#does this count as an xreader?

[sam-loves-fnaf]

Random Story 1

Don't know what is possessing me to put this here or, well, anywhere, but either way, here, for anyone reading, have my random oc fanfic that is based on a Danganronpa OC that I RPed on Discord. One of the things we loved doing with our OCs was trying and mash them with different things, like what they would be like in an AU or different universe/fandom in general.

Also, this is from a reader's perspective, though I don't/didn't use (Y/N), and it has an excessive amount of "you's".

Universe/Fandom: The Backrooms

Character/OC used: Taku Sasaki (known as the Ultimate Babysitter as a danganronpa oc)

--------------------------------------

Re-write:

Getting lost in the backrooms was not a part of your agenda. It has been a while since you could see the outside; how long have you been stuck in this hell? A month? It feels like years, to be honest. You were just a random person on your way back from school, and then suddenly, you just fell; you fell and landed on some musty orange carpet in a yellow office building-looking room.

It took you a while, a long time, to get to safe places and away from dangerous beings; thankfully, though, what is highly likely to be sheer luck and determination, along with the help of some scientists who seem to be living in this hell, why? You may never know, but at least you had found a place to stop and rest.

You had learned a lot about this place, but at the same time, you have learned nothing, like the freaking exit! As you discover, it does not exist, or it's so hard to get to that it might as well not exist. So, after having a mental breakdown and passing out, you woke up with a goal: try to find the exit...or, well, die trying.

So, here you are, trying to find the mysterious exit; thanks to all the stuff you've learned, you feel like a pro backrooms explorer. It felt like you were the main character! Ooo! This would be a great horror/thriller fanfiction!

Pulling yourself back from your thoughts, you noticed you were falling. Man, this happened a lot while running through this godforsaken place; hitting the ground disoriented you, so you stayed on the ground for a while before sitting up and looking around. The new 'room' you are in looks nice. Still, it has that uncanny valley-type feel that many places have; you land on a patch of grass, and it is an empty space with blue skies and a lone house in the distance; it looks...nice and peaceful; the house looks like a great place to stay, and, looking around, there weren't any dangerous monsters, heck there weren't any monsters here at all! You didn't hear anything.

Just eerie silence, no ambiance, no random noises, you didn't hear nor see anything that may look like it wants to skin you alive twelve different times...nothing, maybe, maybe-

You could stay here, it is so peaceful.

Blinking and shaking your head, you wondered how long you were staring; getting up, you walked up to the house. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel warmth and safety, something you hadn't felt in a long while; it made you shiver. This feeling shouldn't be a feeling to have in a place like this unless it is something terrible; it has to be wrong.

But what if it is okay? Why can't you just embrace this feeling?

Just this once?

Is it so wrong?

Before you know it, you are now standing at the front of the door to the lone house; you have a feeling, something telling you to knock.

But why knock? That's weird.

You should just do it, the place looks harmless.

But that's what many of the places in this hell are like.

Why do you go around looking for an exit any way?

I want to go home.

Why do that? You are home

Knock knock

You didn't notice when but were pulled out of your thoughts by suddenly knocking, staring straight at the door. Then, footsteps, and they were getting louder, going towards the door; your eyes widened slightly as you stepped back, preparing to bolt at the sight of whatever mons-

“Ah! A new guest, come in come in!”

A voice and what sounded like a male voice said as you looked at the person or human-looking being; the man was tall and had purple hair with silver-ish grey eyes and circular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. It reminded you of an anime character, in a way. The male smiles kindly before quickly ushering you inside, and he introduces himself as Taku. Looking around the room, you notice how homie it is. Taku is shown to be a friendly man; he lets you sit on his couch as he talks away about how happy he is to have a guest that it's been so long since he spoke to someone who isn't a child.

Child? You questioned Taku on that, and Taku answered that there are children here; he watches over them and makes sure they are safe and somewhere in the house, playing and having fun. Now that he said something, you could hear childlike voices and loud pitter-pater of feet on the ground. Though weird, for some reason, that didn't set off alarms; why?

Maybe it's because Taku is a trustworthy person?

Trustworthy? You have just met him.

Yeah, and yet he let you into his house and showed you hospitality

Why are you being so difficult?

Maybe it's right; perhaps this place is just a safe space, and you could take a moment for yourself, and that is what you did. You talked to Taku and just have moments to yourself: no running, no having to maintain sanity, no trying to survive, no worries, no anxieties, a new home, and quite possibly a new life.

Before you know it, you went to sleep.

Waking up and stretching, you had probably the best nap ever! Though this is nice, the thought makes you sad-

Sad...depressed even-

That you must inevitably leave, you called on and asked Taku about an exit; blinking behind his glasses, Taku had a surprised look.

"An exit? Oh no no no no, don't worry about that for now, come with me and eat." The tall male said, quickly and easily changing the subject. Eat? Now that you mentioned it, the house smelled of food, actual real food, something more than protein bars and almond water? Sign you up! Taku is such a nice person; it makes you wonder if anybody dropped here before and why there aren't any civilizations here like in other parts. Has anyone come here before? If so, where are they?

But what you didn't know was that you were about to meet them.

The food was great, and you had met the children he talked about. You were surprised to see about nine children there, four girls and five boys; you would think dinner would be chaotic with that many children, but they were well-behaved; it was like one big family dinner. Some of the kids even called you their new sibling; it was cute! You had begun to lose track of time staying in this place; I mean-

Why do you want to leave in the first place

It's safe here

It's nice

As you said, no monsters, no worries, no anxieties

Taku takes care of you!

The cooking, the cleaning

Just. Stay.

Maybe you are home; what does home even look like anymore? The faces of those you loved and became a backrooms explorer to see again are becoming a blur, blurred faces and muffled memories. You were pulled out of your thoughts by a hand lightly patting your head; you looked up and...

Does Taku seem taller? Now that you mentioned it, you could see over counters, but now you have to stand on your tippy-toes to see what was happening.

"What are you thinking about, my child?"

A gently asked question, so you decided to ask again about the exit; you noticed a flash of concern. The male kneels down to his knees; he didn't need to do that before, right?

"Little one, why do you worry about the exit, why go back? Don't you know how dangerous it is? Especially for a child like you."

Child? You weren't a child; you were...um, you forgot your age, actually, now that he mentioned it, you forgot many things; how did you get here again? Why were you here? What were you doing again?

Taku picks you up-.

He wasn't able to do that before-

And brings you to a room; it is a nice-looking room with a bed, bookshelf, toys, clothes, and a lot more. Sitting you on the bed, the male smiles gently, a warm and calm smile, a smile that tells you that everything is going to be alright.

"Get some sleep alright? Maybe I could read you bedtime story would you like that?"

But what about the exit?

You hummed and nodded; you like stories! With a slight chuckle, the male gets up,

"Okay, which book would you like?" He asks, showing you the books.

Wait, this feels wrong.

You chose a book, and Taku sat at the bedside and opened it.

You need to leave!

You listened to the soothing voice and lay on the soft, warm bed.

No, don't sleep!

Blinking slowly, you yawned, and slowly-

ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉˣⁱᵗ﹗

You were-

ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒ, ʸᵒᵘ'ˡˡ ᵇᵉ⁻

Gone forever.

[obsessedasusual]

History Repeats - Happy Lowman

Summary: xReader - The club going into lockdown shouldn't be of concern to you anymore, you got out. Happy thinks otherwise.

Warnings: Swearing, guns, mentions of anxiety

Note: 2k - return of the Happy!!! The way I've had this half written in my docs for over a year...... I'm beyond excited to finally get it out!

You had locked the door last night.

You had.

Surely you had locked it. You always locked it.

So the only reasonable explanation to the creaking floorboards down your hallway at 6am was… a cat? Yeah, a cat.

A very heavy cat that took large footsteps towards your room.

You gripped the bedsheets tighter as you pulled them further over your face, hoping they would act as some sort of a shield when the large cat, presumably walking on two legs, inevitably barged into your room. 

Another shaky breath escaped your body as you listened to the footsteps draw nearer.

Calling the cops was a bit difficult when your phone was charging over the room on your dresser. And it’s not like you had a weapon handy. God you could hear his voice clear as day in your head, knowing exactly what he’d say if he were here. Harping on about how you should at least have a knife stashed somewhere in your bedroom and a gun in every other room of the house.

You stayed frozen in place, eyes squeezing shut as the door handle turned, and the door was thrown open without an ounce of care.

“Get the fuck up.” a gruff voice spoke from the doorway.

What the?

You tugged the covers down to your chin and peered across the room in disbelief, “What the fuck, Happy?!”

He gave a single nod before speaking again, “Up. Now.”

Mouth hung open, you could do nothing but stare up at your ex.

“No? No- what the hell are you doing here, Happy? In my house at six in the fucking morning!” Pushing yourself to sit up in bed you continued to stare at the man you hadn’t spoken to in months, “Seriously, Happy. Start speaking. How the hell did you get in here anyway? If you broke a fucking window I swear to-”

“You need to hide your spare key better. Now get up.”

A silence fell between you for a second.

“My spare ke- hey!” your train of thought was interrupted by the tall biker walking forward and ripping the duvet away from your body. In your surprise you didn’t miss the way his eyes quickly flew down your pyjama-clad body before looking toward the still-closed curtains.

“Get your ass out of bed.”

This time you listened and climbed out of bed, stomping toward your dresser to find a change of clothes, “Seriously, Happy,” you huffed as you changed shirts, “You can’t- you can’t barge into my house like this. I thought you were a burglar or something. Do you realise how unsettling that is for a single woman?”

“Good thing I’m not a fucking burglar then.”

You tugged on a pair of jeans and rolled your eyes before turning to face him, “Why are you here, Happy? Seriously?”

He met your gaze only briefly before turning back to the windows and peeping out the curtain, “I need you to pack a bag. Change of clothes. Book probably too.”

Eyebrows pulling together in confusion you stared at the back of his head, “A book? Happy. What’s going on?”

“Club’s on lockdown.”

Your confusion only grew, “A lockdown? Jesus, Happy,” you dragged your hands over your face. “What does that have to do with me? Why do I have to get dragged away too.”

He turned and met your eyes properly then, “You know why.”

Breaking his stare you faced the carpet, “Happy… this is… fucking dumb. What the fuck happened? We have been done since months ago. I’m in no danger. In fact - I’m probably in more danger with you here.”

“I’m not arguing with you. Pack a bag. We’re going.”

This wasn’t supposed to be how your Saturday went. You had left these sorts of Saturdays in the past. The uncertainty, the danger, all of it had been left the day you left the man currently standing in your bedroom seven months ago.

With only a defeated sigh in response you shrugged, counting your losses and turned back to your drawers, pulling out a couple of changes of clothes and stuffing them into a nearby backpack.

When you turned back toward Happy you found him already staring your way. Quickly breaking eye contact you dramatically gestured out the bedroom door, “After you.”

He stared for a moment longer before moving out the door, you following diligently.

“Okay,” you started as you reached the front door, “I’ll meet you there.”

The speed at which Happy spun around to face you would almost be comical if it wasn’t for the death glare that graced his face, “Like hell. You’re coming with me.”

You threw your hands up in frustration, “Happy, c’mon! You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re coming with me.”

Taking a deep breath to stop whatever snarky remark that was about to escape your lips you nodded, “Fine. Whatever. Can I at least have breakfast before we go?”

“There’s food at the club. Let’s go.” WIthout another word he was out the door and striding toward his bike, leaving you to lock the door and tuck your key - both keys - away in the backpack. Following after the biker you grabbed the helmet from his outstretched hand and tugged it on.

You jumped in fright when the Harley roared to life, catching the way Happy’s shoulders jostled as he chuckled.

Sighing heavily at the situation you were faced with you begrudgingly climbed on behind your ex and secured your hands on his waist.

“You good?” he grunted over his shoulder.

“Just go.”

The wind rushing at you as Happy took off down the street felt like a thousand memories you had fought to forget just slapping you in the face all at once.

The smell of being on the Harley was something you hadn’t realised you’d come to miss. Was it the smell of the rubber? The fumes from the exhaust? The scent of the man in front of you?

No, it was definitely the fumes from the exhaust.

-

Pulling into the Teller Morrow lot was when the weight of what was happening really set in.

More bikes than usual were lined up at the ready, people with children were piling out of cars, sleeping bags in hand, and food was being unloaded left and right, with guns being handled ‘discreetly’ by the Sons.

It had been many months since you had stepped foot near the club. And just as many since you’d spoken to any of the Sons. Well, bar Juice who you’d seen at the store a few weeks back. To say you were nervous would be an understatement. 

As Happy slowed to a stop, signalling for you to jump off before he backed his bike in line with the others, you swore you could feel a million eyes on you. It was as if everyone on the property was staring at you. 

This wasn’t the case of course. With the feeling of danger and caution in the air everyone was worried about their own loved ones and whatever job they’d been given. Truth be told, you didn’t recognise a lot of the faces around you. So they sure as hell wouldn’t know you from a bar of soap.

Still, no matter the case, the anxiety pooled in your stomach.

Anxiety had always been present in your life. Making itself known first in high school and popping up every now and then when it felt like messing with you.

Happy seemed to pick up on your switch in mood, from angry to anxious and lightly spoke from behind, “Everybody’s busy doing their own thing. You don’t need to stop and talk, just head to the back rooms.”

You nodded at his words, eyes still locked on the scenes unfolding in front of you. You didn’t move until you felt the tattooed man nudge you slightly.

Sticking close to Happy, as much as you’d love to run in the opposite direction, you slowly made your way into the hectic clubhouse. 

It was like stepping back in time, you’d done this exact thing multiple times with Happy, the lockdown. The children running wild inside, a group of hangarounds in the kitchen, families huddling nervously at the walls. 

There had been a time when you’d have gone up to those families with a fresh pot of coffee and some baking, helping to reassure them that it would all be okay. How the tables turn.

As you peererd around you noticed the doors to chapel were open, Sons inside counting guns. Your eyes moved over the men, noting who you recognised, Tig, Bobby and Jax, and who must’ve been from other charters.

Seemingly feeling your gaze on him, Jax turned his head and caught your eyes. With not an ounce of shock or surprise in his stare, he nodded at you with a knowing tight-lipped smile, welcoming you back into this world of chaos.

It wasn’t until you finally reached Happy’s dorm that you let out a deep breath. It was quieter back here, mostly out of bounds unless you had the okay from the members, which you apparently did.

You pushed the door open and were once again hit with an alarming wave of nostalgia. Happy’s dorm looked exactly the same. It was relatively bare, but tidy.

It was too familiar. It felt too normal being back here. Like the last seven months hadn’t happened, like they didn’t matter. 

You could feel yourself getting worked up and turned to face the man you had spent years loving.

He remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed, studying you from his spot.

“Why am I here, Happy? It’s been months. You just turn up at sunrise after months of no contact  to play a knight in shining armour? I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t mean enough to you to warrant being here.”

He just stared at you in silence, like he knew you’d get pissed whether he answered or not.

“I’ve been trying to move on with my life!” You continued, now sitting on the edge of his bed, “I’ve been working so hard to forget everything between us. To forget the fucking club. I just - I just want a normal life. I want to be able to come home after work and relax with my partner. I want to complain about my boss. I want to get annoyed about the ads on TV. I want my biggest problem to be figuring out what’s for dinner each night.”

You took a deep breath and stared down at your lap before admitting, “I just want boring.”

Still frozen in his spot, Happy finally spoke up, “You’d hate boring.”

You gave a dry laugh at his response and looked up at him with defeated eyes, “So what then? I just have to stay stuck in this weird in between?”

A silence fell between you as your words hung in the air. 

Relieved you’d been able to get those thoughts out of your system, you fell back onto Happy’s bed.

The silence lasted so long you wondered if you’d dozed off and he’d snuck out of the room when he spoke up, “Stay in here. I’ll send someone in with food later.”

You closed your eyes and listened as he turned and opened the door, ready to leave and do whatever the Sergeant at Arms does during a lockdown, noting the way his movement paused before he spoke again,

“I’m sorry I had to bring you back here.”

As he left and softly shut the door behind him, the first of your tears finally fell.

[silaslich]

Whispers to cold flesh

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Wc - 2.5k

Summary - Ghost and Soap get separated and Ghost seeks refuge from the snow storm in an abandoned house. Just when he thinks he’s alone, he finds you there - bleeding to death.

Cw - 18+, blood, injury, death ideation, angst

AN - didn’t really know how to tag this because it isn’t xreader but more just angst I had worming around my brain :)

The chill runs down to his bones. It seeps into his bone marrow when the wind shifts and the snow falls heavier.

Ghost isn’t that used to this; not these days. Maybe back in England when he was young. Everything from those days is locked away, a ball and chain clamped around that particular box of memories, thrown into the sea until it sinks to the ocean floor.

Forgotten

He slams the door behind himself with a resounding thud and it shakes the walls as the snowflakes fall from his shoulders, melting away to droplets on the floor. Ghost’s eyes scan his surroundings, a constant vice he had engrained into him now, even if he’s out of enemy territory- he’ll never let his guard down.

It’s the same now as he scans the rooms, one by one. Footsteps as quiet as he’s able, sharp eyes watching for any sign movement as he listens closely. All he catches is the wind whistling outside, rattling the structure of the building, as far as a rendezvous point goes - he’s seen worse. He’s waiting on the irritating Scot now, everything is tied up on their end, knotted in a pretty bow for the higher ups to deal with, he can wash his hands of it.

Soap had become separated at some point, his usual efforts of running in blind and taking a handful of men with him as he went, Ghost had stayed back to watch and observe, held up on his sniping point further up the snow-laden valley. He hadn’t been needed after all, they got what they came for, now it was a case of waiting it out for evac to come.

He’s walking through what looks to have been a kitchen, littered in dust and debris, years of unkept rot and decay taking hold of the once decadent foundations of this home. Abandoned and forgotten, Ghost knew that feeling.

As he’s scanning the walls and the dark corners, his eyes land on a slick smear against the dirty wooden floorboards. It’s fresh, he notes. Then he can smell it, the blood, copper pennies - sour in his nose. Instinctively, he raises his pistol.

Ghost lowers his shoulders and steps forward, he’s even quieter, eyes scanning as he follows the trail of crimson that soaks into the floor under his boots. As he nears closer, that’s when his ears catch it, the rattle of breathing, heavy and uneven - laboured in a way that sounds like a punctured lung. He steps fully around the corner of a kitchen island, gun raised and eyes narrowed, he expects to find an injured fugitive, one of the war criminals that’s somehow slipped through his fingers.

But it’s just you.

So weak from blood loss you can’t even raise your eyes to meet his. It’s a haze, a blur of movement when he steps even closer, it’s only the vibration of his footsteps that make you aware someone is there.

Your chest rattles with an intake of breath, stunted when you hack up blood into your palm, it doesn’t feel like you’re walking away from this one. Too many lucky strikes - you’re finally out.

Ghost cocks his head to the side, then he’s kneeling down closer, sliding his pistol back into its holster as he does. “You with me, mate?” He keeps his voice low, he doesn’t want to startle you, he can empathise with you in this moment, he’s been there himself, too many times to count.

He’s seen you around. Ghost is observant, it’s his job to be, there’s been a few missions that you’ve been on together lately. He knows you’re a marine, been on the circuit for years now. You’ve toured here, there and everywhere. You’ve only spoken to him a handful of times over a cigarette or an MRE but he knows you by name. Surely that’s enough. No, he knows where you were born and why you joined up, he knows where your favourite place to vacation is and the name of your first pet. It’s not enough, it’s too much. He can’t keep allowing this to happen, to get close to people and then watch them die, it’s something selfish that worms it’s way into his head - he doesn’t know how long he’ll keep being able to do this.

You raise your head from where your chin is tilted to your chest, your eyes drift lazily across his face, a realisation of who he is settling over you, he sees it. “‘m compromised Lt” you slur, coughing again, “looks like you’ll have to put that letter through” your teeth are cherry red when you smile weakly at him, he can’t find the strength to enjoy the quip.

You’re referring to one of the last conversations you’d had with him, asking him how he deals with the aftermath of a particularly unsuccessful mission. “You have to let families know?” You’d asked and he’d nodded, “sometimes” he breathed the words around the plume of smoke from his cigarette, side-eying you, “depends how many, if it’s a lot then I help out with the reports”. You hadn’t thought about that kind of responsibility from his role, something you’re not sure you’d want to do yourself.

He looks down at you, assessing the damage, he finds your hands clutching at your side, a steady stream of blood seeping through the seams of your fingers as you apply pressure. It’s as if you sense what he’s about to do or say and you stop him, raising your hand to block his in its path, it’s path to pry your hands away from your wound so he can see it. He dips his chin and meets your eye, a warning, but you don’t heed it. “Leave it” you huff, still struggling for breath. “I can’t fix it if you don’t let me look” his tone shifts, perhaps lighter, this looks bleak but he’d remembered to try his best at being positive- forever a pessimist.

You laugh, albeit dryly and with effort, “no fixing this, mate” your red teeth flash again and Ghost doesn’t know where to put his eyes, they’re fixed on the injury and then flicker back up to your eyes, watching them waver. “Don’t say shit like that” he gruffs, shifting his weight, he’s even closer now, eyes still trying to asses the damage despite your blocking hands.

If he’s being honest- he’d probably agree. At the rate you’re bleeding and have been bleeding at, he’d give it no more then two minutes before it’s lights out, blood loss is a nasty thing and it takes only minutes for it to become fatal. So it’s why he doesn’t forcefully pry your hands away and let him look, in other circumstances he might have done, but he doesn’t know how long you’ve been here for - and he can’t imagine it’ll be much longer considering how pale you’ve grown in the last minute he’s been here.

You hum. It’s almost a contented sigh, he guesses it’s the delirium stage, when the pain finally begins to flatline and the body tries it’s best to make light of the losing fight. You slide your head to the side, big glassy eyes looking in his direction, not meeting him directly. “Do me a favour?” You ask, your voice little more than a hum, eyes drooping lazily. He has no room to deny you, you’re dying, so you could ask him his opinion on mass genocide and he’d humour you until it was time.

Ghost has been around enough death in his time now to know how it goes. He’s seen people bleed out and get blown up, drown or be burned alive, there isn’t a lot he hasn’t seen or dealt with. He’s glad that this’ll be somewhat peaceful for you, of all the ways to go, this is perhaps the least gruesome in a military setting, he can’t confirm it’ll be painless for you however.

He nods his head despite his words, “depends what it is” it’s empty but it makes you crack a smile, with whatever strength you can muster, you extend your hand to him - crusted and wet with the slimy and congealing blood from your wound, when he looks from your hand back to your face, you simply wag your fingers at him. “Hold my hand” you’re still smiling, halfheartedly, but he just shakes his head. He slides his gloved palm across yours and he’s surprised when you clamp your fingers tight around his, mustered strength from a reserve you’ve hidden somewhere out of sight.

He looks at your connected hands and squeezes back himself, “can’t tell anyone about this when we get back” he smiles beneath the mask, it’s solemn - empty. You tilt your chin at him with a knowing air about the motion, there’s little emotion left in your features now, too tired and far gone for it. “I won’t tell anyone” you slur, looking at him, “I promise” the last part is whispered with what he can see is a slight smile. He squeezes your hand again, “good on ya”.

Reality cracks when the sound of the door almost snapping off of its hinges makes Ghost leap almost six feet in the air, he’d let his guard down a little too far and he’s quick to raise his rifle toward the doorway, leaving your hand cold as he stands over you, protective despite there being no real need to be. His finger threatens the trigger but then he lets the tension wash from his shoulders when he hears that familiar Scottish twang.

It’s Johnny

He steps into the room with his hands raised mockingly, stupid cocky smile plastering his face, “alrate, Lt?” The light in his eyes dims and his toothy grin falls when he notices the blood staining the wood he’s standing on. He hadn’t noticed you straight away, blocked by Ghost almost entirely. Ghost steps to the side as if in answer to the question, no- he’s not alrate.

Soap raises his brows, “steamin’ Jesus” he whispers, footfalls immediately carrying him quickly toward you. “Y’okay mate?” He asks quickly, running through the same motion as Ghost had only for you to clock him too. You hiss when his hand lays over yours on your abdomen and you attempt to jerk away, “leave off will ya’” you spit, brows pinched together in pain and frustration. Soap looks wounded by it, no one denies his offers of help, not the bright Scottish lad with a grin too wide and a humour so dark.

“Wouldn’t let me touch it either” Ghost rumbles, watching as you glare at Soap. There’s one thing about Johnny, he rarely takes no for an answer, “come on now” he speaks softly, laying a hand over your thigh so you’re not startled by the touch. “Let me have a look at it, please” his accent loosens and so does the pinched tightness of his face, Ghost watches as you consider the Scot, ultimately reaching the same verdict. You shake your head, “no point, Soap” you knock your head against the cabinet you’re propped against, “I’m done in”. You seem to genuinely believe this is it, to bleed out on a dirty safe house floor in the middle of rural snow-clad Europe.

Johnny swallows. “Either way, if you let me look I can either help-“ he cuts himself off, perhaps looking for a better way of wording whatever he was going to say “or I can be here with you” it’s an offer of his hand to hold or his shoulder to lean on. Ghost has seen it time and time again, he’s been on both ends of it, either thinking he’s the one who’s time is here or watching and waiting as someone dies in his arms. Despite the strength and bravado these men feel obligated to front with, it boils down to the same thing, no one wants or deserves to die alone.

You close your eyes and fight with yourself as you nod. It seems fair, even if you’re going to die, perhaps give them the piece of mind that they tried to help you. It’s why you don’t react when Soap springs into action, he’s cutting away the layers of your clothes around the area, fishing through his med-kit for gauze and tweezers, he’d try his absolute best.

Ghost watches it all unfold, how you don’t even flinch now, not even when Soap pokes around in the wound as he digs for a bullet he’s not even sure is still in there. Ghost doesn’t cringe, he’s seen people blown to bits, but it’s the fact that you don’t react that concerns him more then the squelch of your insides as Soap roots around in there.

It’s only a few seconds before Ghost hears something small and metallic clank to the floor, he watches the bullet roll away in a trail of fresh blood. “Got the wee bastard” Soap triumphs under his breath, you stare lazily at nothing, Ghost steps closer to examine as Soap begins to stitch the wound back together. He’s never been good at it himself, he’s stitched himself up before and a handfuls of others, they always healed deep and ugly - so he tries not to do it if he can get away with it.

His gun is hung hazily in his grip, hanging off the strap that’s over his shoulder, he’s watching Soap work intently until he feels the strap shift against his body. He stiffens but he doesn’t move, his eyes fall to you, watching as you wrap your fingers around the barrel of the rifle and lift it to sit against your forehead. Soap stills completely, eyes darting from you to Ghost.

“Put me out of my fucking misery” your voice barely carries, it’s hoarse and weak, close to dissipated. Ghost meets your eye, gaze glossed over as you stare at him - stare into him. He can’t shift it.

Soap pipes up, “bleedings stopped, pal” he interjects, “yer gonna be fine” wether he’s convincing you or himself - no one’s sure at this point.

You don’t drop your hold on the gun, nor do you drop Ghost’s gaze. “Just spare one bullet for me - please” he watches as the tears fall, smearing through the blood and dirt smearing your face, cutting through like sharp spines that travel over your cheeks.

He replays it over and over. Days later.

Watching as you sleep, wrapped in bandages and starchy white sheets in the medical wing, fed painkillers through a needle in your arm - over the worst of it all thanks to Soap.

It rattles Ghost. Not because it had been gruesome or particularly unpleasant of an encounter, it doesn’t come close to some of the shit he’s seen in his time.

He’s rattled because of just how close he had been to doing you a favour and putting a bullet in your skull.

All for the sake of not having to see you in such pain anymore.

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Girl at the rock show

Characters: Jensen Ackles (xreader). Steve Carlson. Mentions of other bandmates. Made up bffs.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Drinking, Ended abusive/controlling relationship. Let me know if I forgot any.

Summary: You move to Austin, Texas after you caught your controlling ex-boyfriend with another girl. Your best friend drags you out to a live show on your first night there.

Word count: 5.901 words

A/N: I'm kinda nervous about this one. My first Jensen fic. Hope ya'll enjoy it. 💗

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“Come on, We can’t be late?” Mac Yelled from the front door. 

“I'm coming” You yelled back, shoving your I.D. and debit card in your pocket. You took one last look in the mirror above your new dresser. Not too shabby you thought to yourself and walked out your bedroom door. 

Mac let out a whistle as you walked toward her. 

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down, it's a flannel and some jeans.” 

“Um, a tight pair of jeans that hugs those hot curves and an unbuttoned flannel, yes you have an undershirt on,” she said when you opened your mouth to rebuttal. “But the girls still look nice.” 

“Do we really have to go out my first night here? I just got off a plane 5 hours ago,” you said as she hurried you out the door. 

