you two give it a rest already?! I thought last night was bad enough, but you both must want the entire nation to know! I’m trying to get some rest, damnit! Shut. The fuck. up!”

Ningguang and Beidou looked at each other and burst into laughter. After such a stressful mission, sometimes all they needed was a reminder that life was so much more than playing by the rules.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fic #wlw #hoyoverse #mihoyo #genshin #genshin impact #beidou #beiguang #ningguang #yelan #yanfei #beidou x ningguang #ningguang x beidou #beidouxningguang #ningguangxbeidou

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bts-story · 2 years ago

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LOVE IS CHAOS

Previous chapters

Chapter 9 - Memories from above

You pulled back the white curtain with a sudden yank, revealing a man in his early twenties. He was lying on one of the hospital beds, several compresses in his mouth, blood-soaked absorbent cotton sticking out of his lips.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Ito. I'll be taking care of you today," you stated without much will, the weight of the long night of emergencies you had spent written on the dark circles under your eyes.

The man could not speak, he was lying motionless. He was wearing a black university outfit that was somewhat torn in some places, the collar of his white shirt stained with blood. The glasses over his eyes were cracked, a panicked look through the lenses. One of his sleeves was rolled up where a needle was stuck in it, connected to a morphine bag. There was also a beeper around his finger that monitored his heartbeat.

You had his file in your hands and as you read the information, you said, "So, Niragi Suguru, is that right?" A grunt was heard, "It says here that you slipped on the subway stairs, and bit your tongue when you fell." Another groan. "Okay, let's look at this together, shall we?"

The student straightened up on the bed and with a frantic look on his face, he looked at you apprehensively as you pulled on a pair of new latex gloves. You gently removed the cotton pads from his mouth one by one, being careful not to hurt him.

With a small flashlight, you inspected his mouth.

There was a lot of blood, his white teeth covered with a scarlet color. His tongue was so swollen that it took up most of the space in his mouth. In the middle there was a huge infected hole, redness all around and in some places the tongue turned white.

It was very odd, the way the hole had formed, something you didn't think would happen the way he described it. "Are you sure you got that from falling down the stairs? It looks more like a piercing that got infected..."

The man named Niragi muttered from the back of his throat, which you could understand as an affirmation that what he was saying was true.

It was hard to believe, and as a doctor, it was crucial to know exactly how a patient had been injured in order to determine how to properly treat them. It was impossible to get a gaping hole like that on a tongue just by running down a flight of stairs. The hole pierced his tongue, like a needle that had forced its way through.

Brow furrowed, you pulled your hands away from his mouth, seeking the student's frightened gaze. "Excuse me," you sighed in a weary, tired tone, not really buying his shit, "I can't treat you if you're lying to me."

You were tired of all those patients who didn't face their own stupidity. Just last night, a man had come in, his genitals bloody, claiming that he had cut himself while shaving. Only to find out that no, it was his dog that had bitten him while he was masturbating. You didn't give a damn about their two-bit stories, you didn't even have time to laugh about them because the workload on your shoulders was so enormous.

From your point of view, it was just a waste of time playing Sherlock Holmes to find out how their nonsense had come true, and less time spent in the shower or in your bed.

The man on the bed had an angelic face, fine features drawn with care. He had a soft but panicked look, a piercing on his eyebrow that contrasted with the shyness with which he looked at you. He avoided your eyes at all costs, as if the ember in your gaze could burn him to the ground.

"Hey, I recognize you, though! You were on the train that derailed, right?" You'd seen that same frightened face before, a face you never really would have noticed if not for the way his lips trembled every time you addressed him.

It wasn't that you were used to being wooed, drunk guys hitting on you while you were sewing their nonsense didn't count, but it wasn't that often that a man would blush so easily just at the sound of your voice. There was that pink tinge to his cheeks as blood began to leak from his lip.

Niragi shook his head from side to side, waving his hands in protest. This accident had happened about ten days before, and at the memory of that shy head avoiding your gaze, you remembered, "But... I sewed your brow back on, I think. Why did you put a piercing there?"

Indeed, on closer inspection, you could see the skin of his eyebrow tugged where you'd sewn it back on, as if the stitches had been ripped out deliberately. The piercing wasn't fully healed, you could see it clearly, where the bruised skin was still red.

You had enough experience, even if it was still short, to know that this kind of injury was often not an accident. You had already seen quite a few patients, and in any case, the emergency room was full of different cases. But this kind of wound was often the result of an intentional action.

There was a fright in Niragi's eyes as he tried to hide behind a false imposing look. His lips trembled and the blood finally trickled down his chin. The fingers of his hand absentmindedly played with the dead skin around his fingernails, and if you concentrated hard enough, you could surely hear the sound of his heartbeat beating against the bones of his rib cage.