“Yes. One I have been wanting you to check out this band and they don’t play many live gigs. Two. You need fun right now. And ya know what they say is the best way to get over someone.”

“Mackinley Jane! I’m not interested in finding anyone right now,” you said approaching the opposite side of the Uber backseat as her.

“(y/n) I’m not saying go off and get married. I’m saying a night of fun won’t kill you.” she winked. You both plopped in the back seat. She gave the driver the address of the bar. “It's been 3 months and not to be harsh, but do you really think he’s sitting home alone crying over you right now?” her words stung a little. He was probably with the girl you found him with. Or out finding a new one to control. You still couldn't believe you wasted 5 years on that asshole. 

“You’re right. But I highly doubt my night will end under someone new. “ you said the last part in a mocking tone. 

“Just promise that if someone does catch your eye you will give them a chance.”

“No promises, but I will try.”

“I’ll take it.” It was only an 8-minute drive from the apartment to the bar. It took about 10 minutes with traffic. “ You can just drop us on this side street. Thank you.” Mac said handing the driver some cash. You got out and walked around the car meeting her as she got out. 

“I thought you said this band wasn’t that big. Look at this place.” You said as put your arm in hers walking to the back of the line. 

“Well they aren’t selling out the garden, but one of the lead singers is Jensen Ackles.” You gave her a puzzled look. She put her palm to her forehead. “The guy from supernatural? “ Your face didn't change “Big Sky?” You shook your head “The boys? Tracker?”

“Just got out of a 5-year relationship with a controlling douchebag remember?” 

“You haven’t seen pictures or anything?” She whipped her phone out and started googling, 

“Mac! (y/n)!!” you looked up as you heard the familiar voice yell your name. It was Zoey. Mac’s ex-room-mate. She just bought a house and moved out of the apartment. That's what sparked this whole move to a new city idea. Mac put her phone back in her pocket and hugged Zoey. 

“Damn (y/n) you look good,” Zoey said hugging you. “Is this what happens when you drop 200 lbs of loser?” you chuckled. 

“Have you looked in the mirror, Ms little black dress?” you said hugging her back. 

Mac cleared her throat and did a little hair flip with her blonde curls. “Mac you know you always look good my dear,” Zoey remarked. “I’ll meet you guys in there. I don’t wana ditch.” There was only one guy behind you and he insisted Zoey stay where she was. 

You guys got up to the door and you could hear the music. “How much time do we have before they go on?” Mac asked. 

“About 30 minutes,” Zoey said looking at her watch. 

You made your way into the bar. It was a lot bigger than what it looked from the outside. The was a bar on the wall to the right. A decent-sized stage on the wall to the left and a big dance floor between you and the stage. Straight ahead there was a joined room with pool tables. Mac noticed you looking at the tables. “ I don't think we have enough time for a game right now, but after the show?”

“Sure.” It had been so long since you played you probably sucked at it now. James wouldn’t play with you. He said you cheated so there was no point. 

“Come on let’s start drinking,” Mac said as she grabbed your and Zoey’s hands and headed for the bar. 

“Start?” you heard Zoey say. 

Mac handed the bartender her card and started a tab. She turned to you.” Don’t give me that look, we can split it or you guys can pay me back tomorrow. Bud light bottle?” You nodded. “Of course.” she winked. She handed Zoey her drink then you, your beer. Her eyes had been scanning the room since you walked in. 

“Who are you looking for?” You asked her. 

“ The band has been known to have a drink at the bar before their shows. Just thought we’d get lucky.” You rolled your eyes turning to see if there was a table open. 

“Mac there’s a table open come on.” she grabbed her drink and the girls followed you. You made small talk and gossiped waiting for the show to start. You downed the last of your beer. You must have been nervous or something because you finished way before your friends. “I'm gonna go grab another beer,” you said standing.

“Hurry up. They are about to start.” Mac yelled as you walked away.

You made your way up to the bar and stood there waiting for your turn. The bartenders were slammed. 

You leaned against the bar as you ordered. Waiting on your drink your eyes wandered to the left side of the bar, finding the deepest mossy green eyes you had ever seen looking back at you. He was gorgeous with his shaggy brown hair and trimmed beard. Cut off shirt showing off his muscles and tattoos He gave you a flirty nod and you felt your cheeks get warm. Just then someone walked up beside you.

“Hey there beautiful, can I buy you a drink?” the guy was cute, but you had no interest after seeing green eyes across the bar. 

“No thank you..” you kept it short hoping he would take the hint. You looked over at green eyes. He was watching the two of you curiously. 

“Oh come on sweetheart.” 

“Again no.  I'm not interested.” green eyes could tell you were uncomfortable so he made his way over to you. 

The man couldn't take the hint and put his hand on yours. “ Not interested?”

“Yep, that's what she said. Why don't you get your drink and move along.” his voice was deep and angelic. 

“ I am so sorry!” he grabbed his drink and rushed off. Was he really that scared? It's not like green eyes had threatened his life or anything.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”  He smiled. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach stir up. “So you ready for the show?” 

Yeah. I guess so. To be honest I don’t really know the band. My friend dragged me here tonight.” He raised an eyebrow. “ She thinks they’re really good. Although she's just obsessed with one of the lead singers” You took a drink and told yourself to shut up. 

He flashed a smile and leaned just slightly closer to you. The butterflies got bigger. “She must have good taste.” He chuckled. 

Just then the band members came out on stage. Everyone went crazy. One of the guys walked up to 1 of the 2 mics center stage. “Jensen, gonna need you to come to the stage there buddy.” 

“Missing one of the lead singers already.” He said laughing with the crowd. 

“Yea he's probably in the back with a groupie,” you chuckled. 

“Or flirting with a smoking hot babe.” he laughed louder. “I gotta go, but find me after the show okay?” 

You heard Mac's lecture again in your head. You nodded. He smiled and started walking toward the dance floor. You could definitely have a fun night with him or many fun nights... 

You started walking back to the table you froze in place and your jaw hit the floor as he climbed onto the stage. What. The. Fuck.

Green eyes stood at the open center mic. “Alright, Steve I’m here. How’s everyone doing tonight?” The crowd cheered. They introduced themselves and started playing. 

“Mac, who is that guy?” you pointed at him. 

“Babe, that is Jensen Ackles.”

“Like Thee Jensen ackles?” you asked dumbfounded. 

“Yes, Do you wana to find a closer spot with us?” She said looking at you. “What’s with you?”

“Yeah, sure.” you grabbed your beer and explained what just happened to her on the way. “But I’m sure he was just being nice. He saw how uncomfortable the other guy made me and helped a girl out right.”

They continued playing. And they were good. Like really good. It should not be humanly possible to be that damn good-looking and have a voice like that. But there he was. 

“I don’t know. He said to find him after the show. Why say that if he didn't mean it?” she said not taking he eyes away from the stage. 

You rolled your eyes. “He was just being nice, We can stick around and play some pool, but I am not getting my hopes up.”

“Whatever you say.” she swayed and grabbed you making you sway with her. 

“Plus isn’t he married?” 

“Why do you care you're not getting your hopes up?” She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “But they got a divorce a little over a year ago.” 

“I don’t and I’m not.” She gave you a yeah-right look and started spinning you around. Zoey was being spun around too by a hot guy with tattoos and a fohawk. She did like her bad boys. 

The song ended. “ Man, we are burning through them tonight huh? We only have 4 songs left?” Jensen said to Steve. 

“What are you talking about we aren’t even halfway through.”

“Look.” Jensen pointed to his monitor. Steve stepped closer, tapped it a couple of times, and then they both started laughing. “Whoops I skipped ahead a little bit.”

“A little bit?” Steve asked taking off his guitar. “You good?”

Jensen chuckled. “Yeah. This one’s called Forever Ain’t Long.”

The crowd cheered. Mac put her arm around you and you leaned your head against hers. “Are you having fun?” she asked.  You nodded. “Good!”

“Take me to heaven or wherever you're from…” Jensen and Steve started singing as he looked in your direction. Your heart melted in your chest. Oh crap so much for not getting your hopes up…

They played for a good while. “I think we are going to invite someone back up to the stage,” Jensen said 

“We are?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah look.” Jensen pointed to his monitor again, 

“Haha oh yeah.”

“I'm gonna take a break guys, get a drink, maybe towel off. But I’d love to invite Mr Santana Roos back to the stage and play trumpet for ya’ll.” He walked off the stage.

The band continued playing. Steve had a great voice too. Moments later you felt a hand on the small of your back. You turned with your hand in a fist and saw those piercing green eyes. You dropped your hand and he dropped his. “Sorry didn’t mean to startle you.” You heard two gasps coming from behind you. He chuckled. “Hello, ladies.” He said as he looked at Mac and Zoey. They giggled.

“This is Mack. “ Mack put her hand out as you pointed. Jensen shook it. “And this is Zoey.” She put her hand out and shook his. They giggled again. You rolled your eyes and apologized.

“It’s alright,” he said chuckling. He put his hand out to you “ And your name is?”

“(y/n)” You took his hand in yours, electricity flowing up your arm as you touched his skin. 

“Jensen.”

“Well obviously. And you let me ramble on about not knowing the band.” your hand is still in his. 

He chuckled. “It was cute.” Cute? You thought, The butterflies stirring again. “You wanna get a drink?”

You nodded and you told Mac you’d be right back. He twisted your hand and laced his fingers through yours. The butterflies got bigger. Walking through the crowd everyone was taking pictures and he stopped to snap a selfie with a couple of them, but he never let go of your hand. You guys made your way back to the bar. “Bud light Bottle?”

“Yes, please.” He got your drinks and you two walked over to the side of the bar. 

“You enjoying the show?” he asked then took a drink. 

“Eh, They are ok I guess. “

“Ok you guess?” he said smiling. Then took another drink.

“The trumpet player is kinda hot.” He threw his head back and laughed.  

“I can give you his number if you want.” He winked. 

“No thanks. I got my eye on someone else” you winked back. You could swear his cheeks got pink. 

“I gotta get back up there. You still wanna hang out after?”

“I’ll be around.”

“Looking forward to it.” He took your hand and walked you back up to Mac.

“Giirrrrrl!!!” Mac said after he walked away. 

“Shut up.” You said as you started to sway again with her. The song stopped and Jensen came back out on the stage. 

“Hey Steve, “ He said as he returned to the mic. “ I asked a pretty lady if she was enjoying the show.” your cheeks got hot “ Ya know what she said?”

“Hopefully she said yeah.” Steve chuckled. 

“She said Eh the bands ok I guess.” Steve gave him a come-on look. “I know, What do you say we kick it up a notch and do drowning?” The crowd lost their minds as Steve started playing it. 

Mac looked at you” ok you guess?!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your attention snapped to Jensen as he started singing. He was looking you dead in the eyes. Everything and Everyone just drifted away. “Let’s keep it going with the sound of someday.” He looked at Steve and then back at you. The crowd screamed even louder. Again you were entranced. 

“Well buddy since you are on a roll,” Steve said as he started playing another song. The crowd cheered again. You felt kind of jealous you didn't know any of the songs. 

“She wants to know the name of the games he plays..” He was looking at you again. 

Mac leaned into your ear. “How’s those hopes doing?”

“He wants the names of the players in the game to change..”

“Not as low as I want them to be.” You confessed. 

“He's young in years but wise in wonderful ways…”

“One night of fun?” She asked raising her eyebrows. 

“Her faith in love is better on sunny days…”

“We’ll see. Now shush” She smiled but stayed silent. 

The audience cheered again once the song ended. 

Steve looked at Jensen smiling. “Are you done showing off now, Jay?”

“Not even close,” Jensen said chuckling. 

They played for a while more, and then they finished up. Everyone started yelling encore. Steve and Jensen came back out. They played an acoustic song together, and then the whole band came back out and played another. The crowd cheered, and eventually, everyone calmed down and started clearing out. 

“So, you going to find him?”Mack asked you

“No. We are gonna play some pool. I told him I’d be around.” you tried to play it cool, but your nerves were going wild. “I’ll go get us a pitcher and you guys go get a table.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zoey said. The two of them headed for the pool table room. You made your way up to the bar. You ordered a pitcher and asked for some glasses. You held out your bank card to the bartender. “Uh, Mr Ackles said that all of your drinks were on him tonight.” Really?! No way that was happening you thought. 

“Here just charge it to my card. I’ll deal with Mr Ackles later.”

She ran your card and then gave it back to you. “Here ya go,” she said sliding the tray with the pitcher and some glasses on it. 

“Thank you,” you said taking it and she nodded.

You made your way over to the table in the back where Zoey was ranking up the balls. You sat the tray down and started pouring a beer in three glasses. “You guys wanna play cutthroat?”

“Hm.. Or Mac and I vs you,” Zoey said as she finished the rack. 

“How is that far?” you argued handing her a beer. 

“Oh come on we could get a third and you’d still probably win,” Mac said taking the glass you were handing out to her. 

“Fine, but I break.”

You lined up the shot after picking out your cue and chalking the end of it. You sank the 6 and the 15. You around walking over to your next shot. Your heart sank a little when you didn't see Jensen or any of his bandmates around. Not getting my hopes up you thought to yourself. There was a good shot for the 12 ball so you took it. Then you walked around the table not letting yourself look anywhere else you to your next shot. You missed. Mac managed to get 2 of their balls in before missing. You put another 2 balls in. You went to take your next shot when a commotion at the bar ruined your concentration and you missed. 

“Damnit,” you said as you looked out to the bar. Your heart fluttered when you saw him. He was talking to the bartender. She pointed in your direction and he turned. He smiled as his eyes found you.

“Calm down, you're still winning,” Zoey said walking over to the cue ball.  You walked over to the table and took a drink of your beer. 

“Really?” she said as she picked up her glass. 

“What?”

“I see you.” you squinted your eyes at her. Zoey got one ball in but missed the second shot “You're up.”

You took a deep breath and headed back over to the table. You weren't sure if you were gonna be able to focus on the game right now. Somehow you managed to get a ball in. You let yourself look up as you walked around to your next shot. He was still at the bar, the band happily taking selfies with fans. How sweet you thought. You tried to focus on your shot. 

“See I freaking told you !” Mac said as you put another ball in. “ 2 vs 1 and I still can’t beat you!” you laughed. 

You put your last ball in but missed on the 8. Mac passed you on your way to the high top with a smile on her face. She looked at you then behind you. You turned around and Jensen was headed your way with a big grin on his face. You couldn't help but smile back. He was holding a try with 2 pitchers full of beer. Steve was behind him with glasses in his hand. Three other bandmates followed they also had a pitcher and glasses. They walked over to the open pool table beside yours. 

“Hey, sorry it took forever. We had to go over some things and fans. I have a hard time telling them no.” he said as he sat down the pitchers.

You clicked your tongue. “ I guess I'll give you a pass this time, Ackles.” You said smiling. He smiled back and swirled his body in Steve’s direction. 

“This is Steve. Steve this is (y/n)” 

Steve put his hand out and you shook it “ Ah the pretty lady that thinks we’re ok she guesses.” he smiled. You chuckled. 

You felt Mac behind you. “This is Mac “ You turned and they shook hands. “That’s Zoey.” she got a ball in and came around to shake Steve's hand. 

“Cutthroat?” he asked. 

“No, they combined forces to try to take me down,” you explained. 

Zoey missed her shot. “And we are still going to lose.”

You walked over and called your shot. Everyone was watching which made you nervous, but you still got the ball in. 

Zoey walked over to the table and poured herself another beer. “Damn, I hate this game.” She took a drink. “ You guys can have it.” She made her way over to the other bandmates. 

“Wanna play doubles?” Jensen asked taking a drink. 

“2 conditions.” Mac said “ You rack and I get (y/n)”

“Deal.” Jensen got the rack out and started putting balls in. Steve started walking to the shelves where the cues were “ Hey, grab me one please?” Steve nodded. 

“You break,” you said to Mac as she checked out Jensen who was bent over the pool table getting the balls.  

“Only if you break that,” she said raising her eyebrows. 

“Mackinley.” She rolled her eyes and went to the head of the pool table. You walked over to the high-top table and took a drink. 

Steve walked back holding only one stick. “Uh, sorry Jay this was the last one.” Jensen turned to you and stuck his lip out walking over to you. Then stood beside you still looking at you with his lip still out.  

You sighed “I guess I can share.” 

He chuckled. “How nice of you” matching your playful attitude as he nudged your arm. You smiled. “So I take it you're kind of good at this game?” he asked. 

“Eh, I'm alright.” 

“Alright, you boys ready to lose?” Mac said as she leaned over and broke the rack. Everyone laughed. It was a good break, but no balls went in. Jensen gestured for Steve to go.

“That's what happens when you talk shit,” Steve said, lining up his shot and sinking the 6 ball in. 

You turned to sit your beer down and leaned toward Jensen as he took a drink “Well I guess you got small balls, bud.” He choked on his drink. You laughed and turned back around. Steve missed his shot. “Guess I’m up,” you said and walked over to take your shot.

“You good?” Steve asked, picking up his beer. 

“Yep, just heard something I wasn't expecting.” Steve raised his eyebrows and Jensen told him the joke you told. 

“Damn, she’s spunky huh?” Steve said laughing. 

“She’s somethin’.”Jensen smiling at you as you got a ball in. 

You got 3 more balls in. AC/DC You shook me at night long came on the radio overhead. You started tapping your foot and mouthing the words as you took your next shot. You missed. “Damnit.”

“ You done?” Jensen asked as he put his hand out for the cue. You scrunched your nose and poked your tongue out at him then continued singing. He laughed. 

“I’m just getting warmed up, bud,” he laughed and you gave him the stick. You walked back over to the table. Mac and Steve were talking about the first album he and Jensen wrote.

“You wanna sit and take a break after all that?” Steve asked, smiling and pointing at his chair. 

“Ha, No I’m good.” You turned around in time to watch a ball go in. 

“I told you she was good,” Mac said.

You rolled your eyes. “I'm not that good.”

Jensen sank 3 more balls before Missing. 

“But it looks like she might have met her match.” She said winking at you as she passed Jensen. 

He furrowed his brows and tilted his head. He stood next to you so close you could almost feel his arm on yours. 

“Ignore her. Just talkin’ shit like always.” You said loud enough for her to hear making her laugh. 

Mac took her shot and got one ball, but missed the next shot. “Well, she didn't leave me anything to shoot at,” Steve said as he got up and looked around the table for a good shot. 

“That’s kind of the point.” you heard Mac say as she and Steve started bantering. He lined up for a jump shot. 

“Ohhh, Steve’s getting fancy.” You said in a silly tone causing him and Jensen to laugh.  

“So, she likes AC/DC, Bud Light, and she’s a pool shark who thinks radio company is Eh, ok.” Jensen said shrugging his shoulders which put a grin on your face “And hates supernatural.”

You put a finger up “ I never said that I hated it, I've just never watched it..”

“Explain to me.” He said He put his chin in between his thumb and index finger. Turning his head to look at you. “How do you have a best friend that's obsessed with the show yet you’ve never seen it?” 

“Well, There was a.. a complication,” He stopped with the playfulness and looked in your eyes. “ but it’s gone now. Plus I did just move to Texas. We talked all the time. Living in different states didn't take a huge toll on our friendship, but we didn't talk about TV or media much.” Steve missed his shot. “And this is where it ends, bud.” You reached for the cue he was holding. 

“Oh really?” He said putting the stick in his other hand. It was on the opposite side of you now.  “Why don’t we  make it a little more interesting then?”

“Ha, you got 5 grand on ya there pretty boy?” He let out a belly laugh and you swirled in front of him reaching for the stick. He extended his arm and leaned into your ear. 

“Actually, “ he whispered and your heart stopped as you felt his warm breath tickle your ear. “ I was thinking if we win I could get your number.” 

You don’t know where you found the courage maybe it was the four and a half beers you had. But you turned and whispered back in his ear. “And if we win?” 

You heard the small chuckle as his breath tickled again. “I’ll give you mine.” He stood back up smirking. You rolled your eyes and smiled at him. 

“Bet.” You stuck your hand out. He took it in his and shook it slowly, a smirk still on his face. He handed the stick you to. You took it and spun around. Focus on the game, Focus on the game you thought.  

“Wanna tell me what that was all about?” Mac asked quickly as she walked past you. You looked past her to Jensen. He had his back turned pouring another beer. Later you mouthed. She went to sit in the open chair at the high top. Chiming in on Steve and Jensen’s conversation. 

You sank the last 2 balls you and Mac had on the table. You didn't leave yourself a good shot for the 8 ball. There were 2 options. You weighted them for a couple of seconds. You went with one and called it. You stupidly looked up at Jensen who licked his lips and bit the bottom one. Your whole body went numb and you missed your shot. You put your forehead on your arm still leaning on the table and looked at the floor. 

“Took much beer there darlin’, “ Jensen asked approaching you. 

You raised your head squinting your eyes at him. “You know what you did!”

He gave a smirk. “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

You stood up and handed him the cue. “Cheater. You said and walked away. You heard him laugh, but you didn't look back. Two can play at that game Mr. Ackles you thought. You made your way back over to the high-top table and took a drink when you got there. Steve and Mac still sitting there, talking about the second album he and Jensen wrote. You nodded here and there, trying to listen for balls to go in. They were so enthralled in the conversation they didn't notice you inching a coaster toward the edge of the table. There’s one you said in your head. A minute later there’s the second. You knew he’d be going to the 8-ball now. You nudge the coaster off the table with your pinky. As you bent over to pick it up you hoped he’d be looking. You picked the coaster up and brought your top half back up slower than usage, but not too obvious. 

“Really Jay? How’d You miss that?” Steve stood up “ I’ll be right back. I got a song stuck in my head.” He headed for the jukebox. Jensen rolled his eyes and sighed walking up to the high top. 

“What?” Mac asked. 

“You wanna guess the song he’s gonna play? He does this to me every time we go out somewhere.” Mac giggled. And you stood there clueless. He turned to you. “ Well hi there kettle you’re black. Calling me a cheater.”

You gave him the same smirk he gave you earlier.” I don't know what you're talking about.” He smiled. Just then Carrying On My Wayward Son started playing. And you started singing it.

“Are you actually fucking kidding me right now?!” Jensens said looking at Mac gesturing to you with his hand. 

“What it’s a good song….” you said confused. 

“Please tell me ya’ll are fucking with me,”

“Sadly Jay we are not. She just likes the song.” Mac said as she got up to go take her shot. 

You started singing again and Jensen looked at you with bewilderment, “Can I help you?”

“This is the theme song of Supernatural” He shook his hands. 

You couldn’t help, but laugh. “ Ohh. It’s a good song.” He put his hand on his face and shook his head. You laughed again. 

Steve made his way back over. “Thanks, man,” Jensen said nodding at him.

“Yeah. No problem man.” Steve said grinning. 

Jensen turned back to “So back to the topic of Supernatural. It came on in 2005, Not to sound like an ass, but do you just not watch t.v or Netflix?

“2005? I was  Pre-Med. Not a lot of time for T.V.” you said and turned around to watch Mac miss the 8-ball shot. You closed your eyes. Game over, you knew Steve would probably make the last shot. 

“You’re a doctor?!” Jensen’s voice raised some.

“No.” you took another drink. He put his hands out palms up waiting for an explanation. “It’s a long story,” you said. He raised his eyebrows once and lowered his hands. Steve called the shot and made it. You turned back to the high top and started cleaning. Both pitchers were empty. “Wasn’t there 3 pitchers?”

“I gave the third one to the guys, I didn't know you ladies already got one.” He started to help you. 

You grabbed the empty pitchers and started walking. He followed you with the empty glasses. You guys handed the bartender the dishes. “Thanks, guys, Last Call?” she said taking them. Jensen looked at you.

“Come on, One more.” You looked over to Mac and Zoey who had made their way back to the pool room. Zoey was introducing the other bandmates to Mac. 

You sat on the stool in front of you. “ Ok Ackles, one more.” He nodded at the bartender and she got out 2 Bud Light bottles opened them and sat them in front of him. He handed you one and raised his for a cheers. You clinked the bottles and you both took a drink.

He sat down next to you and swirled in the chair to face you. 

“So This doctor story. Too long to share over a beer?”

“ Kind of “ Tonight was so fun, you didn't want to talk about all the depressing stuff. And that story was full of it. He nodded  “So Tell me about it over lunch tomorrow?”

Your cheeks got warm again. Just then Mac And Zoey Approached you guys. “Hey babes, we are gonna get one more with the band, k?” 

“Actually this groupie here is taking me on a tour of Austin tomorrow,” you said. 

“Oh did I not tell you? I can’t make it tomorrow. I’m sorry.” she winked at you and walked away. 

“Well apparently I’m free tomorrow,” you said raising your eyebrows and taking a drink. 

“Not anymore. Lunch? I can show you around after if you want.” 

“Eh, I guess.” you smiled. “I got nothing better do to.”

He laughed. “Do you always talk this much shit?” 

“Yep.” He chuckled again and took a drink. “So tell me about this Supernatural. Is it really worth all the hype?”

He smiled. “Why yes, yes it is. It’s about these two brothers.” He talked in a movie phone voice. 

You put your hand on his arm and laughed. “Trust me I’ve got the back of the DVD box description and more numerous times.” He laughed. 

“I don’t know how to answer that. Of course, I’m going to say it’s a great show, but I played Dean for 15 years. I have a love for his story that words can’t explain. He is part of me. I think you should at least give it a shot. It would definitely make Mac and Zoey super happy.”

You realized your hand was still on his arm and your cheeks turned pink as you drew it away leaning back. He must have noticed because he smirked and finished his beer. “ I might.”  you swished your beer only a drink or two left. 

The bartender came over the p.a. System announcing they were closing up in 5 minutes. You turned back to check on the girls. Everyone was getting up some more graceful than others. “Hey, I almost forgot. We made a bet.” He said as he stood up and slid his phone out of his pocket. He got it to the add new contact screen and handed it to you. You stood up and took it. 

“A bet is a bet,”  you said as you put your info in. 

Mac and Zoey passed you. “Uber’s outside (y/n) unless…”

You gave her a hard look. “I’m comin’”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

You guys made it outside and found your Uber. You pointed. He walked beside you so close your hands touched a couple times. You stopped when you got to the car and turned to him. He put his hand out “It was nice meeting you (y/n)”

“You too Jensen.” you took his hand. Stepping on your tip toes you leaned and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled the biggest smile of the night. You got in the car. He walked over and put his hand on the door. 

“Good night Mr Ackles. “ you said as you winked at him.

He shook his head and still smiling. “Good night Darlin.” He closed the door. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part 2

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[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 5 (finale)

< PREVIOUS

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but to the chance of one last glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 25K of pure smut

warnings:. here we go... sexual roleplay, submissive leon, light dom/sub, masturbation, kinda body worship, catharsis through sex, role reversal and we shift to soft dom leon, sex education, body exploration, cunnilingus, fingering, intercrural sex, degradation kink, leon tweaks again and goes full dom, vaginal orgasm training, corruption kink, marking kink, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia, possesive sex, unprotected sex, coming inside. what else? and ooc and fluff. yay!

author's note: we are at the end of my very first multi-chaptered xreader work, thank you so much for bearing with me while i was tormented by becoming what i hated the most and constantly crying over having to bump up the chapter count. to think this was supposed to be a two-shot... special thanks goes to @chesue00 for starting this madness. this plot and pre-written snippets already existed inspired by her art before i reached out to her, but i still can't believe i've come this far since publishing this on september 14th... insane. this is what dopamine and a little attention does to a girl 😭 please look forward to the masterlist because i have to make one now with how long this is....

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

It's a heady feeling, having this strong, powerful man kneeling before you, his muscular body on display for you, undivided attention fixed on yours with a mixture of desire and trepidation. You run a hand through his hair, enjoying the silky softness of it despite being wet, and he leans into your touch, glazed eyes going out of focus for a moment. Your own heart speeds up at how his mouth falls open, panting, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening invitingly.

It dawns on you that you don't know what you're doing right now. Are you trying to prove a point, or are you just indulging in your own fantasy? Is it okay to do this to Leon? You've had many men on their knees in a completely different context devoid of this kind of intimacy, whether it be for healing, blessing, or for sineating. All for the sake of helping them, with the holy light of Ethelion running through your veins, flowing to the believers. This isn't anything like that, but it can be. You can make this a blessing, for him to heal from the self-loathing he seems to be suffering from. That is, if he'll let you help him...

"Are you okay with this?" you ask, and he nods immediately, eagerly.

"Yes," he breathes, his gaze fixed on your face, drinking in every detail, committing them to memory as though it's the most precious gift he's ever been given, even though you haven't even started doing anything. Leon's gaze flickers down to your towel-covered lap and back up to yours.

"You can say no anytime you want," you remind him gently, stroking his hair once more, and he leans into your touch again, this time with a contented sigh. His eyelids flutter shut and open again languidly as if in slow motion, and when he looks at you, there is something different about him. The tension seems to have melted away, leaving behind a man who seems... almost peaceful? It's a startling contrast from earlier, when he seemed like a caged animal ready to lash out at anything within reach, and it makes your heart ache unexpectedly at how beautiful he looks like this.

"I want to do this," he says firmly, no trace of hesitation or doubt evident anywhere within those oceanic depths staring straight into yours without wavering even once. "Please."

"Okay," you reply, nodding in agreement, because how can you deny him this when he asks so sweetly? You tug at his shirt lightly. "Then take this off, Sir Leon."

His fingers move deftly over his shirt's buttons, undoing them one by one until he shrugs it off his broad shoulders easily enough before letting it fall to the floor behind him.

Your gaze trails over every ridge and dip on his bare torso, taking in all the marks left behind after years of battles fought against foes both seen and unseen by others besides himself; some faint silver lines barely noticeable beneath tanned complexion while others remain angry red welts raised thickly above otherwise unblemished flesh. There are several long slashes across his abdomen that must have been painful when received judging by how jagged their edges are where they healed incorrectly. A particularly nasty gash just below his collarbone stands out amongst the rest due to its length stretching almost entirely around the side of his ribcage, and disappearing beneath his arm. Another smaller but deeper cut runs along his hip bone leading downward towards his navel area.

He hasn't received the temple's healing because of his oathbreaker status.

It gives you an idea.

Since he's comfortable within the bubble of kneeling before you as the saintess and reverting back to the holy paladin that he was, then you'll play along and offer him a 'blessing'.

You lean forward, your breath ghosting over the scar on his collarbone, and press a light kiss there. His skin is warm and salty, and you can feel his pulse pounding under your lips. "By the power blessed by Ethelion, I will heal you, his devout and faithful knight," you whisper against his skin, letting the holy words roll off your tongue.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your words, his entire body tensing beneath you. Then he relaxes again, his head tilting back just a tad as he gives himself over to your touch.

Kissing seems to have pleased him, but your vantage point on the bed isn't exactly ideal to reach the rest of his body. "On the bed," you order him softly. "Lay on your back."

He does so immediately, scrambling up onto the bed and settling himself on the center of the mattress. He looks so vulnerable like this, spread out before you, and you can't help but marvel at the sight of him. You take a moment to drink it in—the way his muscles shift beneath his skin with every movement, the slight sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily through parted lips.

He looks up at you, and his gaze is full of longing and anticipation. You feel a rush of power go through you as you realize just how much control you have over him right now. It's intoxicating.

"Stay still, Sir Leon," you command. "My blessing won't work if you move." And then you're crawling onto the bed with him, straddling his thighs, feeling them tense beneath your legs at the contact. You can feel him hard and hot even through his pants and your towel, pressing insistently against you. The sensation sends a jolt straight to your core and leaves you aching for something more that you don't know the name of.

You trail the path of the previous wound you kiss with the tips of your fingers, featherlight touches that make him shiver. Then you lean down and kiss it again, letting your lips linger this time. He sucks in a shaky breath when your tongue flicks out to taste the salt on his skin.

Acting entirely on instinct to keep pleasing him, you move lower, trailing kisses along his shoulder, down his chest, stopping to lick and suck at his nipples. His hands fist in the sheets as he struggles to keep them still, his breathing becoming increasingly erratic.

You move lower still, tracing the lines of his abs with your tongue, dipping into the indentations between each one. He moans softly when you nip at the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his pants. His hips jerk upward, seeking friction against yours, and you have to bite back a moan of your own at the feeling.

"Saintess," he whispers desperately, his hands flexing in their grip on the sheets like he wants nothing more than to touch you but is holding himself back somehow.

"Stay still, my paladin. My blessing isn't finished," you remind him, and he falls silent, biting his bottom lip hard enough that it looks painful. He throws his head back, giving you a sensual look at his throat and the underside of his chin.

You can kiss there as well, you realize, and do so, kissing his chin and jaw, then moving down the column of his throat until you reach the hollow where it meets his collarbones again. His pulse flutters wildly under your ministrations as you continue exploring every inch of him within reach like this: licking here and sucking there, nibbling gently along the way. Your hand rests flat on his pectorals and stomach alternatively, feeling how rock-solid every muscle is underneath his smooth, somewhat sweaty skin, and reveling on the occasional shudders rippling through his body that he can't suppress.

He gasps and whines when you pay extra attention to one spot or another that seems to be especially sensitive or ticklish for him, and his reactions encourage you further. You're enjoying every second of this—exploring his body like a map only you have access to right now—learning what makes him squirm beneath you and what gets those interesting little noises he's holding back loose.

By the time you reach his navel again, he's panting hard enough that he's practically wheezing with every exhale, his entire body trembling finely like a plucked bowstring being tuned tighter than ever before. And yet somehow he manages to remain motionless throughout it all except for the occasional twitch or jerk here and there.

You spend several long moments lavishing attention on his abdomen area alone as you're planning how to go along with this. Your knowledge on sexual matters is scarce since the church was always very particular in what kind of information they allowed the Saintess to access, and the directions given for your wedding night consisted of laying back and letting Leon do his duty on you. Which ended up being useless, and now you have to navigate this on your own. It's thrilling and scary at the same time, but you're determined to see this through.

You decide to try something daring then: sliding down between his legs until you're kneeling on either side of them instead. This puts you face-to-face—or rather face-to-crotch—with his erection straining against his pants. It's hot even through layers of fabric separating it from your skin, and you find yourself staring at it curiously while trying not to think about its size too much before your nerves fail you completely.

"Saintess," he says again hoarsely after what feels like forever spent just staring at him without really doing anything else besides hesitating. There's an unspoken question hanging in the air between the two of you—a silent request for permission perhaps?—but he doesn't ask outright and neither do you answer because truthfully speaking neither of you know what exactly needs to happen next either. "May I remove these?" he pleads, tugging on the waistband of said pants ever so slightly, hinting on what he wants to do next.

It's strange how much more sexual hearing him calling you that title has become when it used to sound so reverent, and now it almost sounds dirty somehow. You find that you like it quite a lot.

Getting an idea to teach yourself a thing or two going forward, you sit back on your heels, careful not to let your towel ride up too far, and nod. "I want you to show me how you please yourself," you order, watching him with rapt attention, your face flushing at your own boldness, and at the fact that you're about to see a man naked and aroused for the first time in your life. "I will bless your body, but I need to see it first."

He lets out a shivering breath as if he'd been holding it in for ages before finally moving again. He lifts his hips off the mattress enough to push his trousers down over them, exposing himself fully before you—his cock standing proud and tall amidst a nest of dark curls at its base—and you can't help but admire how beautiful he looks like this: all long limbs splayed across rumpled bed sheets, skin stretched tautly over chiseled muscle, broad shoulders flexing beneath your gaze...

But then your attention zeroes in on his cock, and your previous thought about its size comes back tenfold as you stare wide-eyed and wonderstruck at its length jutting upwards towards his stomach, thick veins running along its shaft disappearing beneath smooth skin covering its tip almost completely except for a small slit where a bead of clear liquid glistens invitingly under candlelight. You've seen illustrations of male genitalia during your anatomy studies, but those were all very clinical and sterile-looking. This is anything but clinical or sterile; this is raw and primal and utterly fascinating.

His hand wraps around its girth tentatively at first—almost shyly almost—as though unsure whether he should touch himself like this with someone else present even if they asked him explicitly beforehand. You reach forward and place your hand on the head of his cock, the little bead of liquid smearing onto your palm. It's slick and warm against your skin, and you can't stop yourself from rubbing it in circles over his heated flesh experimentally, marveling at its velvety texture, until he sucks in a sharp breath and his hips buck forward seemingly of their own accord.

You immediately withdraw, not wanting to get ahead of yourself and ruin everything by rushing things. "Confess, Sir Leon. You'll only be blessed if you do. Do you imagine anything at all when you're usually doing this to yourself?"

"I–I think about you," he blurts softly between short breaths, his hand gripping tighter around his cock as he begins slowly moving it up and down its length, hissing through his teeth when his palm brushes past the head, which seems to be the sensitive part. "I've dreamt about this ever since the day I met you, Saintess..."

"And what happens in these dreams?" you press further, your curiosity getting the better of you despite knowing full well that you shouldn't pry too much into someone else's private thoughts like this. But it feels so good to hear him talk like this—to know that he desires you even half as much as you desire him—that you just can't bring yourself to stop him from continuing any further.

"In some... I worship you, body and soul," he groans, his hand starting to pick up speed as he strokes himself faster, his hips rising to meet each downward stroke halfway, his breathing becoming ragged and shallow as he speaks, his words coming out in short bursts interspersed with low grunts and hisses of pleasure, "I lick your nethers until you cry from pleasure, and when you can't handle it any longer, I fill you up."

The mental image of him between your legs makes you throb between them, and you squirm unconsciously, pressing your legs together.

To reward him, you lay your hands on his thighs, marveling at how they tense and flex beneath your palms, before sliding up to his hips and then settling on his lower abdomen. You splay your fingers across his stomach and push down, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your touch as he thrust upwards into his fist again. It's a promise you'll do more if he keeps talking.

"In others, you're still back at the temple, and... I break my vows, and I take you to a secluded corner, and have my way with you," he continues, his free hand reaching down to cradle yours gently against his skin while the other keeps pumping steadily away at, and you closely pay attention to how he pleases himself. "Sometimes I dream of taking you in the gardens, sometimes in the baths, and sometimes even at the altar... I dream that you're begging for me, and I have to keep quiet because if anyone hears us... we'll be punished. So I kiss you to muffle your cries."

You swallow hard at the thought of him kissing you like that, imagining what it would feel like to have him pressing his lips against yours like this, tasting him on your tongue as he ravages you completely...

"Do you... do you dream of me doing that to you now, Sir Leon?" you manage to croak out after a few moments spent lost in thought.

He lets out another shuddering breath as his hand slows down considerably until it's barely moving anymore, his cock twitching visibly beneath his grip, his face flushed with desire as he stares up at you from underneath long lashes damp with sweat. His mouth falls open just a touch, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before disappearing back inside again, and he nods wordlessly.

You lay down on the mattress beside him, and lean in close to him until you can smell the scent of his arousal mixed with his natural musk filling your nostrils—it smells earthy and spicy like freshly cut grass after rain mingling with something else entirely unique to him alone—and you breathe it in deeply before letting it fill your lungs entirely. Then you lean even closer still until your forehead rests lightly atop his shoulder, your nose grazing lightly across his collarbone as you inhale again deeply, taking in more of his scent as though trying to commit it permanently within memory.

"Let me bless you with that, then," you whisper in his ear, and then press your own lips to his.

It's soft and tentative at first—a simple sweep of skin upon skin—but when he doesn't pull away immediately, you press harder, doing whatever feels right; nibbling at his lower lip and sucking it between your teeth, licking along the seam where his lips meet, tasting him fully, feeling him shiver beneath your touch as he moans into your mouth, his hips jerking upwards into his hand once again as he resumes stroking himself faster than ever before.

Remembering that the head was the sensitive part and he liked you touching there, you reach down and cup it in your palm, rubbing it in circular motions, and he groans louder this time, his cock throbbing hard against your fingers, more liquid coming out to slicken the movement.

Something slimy slips into your mouth, and it takes a moment for you to realize that it's his tongue invading past your lips and teeth, seeking entrance further within. It feels strange—odd but not unpleasant—to have another person's tongue exploring inside of you like this, and you find yourself responding instinctively to him taking the lead, opening up wider for him to delve deeper inside of you, meeting his every stroke with one of your own. You're completely inexperienced, but he doesn't seem to care, instead seeming to enjoy teaching you what he likes.

You're both panting heavily now, gasping for air every so often in between fervent kisses, the sounds of flesh against flesh growing louder and louder alongside the wet friction of his hand stroking furiously away at his cock and yours rubbing insistently atop it. He breaks off from the kiss with a guttural growl, throwing his head back against the pillows, exposing his neck which you immediately latch onto, kissing and nibbling along his jugular vein, feeling it pulse wildly beneath your lips, tasting salt on his skin as you suckle lightly there.

"Saintess!" he cries out desperately as his hips start jerking erratically beneath you, his hand pumping frantically faster than ever before, and you know he's close by the way his cock twitches violently within his grasp, his balls tightening up against his body as he approaches climax.

"Perfect, you're doing perfect," you coo, and completely losing yourself in how beautiful the sight of his head thrown back is, you take your free hand and wrap it around his throat, feeling his pulse quicken even further beneath your fingertips as he sucks in a sharp breath through flaring nostrils. You don't squeeze, just hug the sides of his muscular neck, but the effect it has on him is immediate and dramatic: his entire body stiffens up like a bowstring drawn taut, every muscle tensing rigidly beneath you.

"Release, and be blessed," you order, and with one final cry, he does exactly that. Thick ropes spurt forth from the tip of his cock and splatter across both your stomachs and the sheets beneath him, coating everything in their path with sticky white fluid. His hips keep thrusting upwards into his fist for several more seconds after the last spurt has been expelled from his cock, until finally, his body relaxes completely under yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath he draws in, his cock slowly beginning to soften within his grip.

You release his throat and press your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and enjoying the scent of his skin mingled with sweat, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath yours, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow down from its frantic pace earlier.

"Ethelion's grace be upon you, Sir Leon," you murmur against his neck, and you hear him exhale shakily beneath you as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, curling around you as though trying to shield you from some unseen danger looming nearby. "I absolve you of your sins."

"Thank you, Saintess," he whispers hoarsely back at you after a few moments spent simply holding each other close like this, neither of you saying anything further aloud but rather communicating everything needed through actions instead of words. It feels nice being held like this—being sheltered within someone else's embrace—and it fills your heart with warmth knowing that he trusts you enough to let himself be vulnerable.

He shifts around underneath you, causing you to lift your head off his chest to check on him, thinking he's uncomfortable in the position you're in, but when you look up at his face, you find him staring intently back down at yours, his gaze soft yet intense all at once.

"Where did you learn all of that?" he asks quietly, an imperceptible, suspicious crinkle between his eyebrows. He’s almost searching for the answer in your face before you can give it to him.

"Learn what?" you ask, puzzled by his question. "I just followed your lead"

"You don't realize what you just did?" He frowns just a touch, looking concerned now instead of curious. "That was…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

"God no," he said quickly, shaking his head. "It was incredible. I've just never had anyone take control like that before. Especially not..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at your position.

"Oh," you reply, feeling somewhat embarrassed now that you realize your actions could have easily been misinterpreted as something more sinister than innocent exploration. You wonder if perhaps you crossed a line somewhere without realizing it earlier. "I hope I wasn't forcing you or anything..."

Leon's hand came up to cup your cheek. "You didn't overstep at all. I loved every second of it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if you asked."

You smile shyly at him before placing a quick peck on his lips, causing him to hum contentedly, his hold around your waist tightening, pulling you closer toward him once again until there is hardly any space left between the two of you at all anymore.

"I'm glad then," you murmur softly against his mouth. "Because I think I liked doing it too."

But there's really this intense pressure between your legs and you think you have to use the chamber pot, so you squirm out of Leon's embrace to do just that. However, as soon as you get off the bed, a gush of liquid comes out of you, and you're terrified thinking that you just wet yourself in front of him. It's not that much to completely have soaked through the towel, and you're able to make it to the washroom without giving anything away to Leon.

You remove your towel and stare at the mess between your legs. But it isn't urine, since the liquid is clear and doesn't stink, and it's thicker, viscous almost. You come to the conclusion that if you did pee yourself then it would feel different than this does right now.

You clean yourself with water and a washcloth, and when you wipe between your legs, you feel that intense pressure again, and you have to sit down to wait to pee this time, but nothing comes out. You try pushing it out, but all that happens is a little bit more of that clear fluid. It's strange, and you're worried about it. You don't remember ever experiencing anything like it before and wonder if perhaps you hurt yourself during your earlier activities or caught a disease somehow, but nothing seems wrong with you otherwise, so you brush it aside for the moment, making a mental note to ask Lady Margaret for advice later when she arrives tomorrow morning. But for now, it's time to get back into bed and cuddle up with Leon again.

You wake up the next morning to find Leon's arm draped across your chest, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and his body pressed up firmly against your back. It's warm and comforting, being held like this, and you can't help but enjoy the sensation of being surrounded by him like a protective cocoon.

His hand moves in a subtle manner, flicking over one of your nipples, and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot straight through you from that simple contact alone, your thighs pressing together as a sudden heat blooms low in your belly. It feels good having his skin touch yours like this, making you want more of him touching even more places elsewhere on your body, especially after he had made his desire for you clear last night. He wants you, and that knowledge sends another thrill through you, leaving you feeling giddy and excited.

He lets out a soft groan behind you as he pulls you closer towards him until that want is pressed firmly up against your buttocks. You can tell he's already hard, his arousal evident even in his sleep, and you can't deny the effect that has on your own growing neediness that goes beyond wanting to touch him like that again. You remember how good it felt last night when you touched him, how much pleasure he gave himself while you watched him do so, and you find yourself wanting to experience that kind of pleasure firsthand now, too.

You've been told that the women don't experience it, that they have to endure it and that's why the temple made the act of coupling such a chore. But you know that itch between your legs isn't going anywhere anytime soon, that it was real yesterday as well, and it felt amazing when you got what little friction you could by moving around. You wonder how to alleviate this feeling without Leon's assistance. Surely there had to be a way to do it by yourself?

But as you try to move away from him to try and see how you can do it, he tightens his hold on you and buries his nose further into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "Don't leave," he mumbles sleepily. His lips brush against the sensitive skin there as he speaks, causing you to shiver involuntarily at the sensation, and you feel his cock throb where it's nestled snugly between the cheeks of your ass.

"Good morning, Leon," you say quietly, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, and you're rewarded by his cock pulsating again, his hips rolling forward against yours instinctively.

"Mmm..." he hums contentedly, nuzzling into your hand. "Morning." His other arm comes up to wrap around your waist and pull you even closer to him, his body seeming to mold perfectly around yours as though the two of you were made for each other. You can't help but sigh happily at the feeling of being held so intimately like this. It feels right somehow, natural even, and you find yourself wanting more of it, wanting to wake up every day like this, safe and secure in his embrace.

But the feeling of his hard shaft rubbing against your backside reminds you that there's something else you need right now, and that thought sends another shiver through you, the heat in your belly flaring brighter than before.

"Leon," you say softly, trying not to let too much of the neediness you're feeling seep into your tone, though you're sure he can feel the tension building inside of you anyway, especially with the way your hips keep twitching backward indiscernibly as though seeking out friction where there is none yet. "Can I ask you for something?"

"Anything," he replies instantly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Anything at all."

You hesitate briefly before continuing. "Do you know if I can do to myself what you did yesterday?"

He goes completely still behind you, his entire body tensing as he processes what you've just said. Then he lets out a shaky breath, his grip on you loosening partly as rises on his elbow, leaning over to look down at you. His pupils are wide and dark with desire, his face flushed, and his breathing roughly controlled as he gazes into your own half-lidded ones.

"What?" he whispers hoarsely, his throat bobbing visibly as he swallows hard, his eyes darting everywhere on your face. You bite your bottom lip nervously before repeating yourself.

"I want to do what you did yesterday. To myself," you say slowly, carefully enunciating each word so he understands exactly what it is you're asking of him here. "Can I do that? Will it help this...?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin area, unsure how else to phrase it without sounding crude or indecent. "This itch?"

"Fuck."

Your eyebrows shoot all the way up to your hairline when you hear him cursing for the first time in your presence. He's always so respectful that the sudden change is quite jarring.

"Is everything okay?"

He drops his head back to your shoulder and groans quietly in frustration, burying his face into your hair. "You can't ask me things like that," he says in a pained tone.

"Why?" you ask, genuinely confused by his reaction. It seems perfectly reasonable to you given the situation at hand. "You were enjoying yourself, weren't you? I'd like to try it."

"Shit..." He lifts his head again and looks down at you, his expression serious and faintly exasperated. "That's called 'masturbation'. And you can do it. And yes, it will ease that 'itch' for you."

"Oh. That's a relief." You smile brightly at him. "Will you show me?"

"Saintess!"

"What?"

"It's broad daylight in the morning, you can't do this to me," he exclaims, his face reddening even more than it already is, and you can't help but giggle at how adorable he looks. You turn around to face him and reach out to cup his cheek, gently stroking your thumb across his cheekbone in an attempt to soothe him.

"I'm not trying to torture you," you assure him gently. "Just tell me how to do it and I'll leave you alone for a bit, alright? Please?"

"You play too much," he complains gruffly, but nevertheless leans into your touch, closing his dark-ringed eyelids and exhaling slowly. He seems calmer now, less frantic than he did earlier, though there's still a noticeable tension in his body. You wait patiently, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest under the blanket, listening to his heartbeat gradually slowing down from its earlier frantic pace. "Lay back."

You comply, settling comfortably atop the mattress, and he takes a moment to study you like that, lying naked beneath him, exposed and vulnerable yet somehow comfortable nonetheless. His gaze travels over every inch of your body, lingering here and there, essentially the same way you studied his last night. It's strangely arousing being observed so closely like this, and you find yourself trying to fend off your squirming under his scrutiny, wanting to cover yourself up somehow but resisting the urge to do so. Instead, you let him look his fill, your own cheeks warming in a blush as you return his stare through lidded eyes.

"Spread your legs," he eventually instructs. You hesitate briefly before obeying, parting your thighs slowly, the cool air of the room caressing your skin as it is exposed to the open space. Leon's breath hitches visibly at the sight, his pupils dilating further as he drinks you in.

This is way too embarrassing. Why did he get to lay perfectly horizontal on the bed yesterday while you're the one on display today? You almost want to ask him if you can switch roles and have him demonstrate it instead.

But it's not like you can take it back now. He's looking at you with such intensity that it makes you shiver, and you can feel the slickness between your legs increasing with each passing second. Your nipples are starting to stiffen and tingle, your breasts feeling fuller than usual, and there's a faint throbbing sensation deep in your pelvis, a need building up within you that demands attention and relief.

"Touch yourself," he orders quietly, his tone low and gravelly, his gaze never leaving yours even for a second. You hesitate once more before reaching down, tentatively running your fingertips along your inner thighs until they finally come into contact with your sex without quite knowing what to do next. "Explore."

"Explore?"

"You're discovering yourself. You have to know where everything is, so you know where to pay attention to the most."

"Everything?" you echo uncertainly. "There's more than one thing?"

"Saintess..." he moans in exasperation, his forehead dropping onto your inner thigh, and he shakes his head slowly, his hair tickling your skin.

"Sorry!" you apologize on the spot. "I just... don't understand."

He sighs again heavily, lifting his head to look at you again, his expression softening. "I'll guide you, okay?"

"Okay but why do you know more about me than I know about myself?"

"Because I've studied it. And I've imagined it a lot," he admits, blushing furiously at his confession, and you can't help but giggle again at how cute he looks like this.

"Oh? You've imagined my... this?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin. "A lot?"

Him looking up at you between your legs like that feels very strange. You're aware of how close his mouth is to you, and it's making the pressure in your belly increase exponentially. It's like there's a string connecting your heart and sex, and every time you look at Leon, that string is pulled tighter, and to what end, you have no idea. All you know is that you want it to keep happening, and you don't want it to ever stop.

"Less talking. Spread yourself open for me. Like this." He takes your wrist in his hand and guides two fingers towards your slit, spreading it apart gently to reveal all its hidden secrets, including the little bud of nerves hidden at its apex. It's so sensitive when air touches it that it's making your hips twitch and your back arch. "Do you see this?"

"Y—es," you stutter, trying your hardest to remain still as he continues guiding your fingers across your folds, teaching you about yourself and your body as he goes along.

"This is your clitoris," he says softly, pressing your fingers against it lightly and causing another shudder of pleasure to course through your entire being, "and it's very sensitive. You can rub it, tap it, flick it, or even suck on it."

"Suck?" You can't imagine yourself bending to that degree, one has to be especially flexible and you're not sure if you are. You've certainly never tried before. "How would I suck on this? There's no way I can bend like that..."

You see that he wants to laugh but presses his lips together at the last second so as not to offend you.

"I can do it for you," he says right after, his tone eager, his words coming out faster than normal, his pupils dilating visibly once again. "I mean... only if you want me to, of course."

You nod shyly, your face heating up considerably at the thought of what he's offering to do for you, and then he shifts lower on the bed, positioning himself between your thighs. You instinctively try to close them but he gently pushes them apart again, keeping them open wide enough so he can fit comfortably without hindrance. His hot breath fans across your sensitive flesh, sending shivers up and down your spine, and you have to fight the instinctive urge to squeeze them shut again.

He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming, making you feel vulnerable yet strangely empowered at the same time.

He places a soft kiss directly on your clit and you gasp audibly, arching your back as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you in an attempt to ground yourself.

He looks up at you again, his dark lashes lowered and fluttering, and then he leans forward and places another kiss on your clit before parting his lips and sucking it into his mouth.

The sensation of his tongue flickering over it is indescribable, and you moan softly as he begins licking it in earnest, alternating between slow, languid strokes and quick flicks of his tongue, each one sending sparks of pure ecstasy that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the embarrassing noises you're making.

"No, don't do that," he protests after a few moments, pulling away from your sex briefly, and then he reaches up and takes your wrist in his hand and pulls it away from your face, "don't stifle your beautiful noises. I want to hear you moaning for me, Saintess. I want to know exactly how good I make you feel," he murmurs, and then resumes his task, his lips closing around your clit once more as he resumes his ministrations, his tongue flickering across it faster than before, the suction stronger as well.

"Le-on, this is... Too embarrassing," you whine, your entire body quivering as he continues pleasuring you, his mouth hot and wet against your most intimate parts.

"You'll get used to it," he says reassuringly, his tone gentle yet firm as he looks up at you again, mouth still wrapped around your clit so his words vibrate through it. He releases it with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to it momentarily, and smiles crookedly. "We're just getting started."

His hands come up to grip your hips, holding you steady as he continues to devour you with his mouth, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your buttocks, kneading them roughly, and you're not sure how much more of this you can handle.

You've never felt anything like this before, and you're not sure you want it to stop either, despite your protests, because the pleasure he's giving you right now is unlike anything you've ever experienced. You're completely lost to the sensations, your mind a haze of lust and desire as he continues to worship you with his tongue, his lips and teeth nipping and scraping across your clit and swollen folds, and you're pretty sure that if he were to keep this up, you would explode from the sheer intensity of it all.

He moves lower, his mouth leaving your clit and moving downwards towards your entrance, and he pauses there for a moment, his breath warm against your slit as he takes a deep breath, his nose pressed firmly into the folds, and he inhales deeply, his entire body shuddering violently. "You smell amazing," he breathes out reverently, fiercely as you squirm on the bed beneath him, the heat in your belly flaring up even brighter than ever.

"Please..." you beg him without knowing what you're asking for. It makes him look up at you with a strange light shining in his eyes, something at the opposite spectrum of the reverence you had seen in them last night, and the sight of it sends a thrill of excitement down your spine.

"Please what?" he prompts softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin of your inner thighs.

"Please... don't stop," you plead quietly, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you tightly.

"Okay," he agrees simply, lowering his head back down to press a kiss against your slit.

Then he plunges his tongue inside you and you cry out loud, your back arching as your hips buck upwards. You have to bite down on the noise, because you can't believe the sounds you're making, and you're not sure you want him to hear them, even if they're caused by the pleasure he's giving you. But he doesn't seem to care, too focused on his task, his tongue thrusting in and out of you, his fingers digging into your buttocks so hard that it will likely leave bruises later. You're not sure why but the idea of having his marks on your body sends a new wave of desire coursing through you and you can feel yourself gushing into his mouth.

"Leon," you moan, your fingers finding their way to his head and tangling themselves in his silky hair, "I—I need... I—"

He hums questioningly against your cunt and the vibrations make your hips jump, the coil within your belly tightening even more, and you're not sure how much longer you can last, your entire body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release, and you're pretty sure you're about to explode into a million pieces.

"I'm... I'm...," you pant breathlessly, unable to articulate the rest of the sentence properly.

He seems to understand something you don't, lowering the arm that's holding you down so the thumb of it can draw circles around your clit, and sliding the fingers of his other hand towards your entrance, circling it before pushing inside, causing you to gasp at the intrusion.

He pumps the digits in and out of you slowly at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and you can't help but moan loudly as the pressure builds within you, your muscles clenching around him as the pleasure becomes unbearable, and you can't hold back anymore, you're going to burst, you're going to burst, you're going to burst—

"Wait, please, wait, stop," you gasp, your hands pushing at his head weakly, and he pulls away from your sex instantly, looking up at you in concern. His chin is slick with your fluids and his lips swollen from his ministrations. He's breathing heavily, and in daylight, you can see how red from chest up he is.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks worriedly, his hands rubbing your inner thighs soothingly.