"You didn't fall down the stairs, did you?" you stated softly, as if the realization had just hit you hard. You understood, and sadly, you completed, "And you weren't on the derailed train either, right?"

It was still impossible for Niragi to speak, his mouth on fire as his frightened gaze slowly turned into a shameful and demeaning sight. There was no point in lying now as you had unraveled the mystery around his wounds.

"Who did this to you?" You asked tenaciously, forgetting that he couldn't really talk. "Did you go to the police?"

It was too much for him all at once. He'd spent so much time hiding his pain and torment from the world, that suddenly being noticed made him lose his nerve. He had only one thing on his mind now: to disappear. He tried to get up from the bed, ready to run away as far as possible, away from his problems and away from the questions you were asking him.

"Hey whoa, where are you going?" You were trying to hold him back, pushing him back against the bed as he tried to walk past you.

He was ashamed, so ashamed to be a man who let himself be bullied like that. He wasn't a man, no, anyway, he was a nobody. A worthless piece of shit, just a piece of trash.

But he had gotten up so fast that his vision wavered, his head carried away in a tornado that spun, spun, spun. Niragi's hands were sweaty and his breath was coming hard into his lungs. The very idea of someone learning what he was going through every day, like a victim to his abusers made him feel as tiny as a speck of salt.

"Easy, easy," you pushed him against the mattress and Niragi blinked, as if trying to chase away the black dots that obstructed his vision. He hadn't reported it, but the way his mouth was eating him from the inside out was a pain that was very hard to bear.

The infection was itching, scratching and making his tongue throb unbearably.

He remained motionless on the mattress then, and looking in the cupboard of the small emergency room, you searched for some mild morphine to inject into his IV. This should be enough to ease his pain for another hour or two, without overdosing him on drugs.

You picked up a pack of new compresses, wetting them with saline before placing them gently on his swollen tongue. There was also the ointment you were looking for, which you put on the small table next to it to use in a few minutes. You glanced at the monitor that was beeping very softly over his head to check that his vitals were satisfactory enough before turning your attention back to him.

Niragi had opened his eyes again, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the wall in front of him, as if he had finally accepted the inevitability that he couldn't defend himself. "I... sorry," you apologized after a few minutes in a soft, repentant voice, "It's none of my business, I... I shouldn't have asked you all those questions."

It was kind of embarrassing to have to follow up after an accusation like that. You had been far too intrusive and even if it was just a projection of your good heart that only wanted to help him, he must have been a big enough boy to stand up for himself. You had a mountain of work to do anyway and your job was to care for the patients who came to you. You weren't a cop or a social worker.

The student didn't say anything, he couldn't talk anyway. But he let himself be treated without moving much, and once you had applied the ointment to his tongue, you gave the instructions that he should not close his mouth while the product was working. This should not have taken more than fifteen minutes, enough time for you to go and see another patient before coming back to see him.

You had gone to see an old lady in her fifties who had almost torn her finger off with a kitchen knife while cutting her carrots. The skin was split down to the bone, the ligaments and nerves visible as clearwater. All that needed to be done was to change her bandages, which had been soaked with blood for several hours.

Exactly twenty-two minutes later, you were heading back to Niragi's gurney. The patient from before had taken a little longer, and she kept moaning every time you touched her. She was a little bitch, according to you, and you would have let her know that if she didn't threaten to complain to your superior. A cunt, yes, that was the word.

"Shit, where did this one go?" The student's bed was empty, the rumpled sheets flipped over on the gurney. There was not a single thing of him left, only the bloody compresses littered the small table set on the side of the bed.

You turned around to look around, searching with your eyes in the middle of all those mattresses and patients if Niragi was not there. "Irina," you called a little further, your young colleague with very short hair and a white coat who looked up from her own patient, looking annoyed (it was a young boy who was holding his stomach, twisted with pains), "Have you seen the patient in bed 32? He was here fifteen minutes ago..."

"I don't know, Doctor Tanaka went around the beds earlier, see with him," she replied in an annoyed tone, trying to focus on the child in front of her who was giving her trouble cooperating.

So you headed to the counter where the nurses were hanging out updating all the patient files. The head doctor, your superior, was leaning against the counter, a forgotten file in his hands as he flirted shamelessly with one of the obviously embarrassed nurses. "Excuse me, doctor, did you see a young student come out of here? He was in bed 32 with an infected tongue wound..."

The doctor wasn't listening to a word you were saying, too busy giving indecent looks to another nurse who was walking by. You wanted to raise your eyes to the sky so high that they would fall off, but that was risking getting caught in the act for nothing, which would generate a reflection from him that was far too justified for your taste.