You shake your head, avoiding his eyes as you have to disappointingly say, "I have to use the chamber pot."

You're not sure if this is the right time to say this or not but it feels necessary given the circumstances, and you're afraid that if you don't speak up now, you'll regret it later.

He blinks owlishly, seemingly taken aback by your statement. "What?"

"I have to pee," you say, face burning furiously as you try to explain yourself further. "I don't think I'll be able to hold it any longer if you continue."

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression completely blank. Then suddenly he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back as his entire body shakes with mirth, his shoulders trembling as he struggles to contain himself, his laughter ringing out loudly in the quiet room.

You frown, feeling a bit offended. "Why are you laughing?!"

He wipes away the tears from his eyelashes with the back of his hand as he tries to compose himself, taking several deep breaths before he finally calms down enough to answer you. "I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, it's normal. It's not actually pee, and you don't have to worry about it leaking out or anything."

"It's not pee?"

"No. It's called orgasming, and it's completely normal," he assures you gently, his tone softening considerably. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I did too yesterday when you were touching me, remember? That white liquid?"

You nod, relieved to hear him confirm your suspicions, though still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that he knows what happened earlier. "Okay," you mumble shyly, covering your face with your hands, unable to look at him directly.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning forward until he can kiss each knuckle, and then he pulls your hand away from your face and kisses the tip of your nose. "It's okay. There's no need to feel ashamed of your own body."

You nod again, biting your lip nervously. "Okay."

"Can we continue now?" he asks, his tone hopeful. "I want to make you come."

"I've never... come before," you say, fiddling with the sheets between your fingers. "How would I even know if I did?"

"It's pretty unmistakable," he chuckles, and he kisses you softly then, his tongue darting into your mouth to taste yours, and he moans against your lips as you reciprocate the action eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

The kiss lasts longer than either of you intended, and by the time he pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed from exertion, the need within you growing stronger than ever, and you can't wait any longer; you want him to make you come, and you want him to do it now.

"Would you like to go to the bathroom first, just to be sure?" he asks quietly, his hand resting on your hip.

You shake your head. "No. Just continue."

"Alright." He smiles and kisses you once more before returning to your sex, and this time, there's no hesitation or gentleness, only pure lust and desire as he plunges his tongue inside you again and resumes thrusting his fingers into you, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit, and what's been cooling down starts building back up slowly, and you can already feel yourself clenching around his fingers as the pressure within you grows.

The pressure on your clit dissipates for a moment, and the next, he's removing your hand from the grip you have on the sheets, and places it on his head, and guides your fingers so they curl into his soft locks. "Hold onto me," he says, and he resumes eating you out, his fingers pumping faster than ever, and he's relentless, his tongue and lips working in tandem to bring you closer to the edge, and you're moaning louder than before, your hips rolling upwards to meet him halfway, the coil within you tightening even more.

The noise he makes when you pull his hair goes straight towards your belly, and the way he's lapping and slurping on your sex like that is obscene. You're pretty sure he's licking all the way back to your ass, but you can't really focus on that right now, the pleasure within you mounting rapidly.

"Tell me how I'm making you feel," he says after a few moments, his mouth still pressed firmly against you, the eye contact he's maintaining while he does so making your insides clench.

"I— It feels good," you manage to say through gritted teeth, your entire body trembling.

"Yeah? Just good? Tell me more," he encourages you, his tongue darting into you again, and your hiss transitions into a loud moan as he continues to work you over.

"I'm so close," you gasp, your thighs closing around his head, "I'm... I'm..."

"Come for me, then. Don't fight it. Let it happen," he murmurs, his words vibrating against your clit as his tongue flickers across it rapidly, his fingers pumping in and out of you harder than ever.

"Leon..." you whimper, your grip on his hair tightening as he sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue over it quickly, and you're done. You cry out loudly as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your back arching as your thighs clamp down around his head and your hips jerk upwards, and he holds you steady through it all, his tongue never leaving your sex until every last drop has been wrung out of you. You've been dropped off a cliff, and the fall has your insides quivering and your hips spasming. You're not sure what's happening, but you're pretty sure you've died and got your first glimpse of Ethelion.

The euphoria is incomparable, the pleasure overwhelming, and you're not sure how long it takes before the waves of ecstasy finally subside, your muscles relaxing and your body going limp beneath him.

He pulls away from you slowly, his lips lingering on your sex as he kisses you one final time, his tongue cleaning the remnants of your climax from your slit and inner thighs before moving upwards to lick his own fingers clean, the sight of which sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

When he's finished, he crawls up to lay next to you, pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. "You're so beautiful when you come. It's a shame you can't see it."

You're sure you've made the most embarrassing faces and sounds, and can't begin to fathom why it would be attractive to him at all. But the feeling of him holding you is comforting, the warmth of his body soothing, and you find yourself nodding weakly as he strokes your hair gently, his touch gentle yet firm, and he's so strong, and so solid, and he makes you feel safe and secure, and you know that nothing bad will happen to you as long as he's here, that you're protected from harm.

"Was it as good as you thought it would be?" he asks after a few minutes of silence, his tone light and playful.

"I didn't think I would end up screaming," you say quietly, burying your face into his chest. "How come you weren't screaming like that? It's unfair."

He laughs and kisses your sticky temple, his lips caressing your skin affectionately, and he hums thoughtfully as he considers your question. "I suppose I've had some experience."

"You have?"

"Mm." He tilts his head, and you wonder who he did these kinds of things with. It was probably a lot of people, considering how skilled he is. The thought of him touching other people like this sends a sharp pang of jealousy through you, and you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought.

You try to ignore the bitter feeling in your chest and instead focus on the way he's holding you close to him, on the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, on the way he's caressing you with such gentleness and care.

"Is there anything else you'd like to try?" he asks after a while, and you lift your head to look at him, and he's smiling down at you, his dark lashes lowered, his pupils wide and dark, and the expression he's giving you is so full of adoration and desire that it makes your heart flutter.

"I suppose the only thing left is you putting it in?" you suggest hesitantly, not sure how he'll react to the idea of taking your virginity, but he only grins widely, and he rolls over on top of you, his weight settling between your thighs as he presses himself against you, and he kisses you deeply, passionately, and it makes you moan softly into his mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

"There's so much more to it than that, and I'll show you all of it," he whispers against your lips, his hips rocking gently against yours, and you can feel his cock, hard and thick between your legs, and it feels good, so good, and you can't wait any longer. "But first, let me give you a chance to catch your breath."

He rolls them over so you're on top now, your thighs splayed over his, and he leans forward to kiss you again, his hands running up and down your back soothingly.

"I don't want you to spend your day sore all over, so the sex will have to be postponed to a time where we can afford the time to be lazy," he says, and you nod, understanding his reasoning. It would be unwise to do anything that might hinder your ability to work later today.

"That's fair," you agree, running your fingers through his hair. "What can we do?"

"Let me teach you more," he suggests, and then he's pulling you closer to him, his mouth latching onto your neck, his tongue and teeth grazing your skin lightly. You tilt your head to give him better access, letting out a soft sigh as he sucks on your pulse point. His hands wander down to your hips, gripping them tightly before sliding around to cup your buttocks, squeezing them firmly. He's still hard beneath you, and the feeling of his erection rubbing against your inner thigh has your insides clenching in anticipation of what's to come.

He seems content just to touch you like this for now, though, his lips moving slowly from one side of your throat to the other, leaving trails of kisses along the way, his tongue tracing patterns on your flesh, his teeth nipping gently at random spots here and there. Every so much he pauses and looks up at you, eyelids half-closed and heavy-lidded, and the sight of him gazing up at you sends a shiver down your spine and makes heat pool between your legs once more.

He lays you down on the mattress, then sits back on his knees between your thighs, looking down at you with an intense hunger that has your breath hitching in your chest. His gaze travels over your body slowly, his pupils expanding as he takes in the sight before him, his lips parted just enough to show the tips of his teeth as he runs his hands along your sides and over your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples teasingly.

The next second, you find yourself on your belly, Leon on top of you, the thick head of his shaft pressing against your slit, and he's rubbing himself along it in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, the friction sending little jolts of pleasure through your core.

"This is called," he says, pausing to kiss your shoulder, "intercrural."

You try to concentrate on his words, but finding it difficult as his length slides between your folds, the sensation making you gasp and arch beneath him. His cock is leaking, slicking the way for him as he continues to grind against you, his breath warm against your skin.

You shift to get him inside you, but he moves with you, his length never quite reaching your entrance. You groan in frustration, trying to lift your hips to meet his thrusts, but he simply pushes you back down into the bed with a chuckle.

"Leon, please," you whine, wriggling beneath him impatiently, and he laughs again, his fingers digging into your hip as he holds you steady.

"What do you think you need to do?"

"Ask nicely?"

"Nice try, but no. Do you remember what we’re doing?"

"Intercrural?"

"Yes. Good," he praises, rewarding you by pushing the tip inside you briefly before pulling out again. Your entire body shudders at the feeling of having him inside you, however briefly, and you push back against him eagerly, wanting more. "Up."

With a firm grip on your torso, he lifts you up so your back is flush against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, and he resumes grinding himself between your thighs, the new angle letting him slide deeper than before, and the pressure against your clit has you moaning loudly as he rocks against you, his other hand coming to your front to play with your nipples, rolling and pinching them between his fingers.

He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his lips find your earlobe, nibbling on it as he grinds harder, his cock sliding between your folds faster, his hips snapping forward sharply, and the wet sounds of his shaft rubbing against the crevice between your tightly pressed thighs and sex is lewd and loud. The heat building within you is becoming unbearable, your body trembling with need, and you can't help but cry out as he continues to tease you, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipples mercilessly.

"Leon," you whimper, reaching behind you to clutch at his hair, and he growls low in his throat, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he picks up the pace, his movements growing rougher and less controlled, and the head of his erection is bumping against your clit, and it's driving you mad with lust and desire.

"Saintess..." he groans in your ear, and then his hand slides lower to rub circles on your clit, the added stimulation sending you over the edge. "My Saintess... Fall with me. Fall with me!"

You whimper as you come, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your vision blurring as stars dance across your eyelids. Your walls clamp down around nothing, and you can feel yourself clenching and spasming as your orgasm rips through you, your juices gushing out of you and coating his length in your essence. He keeps rubbing at your clit throughout, drawing out every last ounce of your release until there's nothing left, and then finally, his hips still against yours, his cock throbbing against the crevice of your thighs as he spills himself between them, coating your inner thighs in thick ropes of release.

He slumps forward on top of you, his weight heavy and comforting as his cock softens against you, and he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder blade, his breath warm against your skin. You lay there together for a while, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your highs, and you can feel his heart pounding against your back, its rhythm matching your own. Eventually, however, he rolls off you. He gets up and comes back with a damp cloth to wipe the stickiness between your legs, and the coolness feels heavenly on your overheated skin. Once he's done, he tosses the rag to the floor before climbing back into bed next to you.

"Bath?"

When you wake up again, Leon isn't next to you, but there is a note on his pillow that informs you he had to go to the border for urgent matters and will be gone for at least two days.

The note makes you want to curl back up under the covers and fall back asleep, but you can't. You have duties to attend to as the Lady of the house, and you can't afford to spend all day moping in bed. So instead, you drag yourself out from beneath the blankets, and stumble to the bathing chamber with a pep in your step, where you splash some water onto your face to wake yourself up.

You look at yourself in the mirror, studying the reflection staring back at you. Your hair is disheveled and messy, and there are dark circles under your red-rimmed eyelids. Leon told you he wouldn't push your body to its limits, but wrung every drop of pleasure he could from it, and it left you boneless and exhausted. Every muscle aches pleasantly, and every inch of your skin feels tender to the touch, especially where his bites have broken the surface.

But none of it matters. You've never been happier.

You finish dressing and make your way downstairs. You have several letters to write today, not only to keep the correspondence with Jill and Claire updated, but also with other ladies they've introduced you to. With each letter, you hope to expand your social network a little bit more, so you may form friendships beyond their group. You've been told to be careful about networking before branching out about investments and business deals by Jill, since men tend to take advantage of women who want to venture into those fields, something her mother warned them about. At least she trusts you enough to take things at a leisurely pace to test waters before jumping at every opportunity that presents itself.

Jill has even invited you to have lunch at her mansion and introduce you to more women involved in similar fields as soon as possible the next season, something you happily accepted.

Even though you're tired beyond belief, there's something almost electrifying coursing through your veins that leaves you feeling energetic despite your lack of rest. Gaining back that connection with Leon, now stronger than ever, has you elated to no end. If someone told you years ago that one night would change your life forever, you wouldn't believe them; now, however, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to experience this level of fulfillment and joy in life, because you never knew just how lonely you truly were until he stepped back into your life.

Leon is panicking.

It's a sensation he isn't accustomed to, not since his days of rigorous training, when his captain had drilled into him the importance of remaining calm on the battlefield. Panic had no place there. Fear had no place. In war, emotions were vulnerabilities—open wounds to be exploited. He had learned to close those wounds, to stitch them up tight and keep his composure, no matter the chaos surrounding him. For years, he had perfected the art of restraint, his face a mask of stoicism, his body a fortress of discipline.

But now, sitting in the dim interior of his carriage, away from the sanctuary of your presence, that fortress is crumbling.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his hands tremble where they rest on his thighs, clenched into fists. His pulse thrums in his ears, a deafening rush of blood that drowns out any sense of calm. It’s disorienting, this unshakable sense of losing control, of being unmoored from the anchor he had always relied on—himself.

His thoughts race, each one more torturous than the last. He can't stop them from spiraling, can't stop the rising tide of emotion that's threatening to break the dam he's worked so hard to maintain.

Fuck. He loves you. He’s loved you for as long as he can remember. Since that first moment when he had seen your face at the temple, luminous in the soft glow of the candles that surrounded you, bathed in the light of Ethelion's grace. He had been young then, just a boy, but even then, something had stirred inside him—a yearning, a devotion so pure, so all-consuming, that it felt like a divine calling. To protect you. To serve you. To worship you.

But never to love you. Not like this.

He hadn’t allowed himself to call it love, not in the beginning. It had been too dangerous, too close to sacrilege. How could a man like him—a knight, a mere mortal—dare to love someone chosen by the gods? He’d convinced himself, over and over again, that what he felt was nothing more than infatuation, a boyish admiration for a figure of holiness. He had to believe it. Anything else would have been unbearable.

Because to acknowledge the truth—that it wasn’t just devotion, that it wasn’t just admiration, that it was a deep, aching love—would mean admitting that you were forever out of reach. You weren’t just anyone. You belonged to something greater, something higher. A god. Ethelion. And Leon? He was allowed to stand beside you only as a protector, only as your shield. But never as your lover. Never as your equal.

And yet, despite all of that, despite the walls he had built around his heart, he had fallen. Harder than he could have ever imagined.

He’d done the unthinkable.

He’d claimed you.

The memory of last night surges forward, unbidden, vivid in his mind. The taste of your lips, the feel of your body pressed against his, the way you had called out his name—his name—as he brought you to the brink of pleasure. You, the Saintess, the epitome of purity and virtue, had wanted him, had given yourself to him. Willingly. No hesitation, no fear.

It had been everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever denied himself. And it was wrong.

But it had also been the most right thing he had ever done.

Leon groans, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if he can pull the thoughts out of his head. He feels himself hardening again at the mere thought of you—the way your body had responded to him, the way you had looked at him, not with judgment or disappointment, but with trust. With desire.

And that terrifies him.

You trust him. You, the one person in the world who should be beyond reproach, beyond the reach of sin, had trusted him with your body, your heart, your soul. You had chosen him. And that trust, that willingness to let him in, is what scares him more than anything.

What if I break it?

That’s the question gnawing at him, the one that keeps replaying in his mind like a dark, endless loop. You gave yourself to him, fully and without reservation, and now he’s terrified of what that means. Terrified of what he’s already done.

Because he has defiled you, hasn’t he? He’s tainted you with his desires, with his need. You were meant to remain untouchable, a beacon of light, a symbol of all that was good and pure in the world. And now? Now you’re his.

He half-expects to be swallowed up by hell after that thought.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

His breeches feel impossibly tight, and Leon curses under his breath. The heat of arousal courses through him, his body betraying him even now, when his mind is at war with itself. His thoughts shift, darker, hungrier. He remembers the way you had whispered his name, your voice soft and breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. He remembers the look in your eyes—like you wanted to be consumed by him.

He wants that. He wants to make you his again, to feel your body wrapped around his, to hear you moan his name, to see you come apart beneath him. And the worst part? He knows you want it too.

He should be ashamed. He is ashamed. But there’s a deeper part of him, a part that he’s been trying to suppress for years, that whispers something different. It tells him that you’re his now, that you’ve always been his. And that he has every right to take what you offer. Every right to claim you, again and again, until the entire world knows that you belong to him and no one else.

The thought makes him groan again, low and desperate. He can already imagine it—the way you’d look beneath him, the way you’d whisper his name like a prayer, the way he’d ruin you, over and over, until there was nothing left of the saintess, nothing left of the woman you used to be.

Just his. His to worship. His to defile.

Leon shifts uncomfortably in his seat, willing his body to calm down, but it’s no use. The arousal is too strong, the desire too overwhelming. And it’s not just lust. It’s love. He loves you. He has always loved you. And now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like to be yours, to have you want him in return, he knows there’s no going back.

But even with that knowledge, the fear lingers. The shame lingers. Because you’re still the Saintess, aren’t you? Even though you’re no longer bound to the temple, even though you’ve left that life behind, you’re still... untouchable. Or at least, you should be.

God, what has he done?

Leon feels sick with it, the weight of his own desires pressing down on him like a vice. He’s tainted you, hasn’t he? He’s dragged you down into the mire of his own lust, his own sin. And yet... you came willingly. You wanted him. You chose him.

He can still hear your voice in his head, soft and soothing, telling him that it was okay. That it was what you wanted. That you weren’t ashamed. That you didn’t regret it.

But he does.

No, that’s not quite right. He doesn’t regret you. He could never regret you. What he regrets is his weakness. His inability to stay away, to be the man he’s supposed to be. The man you deserve. He should have kept his distance, should have respected the boundaries between you. But instead, he let his feelings control him. He let his desires control him.

The carriage jolts as it hits a bump in the road, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, the movement jarring his already fevered body. He’s hard—painfully so—and the more he tries to suppress it, the more it overwhelms him. His hand is still resting dangerously close to his aching cock, blunt fingernails digging into his thigh as he tries to resist the temptation to touch himself.

He should be above this, he thinks bitterly.

Another bump causes his thumb to slip down towards the inside of his thigh because of the force with which he was pressing on it, the friction sending a shiver up his spine. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the seat.

Sir Leon, you had whispered during that night, your tone soft, commanding, with a cruel kindness that only made him more desperate. He’d been on his knees before you, trembling under the weight of his own shame, of his desire. And you had looked down on him with that serene, knowing smile, as though you had always known what he wanted, what he needed. You had given him permission to feel, to want, to submit.

He shudders, his hand brushing over the front of his breeches as the memory takes hold, the rush of arousal overwhelming his guilt. His mind drifts back to that night, to the way you had taken control, how you had made him feel safe in his submission. You had taken his hands in yours, guiding him through the motions, making him believe that it wasn’t him acting on his desires. It was you.

“Sir Leon,” your voice echoes in his head again, and Leon’s breath hitches as his fingers twitch involuntarily over the bulge in his pants. He tries to ignore it, to focus on the scenery passing outside the carriage window instead, but it’s no use.

His hand moves of its own accord, cupping himself through the fabric, the pressure making his hips jerk forward. He can feel himself growing harder, the ache intensifying. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He’s already defiled you enough. He should have more restraint.

In his mind’s eye, you stand before him again, the ex-Saintess, your hands on his shoulders, pushing him down until he’s kneeling in front of you. The image is so vivid, so real, that he can almost feel the warmth of your touch, the softness of your skin against his.

“Look at you,” you say softly, your tone so sweet it feels like a knife twisting in his gut. “Kneeling there like a dog for me. You’ve fallen so far, haven’t you? My Sir Leon…”

Leon lets out a choked breath, his hand moving to unbutton his breeches as he succumbs to the fantasy, his body trembling with need. His cock springs free, hard and throbbing in his hand, and he bites down on his lip to keep from groaning aloud. The carriage is still moving, the faint sounds of the wheels turning and the horses trotting providing a strange rhythm to his spiraling thoughts.

He strokes himself slowly, his mind lost in the fantasy, in the way you had looked at him that night with such grace and poise, your words cutting into him with a cruel, gentle precision. You had known exactly how to break him down, how to strip away his defenses until there was nothing left but the raw truth of his desires.

"How pathetic," you say in his fantasy in mock sympathy, your lips curling into a smile. "What would Ethelion think of you now? His most devout, debasing himself for me, stroking yourself like a common pervert. You’re not fit to call yourself a knight, Sir Leon."

He shudders, balls tightening as he imagines you standing over him, watching him with that amused, almost bored expression, like you’re barely interested in his suffering, in his need. It’s humiliating, degrading, but somehow that only makes the pleasure sharper, more intense. He can almost hear you laughing softly, a cruel, teasing sound that sends a shiver down his spine.

"Look at yourself," you say, dripping with scorn. "You’re a mess. A disgrace. You’re not worthy of serving me. Not like this."

The words cut into him like a blade, but instead of recoiling, Leon finds himself pushing closer to the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his hand moves with a frantic urgency. He’s so close, so damned close, and your voice only pushes him further, deeper into the depths of his own shame and lust. He doesn’t care if Ethelion sees him like this, doesn’t care if the world sees him like this. He just wants to feel, to chase the high of release that only you can give him.

"You want to come, don’t you?" you ask him, and he nods, a choked sob escaping his lips as his strokes become more desperate. "There are people right outside of this carriage listening in to their lord shaking his hips like a dog in heat with his tongue out, and you want to come. You’re not even a man, you’re a slave to your own desires. A slave to me. Go ahead, Sir Leon. Make a mess of yourself. Show me how pathetic you truly are."

And he does, he begs and pleads for mercy, for relief. His hushed words are a jumbled, incoherent mess, a litany of pleas and apologies as his hips buck wildly, seeking that final release. You watch him with that same knowing smile, your eyes glittering with something like amusement, like satisfaction, and Leon can’t help but wonder if you’re enjoying this, if you’re reveling in the power you hold over him. The power to reduce him to this, to this desperate, needy creature, pleading for your mercy.

"Come," you command, your voice soft but firm, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, his body tensing as the orgasm finally hits, a wave of ecstasy crashing over him as he spills his seed onto his cupped hand, his body shuddering and shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, he feels weightless, euphoric, the world fading away until there’s nothing but the pleasure, the relief, the satisfaction of being broken down and rebuilt under your touch. He collapses back against the seat, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat as stares down at his hand, sticky with his own cum, and a wave of guilt washes over him, the shame so intense that it nearly chokes him. But even as he feels the guilt, the shame, there’s a small part of him that revels in it, that takes pleasure in being the broken, debased knight, the one who has fallen from grace and found solace in his own humiliation.

He sits there for a long moment, his breathing slowly returning to normal, the guilt and shame settling over him like a heavy cloak. With a sigh, he reaches into his satchel for a handkerchief, cleaning up the mess he’s made of himself, trying to erase the evidence of his sin, of his desire, of his submission. But no matter how much he tries to scrub away the stain, he knows that it’s there, a permanent mark on his soul, a reminder of the man he’s become.

He’s a sinner, a lost cause. But he’s also a man in love, a man willing to sacrifice everything, to debase himself, to surrender to you, his Saintess, his salvation and his downfall.

Leon arrives back at the manor well past midnight, the long hours of travel evident in the tightness of his shoulders and the way fatigue clings to his bones. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, but the thought of seeing you again fills him with a strange mix of yearning and dread. After weeks spent at the border, surrounded by soldiers and the heavy tension of political unrest, all he wants is to be near you, to feel your presence.

The halls are silent as he walks through the dimly lit corridors, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. His boots are heavy against the stone floor, but he keeps his steps quiet, not wanting to disturb the sleeping household. His thoughts race as he makes his way toward your shared bedroom, the weight of his emotions settling heavily in his chest. He’s been gone for so long, and every step brings him closer to the moment he’s been imagining for days.

When he finally reaches the door, Leon pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he takes a deep breath. He pushes the door open slowly, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet night, and steps inside, and the sight that greets him makes him linger on the threshold.

You’re curled up on the bed, fast asleep, the blankets twisted around you as though you’ve been tossing and turning. The soft rise and fall of your chest are a sign of peaceful slumber, face turned away from the moonlight spilling in through the window, the gentle curve of your body bathed in a soft glow. Drapes of rich fabrics adorn the canopy above you, creating an intimate space that wraps around you like a cocoon, making it appear as if you were held aloft, suspended in time. It's a painting come alive, the kind he'd seen in temples and palaces on a much grander scale, a testament of humanity's greatness. It makes him feel insignificant yet like a god among men to share his room, his life with you.

The sight makes his heart swell with affection, the worries and concerns that had been weighing him down giving way to something warm, something tender. He closes the door behind him carefully, not wanting to wake you, and begins to undress, shedding his clothes as quietly as possible until he's left only in his tunic and trousers.

As he slips into bed next to you, he lets out a contented sigh, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He feels restless and worn out in equal parts, but there's comfort too in having you so close. The warmth of your body radiates against him as he lies there, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, marveling at the delicate curve of your jaw, the softness of your hair splayed out against the pillowcase.

He reaches out tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and you stir in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips. His touch lingers on your skin for a moment before he withdraws his hand, not wanting to disturb your slumber. A small part of him wishes you were awake, that he could talk to you about the events at the border, but he pushes those thoughts away.

You stir again beside him, rolling over to lay on your side and facing away from Leon, and it feels as if he's somehow in the shadows away from the gaze of god, the moon, and the stars.

It starts small, innocent enough. His fingers barely graze the fabric of the blanket bunching around your waist, a featherlight touch, as if testing the waters. The warmth of your body seeps through the material, igniting a spark in his chest that quickly spreads, making his breath catch in his throat. He pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers as if he’d been burned, but the sensation lingers, ghosting over his skin.

What the fuck is he doing?

He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to shake off the haze that clouded his thoughts, but the need only grows stronger. Listening for any changes in your breathing, making sure that you were deep asleep, he inches closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

He's zeroed in on the bare skin of your shoulder where your chemise has slipped down. His hand moves again, slower this time, hovering just above, fingers trembling. He wasn’t touching you yet, but the proximity alone made his pulse quicken. He could feel the warmth radiating from your skin, so inviting, so tantalizingly close.

This isn't exactly wrong. I'm allowed to snuggle up to my wife.

The thought gives him permission, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He lets his fingers skim over your shoulder, the contact sending a jolt through him that makes him let out a long sigh. The softness of your skin beneath his fingertips is divine, the smoothness so different from anything he’s ever known. He can feel your warmth seeping into him, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing against his touch.

A small part of him knows he should pull away, that this was crossing a line, but the need was too strong, the desire too potent. He traces a finger along the line of your collarbone, marveling at the delicate curve, at how something so simple can make his heart race. He lets his hand rest at the crook of your neck, feeling the soft thump of your pulse beneath his palm. He can't help but think of the way your heart beats, how it's the same rhythm as his own, and how this shared lifeblood connects him to you in ways he never thought possible.

You shift again, humming something incomprehensible, and Leon freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. But you don't wake, and after a moment, he relaxes again, his fingers resuming their gentle exploration.

He lets his hand drift lower, tracing the dip between your collarbones, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your sternum. The fabric of your chemise shifts beneath his touch, the material so thin that it feels like almost nothing at all. He can feel the swell of your breasts, the way they rise and fall with each breath, and he aches to cup them in his hands, to feel the weight of them, the softness.

Fuck. Fuck.

He bites back a groan, his cock growing uncomfortably hard in his trousers. He wants you so badly it hurts, wants to bury himself in you, to claim you in every way possible. But he holds himself back, contenting himself with these small, stolen touches, the ones that make him feel alive and terrified all at once.

He's so hard that it almost hurts, and he wants to grind his hips against you to relieve the pressure building inside him. But the thought of taking things that far, of crossing that line without your knowledge or consent, makes him recoil from himself.

No. This isn’t right. It’s not right at all. You’re better than this, Leon.

With a sigh, he withdraws his hand, pulling away from you reluctantly. The absence of your warmth leaves him feeling cold and empty, but he knows he's done the right thing. He rolls over onto his back, his body rigid with tension as he stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock and the ache in his chest.

He closes his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths, willing himself to calm down.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind outside, the creaking of the old house as it settles in the night, the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the forest. But no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, the image of you—soft, vulnerable, trusting—is seared into his mind.

Yeah, he needs a bath.

Careful not to disturb you, Leon pushes himself up out of bed and pads across the room, the cool floorboards soothing against his bare feet. He opens the door, the hinges weakly creaking, and slips out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The corridor is dark and silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering in through the windows. He makes his way down the stairs, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness, and heads to the bathing chambers.

Once inside, Leon lights the candles, illuminating the room in a warm, flickering light. The room is spacious and luxurious, with a large tub of gleaming marble and an assortment of bottles filled with fragrant oils and soaps. He walks to the wooden bucket and pumps water, the rhythmic sound of the handle filling the room, and once it's full, he pours the water into the tub, letting the steam curling off the surface fog his face and warm his skin.

He strips off his clothes, his muscles tensing as he feels the cool air against his heated flesh. He can't ignore his erection, the way it throbs and aches with a desperate need.

He steps into the tub, hissing at the sensation of hot water against his skin. He sinks down into it, submerging his body until only his head remains above water, and he lets out a sigh of relief. The heat soothes his tired muscles, relaxes his tense shoulders, and he feels himself drifting, his thoughts becoming hazy and unfocused.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the insistent throb of his cock, the way it strains against his stomach, demanding attention. He tries to focus on the sensation of the water against his skin, the way it licks at his flesh, caresses him, but his mind keeps wandering back to you. To the soft curve of your shoulder, the way your skin felt against his fingertips, the warmth of your body so close to his.

The marble of the bath feels cool against his nape as he rests his head on the rim, the heat from the bath causing sweat to bead on his brow and dampening his hair. His breath echoes off the walls of the bathing chamber, the sound of the water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub providing a soothing background noise. But even that can't drown out the insistent throb of his arousal, the way it pulses with each heartbeat, demanding attention, demanding release.

He ends up dipping under, the water enveloping him, and he opens his eyes, staring up at the distorted image of the ceiling through the rippling surface. His hair floats around his face, and he feels weightless, suspended between the reality of his desire and the fantasy of his mind. It feels like an eternity passes, his lungs burning as his heart thrums, and just when he thinks he can't hold his breath any longer, he resurfaces with a gasp.

He combs his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it away from his face, and—

"You're back."

He startles, jerking upright and causing the water to slosh around wildly, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he turns to face you.

You're standing there in the doorway of the bathhouse, your silhouette outlined in the candlelight, and there's a look on your face that he can't quite read. You seem surprised to see him there, your eyes wide and bright, reflecting the flickering flames. Your lips are parted slightly, as if you're about to say something, but the words seem caught in your throat.

He can't help but admire the way you look in the dim light, the soft curves of your body visible through the sheer fabric of your nightgown. His eyes linger on the way the material clings to your hips, draping over your thighs and accentuating every movement as you step further into the room. He has to force himself to tear his gaze away from the outline of your breasts, the delicate swell of them drawing his attention despite his efforts to remain respectful. He's suddenly aware of his own nakedness, of the way the water licks at his skin, the way it exposes him to you in a way that makes his breath catch and his pulse quicken. He tries to sink lower in the bath, hoping that the water will hide his body, his desire, but it's no use.

"Why did you come all the way over here? We have our own bath," you say quietly, sitting down on a stool and leaning against the edge of the tub, resting your chin on your folded arms. The fabric of your nightgown shifts slightly, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder, and his eyes are drawn to it like moths to a flame. He's acutely aware of how close you are, of the way he can reach out and touch you, the way he can smell the faint scent of soap and perfume on your skin from your nightly bath. He wants to lean in closer, to bury his face in the crook of your neck and inhale your scent, but he holds himself back, his muscles tensing with the effort.

He swallows hard, trying to find his voice, the sound echoing off the walls of the bathhouse. "I didn't want to disturb your rest."

There's a beat of silence, the sound of dripping water and crackling candles filling the space between you. Your gaze is steady, unyielding, as if you can see right through his flimsy excuses and straight into his heart. And maybe you can, because you've always been able to read him like an open book, ever since that day in the temple gardens when you found him as a young boy, struggling to breathe through an asthma attack and crying from the fear of dying.

"You're not doing a very good job at that," you finally say, the corner of your mouth quivering in a wry smile that makes his chest tighten and his pulse race. You know him too well, know all his secrets and fears, and yet you're here, sitting beside him in the bathhouse, offering him comfort and companionship.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. And he is sorry, sorry for waking you, sorry for being so distracted, so consumed with thoughts of you that he can't seem to think straight anymore.

"Don't be," you reply, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Your touch is gentle, tender, and it makes him ache with longing. "I missed you."

His eyes flutter close when you start carding your fingers through his hair. It feels so good to be close to you again, to be touched by you in such a simple, affectionate way that he can't help but savor it. But then his thoughts wander again, imagining you in the bath with him, your naked bodies pressed together, the water lapping at your skin as you move against him. He can picture it all too vividly, the way your breasts would feel against his chest, the way your legs would wrap around his waist as he thrust into you, the way your voice would sound in the stillness of the night, gasping and moaning in his ear. He shudders, biting back a groan, and tries to push those images away, but they cling to the corners of his mind like shadows.

"You're so tense," you observe, your fingers still moving through his hair, and there's a hint of concern in your voice.

"It's...it's nothing," he lies, trying to sound casual, but his voice comes out strained and breathless.

"Too tired, huh? Let me wash your hair. Can you hand me that?"

He hesitates for a moment, the water swirling around him, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, slowly, he reaches over the edge of the tub, grabs the bar of soap, and hands it to you. You dip the soap into the water and rub it together in the palms of your hands until suds form. You begin to work the soap into his scalp, massaging it in slow circles, your fingers firm but gentle against his skin. His eyes drift shut, his body relaxing under your touch.

The feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp is almost unbearable, and the way you're looking at him, with so much affection and tenderness, makes him feel weak. He can't remember the last time someone has touched him like this, with such care and intimacy.

"This is lily soap," you muse, your fingers continuing their slow, deliberate movements. "Did you know these were on the brink of extinction in the capital for a while that I thought I could only find one on an auction or something? Fun fact, when you're a maid, you wash both yourself and your clothes with the same soap, so it has a shorter lifespan. But even with that it was so jarring to find out store after store and apothecary after apothecary didn't have this. I wasted an entire off-day running around to find a bar of soap that the next day it was like I worked on a construction for a week. It's funny to think how I used to have to be so careful in not wasting even the tiniest bit, and now I can have a whole basket to myself."

Leon listens to you talk, his mind foggy. He's never washed with your signature smell before, and now it's clinging to his hair and skin like a second layer. It's like you've somehow claimed him as yours without even realizing it. The scent is so strong that he can almost taste it, and it's making him lightheaded in a way that has nothing to do with the steam from the bath. His scalp tingles, and he has to fight back a groan when your fingertips brush against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He wants to tell you how much he's missed you, how he thought about you every day while he was away, how he's been longing to feel your touch again. But the words catch in his throat, and all he can do is sink further into the tub, letting the hot water envelop him as you continue to wash his hair and entertain yourself by twirling strands into shapes and figures, or perhaps just to play with it.

"Don't fall asleep, now," you say with a laugh, splashing water on him.

"I won't," he murmurs, but his eyelids are already growing heavy, the warmth and comfort lulling him into a drowsy haze.

"You're not very convincing," you tease, your voice low and soft, like velvet. "I can see those eyes closing. What's so interesting about a bathtub's rim anyway?"

He opens his eyes to look at you. Your face is hovering upside down from his perspective, and you're giving him a small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. There's a playful glint in your eyes, like you're enjoying teasing him. He can't help but smile back, feeling a surge of affection for you.

You lean down to give him a chaste kiss, your hair falling in curtains around him, your mouth warm and sweet against his, "I'm going to wash this off, alright?"

He closes his eyes as you begin to rinse his hair, the water cascading over his head in a soothing rhythm. The scent of the soap fills his nostrils, and he can't help but breathe it in, letting it envelop him like a warm blanket.

"Alright, I'm done," you announce, your hands moving to massage his shoulders. "Feeling better, Leon?"

"Much better," he murmurs, his voice low and soft, his eyes still closed. "You're too good to me." He can't remember the last time someone has taken care of him like this, with such care and tenderness. It's a feeling that he's not used to, but one that he finds himself craving more of.

"Let's get you to bed, then."

He opens his eyes to find you standing beside the tub, a towel in hand. He stands up slowly, the water cascading off his body in rivulets, his skin flushed from the heat and the attention. As he steps out of the tub, you immediately wrap the towel around his hips, pulling him close to you. He's acutely aware of his nakedness, of the way his skin presses against the thin fabric of your nightgown, of the heat radiating between your bodies.

You move another towel in small circles across his arms, his shoulders, his chest, the fabric soft and absorbent as it soaks up the water from his skin. Droplets from his hair trail down his neck, and you follow them with the towel, pressing it against the back of his neck and gently patting it dry, your fingers soothing against the damp curls that cling to his skin. He can't help but shiver at your touch, his breath catching in his throat as you work your way down his body, your movements slow and deliberate, like you're savoring the moment as much as he is.

"Turn around for me," you instruct, and he complies, his skin tingling with anticipation as you start to dry his back, the towel gliding over his skin like a soft caress. You move the towel down, tracing the lines of his muscles and the curve of his spine, and his heart races as you reach his hips, the towel brushing against the edge of the one wrapped around his waist. He can feel your fingers slipping underneath the edge of the fabric. It's harmless on your part, but he's so sensitive to your every touch that he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

And his erection had just gone down as well.

"All done," you say, your voice soft and a little breathless. He can feel the warmth of your body as you move around to his front, your eyes lingering on his chest for just a moment. "I didn't think to bring a bathrobe instead. It's a bit of a walk to the room, would you mind if I go and get it now?"

"It's fine," he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough. "I can handle a little cold."

It takes every ounce of willpower not to take advantage of the situation. Not because he doesn't want to — God knows he does — but because you deserve better than some desperate coupling in the bathhouse. It's going to be your first time with each other, and even though your body isn't technically new to him, he won't make it uncomfortable for you, not when you haven't actually been together. You should be somewhere familiar, comfortable, with sheets clean and soft enough to let you drift off afterward, wherever sleep may take you both. You've deserved better than what life has given you so far, so damn right he'll deliver on the bare minimum.

The night air is cool against his skin as you lead him from the bathroom. The corridors are quiet and shadowed, and there's something oddly intimate about walking naked through the sleeping castle with only you by his side. You don't speak, but he doesn't need words to know what you're thinking; your hand clasped tightly in his says more than anything else could.

It doesn't go according to his subconscious expectations, though, as he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed and you between his legs, furiously drying his hair while he's trying to avoid getting hard. He has to say that the vigorous motion of your arms is helping his case.

He's not sure if he imagines it or if he actually hears the small, suppressed giggle.

"You look like a sheep," you say, and now he's certain the amusement in your tone isn't imagined. You reach down to press your lips to his temple, the sensation of the towel on his head halting abruptly, and he's left staring up at you as you straighten.

Before he can think better of it, his arms sneak around your waist and pull you closer until his head is resting against your stomach. You don't hesitate in wrapping your own arms around his bare shoulders in return, holding him close, and the two of you just breathe together for a moment.

"Thank you," Leon murmurs after a long pause, his voice muffled by the fabric of your nightgown. He's not sure what he's thanking you for exactly, but it's the only thing he can say. You've taken such good care of him tonight, made him feel loved and cared for in a way that he hasn't experienced, and he's not sure how to express that gratitude in words. But the way you hold him tight tells him that you understand.

He lifts his head to look at you, and he's struck by the beauty and affection in your gaze. It's the kind of love that he's dreamed of his entire life, the kind of love that fills his soul with light. And for the first time in his life, he realizes that he doesn't have to dream anymore. He can reach out and touch it, feel it, hold it in his hands.

You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the feeling yanks him from the edge of sleep. "Do you want to sit in front of the fireplace?" you ask him. "Or would you rather just go straight to bed?"

"Stay," Leon says, his voice thick with emotion. He doesn't want this night to end, doesn't want to let you go just yet. He needs more of you, more of this warmth and love that you're offering him. One arm unhooks from around your waist and he trails a path down your forearm, his palm closing on the back of your arm as he turns his head around to rest his lips on the inside of your wrist. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks. "I want to stay here a little longer with you."

"Alright." You nod, and then your hand is trailing up his neck, your palm coming up to cup his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his cheekbone and then the edge of his ear. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and his throat works to suppress a shudder. He can feel your gaze on him like a brand. "Let me just... get this off of you."

You reach up and pull the towel from his head, tossing it onto the ground behind you, and your fingers comb through his damp hair. He's never realized how good it feels, how much he craves the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, the way you scratch your nails lightly against his skin, the way you tug on the strands to angle him how you want.

"Will you take me tonight?"

Your voice is low and husky, full of desire, and Leon can't help but let out a groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your chemise, bunching it up as he tries to maintain control. His cock is fully erect again, straining against the towel still wrapped around his hips, and he's so turned on, so desperate for you that it takes all of his willpower not to push you onto the bed and take you right then and there.

"Are you sure? I know this is your first time, and we can wait, take things slow—"

"I want this." One knee goes on the side of his left thigh, making the mattress dip. And then the other, and then you're straddling him, hands cupping his face as you press your lips to his, the kiss slow and languid. Leon melts into your embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. The taste of a sweet treat is on your tongue, something fruity, perhaps a dessert wine, and he chases it, wanting more. "I love you, Leon," you whisper against his lips, and he can feel your breath fanning across his face. "I want you to make me yours."

Those words are like a key, unlocking something deep inside Leon.

"You love me?" he repeats, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Yes." You nod, your hands still cradling his face, your touch gentle and loving. You look at him like he's the center of your universe, your eyes shining with affection and desire, "Yes," you breathe out, your fingers trailing down his neck to rest on his chest, right where his heart is beating wildly beneath his ribcage. "How can I not?"

"God," Leon murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion, "I've dreamed of hearing you say that for so long, I—" His throat tightens, cutting off his words, and he pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, and he can feel your pulse against his lips. He can't believe this is real, that he has you here in his arms, that you want him just as much as he wants you. He can feel your heartbeat, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the warmth of your body seeping into his bones, and it's all so overwhelming that he can't hold back the emotions that flood him. "I love you too," he whispers, his voice breaking, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone, feeling your skin warm and soft against his lips. "I love you so much."

Your fingers are in his hair, tangling and pulling as he leaves a trail of kisses up the column of your neck. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin behind your ear, and he feels you shudder in his arms, your breath quickening. "I can't believe you let me pull you down from Ethelion's arms," he says, his voice muffled as he sucks on the lobe, tongue dipping into the crevices, the heat between you making him dizzy. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips, your waist, the dip of your spine. "No... I can't believe you willingly fell for me. That you're here. That you're mine."

"Always," you whisper, your nails scratching against his scalp, and Leon groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Your touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through his body, and he can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, feeling you pressed up against him. "I have always been yours."

You tilt your head, baring your neck, and Leon is powerless to resist. He bites down on your shoulder, leaving a mark, and you gasp, your body arching into his. "So beautiful," Leon says, his words coming out in a low growl, and he's almost embarrassed by how animalistic he sounds, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you're looking at him with so much desire, so much love. You're perfect like this, with your hair disheveled, your lips swollen from kissing, and your eyes glazed over with want.

"Then why do you keep me waiting, my lord husband?" you whisper, and Leon can't help but smile at the teasing tone in your voice, the way you're challenging him, daring him to take what he wants.

"Because I want to make this good for you," he murmurs, his hand slipping under the hem of your chemise, his fingers dancing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shiver, and he can feel the muscles in your legs tensing as he gets closer and closer to your center, but he's in no rush, and he wants to make this last. "You need to be ready to take me."

"I am," you say with a breathy moan, and Leon can feel your wetness as his fingers glide against your entrance. He's been dreaming about this for weeks, fantasizing about what it would feel like to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him, and he's not going to rush things now. He wants to make sure you're as ready as you claim to be, wants to make this experience as pleasurable for you as possible.

He can't wipe the smile off of his face. "In spirit, maybe. But I need to open you up first. I don't want to hurt you."

He can see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way you bite your lower lip, and it's endearing, but also a little heartbreaking. You're so young, so inexperienced, and he wants to make sure that your first time is everything you deserve, that it's perfect in every way.

"Don't hold back," you whisper, and it's a plea, a request that makes his heart swell. You're saying that without even knowing what that truly entails, but he's not going to question it, not now when he has you in his arms, when you're so willing, so eager. "I want all of you, Leon. Please."

And who is he to deny you?

He stands, lifting you with him. The towel hanging on for its life around his hips drops to the floor, and he can feel your eyes on him, on the way his muscles flex and strain as he moves you to lay on your back in the center of the bed, the soft mattress cradling your body. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between your spread legs, his cock jutting out from his hips, hard and heavy. Leon reaches down and takes hold of the hem of your chemise, lifting it slowly, his eyes devouring every inch of skin that's revealed to him, the way your stomach tenses as the air hits it, the way your chest heaves with each breath you take. He leaves it bunched right underneath your breasts and wraps his fingers around the waistband of your drawers, tugging them down, down, until you're completely bared before him.

"Look at you," Leon breathes, and there's wonder in his voice, reverence, as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he's trying to memorize every curve, every freckle, every inch of your skin. He runs his hands up your legs, parting them further, and you tremble. He's basking in the pride of your body responding to his touch like a flower opening to the sun.

“I want you to relax,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

His fingers trace a path from your ankle to your knee, the muscles in your thighs tensing, and his touch is feather-light as he reaches the apex between your legs, the place that's already wet and aching for him. He teases you, his thumb circling your clit, "I know how good this feels for you. But we need to get you used to being penetrated. I'm going to start with my fingers. Is that okay?"

"Yes," you gasp, and there's no hesitation, no doubt, just a desperate need for him.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, and his voice is thick with desire, with love, as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "So brave. So perfect. So beautiful."

His fingers slide between your folds, and he's slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches your reaction, the way your mouth opens, the way your eyelids flutter shut, the way you shift around on the bed, your hips arching towards him, wanting more, always more. He pushes one finger inside of you and you sigh, your walls clenching around him, and he can't help but hiss in response, his own pleasure mounting, his cock throbbing as he imagines what it will feel like to sink inside you, to feel your heat, your slickness, your tightness.

He watches you closely, looking for any sign of discomfort as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, the tight walls of your cunt gripping it like a vise. It's not long before he adds the second one, stretching you further, and he curls them both inside you and searches around.

"Fuck," Leon mutters under his breath as the tips of his fingers come into contact with a patch of slightly roughened skin and your body jerks like you've been struck by lightning, your hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist in an iron grip. "There," he says, and there's a smugness in his voice, a satisfaction, as if he's discovered a secret treasure that only he can access. "Found it." He rubs his fingers over that spot again, and you writhe beneath him, your grip on his wrist tightening even further.

"Leon," you whine, and there's a note of desperation in your voice, a need that makes him shudder. He leans down, pressing his lips against the side of your knee as he hooks it over his shoulder.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your skin, and there's a promise in those words, a vow that he intends to keep as he starts to fuck you with his fingers, slow and steady, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit, rubbing circles into it in time with the thrusts of his hand. Your grip on his wrist tightens even further, the bones grinding together in your grip, and it's only through sheer force of will that he manages to keep a slow pace. "Can you try to loosen your grip a bit, love? You have quite a vice grip there. You'll break my wrist if you're not careful." You whimper and ease the grip a bit. "There you go. Don't be afraid to feel it. Talk to me, let me know how this feels."

"It's..." You gasp, and your hips jerk up, trying to take him deeper, your walls clenching around his fingers as if you're afraid he'll take them away. "Not enough. More, Leon. Please." You're panting, your chest rising and falling, and he can hear the desperation in your voice, the way it cracks and wavers, and it only fuels his own desire, his own need to take you, to make you his, to make you come undone. "Up. Touch up."

"I need you to focus on the feeling inside," he instructs, and there's a hint of a command in his voice, a firmness that you're not used to from him, but it's not unkind, not harsh, just insistent. He knows you mean your clit, and eases off the pressure. "I don't want you to focus on the outside right now. Just on how this feels." His fingers crook and curl inside of you, and you whimper, your head falling back against the pillow, your eyes squeezing shut. "Can you do that?"

You nod, a shuddering sigh escaping your lips, and he can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, gripping and releasing.

"I can't with this," you whine, and you sound wrecked and frustrated, your words almost slurring together. You release his hand to grab at the pillow behind you, your knuckles white as you grip the fabric. "It's not enough." Leon chuckles. He knew it would take some time to make you come like this, but that's half the fun. He wants to watch you struggle and squirm as he takes his time, opening you up for what's to come. He wants to savor every second of this, wants to make you feel as much pleasure as possible.

"I suppose I can indulge you, just a little," Leon murmurs and presses his thumb against your protruding clit. "I want you to tell me when you're about to come. Focus on what your cunt's doing." He's rewarded with another shudder and a broken whimper as he rubs slow circles over your clit, his fingers still thrusting inside you. "And remember to breathe. You need oxygen to come."

You do as he instructs, taking deep, shuddering breaths, and he can feel the way your body relaxes, the tension in your muscles easing as you let him guide you through the pleasure. Your hips begin to rock in time with the thrusts of his fingers, and he can see the way your toes are curling, your heels digging into the bed. You're close, he can feel it, the way your walls are fluttering, gripping him, trying to keep him inside.

"Leon," you moan, and your voice is so full of need that it sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin, making it throb. "It's... I'm going to... Please, don't stop."

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that's more teeth and tongue than finesse, his fingers never stopping, his thumb still rubbing mercilessly against your clit, "Let me see you fall apart."

As if on cue, you shatter beneath him, your back arching off the bed, your hips lifting up as you come, a guttural cry tearing from your throat, and he swallows it, his mouth still on yours, drinking in the sound of your pleasure. He keeps moving his fingers, drawing out your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you're twitching and gasping, your body writhing beneath him.

"So beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice ragged with his own desire.

He doesn't let you come down, doesn't let you catch your breath. Instead, he continues to work his fingers inside of you without touching your clit, taking that orgasm to associate it to what his fingers are doing. He wants you to come on his fingers, wants to teach your body to respond to his touch in this way, and he's not going to stop until you do.

"I can't," you gasp, your hand coming up to press against his chest, trying to push him away, to create some distance between your bodies, but he doesn't let you, doesn't relent, his fingers still working you open, stretching you wide. "Leon! Ah, it's too sensitive! Too much!"

"Shhh," Leon soothes, and there's a note of authority in his tone, a command that he doesn't realize slips through. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and your mouth parts, a soft moan escaping. "You can, and you will. I'm going to take care of you. I want to see you come apart on my fingers. Can you do that for me? Only from my fingers? Not from the outside?" He presses a kiss to your temple, and your breath stutters, your eyes squeezing shut. "I'll stop if you really can't handle it. I know it's a lot, but I promise, it'll feel so good if you let it."

"I don't know if I can," you whisper, and there's a note of fear in your voice, a hesitation that he understands. You've never done this before, never had someone touch you like this, never had someone take you to the edge and then hold you there, dangling over the precipice, and he's asking you to trust him, to let him take control, to let him guide you.

"You can, I'll get you there," he assures you, his voice soft and gentle, and his fingers never stop moving, never stop stroking, never stop stretching. "Listen, you hear that? How wet you are? That's your body's way of telling us you're ready for more. You're taking it so well. Just try to relax, and let me show you what your body's capable of."

A third finger teases at your entrance, and you whimper, your hips canting up to meet his touch, your body responding to him in a way that he knows is instinctual, primal. You're so wet that his fingers are practically dripping with your juices, the sound of your cunt squelching obscenely with each thrust, and it's music to his ears. "Gods," you gasp, your head falling back, your neck exposed, and he can't resist the temptation to lean down and nip at the sensitive skin there, to suck a mark that will bloom on your skin like a brand.

"It's just me in here with you," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his words a whisper of reassurance and encouragement, and you shiver, your body trembling beneath him, as if you're trying to hold on to his words, to let them anchor you, ground you. He has to hold you down with his body weight to keep you from thrashing and bucking too much, the pressure on your clit gone and you can't grind up against him to get the relief you need. "Just us in here. No God. Just my fingers. Just focus on what my fingers are doing. Can you feel how wide they're stretching you?" He nips at your earlobe, and then soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

"Oh, god..." you moan, your voice low and ragged, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you, your knuckles white as you cling to the fabric.

"No God," Leon repeats, and there's a dark satisfaction in his tone, a possessiveness that you can feel in every fiber of your being. "I'm not going to let you rely on Him. I'm the one who's going to take care of you from now on."

One kiss mark on the side of your neck turns into another, and another, and soon, he's sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his, claiming you in a way that goes far beyond the physical. He wants to leave his mark on every inch of your skin, to erase every trace of Ethelion's influence, to make sure that you know that choosing Leon meant choosing to fall to his level, not the God who abandoned you. And when you're covered in his love bites, when you're writhing and gasping, your body shaking with need, he'll move on to the next patch of unblemished skin, and start all over again. Because for all the shame and guilt he felt for tainting you, he can't help but feel a dark thrill at the thought of corrupting you further, of showing you pleasures that you've never known before. Plucking an angel from Heaven and making them his. This is his worship. This is what he wanted to do all along.

"Leon!" You cry out his name like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the desperation and need in your voice like a siren song that he can't resist. There's hardly any resistance against his fingers, you're so soft inside, and you're so wet that his hand is drenched in your slick, his palm starting to rub against your clit, the heel of his hand putting just the right amount of pressure there to keep you teetering on the edge, but not enough to send you tumbling over. He wants to keep you here, in this place of pure sensation, where there is nothing but him and his touch, his love, his desire. "Oh, God... please, please... Please, no more, I can't do this, let me off, please, let me..."

"Beg for me more," Leon groans against your neck, and his voice is rough, his own need pressing insistently against the mattress, and he can feel the way his cock is throbbing, the way his balls are aching, and he can't ignore it anymore, can't resist the urge to take his own pleasure in hand, his hips grinding against the bed as he fucks himself against the mattress, head buried against your neck as he licks and bites his way up to your ear. "Tell me what you need."

"I can't," you sob, and the tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, and he's mesmerized by them, by the way they shimmer in the candlelight, and he catches one on his tongue, the taste of your sorrow and desperation mingling with the salt of your sweat, and he wants to devour you, wants to swallow you whole. "Let me come, Leon, please, let me... I need it, I need you, I need you to make me yours, please, please..."

He kisses you, hard and deep, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you, and you moan into the kiss, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he knows that you're so close, that you're right on the edge, and just in time, he takes all pressure away from your clit and focuses everything on your insides, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you're so wet, so tight, so perfect, and he can't get enough of you, can't get enough of the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you sound as you call out his name, for him to let you come, to give you what you need.

"I'm not going to let you come from the outside," he says, and he's panting too, his own desire clawing at him, the sheets below him damp with pre-come as he grinds his hips against them, his cock seeking relief, but he denies himself, because he wants this to last, wants to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied before he even thinks of his own release. "You need to come on my fingers, need to get your cunt to associate this with an orgasm. Come on, baby. Come for me. I know you can. You're doing so well, you're being so good, you need to breathe," he reminds you, and you do, your chest heaving as you gasp for air, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin, and he welcomes the pain, revels in it, because it's a reminder that you're here, that you're his. "That's it. Just let go and let it happen. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you."

"I love you, I love you," you chant, like a litany, like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the words falling from your lips like a benediction, and he can't help but groan, his own need pushing him to the brink, his hips grinding harder. "Please, please, please—"

Your voice breaks off in a keening wail as your body goes rigid, your back arching off the bed, your head thrown back in ecstasy, your mouth open in a silent scream as you come, your cunt clenching around his fingers, your thighs shaking, your heels digging into the mattress as you ride out the waves of pleasure. And he can feel it, the way your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers, the way your body grips him, and he's so close, so close, so fucking close...

"That's my good girl," Leon grunts against your neck, his own breath coming in ragged gasps as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, prolonging your orgasm, drawing it out until you're limp and trembling beneath him. "That's it. Let go. Give in to it. Give me everything."

He milks you for every last bit of pleasure, and when you're finally spent, your body lax and boneless beneath his, he kisses you again, softer this time, his lips gentle against yours.

"You're so perfect," Leon whispers, and he means it, he means it with every fiber of his being, because you are, you're everything he's ever wanted, ever dreamed of, ever imagined. "I knew you could do it. I knew you were a good girl. You were so good for me, so perfect, and I'm so proud of you, so proud of you for letting go and trusting me. You did so well."