"Doctor Tanaka?" You repeated and the man finally looked at you, looking at you from head to toe as if you were nothing but a piece of dirt on the toe of his shoe. "Have you seen the patient in bed 32? Niragi Suguru?"

"Yeah, the guy wanted to leave so I discharged him." he explained in a weary tone, a smile playing on his lips as he turned his attention back to the nurse.

"But... We had to keep him at least overnight, his tongue was completely infected and -"

"Look, doctor... [Y/L/N]," he was looking for your name on your name tag that adored your chest, as if it hadn't been two years since you worked with him, "This is a hospital, not a prison. The guy wanted to leave, I let him go, okay? I think you still have work to do anyway."

It was an order to end the conversation, you could hear it clearly in the sound of his voice that left no room for an argument. Disappointed and annoyed (he really was the worst asshole in your eyes), you held back a sigh before turning on your heels.

It wasn't so much the fact that your patient's injury intrigued you, nor how and why it happened to him, but it was your instinct as a doctor that was outraged that you couldn't treat this injury properly. You knew he would have a hard time getting it to heal, and if he didn't treat his tongue right, it could lead to an irreparable fatality.

"Hey, doctor," the head doctor called over his shoulder as you began to walk away, "next time you question what I'm doing, there will be a sanction. Is that clear?"

Clear as a bell.

It was no longer your problem. Whatever you thought, Niragi's life was out of your hands and you couldn't legislate any longer on something that didn't concern you. And it should have stayed that way. Yes, you should never have met him a third time, because not only was it far too easy to call it a coincidence, but the way it happened was completely unacceptable.

"You've got a face, old girl, you do need to sleep..." Kana had said exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes later in the absolutely dingy bar she had chosen to spend the evening. She was a young woman with very long black hair, often styled in braids, with a mole on her upper lip and always wearing make-up for any occasion, whatever it was.

You gave her an annoyed look as you sat down next to her, completely ignoring the way she was gently mocking you. "Yeah, and yet, here I am," you replied because she was the one who insisted that you come for a drink, just one drink, just to relax from the twenty-four hours of being on call that had absolutely wiped you out. It wasn't a bad idea, if only the softness of your mattress didn't seem to scream your name across town.

"Good thing I'm a golden friend and ordered you a lager, no ice, in a tall glass," she recited with a big smile on her face, proud to remember what you liked to sip on to take the edge off.

With a smile of contentment, you took the drink in your hands and once at your lips, the smell alone was enough to appreciate how this beverage would help you relax your shoulders.

You drank the beer with one sip, two, then three and finally, in no time, you finished all the liquid that went down your throat as easily as water. "Fuck, take it easy, are you nuts?" Kana commented, incredulous to see your glass empty as you set it back down on the table with a thud. You caught your breath quickly, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your sleeve. It wasn't exactly a very feminine gesture, you could admit, "Was the week really that hard?"

"You have no idea."

It was a good evening, after all, Kana always had a smile on her lips and the right word to cheer you up. Even if finally, the way she kept trying to push you into the arms of this handsome stranger who had been devouring you with his eyes for the last twenty minutes or so annoyed you slightly. "Come on, just go ahead, don't be such a buzzkill!"

"No, are you crazy? Look at me, I don't have my hair done, I don't have any makeup on, I just came off a twenty-four hour shift, I look like shit..." you were trying to argue, trying to ignore the dark eyes of this man who wasn't focusing on his own friends anymore but on you.

"That's right, if he's interested in you now, imagine his face when you come out with it..." she had that laugh in the back of her throat that made you roll your eyes.

And even though this man with short jet-black hair, pronounced facial structure and muscles visible through the fabric of his shirt, looked absolutely gorgeous (he was surely a very respectable man), you didn't have the courage to accept the advances he was making.

"A Sex on the Beach from the gentleman over there," a waiter was coming to bring you a red colored cocktail, with a straw and a cut pineapple on the edge of the glass. Kana's penetrating gaze insisted that you were far too much of a killjoy for her taste. Meeting the man's gaze nonetheless, he raised his glass in a gesture of cheers, before sipping his own drink.

"Honestly, you need to chill out, and there's a beautiful fucking stud right there to send you over the edge. What are you waiting for?" Kana was seriously insisting, and it's true that a good little one-night stand could bring you down in a way that alcohol couldn't.

But no, not then, not now. Not tonight.

"And you, you need to get off my back," you'd reply wearily, praying that she'd finally decide to move on. She still had that smile that made it impossible to be angry with her. You knew it was only her job as your best friend that made her like that, like a guardian who had to make sure your sex life didn't lose its importance.