"Leon..." His name is a whisper on your lips, a plea, a prayer, and he cups your jaw, nestles your chin in the slope between his thumb and pointer, and pushes your head back to kiss you again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you. You're exhausted, spent, your body limp and heavy, but you still manage to wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, and he can feel the way your heart is still racing, your pulse fluttering like a captured bird. Your tongue can't quite reciprocate the movement of his, and he can taste the exhaustion, the way it's settled into your muscles, made them weak. "I love you," you breathe against his lips, and he's sure his heart is about to burst, it's so full of joy and adoration and love.

"I love you too," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than he's ever meant anything in his life. His hand is still between your legs, cupping your sex, his fingers still buried inside you, and he feels the reaction those words elicit, "Fuck, you want more, huh? Even though you're exhausted." You nod, expression woozy and slackened, and he smiles, his lips curving up against yours. "I can feel you clenching down on me, even though I'm barely moving my fingers. I wonder if we should see if you can have another one like this, on my cock this time. Do you think you can do it?" He pulls back, and you blink slowly, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses. Your shoulders, neck and collarbones all littered with bruises and bite marks.

"Yes," you say without hesitation, without a single doubt, and it's a miracle that he can even think straight, that he can focus enough to move his hand, to slide his fingers out of you. Your slick clings to them, a thin string connecting you to him before he smears it all over his length, the slide of his palm against the shaft as he coats it making him groan and his hips stutter. "Please. Please, Leon, I need you inside me."

He's never heard anything so sweet, so perfect, and he's powerless to resist you, helpless in the face of your desire. "Anything you want," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than anything he's ever said before.

His hands have a faint tremble to them as he helps you out of your nightgown, baring the upper side of your body to him completely. The jarring difference between the marked skin from the clavicle up and the blank canvas of your chest makes his dick twitch in anticipation, and he licks his lips as he imagines how much further he can take things with you. You let out a soft sigh as his palms skim up your sides to cup your breasts, massaging them gently as his thumbs roll across your nipples. You arch your back, pressing your breasts into his palms, and Leon grins as he continues teasing your sensitive flesh.

"Always so responsive," he breathes, crawling up to nestle between your legs, his broad form draping over yours. His hands drop down to grip your waist, his fingers tightening slightly on your heated skin, and then he tugs you against him, rolling his hips forward, grinding his erection against your center, and the friction is delicious. "Do you like having my weight on top of you?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, your breath coming in quick pants as he starts rocking his hips, sliding his length along your slit, coating it with your slick.

The feeling of his cock gliding against your folds is intoxicating, the sensation amplified by your previous orgasms. You squeeze your thighs around his hips, and he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he continues to move against you. His movements start to spasm when the tip of his dick catches on your entrance, and he sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, unable to help himself as he pushes forward slightly. You gasp at the pressure, and Leon pauses, knowing it must be overwhelming after he spent the better part of an hour working you open with his fingers. You'd be incredibly tight even if he was average sized — which he isn't—so the size difference has the potential to cause real problems for you both.

Your hips jerk forward, and Leon groans loudly as your body wraps tightly around the tip of his cock. A wave of intense pleasure courses through his veins, radiating out from his pelvis. It's almost enough to make him come right there and then, but he manages to regain some self-control, despite how badly his body yearns for release. But damn... it feels incredible, and he needs you, needs to feel that again.

For a while, he loses himself in the repetitive motion of popping the tip of his penis inside of you only to withdraw immediately afterward. Over and over, again and again, until you're sucking him in on your own. Each time, he struggles not to plunge himself fully within you. Every single ounce of restraint is focused on holding back, letting you adjust. By the time he's able to sink past halfway without making you squirm or whimper, you're coated in a layer of sweat. Your breath comes quickly as your fingers wrap around his forearms caging your head, clutching him, nails scraping red lines over his skin, like scratches from wild cats.

You tremble beneath him, gasping, biting your bottom lip to contain the sounds building in your throat. When the crown of his dick hits something solid inside of you, you shout his name.

"Leon, please! So big. Oh gods, oh gods. That can't—that shouldn't fit." The sudden shift into awareness worries him, breaking his concentration, and he nearly slips completely free of you. You're looking down between your joined bodies, and seeing yourself spread wide over his girth, pupils blown, sends you right back to delirium, arousal winning out over panic. "Why do I want it? I'm so full, Leon. I'm gonna explode."

"Not yet you aren't. Don't be tense, I’ve got you, everything’s okay. Relax."

But he needs you to let go for just a minute. A second. If he keeps trying now, he'll hurt you.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He waits, stroking your clit lightly, bringing you back to that blissful state of near-orgasm where all coherent thought ceases, as the passage softens. Finally, he hears it, the soft pop and subsequent sigh of relief. The muscles loosen around his cockhead as he slides further in. Only a little more now. Just enough to—there. Home base. Sheathed entirely within you.

His control frays dangerously close to snapping as he stares at your face, overcome by raw desire. Sweat runs down his spine, drops clinging to the strands of hair at his nape, threatening to fall into his eyes, but he doesn't dare blink lest he miss a single instant. He wants to remember every detail.

Your eyelids are half closed, dark lashes fanning flushed cheeks as your eyes roll back. Lips parted slightly, you pant softly, each breath a moan. "So full."

A thin film of moisture coats your brow, glossy trails winding down your temples to disappear in your hair. Chest rising steadily with each inhale. Hips undulating instinctively against his restraining palm. Inner walls squeezing and releasing sporadically like a massage. His own breathing speeds up and stutters. You feel amazing. Better than he ever imagined. More than anything his dreams could conjure, you are perfection, wrapped in silk and honey and lust.

He starts babbling. "You feel divine. Look at you taking me, being so good for me, relaxing, opening up for me. Gods above I love watching you let go," he groans huskily, leaning forward to nuzzle your jaw. Your soft skin pressed against his forehead, your fragrance filling his nose. The tip of his tongue darting out to lick along the seam of your lips before dipping in between them. Without pulling back from where he's sheathed, he starts slowly rolling his hips, careful not to thrust hard yet; just shallow rocking movements meant to get used to the stretch. Gradually easing both of your bodies into a rhythm. "I was so afraid to ruin you, break you, destroy everything you represent..." A harsh intake of air, followed by a low rumble as he pushes forward, drawing another moan from you, "And now you're here... giving yourself over to me like this..."

He traces the line of your throat with gentle kisses and nibbles. "Tell me how it feels. Is it painful? Am I hurting you at all?" Another tremor, another groan. Your fingers dig deeper into the muscle of his triceps. "If something becomes uncomfortable, tell me immediately. Okay?"

A stream of whimpers and garbled words drip from your lips as they descend lower to trace along your throat. One hand lifts up to twist through his long locks while the other seeks out the small of his back to pull him closer, urging him deeper. "Oh, f-fuck! Shit..."

His motions change from rolling strokes to short thrusts. The pace remains slow but steady. The angle forces the base of his erection to drag over your swollen clit with every inward slide. It stimulates that tiny bundle of nerves continuously. Your legs lock tighter around him. Feet pressing against his ass to lift you higher and push down at the same moment. Seeking more stimulation. Greedy for more sensation.

"It does hurt," you gasp as his lips latch onto a particularly sensitive area below the curve of your jaw, teeth grazing over delicate tendons before licking across to soothe away any soreness left behind. He hums low in his chest at the admission, and you add quickly, "But it's a good kind of pain, I don't know...! Ahhhhnnn—yes!" You lose track of your thoughts briefly when the head of his shaft bumps into some resistance deep inside you, causing an involuntary flinch and then a strangled keen.

"Oh yeah, right there? You like that?" Leon asks wickedly, repeating the action while reaching down with a hand to grab one leg above your knee and toss it over his shoulder. There's plenty of give to allow flexibility even with his broad frame crowding yours but with this new position his penetration increases dramatically. When his hips press flush against your pelvis, his whole length stuffed inside, his cock reaches even further than before and hits that exact spot dead center.

"Oh my gods--"

"No God," he snarls possessively, lowering his head next to your ear, "Just me. Can you feel how deeply you've let me in?" With purposeful intent he bucks sharply upwards, knocking a startled grunt out of you.

His mouth latches onto your neck again and sucks hard, pulling blood vessels to the surface and creating red blooms all along both sides of your windpipe. As his hips rock back and forth, their tempo picks up until you're practically bouncing from the force. "Who is filling you right now? Sinking into this tight little hole, fucking you into oblivion?" he growls savagely against your damp skin. In return, he earns more unintelligible cries mixed in with the occasional affirmation. The words "please" and "more" fall frequently off those lips. "Do you like it when I talk to you like this? Hm? It turns you on to hear filth instead of reverence, doesn't it? I know," he smirks before switching to something equally vulgar, "because you are dripping wet. Dripping... down... your thighs. Oh, Saintess. My filthy little saintess."

Leon rumbles deep within his chest when there's no answer forthcoming aside from pleasured whines and moans. In retaliation he nips roughly at your jugular, catching sensitive nerve endings between sharp teeth and threatening to break skin without actually biting down. His wide open hand finds your slick back and pulls you up a little to latch onto your chest, and rests the other forearm above your head to brace himself against.

Your chest is covered in a layer of perspiration that he laps away eagerly, swallowing gulps of water between every swipe with his tongue over stiff peaks. You writhe beneath him like an animal caught in its death throes. The movement only serves to intensify the friction between your bodies; both the external teasing of your clitoris rubbing against him and internal massage as his length scrapes against hot walls.

Everything smells like sex, like heat. Like two humans consumed by each other. Everything feels slippery wet, slippery soft. Every time either one of you moves the slightest bit there's a squishing noise emitting from somewhere beneath that makes your face twist and his manhood jump harder within its confines.

"So warm, so tight." Leon grunts harshly after diving down to bury his head between the valley of your breasts. "Can't hold back any longer..."

"Leon..!! Oooh gods...!" Your nails dig into his biceps, raking red streaks over smooth skin, sending goosebumps racing along every inch of exposed flesh.

When the initial shock wears off, he takes advantage of his current location and attaches his lips firmly onto one nipple while snaking a hand underneath your derriere and lifting slightly to tilt your pelvis upward so that with his next thrust there's a direct strike straight into your core, striking gold repeatedly.

Leon lifts himself back up, bracing against the bed for leverage, to hover over your limp body; chin resting atop his knuckles pressed deep into the mattress between your bent knees, staring intently at where your connection joins. Watching hungrily as he pistons into your soaked cunt with quick, shallow strokes meant for maximum friction. His balls swing forward in rhythmic thuds, slapping against the curve of your ass, coating themselves in sticky juices. "Keep looking," he commands gruffly. "Don't take your eyes away for a second. Want you watching stuff you full and mark what is mine."

Your breaths become more labored but your gaze remains fixed, focused solely on where they join together repeatedly. Your lower abdomen clenches tighter as he pounds into you, your head arching backward exposing delicate pale skin for him to continue littering love bites all over.

"Leon, I'm close, I'm close again please!" You cry out, chest rising rapidly off the ground, pushing against his mouth still ravishing one nipple between blunt teeth, swirling his tongue expertly over hardened nubs. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop I want more forever, please...!"

His movements are erratic, desperate. Frantic to reach his own climax. He hasn't had enough yet though, so he resists it stubbornly even as his vision threatens to blur around the edges due to sheer sensory overload from all angles.

"No." And abruptly he ceases thrusting entirely, simply leaving his dick sheathed inside your fluttering cavern, letting you feel how deeply he fills you. How closely he presses against places that have never been touched by anything other than a fingertip before tonight, if ever. The word itself wasn't spoken with hostility or anger but rather affectionate reprimand. "Tonight is about training. About making sure you learn this lesson properly. It won't do if we finish prematurely when there's still so much to learn and do first."

When your frustrated whines subside to mere frustrated whimpers, he begins again, slower now but with firm intention aimed directly toward prolonging the experience further, ensuring maximum pleasure and education. His head lowers once more into position directly beside your left ear, voice whispering huskily and intimate against your cheek. "My sweet saintess," he murmurs soothingly while rolling his hips slowly forward, eliciting several soft sighs and gasps from below. "Let go completely. Surrender yourself to me."

He slides out of you with agonizing care before helping you turn onto your stomach. Once finished positioning you just so, he straddles your calves in order to lay atop you. Your torso is completely flattened out onto the bed, pinned under his weight. He brings a hand behind himself and guides his engorged cock into your wetness once again; guiding, encouraging your thighs apart while simultaneously spreading those soft inner globes wide open until your entrance yields readily beneath his tip. Then slowly pushes home until bottoming out against your deepest barriers, whereupon he withdraws nearly completely again before repeating the cycle.

"I'm going to go weird," you warn feebly. Not exactly coherent speaking material given present circumstances but still understandable nevertheless. "I'm going to break, please, I'm sorry, I can't stop—" You sob as another wave of warmth crests, rolling down from somewhere deep within, drowning everything else in its wake, dragging under and tearing apart all preconceived notions of reality and time and place until only bliss remains, eternal and infinite.

Fuck, yes, he thinks, fighting not to come prematurely when your walls start rippling around him uncontrollably. It's him who did this to you. Who took apart your composure piece by piece until nothing remained but trembling limbs and whimpers escaping dry mouths, lips parched for air. His chest swells with pride at witnessing your body react viscerally to his touch. It's like staring Ethelion right in the eye while he fucks what is His, claiming ownership without reservation or remorse. No god will ever fill you more than Leon can—will always satisfy you beyond compare, leaving you a shattered wreck incapable of coherent thought besides Leon.

"Yeah?" he whispers hotly against your nape, pushing your hair to the side with his nose before nibbling gently on supple flesh beneath. He wraps himself around your back like a blanket, enfolding you completely within the cage formed by his arms, his hips slapping mercilessly into your asscheeks as he continues pummeling relentlessly onward, faster and harder and deeper than before, stretching you far beyond capacity yet somehow never enough. "Break, then. Go ahead and shatter for me. I'll catch you every single time, hold all the fragments together. Give yourself entirely until nothing matters anymore except how good you feel when I'm fucking you."

The sounds he lets out against your ear is embarrassing when your instantaneous orgasm squeezes violently down around him, milking him furiously even though he hadn't been expecting it.

"Fuck! No, wait, waitwait—don't do that, I'll—" His cock twitches painfully within your spasming walls as they begin contracting uncontrollably again despite his orders otherwise; not stopping nor slowing for a second, forcing the rest of his sentence to trail off into a broken groan. He's fucking coming. Already.

Against his best efforts, a guttural whine tears loose from deep within his lungs, echoing throughout the room as he pumps out rope after thick rope into your welcoming womb, coating every possible surface until saturation point has already surpassed capacity and excess seed oozes out copiously around his shaft as evidence of his release. He keeps pumping, desperately seeking extra traction whenever possible but soon running out of reserves to keep up pace. After a few final shuddering thrusts that border on overstimulation, he sinks further into you one last time before allowing himself to collapse and spoons you securely from behind with both arms cradling tightly around your front like a protective shield, breathing heavily.

"You almost sucked the life outta me." Leon mumbles into the nape of your neck, panting hard against soft skin, still half-hard and buried inside of you. "Wasn't supposed to happen like that. Had plans. Wanted to make this perfect for you, wanted you to remember this night forever."

"Are you kidding me?" you slur, sounding delirious. Your head lolls sideways against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering weakly. "That was incredible."

"Really? I didn't hurt you?"

"I mean... I definitely think I would have died if we kept going according to your plans. But honestly? I think that's a small price to pay considering what happened instead."

He chuckles lightly at that, relieved and delighted by your positive response, before turning your chin towards him and pressing his mouth to yours, kissing deeply and tenderly. He tastes the saltiness from sweat and tears on his tongue and smiles inwardly knowing that he was the one who made you cry. That you willingly let him have this, give him everything without question or doubt. That's the real victory here, isn't it?

As you relax further, relaxing into the mattress, your breathing evens out, becoming slower, calmer. He watches intently, fascinated by how peaceful you look lying next to him. His cock twitches inside of you once more, reminding him that he is still hard. Still wants more.

"We can still keep going," he offers quietly, reaching between your legs, fingers trailing lightly along the outer edges of your labia, stroking softly, coaxing them to part further. His thumb brushes gently across your clit and draws out a hiss from you, and a delicious roll of your hips that forces him deeper inside of you.

"You're going to kill me," you whisper, leaning in for another kiss, and he complies readily, capturing your lips with his own. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press yourself against his chest, sighing contentedly as his fingers begin working their magic.

"If you die, it'll be because I loved you too well. Which would be an acceptable way to go."

The golden hour of late afternoon casts long shadows over the estate, the air warm and filled with the gentle hum of life—buzzing bees, chirping birds, and the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze passes through. Everything feels tranquil, as if the estate itself has finally come to rest after the flurry of its construction. Leon basks in the glow of success, having achieved something worthwhile here with his own two hands—or at least supervising its creation. It's comforting to feel like a person instead of a weapon, especially when such simple pleasures bring so much joy.

And there you are, kneeling amid the lilies you’ve finally managed to grow. They sprout from pots scattered throughout the greenhouse, adding bright pops of white to the green of the plants already thriving. You hum happily while tending to your collection; you've taken great care to tend the soil carefully, pruning away any brown or yellow leaves, keeping them watered regularly, and providing proper sunlight each day. And they've paid dividends, resulting in a stunning display. Each pot contains a variety of different types, ranging from delicate trumpet flowers to majestic magnolias.

Leon watches fondly from the doorway as you work diligently, using the watering can to dampen the rich black earth before tucking a fresh bloom into place amidst the greenery. He'd bought the seeds specifically with you in mind when he heard of their beauty, hoping to surprise you upon delivery—but was disappointed when it took longer than expected. Now here they stand, proud and vibrant, blossoming fully in preparation for spring, brought into existence by your tender loving care.

Much like him.

Leon isn’t sure if you realize how much those flowers represent more than just your determination to build this garden. He does hope that perhaps you recognize a hidden truth embedded within these stems and petals; that as long as someone believes enough to nurture growth, nothing will ever truly perish—especially not love.

He takes a step forward, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path. You don’t turn, too engrossed in your work, your fingers gently brushing over the petals of a nearby flower. He watches the way your hands move with such care, such tenderness. It’s a far cry from the woman he first met—so unsure of herself, so afraid of what the world might think. Now, you are here, fully in your element, having created something beautiful from nothing. And he cannot help but admire how far you've come, how brave you are, how determined to make a new life for yourself.

"They've grown well," Leon says, coming up beside you, taking care not to disturb your concentration. His eyes follow your motions, noticing the way the sunbeams bounce off your cheeks, highlighting the curves and lines of your face as you smile proudly.

"Look, my pretties. He's praising you," you say fondly, caressing another blossom with the back of your finger. "Go ahead, praise them more."

He laughs softly. "Alright, then. Um, very nice job, lilies..." Leon trails off awkwardly, unable to shake the feeling of foolishness that comes with complimenting plants like they understand human speech. "Good work on the pollination?"

You burst into giggles as soon as his words leave his mouth and he smiles sheepishly, trying his hardest not to blush. Maybe this kind of thing doesn't suit him, but he wants you to know how happy it makes him seeing your efforts come to fruition. All of this—the flowers, the greenhouse itself, even your little house down by the lake—were ideas that came straight out of your brain and were built here by your hands. And damn it, he wishes there was a manual for what to say to express just how amazingly impressive that is!

But when you glance back at him with shining eyes full of excitement, Leon realizes that maybe he doesn't need fancy vocabulary after all.

"And great job growing garden, my lady." He grins broadly, patting the top of your head fondly. "I knew you would do it if you believed enough."

Suddenly you turn to him fully and throw your arms around him tightly in an excited hug. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nah, this was all you."

"Okay fine, yeah it was pretty much just me... But seriously!" You insist, looking up at him with serious eyes that glitter like gemstones. "Thank you."

"What is this, 'thank you'? You should be saying 'I did a good job!' Come on, say it."

A smirk curls at the edge of your lip before morphing into an expression so warm, Leon feels it spread deep within his chest like sunshine melting snowfall. "We did a good job. Thank you for believing in me enough to see it through. For sticking by me during tough times, cheering me on no matter how discouraged I got. This is our home now."

A soft sigh escapes his throat involuntarily and he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist loosely while resting his chin atop your hair. "Mmhm... That sounds much better."

Hearing those words, hearing you accept this space as theirs, makes him incredibly happy. Part of him wonders if you truly comprehend just how significant this moment actually is—that neither of you have belonged anywhere since childhood; tossed aside or forgotten, ignored or scorned, pushed around by others' expectations—yet here stands a place where everyone knows exactly who they are meant to belong with and where they belong. A sanctuary of peace built around love alone.

After all those years trapped in that crumbling temple and their orders, forced to endure pain and suffering under constant scrutiny from those seeking power through control, Leon never could imagine things turning out so perfectly for himself. Not when he lost faith so long ago, surrendering himself entirely to Ethelion's command in hopes he might someday find salvation elsewhere; yet ultimately falling short of such aspirations time after time. Yet somehow now, even despite everything—despite being branded a traitor, exiled, stripped away of everything including his name—he is grateful, contentment flooding through his system, settling comfortably within his bones.

In your arms, there is freedom. In your heart beats a home.

[sourpatchys]

My personal Headcannons for Daryl Dixon that I will defend with my life

Just a warning! there is some nsfw❤️‍🔥 content in this list (not a ton)

This is a list full of random Headcannons I have, some are xreader related, some are just fun little things I’d like to believe because they’re fun

He l o v e s head scratches and chin scratches, just like a dog, his mom used to do it to him as a kid, it’s just really comforting to him

He is 100% dyslexic, he’s super insecure about it, which is why he leaves reading and writing up to anyone else who’s willing to do it.

This dude is secretly a math wiz. It came super easy to him, but he does tend to keep it on the down low because it was never something he was allowed to be proud of as a child, and it’s not really a needed skill anymore

I personally do not believe Daryl did anything hard while running around with Merle, Shrooms and weed were his limit 99.99% of the time, unless he felt pressured, but even then it would take a lot of convincing

He’s very self conscious about how thick his accent can get, he grew up in a much more rural area than the rest of Rick and Co. (apart from Maggie of course) and he feels out of place with his speech patterns at times.

Daryl was definitely a highschool drop out, assuming his birthday is January 6th, he left as soon as he was old enough to do it without a parent’s consent (18)

I just know this man never got his license. Can you imagine him paying his way through classes and taking a drivers test? I can’t. He probably just got a state ID for booze and just drove around illegally (if he got an ID at all, I’m sure he knew quite a few places that didn’t card)

He runs hot, the cold is a lot easier for him to handle than the heat, which is why he tended to wear sleeveless shirts or half sleeves

He has never had a “crush” in his life. He’s thought people were hot before, of course he has, but romance was never really on his mind

He’s not a total virgin, but he’s not exactly skilled either. His body count is probably 3, and I guarantee you he was not sober before, during, or after.

He’s a thigh and breast man. Hands down.

I know deep in my soul that this man enjoys some face sitting.

He’s not an overly sexual guy, if you were asexual he’d be okay with never doing anything, so long as you were happy

If you’re nonbinary, he was definitely mean to you at the start, with the way he was raised it simply didn’t make any since to him, BUT once you get closer and he starts to trust you, he might (he will) start asking some questions to understand you better

He isn’t a pet name kinda guy. He’s completely on board with calling you sunshine or princess, but anything past that just isn’t for him, and he really isn’t a fan of you giving him one either, unless it’s just a joking matter like how Carol calls him “pookie” from time to time

He’s a morning person and he hates it. He always wakes up at the ass crack of dawn, and every time he wishes he hadn’t.

He is definitely an insomniac, likely derived from having night terrors as a kid

He’s definitely self conscious about his scars, but not enough to cause issues if anyone happened to see them, he isn’t ashamed of them, but he doesn’t want to explain where their from, and he genuinely hasn’t thought of a good enough lie to tell instead.

When rick saw them for the first time Daryl had him fully convinced he was in a fight with a bear for about a week (rick never asked for the real reason)

He has a heavy sweet tooth, and likes to keep hard candy with him at all times (if possible) and he has never, and will never, pass up chocolate in any form.

He genuinely has chicken scratch for handwriting, he does not plan on ever attempting to make it easier to read, he enjoys the struggle people face when he’s put in a position where he has to write anything down. (Plus it helps conceal his errors if they do figure it out)

He does genuinely want kids in his life. Even if they can’t be his biologically. Being “uncle Daryl” is the best feeling he’s ever experienced, and he really wants to experience that with you if you’d allow it/want it (he would never pressure you to have kids)

Headaches and migraines plague his existence and they always have

He had super long hair as a kid and one of his punishments was his dad shaving it all off, which is why he kept it short until after the outbreak.

He would let you paint his toenails, or match his middle finger with whatever polish you decided to wear

This dude HATES clowns. Seeing a walker in a clown get up would absolutely kill him on the inside

You got sick? Don’t worry about it, he will absolutely attempt to make you soup from scratch using bone marrow and whatever else he can find

Fishing is not his thing. He knows how to, but he much prefers just catching them by hand or with a spear.

The closer you two get, the more likely he is to try and convince you that Bigfoot is real

Daryl is a secret star wars fan

He does NOT like country music, Led Zeppelin, Rob zombie, Ozzy osbourne and Lamb of god are much more his thing

He wasn’t a technology kind of guy, so if you tried to explain any aspect of social media to him he’d be completely lost (he didn’t even have a cellphone)

He has a super dry sense of humor

If he had to choose between starving to death or eating plain Cheerios, he would choose death.

One of the reasons he isn’t big on showering is because he doesn’t have a strong immune system from his childhood neglect, and he doesn’t want to shock his body and get sick

He also just hates the way soap feels on his skin. It’s way too sticky

During sex, he’s not strictly dominant or submissive, he’s ready to adapt to whatever you want, even if that means being strictly vanilla

He’s afraid of Santa Clause

And the Easter bunny

He’s willing to try anything once, even if he doesn’t think he’ll like it

He knows a lot of information on plants and herbs, so depending on your mood, he’ll try to find a flower to brighten your day with a little scribbled note explaining its meaning (because you can actually read his atrocious writing)

He’s never once told you he loves you, and your relationship wasn’t a spoken fact. His actions tend to speak louder than words, and if you say you love him, he will occasionally reply with a “back at ya.” Or “me too”

He always has weird shit in his pockets, like cool rocks he found, dead flowers, and fallen leaves.

He genuinely does not understand a single thing that Eugene says, and he never has.

The first time he ever kisses you on his own (you 100% have to make the first move) it’s a very rough and embarrassed act where he just grabs you and plants one in ya before you can even think about what’s happening

He will change his favorite color to whatever yours is, because if you can see beauty in it, then it’s all he can see from then on out

[loveswrites]

Is love enough? Poly Joe x Love x reader

Poly! Joe Goldberg x reader x Love Quinn

Time it took me: 5 hours spread out a few days

Word count: 1058

I asked you guys on a poll if you guys would like a poly xreader with Joe and love and you guys definitely did! So Let me know how you guys like it! The closer I got to the end I was thinking about making this one into a mini series! As I could do a lot more with this one! Tell me if you'd like a part two!

When you finish reading tell me. Do you think love is enough?

Love <3

"Depression makes you do crazy shit Joe!"

"That doesn't make sense, Love! just accept the fact that you killed her for no reason but the fact that you can't control yourself!" Joe yelled at love with wide eyes. 

"I can't control myself? I can't control myself?! You were the one obsessing over yet another woman! What did you expect me to do?! We have a family!" Love yelled back at Joe with tears in her eyes. But they weren't tears of sadness.

"Babes? What's with all the yelling what's going-... on.." You questioned coming down the stairs but paused seeing exactly what the yelling was all about.

"What happened?.." You whispered. On the ground all you saw was blood and the body of some blonde. 

"What are you doing here!?" Love and Joe yelled in unison.

"You told me to come pick up Henry so you could finish on some things- What happened!" You yelled, snapping out of your explanation of your presence.

"I- I she fell-" Love attempted to say but you quickly cut her off.

"Into an Ax!?" You yelled.

"It was an accident!" Love tried defending herself.

"What the fuck! What the actual fuck? I- Where is Henry?!" You yelled out looking around the dark basement for the child you came to pick up.

"He's over there he is fine!" Love gestured to Henry who was literally a baby in a corner.

You watched as Joe paced the floors as you could only assume he was thinking about what to do about this.. situation that lies in front of you three.. and a half. 

You Joe and Love were in a relationship together. It was a loving happy relationship you felt secure in some aspects of it. Besides that fact that you never knew if the police would show up at your front door and arrest you was all. It was one of the things that made the loving happy relationship feel a little less secure. Also with love's impulsive behavior and Joe's constant need to have a new fixation every other month put a damper on the relationship at times. But none of that stopped you from loving them both. And them loving you. 

"You said no more. No more killing. No more death. A fresh start and a New beginning. And Joe you no more.. obsession plus the killing also." You whispered shifting your eyes between you two lovers. 

"How can neither of you keep your promise?" 

"I haven't killed anybody!" Joe yelled.

"But you stalk! And you creep! And you lie and cheat on both me and Love! Why?! Why are we not enough for you? I keep your secrets, I'm there when you're scared! When you're scared that you might do another bad thing! And you Love I'm there for you every sleepless night when Joe is gone! We were all supposed to be happy here! But since we're all killing and lying, I'm going to tell the truth I hate it here! I hate the suburbs I'm a fucking city girl I don't belong here yet I am trying to adapt for you for you both because I love you! You both ripped me apart from a city that I loved so much to lie in a house with two people that I thought loved me more than I loved that city just to feel like some neglected piece of trash! I hope to God Henry never feels like this- Oh wait he probably already does since he's facing a corner chilling in a room with a dead body!" You screamed with so much pent up aggression you snatched up the baby carrier that held Henry.

"Pleas-" Joe started but you cut him off without turning to face them.

"Don't call me, don't text me. Fix your mess then maybe me and Henry will come back." You said causing panic to rush through both of their veins.

"Maybe?!" Love yelled her eyes widening. 

"What do you mean maybe?! I love you, there is nothing that I wouldn't do to make you stay!" Joe yelled.

"Shut up." You said, shaking your head as you walked up the stairs leaving the bakery. 

When you've been in a relationship with basically two insane people you learn when their threats mean you harm or not. In that case Joe threatened you out of fear. Not anger. He was never angry at you much. He got mad at Love more than he would you. Him and Love fought more than you, him and love ever did combined. Which you couldn’t lie was understandable because seeing that their habits could land us all in jail. You’ve never killed anybody but that still doesn’t make you a good person. 

You’ve lied for them. Threaten people for them. Even though Joe and Love do their best to keep their dirty habits away from home, it’s inevitable that one of those habits will come knocking on your front door. You’ve helped with the..bodies. So no matter how sick it makes you or how bad you feel about it you are and will forever be an accomplice to their crimes for no other reason than the fact love makes you do crazy things. 

When you got to your car you went to buckle Henry into his car seat. He was crying. You almost missed that.. How could you miss a screaming baby? As you tried to zone yourself out of your deep thoughts about your two loves you tried calming the only love that mattered right now. You found it hard to do this as tears rolled down your own face. Who was going to calm you down with their love? As you shhh henry to calm down rocking him in your arms on the side corner of the bakery you started to think what if this was all?

What if this was it? 

What if all your life now consisted of was lying, hiding, running, crying, screaming, fighting, shovels, dirt and muddy midnights. But at least you had your two lovers by your side, That’s all that matters right? Could the love between three people be enough to grow into a happy family?

Getting into the driver's seat you started the car. And as you drove away from the bakery you couldn’t help but think, is love enough?

[lyranova]

Out of Curiosity

Hiya guys! So, i woke up today with this fluffy idea where Yuno gets some advice from Father Orsi and I just had to write it! I wrote it kind of vaguely so it can be an Xreader or an OC or whatever you guys want (since the primary focus is on Yuno and Father Orsi, the “reader” or “romantic interest” only makes a cameo)! I hope you all enjoy~!

Word Count: 715

Warnings: None

————

“ Father Orsi…can I ask you something?” Yuno asked softly as the older man walked out of the church and stood beside him.

Father Orsi blinked at him in surprise.

“ Of course, you can ask me anything!” He replied a little more eagerly than he had meant to.

He watched Yuno frown a bit.

“ What does it feel like when you…like someone?” He asked, his tone slightly hesitant and unsure, which caused the older man beside him to become even more surprised.

“ That’s an odd question,” Father Orsi began before his mind repeated Yuno’s question.

“ Wait, are you asking that because you like someone?!” He exclaimed, his eyes wide and jaw almost hitting the floor in shock.

Yuno sighed and turned away from Father Orsi.

“ Forget it,” He muttered as he began to walk away, but he stopped when the other man reached out to grab his arm and stop him.

“ Hey, hang on a minute!” Father Orsi exclaimed quickly as he pulled the younger man back towards him. “ I’m sorry, it’s just a little surprising since you’ve never really shown an interest in things like liking someone before.”

Yuno reached up and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as his gaze shifted away.

Father Orsi smiled a bit, the last time he had seen the young man look and act this way was when he was a small child…

“ I never said I liked someone,” Yuno muttered, his gaze still shifted away. “ I was just curious about it…since I’ve never felt that way about someone myself.”

Father Orsi gave him a slightly disbelieving look, but didn’t comment on it; instead, he let out a thoughtful hum.

“ Well, from what I understand, it’s different for everyone; some feel like their stomachs are in knots, or that their heart is fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar,” He began as he placed a hand under his chin in thought.

“ Some people find that they’re always thinking about that person, and that they always want to be near them. Some find that they feel like something is missing when that person is away…and some feel like they’ve been lost in a sea of darkness their entire life, and are only just now seeing a bright light on the surface.”

“ Speaking from experience Father?” Yuno asked with a slightly raised eyebrow, and the older man’s eyes widened and his face turned bright red.

“ O-Of course not! I’m just telling you what I’ve been told!” Father Orsi exclaimed, making Yuno chuckle softly.

“ Anyway,” He continued after clearing his throat. “ Some people feel all those things at once, some only one or two, and some don’t feel any of those at all; some just find that they feel more comfortable around the other person than with others. It’s different for everyone, and I’m sure it’s different for you too.”

Yuno slowly nodded as he took in the older man’s words.

“ Thanks, Father Orsi,” Yuno muttered softly as he glanced over at the priest.

Father Orsi blinked in surprise again, but he smiled fondly at the young man and almost felt tears well up in his eyes.

“ Anytime Yuno.”

The two suddenly turned as loud echoes of laughter and shouts floated up towards them, and they saw Sister Lily, the kids, Asta, and another friend of Yuno’s from the Capital walking towards them.

“ By the way, Yuno,” Father Orsi suddenly began. “ Why did you come to me with that question instead of going to Sister Lily?”

Yuno gave a small shrug as he glanced over at him.

“ Because she wasn’t here.” He answered deadpan, making Father Orsi blink.

“ So, the only reason you asked me was because I was here at the time?!” He asked in shock, and the other man nodded.

“ Pretty much.”

Father Orsi sighed in defeat as he hung his head in disappointment, and here he thought Yuno actually came to him because he wanted to get his advice…

But when he glanced back up he saw a soft look on Yuno’s face as he watched the small group of people coming towards them, and he followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at his companion from the Capital.

“ You were asking just out of curiosity, my foot.” Father Orsi thought with a chuckle.

————

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[trespresh]

let me go, don't you ever

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

+ reader: afab, no pronouns used partner: amab, he/him word count: 7.1k rating: explicit. very explicit. tw for basically anything you'd expect with deep nasty vampire sex: primal play, blood play, blood drinking, biting, rough sex (but with feelings!)… and a little cockwarming, as a treat

+

idk man I just write the fic I want to read about the sex I want to have.

This ended up being one of the big primal scenes I've always wanted to write but never had anywhere to put it. It is purely a fantasy put to words. This is a real plug-n-play style fic. It's xreader but the partner is not specifically described. You can copy and paste your favorite little guy in there, or just use this as a blank canvas and go to town!

This xreader style of fic is a first for me, and I'm still tbd on whether I'll post it to ao3. I think about scenes like this a lot just for my own uhhhh enjoyment, and I’ve just never actually written it down in this format before. I’m a little nervous but taking my own advice about no shame and no judgment ✌️ but also be nice to me lol

(tl;dr - It’s deeply self-indulgent pov primal vampire sex. There will be blood.)

+

The first time he ever drinks from you, he’s a little crazy-eyed and desperate, a few hours too many past the last time he drank anything. 

You’ve talked about this before: how you’d like to try it, how he would too. Never specifics, never how or when. But right now, the air seems to crackle in the space between you, magnetic and intriguing, and you realize that you really want this now. Even as your eyes catch on the flash of his fangs when he licks his lips, you think, yeah. 

You want this, and you trust him, and you want to help him if you can, so you ask, “Would it help?”

You can tell he’s trying hard to keep his eyes on yours, but he can’t catch himself before glancing down at your throat a few times. You watch him watch the pulse in your neck before he drags his eyes back up to yours. When he takes a step forward, you can’t help it—your heartbeat kicks up a notch.

“Easy, it’s just me,” he murmurs gently, like you’re a skittish animal, and you’re suddenly aware that he’d heard your heart leap. His eyes finally drop to your neck and hold there. “Yeah sweetheart, it’ll help. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Your next breath is shaky. You know he hears that, too.

“Will it hurt?” You ask, quiet.

His eyes flick up to yours long enough for you to see a wave of red flood through them completely until they’re so dark they’re almost black. He steps close enough to lean down and nuzzle against your throat. 

“A little,” he breathes, his lips brushing your skin in an apologetic kiss. His tongue comes out to lick along your pulse when it jumps at his words and touch. “At first. God, I’ll make it good though, I promise, please just—let me. Let me.” 

His voice has a tiny, desperate whine to it, and you can only shiver when you feel the points of his teeth come to rest against your skin like he already knows you’ll say yes. When you finally nod just enough for him to feel it, you barely get the word “yes” out before his hand is coming up to the other side of your neck to hold you still, and then he’s biting down.

He’s right. It does hurt at first, but in a strange, subdued way. Like two small blades sinking into your neck, except they’re so sharp you barely feel it as they split your skin. The pain is almost sweet, somehow. 

His teeth withdraw and then you can hear the soft, wet noises of his mouth and tongue on your neck; it’s hard to reconcile what’s happening with the pull under your skin, the strange suction as the blood is pulled from you. It’s like he’s working you from the inside and out—the hot slide of the blood in your veins before it passes through the holes into the equally hot slide of his tongue and down his throat.

It’s far more intimate than you expected. Visceral and primal, somehow, this new way you’ve given your body to him.

You can’t help the strangled gasp you make, and when your hand raises up to grip his arm, he pulls away immediately. That shadowy pool-of-blood color fades until you can see the sharpness with which he watches you, scanning you over. You feel a trickle of blood trail down your neck; when you lift your hand to wipe it away, he snags your wrist out of the air, threads his fingers through yours, and brings your joined hands around to rest at the small of your back. It’s a gentle way of holding you in place, firm enough for you to relax into.

He ducks his head and licks over the skin on your neck. The idea that he’s cleaning you up should maybe gross you out but it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it sends something swooping through your gut, fever-hot, and you realize—oh, fuck, you like this.

When he pulls away from you, you stare up at his face as you’re hit with a strange sensation on your neck—as if the skin is knitting together somehow, closing up and scabbing over. You raise your free hand up to check your neck only to feel half-healed skin instead, as if the pin prick holes are already days old. He grins when you look back up at him in confusion.

“The venom has, uh, healing properties,” he answers your unasked question. “Apparently it's how enough venom can turn someone. Healing the body before it can ever break down enough to die or something, you know?”

You swallow hard at the casual tone in his voice. You don’t want to think about him dying but you don’t know what to say, so you just nod. He watches you carefully for a moment before sliding a hand up to cup the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss.

“Are you okay?” He asks against your mouth.

Again, you nod. “I’m okay. It was—” you search for the right words, trying to ignore the way you feel the healing wound pull slightly when you swallow hard. “—nice. It felt… not good, but uh. Intense, I guess. Deep.” 

Your cheeks heat a bit but he only smiles and hums in understanding. 

“For me, too,” he agrees. While he tilts his head to kiss under your jaw, you wonder idly what it must be like for him, to bite into flesh and drink the hot liquid lifeforce underneath. You’re thinking about what the texture of blood might feel like, when he sighs into your skin and adds, contemplatively, “You’re sweet.”

You flush happily with the endearment. “I just wanted to help.”   

He meets your eyes again, smiling wickedly. “You did help. Very much. But I meant you taste sweet.”

Your heart pounds again at that, and he hums and taps a finger against your pulse to the beat. 

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully, distractedly, more to himself than to you. “Like burnt, melted sugar.”

You don’t know what to say to that, and he seems to know that. He leans down to kiss you again and says, so quiet you barely hear him, “Thank you.”

And you can’t help but relax into him.

+

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

“This seems like overkill,” you say, trying not to laugh as you sit on the bed, watching him line water bottles, a bowl of fruit, and a package of your favorite cookies on the nightstand. He’s already put a towel down next to the bed. “You’re not a blood donation center, you don’t have to give me cookies.”

He throws you a grin and shrugs. “I don’t know what this’ll be like. I’ve never done this before and I just, I don’t know. Need to make sure you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, fond despite yourself. “I trust you.”

It was you who finally asked for this but he hadn’t taken any convincing, so you get the feeling he’s just been waiting for you to bring it up, to make the first move. Now that it’s going to happen, his need for preparedness and eagerness to do this right for both of you is endearing. The pillows are soft when you lean back against them, letting your knees fall wide and enjoying the way he watches the movement. 

“Come here.”

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it aside before crawling over you; you get your arms around his neck and pull him down. He meets you easily for a kiss that doesn’t take long to turn filthy with your gasp when he gets a hand into your hair and tugs gently, and his tiny moan when you nip at his lower lip and meet his tongue with yours.

Without pulling away from your lips, he snakes a hand down to the inside of your knee and pushes your leg open to make more room for himself. He settles his hips just under yours and thrusts up, and you can’t help but rock down in return just to feel him start to harden and press against you through his sweatpants. A gasp escapes you into the kiss when he nudges against your clit through the layers of clothing. 

When he pulls away, his hand falls from your hair to rest at your throat.

“Here,” he says quietly, tapping two fingers on your pulse there. His other hand trails up your knee and stops at the top of your inner thigh, where he taps two fingers again. “And here. Okay?”

Your heartbeat picks up immediately and you know he hears it but you don’t care. You swallow hard against the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat, meet his eyes, and nod.

“Good,” he says in a low, pleased tone that sends a happy little shiver down your spine.

His hand leaves your throat so he can lean up on that hand like he needs a better angle—and then he kisses you again like that will distract you from the way his other hand slides up from your thigh to dip under the waistband of your shorts, like it’ll stifle the little noise of surprise when he cups you with his whole hand, curling his fingers down and into you only to the first knuckle. You arch up into his hand as he flexes his fingers to tease between your hole and clit. You’re wet enough already that he can gather some of it on his fingertips and drag the wetness up over your clit, where he circles lightly a few times before dragging his hand from your shorts. He smirks at the way your breathing goes high and quick just from the brief feel of his hand on you.

“Tease,” you huff, and his smirk widens into a grin.

“You think so?” He says, mock thoughtfully, as he sits up and tugs your shorts off your hips, all the way down your legs until he can throw them off to the side. And then he’s shuffling back on his knees, dropping both hands to the insides of your knees, and spreading you wide for him. He spends a few moments just looking at you while you try not to squirm.

It’s uncomfortable, and yet somehow it sends fire through your gut. You can feel his gaze like a tangible weight. You’re not sure if you like the way he’s openly studying you or not, but you want to be what he needs, so you hold still and let him look. You shift a little when he runs a finger lightly right down the very center of you like he just wants to test what you feel like. You shiver, and then he leans down, presses a kiss to the inside of your upper thigh, and lowers his mouth to you. 

Your skin is so heated that his mouth feels almost cool, and you moan when he tongues at your clit in a touch so gentle that you writhe up against him, seeking more until he weaves his arms under your thighs to clutch up at your hips and hold you down on the bed. No matter how hard you arch up against him, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s stronger than you. If he wants you held down and open for him, then that’s what you’ll be. 

You know you’re lucky because not only is he good at this, but he enjoys it. You laugh breathily at the reminder of that fact when you feel his fingers at your hole—only for your laugh to cut off in a sigh when he slides a finger into you. He immediately crooks his finger up and pets right over your g-spot, as if it’s second nature for him to make you feel good with how well he knows your body by now. As if it’s his goal and his right to watch you throw your head back against his pillows.

And then he buries his face against you and groans softly like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

You gasp at the vibration of the enthusiastic noises he makes. Your hands drop to stroke through his hair, pushing it back from his face so you can watch the way his eyes go half-lidded up at you, his mouth working, forearm flexing as he works another finger into you. The way his nose is crushed against you sends the heat of his heavy breaths in waves over your skin and you are so lit up, up, up for him that you just know you won’t last long with his fingers in you like this.

Or his teeth, you realize as you become aware of the feeling of him rubbing two fingers into the skin of your upper thigh. Your clit throbs between his lips when your heart hammers, remembering what’s about to happen, and suddenly you want it so badly you can barely breathe. Either your anticipation is contagious or he’s already as eager for this as you are, because he licks a final, slow stripe up from where his fingers are pressed inside you up to the top of your clit, which he sucks briefly, humming just for the way it makes you arch up and moan—before he finally lets go to trail kisses over to your inner thigh instead, his fingers still moving inside you. 

It’s thrilling, the way he nuzzles against your thigh like he’s savoring the feel—or smell?—of you.  When he starts to suck a bruise into your skin, it’s like a tiny electrical current fires up your thigh and into your clit, down through to where he’s still fucking you on his fingers. He curls them up to drag against your g-spot so perfectly that you sob and try to twitch your hips up every time.

By the time he licks over the new bruise and shifts his mouth just a little lower to a clear patch of skin, you’re feeling dizzy in the face of your looming orgasm. You’re so ready for his bite, so eager to find out what it feels like, that when he scrapes his teeth over your skin and looks up to meet your gaze, you’re nodding before he even asks the question. 

He asks anyway. “Are you sure?”

“Do it. Please, I’m ready,” you say, because you think you are. 

When he bites through the thin, sensitive skin into the flesh of your inner thigh, though, you can’t help the whimper that escapes you or the way your fingers tighten hard in his hair. It’s the same razor-sweet sharpness you’ve felt in the past when he’s bitten into your neck or your wrist—only here, while you’re naked and spread wide for him and already close to coming on his fingers, it’s like lightning jolting up through you. Like that thin electrical current that had formed alongside the bruise he gave you has now been amplified to a sparking livewire between your clit and where his fangs pierce your skin.

His head jerks a little in your hold when you tug on his hair, and his fingers freeze inside you when he pulls his teeth out, seals his mouth over the wounds, and sucks hard. There’s a breathless, still moment while he gets his first taste of you, and then his eyes glaze over with that eerie red-black color and he whines into your skin; he scrambles to get his free hand under your thigh and pulls you harder against his face.

With every heartbeat, you can feel the blood thrum through your groin, then down your thigh to pulse in thick rushes against his lips and tongue when he sucks on the holes he made in your skin. It’s a hot, liquid feedback loop that has your head spinning, and you clench down around his fingers because you’re close, you’re so close—

“Please, god, I’m so fucking—,” you babble through your open-mouth panting, so caught up in the way he’s playing with your body like he knows just how to curl his fingers and exactly how to twirl his tongue over your skin to make you moan and fall apart for him. 

He sucks one final mouthful of blood from your inner thigh before pulling away, panting for air while your eyes catch on how red and wet his lips are. He licks a flat strip over the punctures—and then without waiting to make sure the holes have begun healing, he presses his face between your legs again. His lips close around your clit, sucking messily at the same time he fucks his fingers in and out of you, urgent and deep like he’s frantic to get you there, desperate to see you come.

It feels so deliriously good that you’re already teetering on the edge of your orgasm when he eases down onto his stomach between your legs; between one thrust and the next, he slides a third finger in alongside the other two, dragging hard over your g-spot with each stroke. After that, all it takes is one glance down at him to see the way his hips are grinding down against the bed like he’s so hard right now that he can’t help but seek friction—and then he’s pressing his free thumb to the healing puncture wounds on your thigh and you are launched over the edge into your orgasm.

It explodes through you so violently that you arch off the bed, gasping around a high moan and pulling him into you by your hold in his hair, grinding against his face as he moans and curls his fingers inside you and stares up at you, rapt, like he would rather die than miss this. 

You can feel his heavy gaze the whole time you ride down the peak of your orgasm, his fingers slowing into long strokes that ease you through it. Finally, you tug on his hair when you’re twitching through the aftershocks and he pulls away from you, panting. He rests his forehead against your thigh while he catches his breath; finally he says, “Fuck,” and looks up at you with his normal, clear eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree faintly, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm and the memory of his teeth in you, his tongue working against you in such different ways.

You glance down at him, gently stroking your fingers through his hair. His eyes are lazy and satisfied from where he looks up at you between your thighs. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his lips red and swollen, and his hair is growing messier by the minute from your wandering hands. You can’t stop staring at the way his mouth and chin are still wet with your slick and a little bit of leftover blood. 

He looks good like this, you decide. Really good.

Movement catches your eye over his shoulder, and when you lift your head to look down his body, you see his hips still working against the bed like he’s not even conscious of it. It sends a strike of need through you so strong that you can’t help but tighten your grip in his hair and tug him up. He goes easily, crawling up your body to get his mouth on yours, and when you deepen the kiss, his tongue tastes sweetly metallic.

“Fuck me,” you say.

He nods eagerly, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel his hard cock through his sweatpants. You push at the waistband, tugging them down his hips demandingly, and he shifts back to pull them down and kick them off the bed. Then he’s naked and hard and kneeling over you, looking at you the way a starving wolf must look at an unsuspecting bunny.

It’s a heady feeling, having that intensity turned on you, so you bask in it and let him take over.

He flips you over with a hand at your side, then pulls you back toward himself and tugs at your hip insistently enough for you to understand—you lift up just enough for him to shove a pillow under your hips. He takes a second to position you how he wants you, hitching your hips up and back toward him. He pushes your thighs together and throws a leg over you so his knees are against the outsides of your thighs and he can really lean over you. You expect the feel of his cock nudging at your hole so you’re surprised when he slips two fingers into you instead, like he just wants another feel. It’s an easy slide; you’re slick enough, wet with his spit and your blood and how much you need him to fuck you right now, come on. 

He pulls his fingers free, strokes that slickness over his cock a few times, and lines up. Even though you’re so keyed up and ready for him that you might spark and explode, you immediately clench down when you feel him press against you, throwing a smirk over your shoulder at him. 

You know he likes it when you make him work for it, sometimes, and this definitely seems like one of those times; you know you’re right by the way he murmurs, almost playful, “Let me in.” He presses a little harder against you until you feel yourself start to give. “Come on baby, let me in, let me—fuck yeah,” he groans then when he pulls your thighs open just a little and thrusts against you just enough for his cockhead to finally pop in and he can slide in, smooth and sudden.

It’s so good you both moan with it. Fucking finally, you think, once he’s as deep as he can get and rocking his hips just a little to let you both get used to the feel of it. Then he’s slowly pulling back, back, back—until he’s all the way out again and huffing a low laugh when you whine at the loss. He presses his cockhead against you again, so close to pushing inside that it’s cruel, the way he’s holding you down by the hips when you try to rock back onto him.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and you’re about to snap back at the amusement you can hear in his voice when he eases back into you, slower this time like he wants to make you feel every inch. 

You gasp and drag his pillow toward yourself, clenching your fists in it just to have something to hold onto. Once he’s fully inside again, he leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder. It’s sweet and still for a moment before he sits up, gets a tight grip on your hips, and starts to fuck you.

You drop your head and moan into the pillow that smells like him, arching your lower back just a little bit more off the pillow under your hips; you can’t help the high moan that escapes, louder, when he drags directly across your g-spot with every thrust. Just like that, you sink against the bed, loose-limbed and pliant in his hold, and let him make your body feel good.

It’s always easy to get lost in it with him—tonight is no different, but it’s more. You can’t stop the gasps and breathy moans that fall from your mouth; not now, not when you’re surrounded by him like this. Even when you turn your head on the pillow and stare to the side, you’re still surrounded by the smell and feel of him. 

You’re aware, distantly, that he’s still holding back, and that he’s still so much stronger than you even know. But even so, he’s rougher than normal, fucking you in long, harsh strokes that jerk you forward each time. It’s not long before his hand slides all the way up from your hip into the back of your hair so he can yank your head back. He leans low over your back to nuzzle his face into your exposed neck, and when he breathes in heavily you realize—holy fuck, he’s smelling you. Your already-pounding heart starts to hammer against your ribs and you rock your hips back to meet his thrusts, and you can’t focus on anything except himhimhim—so ready for him to bite down that it makes you throb around him—

But then he’s slamming in hard once, holding for a few agonizing moments while you squirm against him, seeking friction with a desperate whine—before he’s pulling all the way out with a gasped, “Fuck!” and flipping you onto your back.

It’s urgent, now, the way he shoves the pillow under your hips and tugs you toward him. He shifts forward on his knees between your legs so he can pull your thighs over his, and then he’s leaning forward and burying himself inside again with a groan like even those few seconds were too long to not be inside you.

This new angle forces him to drag insistently across your g-spot with almost every thrust and you know immediately that you won’t last long like this. Your eyes roll back but you can feel his gaze on you anyway, watching while your brows curve in and how your jaw drops open on moans growing louder by the second.

He slows his thrusts into long, smooth rolls so that you’re held steady when he leans down to get his lips on your neck. It’s all you can do to hold onto his shoulders, and when your nails scrape down his back again, he shivers against you with a low moan. 

“Tell me again,” he says, licking at your pulse.

You don’t hesitate. “Do it, please do it, pl—” you cut off in a strangled whimper when he gets one hand in your hair, tugs your head to the side to make room for himself, and bites down.

It’s blindingly, stunningly euphoric. His teeth split the skin of your neck so gently—such a drastic comparison to the way he’s fucking you—and you feel the way he sucks hard over the wounds all the way down into your clit. Your hand flies down to circle frantically over your clit, listening to his heavy breaths and the messy sound of his mouth on your skin, the wet noises his throat makes as he swallows your blood. 

It’s too much, it’s all too much, it’s beautiful and horrible and deep and intense and you’ve never felt anything like this before as he fucks you hard and drinks from you and you love it—but then he licks over the puncture holes and pulls back from your neck to gasp against your collarbone. The holes on your neck ache as they stitch together, and you gasp against the sensation. 

You can tell he’s close by the way he slides both arms up under your back to get a grip on the top of your shoulders and hold you secure against him. He ducks his head and his fangs re-pierce your neck through the half-healed holes—you’re surprised when it hurts more than the first time he bit you a few moments ago. You gasp and squirm against him but his hold on you is tight. He sucks at the holes for a brief moment then presses his tongue against them like he’d only needed a taste, before he drops his forehead against the pillow next to you and slams his hips against yours so hard you can hear it. 

He wastes no time in launching into a brutal rhythm, and with his face down by your ear, you can hear every noise he makes—a breathy gasp when you dig your fingers into his ass to urge on every thrust, a choked moan when you tilt your hips up and clench around him. You turn your head enough that you can get your mouth on his neck, licking over the sheen of sweat there before you bite him back. Your teeth do no damage, of course, but the heartstopping little whimper he lets out nearly sends you over the edge right there.

He’s never fucked you like this before, so desperate and fevered like he wants to put you through the mattress—and you can’t think, can’t do anything but choke on each breath and dig your nails into his back and scrape them down his sides and shiver at the ragged, guttural edge to his responding groan against your neck. You do it again and his hips twitch; his breaths are coming high and quick and you can feel how close he is, so all you have to do is tilt your head to the side so your bloody throat is bared to him and let a soft, shaky moan out against his ear so he can hear how good he’s making you feel, and that’s it. 

He presses his face into your neck with a choked-off groan, wet and filthy and smothered against your skin. His hands fly down to grip your hips and pull you down on him at the same time his hips jerk forward until he’s so deep it almost hurts—and he holds there, his hips just barely moving as he comes inside you.

Every tiny thrust is punctuated by breathy little moans while he uses you to ride out his orgasm, grinding in slowly like he can’t get close enough to you. Like he would crawl his way inside you if it were possible, if you’d let him, and you’re close—you’re so fucking close with the way he’s still rocking against you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and you’re right on the edge of your orgasm when suddenly his mouth is at your throat again; he chases a trail of blood sliding down your neck with his tongue before his lips close around the wound again and then he bites gently and sucks hard and your orgasm hits you like a tsunami, and you are gone. 

You think maybe you scream a little, because he groans in response and starts thrusting a little harder to fuck you through it. It’s good, it’s so fucking good that right at the peak of it, your vision whites out and you wonder, far off and detached, about what this must do to your blood.

It’s clearly something great, you think dizzily as you start to come down from it all, because he’s still buried against your neck, licking slowly over the blood leaking from the bite.

“Fuck, you have no idea what it tastes like when you come like that,” he rasps, voice wrecked and with a faint whine that would sound like he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way he closes his mouth over the holes and sucks again.

You hum in relaxed satisfaction and bring your arms up around his shoulders, luxuriating in the skin contact and the grounding weight of him. You scratch lightly over the back of his head until he shivers against you. Your skin thrums, lit up and abuzz everywhere you’re touching as you breathe against each other.