"Are you crazy? No way," she echoed, laughing out loud, looking proud and petty.

You squinted at her, pushing the offered drink away in disgust, "I don't drink vodka anyway, so..."

Even though she didn't say anything, you knew Kana wasn't done with you. When she had something on her mind, it was very rare to succeed in changing her mind. And tonight she had decided that sooner or later she would get you to fuck a guy. It was all the more tiring to have to deal with her when you were so exhausted that you needed at least a dozen hours of sleep.

"You don't know what you're losing," she said as she took a sip of the drink, offering a nod of thanks to the guy who was chasing you from afar. You stood up, grabbing your coat and pulling it over your shoulders, your bag in your hand, "I'm not done with you, [Y/N]. You're going to give in, sooner or later."

You nodded so as not to contradict her. You didn't have the courage to argue about anything anymore, so you had to go home quickly. "Bye," you sang to ignore her accusing look, waving your hand in goodbye.

"Love you, bye," Kana called as you walked further and further away from the table.

You pushed your way through the crowd at the bar, trying to make your way to the exit. The trip home was not supposed to be more than ten minutes, but the sight of the pouring rain that was suddenly raging over the city of Tokyo made you swear under your breath. Your shoes were way too thin to keep them from getting wet, you didn't have an umbrella because the weatherman hadn't really predicted this nightly downpour (or maybe he had, but you wouldn't admit that you hadn't looked at the day's weather forecast for a few days already), and to top it all off, you didn't have a single penny in your pocket to take a bus and avoid this walk.

"Hey, wait," you'd hear far behind you as you took only about ten steps up the street. Behind you, the handsome stallion from the bar was running with small steps to catch up with you, a smile on the corner of his lips, "'Hi,'" he chuckled as he reached your level.

Unconsciously, you sighed. You already knew what he was going to say or ask before he did. Not that you had developed a mind-reading superpower, but you didn't have to be Einstein to deduce why.

"I... my name is Kenji, I have..." It seemed that in the end, he himself didn't know what he wanted to say. He scratched the back of his head absentmindedly, and he could hardly sustain your insistent gaze as you watched him intently. His voice was deep, and he towered over you by at least twenty inches, as if he had giant genes coursing through his veins. "I couldn't help but notice you in the bar earlier and..." Yeah, okay, so what? "I wanted to know if it was possible to get your number..."

A group of friends walked by you, their laughter loud and clear. You were embarrassed that you had to turn him down like that, if only he hadn't had the courage to run after you. "I'm sorry, I have to go home..."

It wasn't really a refusal, or just a way to get around a flat no to justify that in any case, he wouldn't get what he asked for. You turned on your heels quickly, resuming your walk and hoping that he would let it go.

"Please," he called behind you and you continued to walk away. "Can I at least get your name?"

It wouldn't have been unpleasant to be chased like that if only it were another day, another time. But fatigue was clouding your brain and preventing you from giving any information to this man who surely deserved a tiny chance.

"Wait, I just wanted to - Argh, what the - Argh!" He shouted behind you suddenly and with a jump you turned around to see what was going on. This man named Kenji was on the ground on all fours, head down against the ground. Next to him was another man, a little shorter than him, with hair plastered against his cheeks that stuck out of his hood, a black hoodie and in his hand, a gray box that he was clutching with all his might.

It was him. The patient from this morning with the infected tongue, standing in front of his victim, taser still activated as he looked at you with round eyes. "Oh my God," you exclaimed as you rushed over to Kenji, helping him up. "Is everything all right?" you asked but the man couldn't articulate a single word, shocked and immobilized with pain.

Niragi stood frozen in place, as if he himself could not believe what he had just done. He took a step backwards, then a second one and finally, taking his legs to his neck, he ran down the street with all his strength and disappeared in the distance.

"Who the fuck was that freak?" Kenji articulated with difficulty, trying to stand on his two legs that were still shaking from the shock.

Searching in the distance for Niragi's silhouette, you didn't have the words to give an answer to the question. Even though you knew the identity of the aggressor, you wondered how all this could have happened. What was he doing there? Why had he done this? Where had he been? How did he get there?

What made Niragi Suguru attack a man who was just talking to you?

//////// / / / / //////// / / ///// ///

Let's take this back a few years and admire how insecure Niragi was before being his now-self; kinda cute though no?

I hate ending chapters like, I never know how to do this shit -sighs-

Nageoire

#Niragi Suguru #Niragi #Niragi aib #aib niragi #niragi x reader #Niragi x you #alice in borderland #aib #alice in borderland niragi #love is chaos #Chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #aib chishiya #alice in borderland chishiya

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