After a few moments, his hands trail up from your hips. One gets a hold on one of your wrists from around his neck and pushes it down against the sheets; the other hand rests heavily across your collarbone.

He’s leaning on you just hard enough that breathing starts to take some effort, so you say, “Okay,” and tug on the back of his hair with your free hand.

He doesn’t pull back. You can feel the tip of his tongue working against one of the holes in your neck, dipping in just a bit until the sensation teeters on the edge of queasy pain. You make a strangled little noise but still, he doesn’t pull away from the messy wet heat on your neck. 

“Hey, okay,” you mutter again, tugging harder on his hair and at the back of his neck, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. “Baby please, enough, you—you gotta—” your voice trails off in a weak slur and your grip loosens in his hair. 

He’s been hesitant to bite you while fucking you ever since he drank from you for the very first time, and you wonder maybe if this is why. If this is what he meant when he’s always said, it’s… overwhelming. But you’d meant it when you told him you trust him with this—and even now when your mind wanders and your body thrums lazily while his mouth works at your neck, you still trust him to get himself under control.

After all, this is him. You trust him—you always have. You’ve known him for what feels like a very long time, both before and after he changed into what he is now. You’ve been figuring this out together: what works and what doesn’t, what he needs and how much he can take from you to satiate that need without endangering you. There have been a few moments of trial and error that led to learning where the line crosses over into him taking too much from you. 

You like him like that, though, after those few rare times when he’s accidentally taken too much, leaving you woozy and exhausted. He gets sweet. There’s something protective and reassuring in the way he dotes, and in how he doesn’t let you lift a finger for a day or two after while you recover. He’s always kept himself under enough control before that it has never occurred to you to feel worried around him.

But now, while he’s got one hand flat across your collarbone and the other holding your wrist down to the sheets—now, while his lips work at your throat, the rush of blood so close under your skin as he pulls it from you and rhythmically swallows—now, as you realize you’re a little lightheaded, and wondering, huh, when did that happen? 

Now, a traitorous little flicker of unease settles in your gut.

You push weakly at his shoulder but it does nothing; it’s like he doesn’t even feel it. His hips are still absently grinding against yours like he can’t help it, like despite the fact that he’s half-soft at this point, it hasn’t even occurred to him to stop moving. The hand on your collarbone trails up to grip your jaw, two fingers sliding into your mouth to rest on your tongue and hold your jaw open like a reminder to breathe—or maybe it’s just another way he wants to be inside you. 

His fingers or cock, his tongue or teeth—it’s like he doesn’t know how to hold back from pushing his way inside anyway he can.

A stifled whimper escapes you as he hums into your skin and sucks unhurriedly. He’s holding you tightly, pressed down against the bed. Twisting under his grip does nothing to throw him, and trying to get your wrist free is a useless attempt. He’s strong—you sometimes forget just how inhumanly strong he is, when he usually touches you so delicately, with such control and care. 

Right now, while you’re held down under him, still on his cock and with his teeth in your neck—you are forcefully and viscerally reminded that he is not human. He really could kill you like this, if he decided he wanted to. 

The thought sends a rare jolt of curious fear through your gut. You’re well and truly caught under him—all his to do whatever he wants with. It’s an alarming, confusingly heated realization that has you twitching your hips up to meet his lazy post-orgasm ruts at the same time your heart starts to pound with instinctual panic. 

You wonder distantly if maybe fear does something to your blood too, because only a few heartbeats after the thought crosses your mind, he’s ripping his mouth away from you with a curse and leaning up on his elbows to look down at you with rapidly clearing eyes.

He must see something on your dazed face because he curses under his breath again and his hand comes up to cup your chin. With his thumb on one side of your jaw and his callused index finger on the other side, he gently tilts your chin up and over to expose your neck fully to him. He hums and ducks close to lick flat and warm over the holes in your neck. To heal, not to taste. 

You feel the same strange sensation as every other time—that same tickle of the skin knitting together and the blood flow stopping under the sore, healing skin. He keeps licking at you, cleaning the last of the blood from your skin before pressing a gentle kiss first to what’s left of the wound, then up under your jaw, then leaning up even further to press his lips to yours. You’re still a little faded and sluggish but you kiss back as best you can, and you know that when he pulls away with a soft red smile, you smile back at him with blood on your lips.

Your thoughts are fuzzy around the edges, your vision tunneling on him like he’s magnetized, your mind pleasantly blank as you watch him like you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your mouth again. When he pulls back, he seems a little dazed too in the way his mouth is open and pink, his eyes half-lidded and only half-focused like he’s high on whatever was in your blood.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, an odd plea to his voice. “That was—fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how it would be. I could have—“ he cuts himself off and swallows hard. He ducks to check the healing wound on your neck like he’s making sure it’s still working. “Are you okay?” 

You hum absently. He starts to pull out but you’re quick to tighten your legs around him, holding him close. “Don’t,” you mumble. “‘M okay, just… stay.”

He watches you for a moment before kissing you again. He could easily break your hold on him and pull away, especially with how weakened you are right now, but he doesn’t. He lets you keep him close and returns the favor, holding you tight and rocking his hips to push all the way back inside you. You sigh and settle back against the pillows to bask in the feeling of him holding you down, grounded and safe. 

He leans up onto his elbows and reaches for one of the water bottles he’d lined up on the nightstand, cracking the cap before holding it gently against your mouth for you to drink. The berries from the bowl come next, and after feeding you a few, he settles back over you and sighs.

With his thumb running over your cheek, you drift. 

Maybe it’s the blood loss and two really fucking good orgasms, or the way he’s still inside you, your legs hitched up around his hips while he takes care of you, but your fear is gone as quickly as it started. This is still him. He still looks like himself, tastes like himself, smells and feels and acts like himself. Still in control of himself, even if belatedly. It’s him, and you know you’re safe. 

But in that single moment, that instinctual awareness shifted something aside in your gut. Yes, he is still himself, but that brief flicker of prey instinct was an unexpected, immediate reminder that he is not human. There is something other about him. 

You knew this already, but now you know it. You’ve felt it in the strength of his grip around your wrists  and in the close, fleshy sound of his teeth in your neck.  And, startlingly, it’s intriguing. You are safe with him. You know this in your gut. You have no reason to be afraid of him, but… what if you did? 

Flashes of what-ifs begin to crash through your mind: thoughts of him holding you down with all his strength, letting you thrash and fight against his grip until you’re too exhausted to hold him off from tugging your pants down and using you however he wants; the network of bruises his fingerprints could leave on your throat and arms and thighs, and the way they’d ache deliciously for the next few days; the way his back would look scratched bloody from your nails, and the sounds he might make—guttural growls and savage snarls against your neck as he fucks you like you’re both nothing more than animals.

What it would feel like if he looked at you with eyes red-black with wicked intent and said, run. How your heart would pound as he gave you a thirty-second head start as if you had any chance of outrunning him, as if he knew that the desperation that would build within you in those thirty seconds would flavor your blood so sweetly. 

What it would feel like for him to hunt you down like prey.

It’s like the door to something dark and primal in your brain and your gut is slowly unlocking as you consider the possibilities of what could happen if he leaned into his natural instincts. If he acted like the apex predator he is.

You shiver. He notices and presses a gentle kiss to your hair.

“Your heart’s racing,” he says curiously. “What’re you thinking about?”

And really, how could you ever ask him for something like that?

You file it away to think about more later. For now, you simply squirm against him contentedly and say, “Nothing.”

He leans up on his elbows and says playfully, “I don’t believe that for a second,” but he leaves it alone in favor of giving you your favorite of all his smiles.

It's the big grin that always makes you smile and laugh in response. It’s a cheesy smile, overexaggerated and goofy, but you love it. It’s cute, how he squeezes his eyes shut and his nose scrunches up, but there’s something sweeter about this smile in the way he’s showing you all his teeth, the fangs prominent and obvious. Almost as if it’s to make you laugh as much as it is a show of comfort and gentle vulnerability. It’s an “I trust you to see me” reminder that makes your heart feel huge as your eyes soften on him.

You pull him down again to kiss the smile off his face, and again, you relax into him. Again, and again, and again.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

can you write a comfort fic for ak jason? whenever i see this man i just want to hug him 😔😔😔

I have some fics where Joker comforts him... does that count? (jk anon 😜)

What kind of comfort are you looking for? If you're into xReader fic I have a few:

The Sus Boy Next Door (ao3)

Touch (ao3)

Cocoon (ao3)

I also have lots of comfort planned for my Arkhamverse series, I just haven't gotten there yet 😅

P.S. AK Jay's s/o helping him through a panic attack 💕

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 19

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.6k

a/n: Two more New Orleans chapters after this. Don't forget to visit my pinterest board "Running Like Water".

The section labeled "The Trip" has some reference's there. Enjoy lovies.

Masterlist

Abandon the thought. Forget it. A selfish, irresponsible and senseless idea, just like the thought of a family with you. Javi walked ahead of Felipe in silence after the foolish suggestion, hadn't he known Javier would have married you in an instant if the timing was right? If you weren't Frankie’s sister, if he wasn't leaving. He couldn't take you to Colombia, absolutely not. Wasn't safe, he almost told Felipe bringing Gina along wouldn't be a great idea either. But god did Javi’s stomach turn at the thought. Stirring with fear and yearning. He knew you'd never go along with a plan like that, you were fresh out of college figuring out your own career, how selfish would it be for him to expect that you would drop everything, family included, for his career ventures. 

Cheeks flush once the night air hits his face as he walks out to the rooftop pool, a bar lining its left side. Irresponsible idea.

Would you pick out the furniture? He’d let you.

Hands digging into his pocket and striking his lighter to smoke. He hears Felipe stopping, he must've found his fiance.

 He just called you his girlfriend for the first time today, it doesn't feel like enough. Juvenile, he knows he'd want you to be his wife, eventually. After Colombia, not everyone works out like Gina and Felipe.

You could teach in Colombia. You were so good with kids.

Relaxed when he sees you. Breath catches in his throat. Your back is facing him as you sit at the bar, drink in hand. Lean shoulders exposed, no, entire back exposed with a dip just below your back dimples. Those dimples, his thumb fit there perfectly when he’s driving into you from behind. Hair laying on one shoulder. 

An angel alone at the bar. His angel. Its sudden, instantaneous, all anxieties of his talk with Felipe fades at the sight of the soft slope of your nose then lips. 

Magenta shines from behind the bar lighting your smile, bright and wide as you nod to whoever is catching your attention. Your exposed back illuminated in a waving cerulean from the reflection of the pool lights. Pet Shop Boys ringing in his ears. You are the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on. Your brows screw in concern and your smile falls a bit, shoulders slouching. 

Javi’s mustache twitches at the change in mood as he walks across the poolside, toward you. His eyes dart to the man next to you, he has that look in his eyes. A lustful look. Javier’s stomach flips at that. A fiery and intense jealousy he thought he was immune to settling bone deep. He remembers attempting to swallow down that biting envy when he found out you had gotten a boyfriend while he was gone in Houston. But this is different, that was juvenile, you're his now. 

The second he reaches you he places his hand on your lower back, wedging himself in the space between you and the man. Your eyes go doe as you look up to Javi with relief. A smile growing on your glossy lips, Javi cranes his head to kiss you quick. “Hi baby.” You mutter against his lips and he feels the most primal he’s ever felt. All his, mine, mine. He kisses you again like you two had been apart for years. Your lips tasted fruity from whatever you had to drink tonight. He was always the one to call you all sorts of pet names so you calling him baby in public has him urging to pull you off this bar seat and drag you back to the hotel room. 

Fuck it, he kiss you again, “How much have you had to drink?” He asks with genuine curiosity devoid of judgment. You scrunch your nose, giving him a tipsy smile and Javi just chuckles, rubbing his hand on your back, cold. “You cold?” You shake your head a no, Javi nearly melts at how perfect you look tonight. He was forever indebted to whoever made this dress.

From his left the man he long forgotten about clears his throat. Javier’s entire demeanor changes in an instant, you spin in your stool to face the man. “Javi–this is… Drew, he works at LSU, anthropology professor.” You beam, your own hand grabbing at Javi’s suit blazer, giving Drew a line of view. Javier lets you move him but he isn't fond of the man, he saw the way he looked at you. 

Drew’s face is slightly bemused, staring at you and back at Javier before he extends his hand. Javier takes it anyway, giving him a firm shake. “Nice to meet you–sorry I’m just a bit confused-”

“Jesus–I’ve gotta pee, I’ll be back.” You jump to your feet unsteadily, Javier catches your elbow to balance you on your heels. You let out a small snort of embarrassment. 

“I can come with.” Javi suggests and you frown, waving a drunken hand, no before walking on your own. Your hips swaying with your struts, lower back dangerously giving a sneak peak of whatever set you had under the dress. Javier watches your every move until you're entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you. 

Javi shakes his head, no more drinks for you. He sits in your stool, beckoning the bartender over. Whiskey, Jim Beam. Javi smiles at the man next to him before sipping. Drew seems to be itching to say something to him. His brows screwing, hands fidgeting with his beer during the awkward silence. Awkward to him, Javier was on quite the power trip knowing he was making whats-his-face intimidated. 

“Look man I mean no disrespect-”

“Good.” Javi cuts, his low tone causing Drew to frown further. 

“I just didn't assume she was with someone, she was just dancing with some girl all night and sat at this bar alone, you know looking like that.” 

Javi’s nostrils flare, he sips. He wasnt going to get rowdy, he really fucking badly wanted to get rowdy, but this was your trip. Your little vacation, god forbid Javier flips out on some guy for flirting with you. He’d be in jail for life if he loses his shit every time you get hit on. He chooses his battles. Still, he's up for a bit of verbal confrontation. “Looking like what?”

Javi takes in the looks of this man for the first time, his protective bone striking deeper, noticing the aging spots on the man's face. Hair thinning at its sides, age lines at his eyes. This man had to be at least fifty. Javier's chest rises like an animal prepared to assert dominance, he exhales settling himself. Eyes snapping to the bathroom door. 

Drew shakes his head, “Call me old fashioned but I would never let my women leave the house in something like, especially if I wasn't there.”

Call me old fashioned, I would just call you old.

Javier bites it back, his cheeks warming with anger but he controls himself, for you. “Good luck with hitting on young women in bars if you still believe women are things to be controlled.” Javi chuckles, his eyes find you swinging the door open, apologizing to the person waiting by it. A smile bright on your face as you dance your way towards the bar, lord you were drunk. Grabbing a martini from a waiter before stopping at the dance floor to dance by yourself. Hair swaying with your little hip movements. 

Drew watches you too and shakes his head again. Javi hopes it falls off next time. 

“Women these days, no home training and classless. Us men don't have to sit and take it. You seem too far gone though.” He sneers, eliciting an eye roll from Javier. Could the man be more cliche, an old geezer who he couldn't have the pretty young thing at the bar so he resorts to complaining about women as a whole. Javier met a few of these insecure men at the academy, that's when he knew maybe he didn't belong in that environment. A group of hormonal sexually repressed losers who power-tripped with a gun and badge. He thinks of the year he spent as a cop and sees a different person. He can't believe he thinks, thank God for the DEA. 

Javier sips his drink and watches you proudly. “Yeah I am far gone.” Not caring to give into the lowlife. The DJ transitions into Lucky Star by Madonna and you squeal with a jump, your martini spilling the slightest on the dance floor and your twirling to the synth beat. Javier wished he had his camcorder to film you losing yourself on the floor. It wasn't like you to be this out there in public, liquid courage was a real concept, Javier thinks. 

“She was flirting with me by the way.” Drew says it in a geeky matter of fact tone and Javier can't help but smile. You would never, not in a million years. Javier's jealousy only manifested in protectiveness, never has he ever feared you reciprocating any sort of attention you might receive. 

“Andrea!” Javi calls your name, beckoning you from the dance floor. You pause your dancing and grab a fistful of your dress to prevent yourself from tripping over the long fabric while you hurry over. Drew’s face drops slightly when you approach the two men. 

You let go of your dress and flick a piece of hair from your face, taking a sip from the martini. Hand on Javier's shoulder to stable yourself. Javier looks down to smile at his lap at your oblivion. “What?” You ask breathlessly, “It better be good, you know how I feel about Madonna.”

Javi glares down Drew’s face which is now devoid of color while his hand holds your bare back. Goosebumps rising against his palm when his fingertips trace the hem where the dress begins again. Javi drives, taking the opportunity to slide his hand right inside the front of your dress, holding your waist with his palm and his large fingers splaying across your pitted belly. His hand strained against the tight fabric. Javi knew he was protective of you, but this was nearly out of his character, holding you so shamelessly. “Drew was telling me you were flirting with him.”

Your smile drops slightly giving a tight browed look at the older man. “I was just being friendly.” 

Drew is floored, humiliated. “You asked me what I did for a living?”

Javier almost laughs at the desperation in the man’s voice. You scoff and Javier makes note to brace himself. You’ve been quite fiery today, first with Julian. Now that you’re a bit drunk Javier isn’t sure what to expect from you, regardless he’s a bit excited. Considering your sound of disbelief Javier knows he isn’t getting his hopes up. 

He takes a sip of his whiskey as he watches your eyes narrow. “And?” You bite.

Drew adjusts his suit jacket. “Typically when a woman alone at a bar asks a man what he does for a living, he's going to expect sex—“

“Uh-uh. Don’t try to paint this like I’m some lady of the night. You introduced yourself and I just asked what you did for work, small talk? Like how’s the weather?” You take a sip from your martini. 

The professor's nostrils flare his cheeks red. “ I offered you a drink—“

“Which I denied, I was trying to tell you I was waiting on my boyfriend and you cut me off to ask my age.” Your cheeks are blazing, maybe you were an angry drunk. Somehow it was the most fitting discovery Javier has made about you. 

“Alright, let’s just go back to the room.” Javi whispers into your side and you shoot him an angry glare. Removing his hand from your stomach, Javier is beyond turned on by that. What is it with him getting hard every time you reprimand him? 

“No—I’m not done talking.” Javier’s eyebrows shoot up and he bites back a smile before looking at the bartender, pointing to his cup beckoning him for a refill. 

Drew combs through his hair, “Listen woman, you come to bar half naked expect to be-“

Your jaw is agape. “Watch your fucking mouth.” Javier snaps, he’s unsure if he can just let you handle this and take the backseat anymore. The bartender grabs Javier’s drink and refills it. He wished he was in Laredo, he would’ve spun this losers jaw minutes ago. But you, you detach from Javier completely. 

“Listen—professor fuckface.” You wave a drunken finger in his face, “I don't know who you expect to fuck you but you better start aiming lower… actually how about you leave women alone in general–”

The man's face reddens and Javi decides he needs to prevent a real altercation. If the man lays a hand on you Javi can't promise he wont kill the man with his bare hands. Bad look for the DEA. “Alright it's time to go.” Javi stands and grabs your arm. You let out an annoyed huff, cursing out Javi now. 

“Maldito idiota! Javi I swear to god I did not flirt with that man!” You trip over your heels while he pulls you through the thickening crowd. Javier’s brows furrow, had you thought? “Even if I was single I have some standards!”

Javi laughs, pressing the elevator button. “I’m not upset with you baby.” He drops your arm and your glazed eyes soften, your lips cracking into a smile. Moving your hair out of your face from the distant wind on the rooftop.

You snake a hand around his waist when the elevator dings, the two of you walk in sync into the lift. “I just thought when you grabbed me to leave–”

“No-he was getting angry, I was just trying to avoid a real confrontation.” You frown, Javier lets you go to click the 4th floor button. Coming back to you, taking a wanton look at your figure in the dress. Your eyes are half lidded, he knows that look all too well. You take a step closer to him again, laying your hands flat on his jacket. Dusting off whatever you find on the leather. Getting on your tiptoes, he kisses you quick and chaste, parting as quick as it began. 

Your eyes narrow, your lips downturned. “I wore this for you.” It came out with a pout, annoyed with his sexless kiss. 

Javier chuckles at that, “Beyakka” He mocks you, knowing that sort of slang was unique to you and your family. “How much have you had to drink?”

You let out an aggressive eye roll and groan, “You keep asking me the same questions!” 

“I’m just concerned considering you would never admit to wearing anything specifically for me.” 

You shot him a glare, “Two martinis and 2 shots. I just feel buzzed if anything. I can handle my liquor.” Stepping apart from him you face forward, eyeing the declining floors. Javi bites away a smirk watching your skin rising with goosebumps. You shrug, “Just wanted to catch your attention is all.”

Javi chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. Hugging you from behind, holding your lithe form tight to his front. Craning his head into your shoulder, “You’ve got all my attention princesa.” His lips grazing your ear. Teasingly you giggle and wiggle your behind on his crotch, Javi drops his head into your neck. “Andrea–now's not the best…” He warns.

The elevator dings and you’re on your floor, you let out an annoyed groan and strut ahead of him. And it’s the way he could see the small dimples on your back and the tiniest hickey on your shoulder—he gives in. Pacing himself to walk ahead of you down the dimly lit hall, you let out a huff of frustration when he stops at your door. Patting his pocket for the keys, he unlocks the door and pushes you inside in a deft move. 

You nearly slip out a giggle but you’re tense the second he lays both hands on the dips of your waist. His broad form pressing against you from behind.

“Get on all fours.” His lips graze your exposed ear, throbbing intensely down below. You weren’t drunk, a bit buzzed, tipsy, loose. Irrelevant, all you knew is whatever was in that martini heightened your senses. You’d wanted to climb into Javi’s lap and make out with for hours like some depraved teen. 

Why lie, when Javier slid his hand into your dress in his protective hold you fought the urge to take a sinful seat on his thigh and release some tension in front of the professor. 

Horny was an understatement.

Without second thought you drop to your knees. Long brown hair pooling at the sides of your face, arching like a kitten before slightly straightening, Javi lets out a throaty grunt at that. Holy fuck were your cheeks hot, you bite a smile. It’s quiet, like Javi is figuring what he wants to do with you next. Fingers curling on the hotel rug, filthy, you were practically dripping. 

“Crawl to the bed. Don’t get on it.” 

You smirk, face hidden from him and you comply. A slight head rush developed from the position but you inch your way further into the room, knowing this position has your dress dipping lower almost ruining your lovely surprise. 

And he’s inching behind you, the lovely tune of his belt buckle jangling comes from behind and  you’re sickeningly close to letting out a whimper. Thankfully you make it to the door of the bed. You experimentally look over your shoulder. You nearly regret the decision because now your stomach is somehow twisting in more anticipation. He’s looking down at you with a hand rubbing himself, you want to release him, put him in your mouth like earlier. You want him to stop being cruel, he’s made you wait enough for him. “You look perfect, arch more, I want to see all of you querida.”

On display for him, only him you dip lower perching your behind up. It seems to do it for him because in a split second he’s bending down and wrapping his forearms on your lower stomach and lifting you weightless onto the bed above you. 

Thrown on your back you finally get to see all of him and god if the low look of desire isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen you don’t know what could come next. But oh, his palms push your knees to your chest and your lovely loose dress is pooling in bunches of fabric at your bent waist. Your aching cunt on full display for him, save the panties. And that look—right there. His face of realization, the slight tick of his jaw, twitch of his stache and the crease between his brows deepening—then his glance back up to me. 

“Dirty girl.” He grits, squeezing the inside of your thigh and oh he’s so close you couldn’t care to save face. “Dancing around all night with nothing on under your dress.” 

“Please fill me up—please just put it in Javi.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your pleas, his eyes are razor focused on your cunt and he drops to your knees. “I’m gonna eat you till you cry alright?” He kisses your inner thigh, hot and wet. 

You nod frantically, “O-okay.” It’s rushed and broken. A gasp rips through your chest when a tight slap hits your thigh, the skin rippling. 

“Say my name.” He demands. Kissing over the red mark on your thigh. 

“Yes Javier.” You whimper through gritted teeth, wanting to abandon the whole dress, just wanting to be nude to feel him completely. No time because his kisses begin to trail closer in approval. A centimeter apart each time until he’s there, you, still a leaky girl in front of him. Forgetting the sweet slow kisses, he goes for the kills. He consumes you.

You jolt almost immediately as his tongue starts off with lapping your clit. You’re wiggling and panting, your view just the top of his head and the grip he has on the top of your thighs. You’d frame it if you could, Javi just making a home for himself between your legs. And he’s moaning writhing too, you pulled to the edge of the bed while his knees stay sunken on the floor. He’s grinding his own hips into the bed and you whimper at the yearning pit you have to have him inside again. How had it been that you allowed your ex to skip over this part, with every suck and lick you were unraveling below him. 

“So soft, never getting over it.” He kisses your cunt softly to give himself space to praise. 

You smirk, your own hands groping at your clothed breasts. “Softer inside.” You jolt your hips a bit and Javi mumbles against your cunt before sinking his tongue into your tight hole and it shrinks around him, desperate for his cock. You had him twice today but there was something about being here with him that sent your libido on overdrive. It felt like a honeymoon, like the two of you were on a high you could never get down from. 

His fingers slide through, taking the place of his tongue and he dips two thick fingers inside of you, watches you squirm. “You’re mine, right querida?” There it is. That sweet desperation. The hand offered for reassurance, the two of you sure enjoyed hearing it as much as you enjoyed asking for it. 

Your brows screw, oh you were devastatingly close. God you were his, his, his—“Yours— oh fuck yes baby all yours. Yours, yours,yours.”

 Oh Javi likes that, he removes his fingers and they go back to the bottoms of your thighs, pushing your knees as far as they can to your chest. He doesn’t let up, he does as he promises because the stimulation is so much— you’re crying in pure bliss. 

His hot heavy tongue licks and flicks at your clit so aggressively— so skilled your stomach pits in jealousy. “Who-who taught you this— how do you do it so—“ Your body decides jealousy has no place here because-“I’m gonna cum—“

It isn’t fair to call it a warning because in an instant you’re dripping in come. His mouth slowing and lowering again to collect from where you release.  Leaving you wet kisses and sucks, the same way he kisses you above, he kisses you below. Your hands find his hair, forcing him back up to you. His mustache glistening while he smiles smugly at your withering pants and frantic hands. Hand falling to the back of his neck and tonguing him down. His wide body between your legs. Giving him sloppy drunk kisses, all tongue and teeth. And god you need him inside. 

He very obviously does too. His hardness embarrassingly evident through his pants. You slip a little moan—“Use your words, don’t know what you want with all those little noises.” He grits, kissing your cheek then below your ear, down your neck. Your hands roam his chest until you’re right above his unbuttoned pants. 

“I want you—I want you to fuck me like this.” You say—no-demand. The two of you hadn’t fucked missionary since the second time. You were feeling awfully depraved, you just wanted to sloppily kiss him while he rocked into you. 

He nods into your neck, sucking and nipping. “Anything-anything you want.” He whispers, and despite having him lick you to your climax nothing flips your stomach quite like this, like him leaving you sweet kisses and giving it to you your way. Too eager to strip down, your pull him from his jeans and spread your legs farther to give him access. “Put it in baby.” 

You blindly drag his cock between your folds while Javier attempts to lift his head to kiss you but the second you guide himself to prod your aching cunt his head falls. And with eyes pinched you feed him into the mouth. He lets out a groan so deep you feel his throat vibrating on your own shoulder. “Fucking perfect—so tight.” 

“Too big–” Warming him, your head is so light you could tell him you loved him and would never think twice. This is dangerously intimate. The words have been on the top of your tongue the entire day, can he tell? Will he taste it when he kisses you again? “Used to touch myself thinking of you.” You admit, what is it about him that makes your shame cease to exist? He moans at that and begins rocking into you. 

“Tell me more—“

“My ex never made me come—fuck—would go to the bathroom after and finish within minutes thinking of you.” Javi grumbles, quickening his pace. “Lucky your names were nearly the same, used to moan your name and he never noticed.”

“Jesus you’re killing me.” Javi kisses your neck some more and hits a spot so devastatingly deep from this angle you shriek in pleasure, another confession slipping your lips.

“Had this fantasy—would imagine you coming home to me—our home and letting you fuck me senseless. Whenever—ngh- you wanted.” He stutters into you, filling you so right. You could feel the bulbous head of his hitting right where you needed. “Pictured you taking care of me and would come so hard baby—“

His hand flattens on your lower stomach and he presses down, somehow tightening everything below. You let out a tiny whimper, “No more—gonna make me come too fast.” He whines his hips into you. Keeping himself slow and steady for a moment. It felt so good—so full you couldn’t give time to reel in the pillow talk confessions you so effortlessly spilled. How you would cry in shame when you were alone after the guilt kicked in. 

The midst of your pleasure, your eyes search the side of your boyfriend's face. A sudden wash of panic and dread filling your heart. 

Why do you have to leave? Why does everyone , take me with you Javi-

“Thought about you the whole time while I was gone, felt like Colombia became too real during that meeting.” He admits, planting a warm kiss to your shoulder, his pace so slow you feel something else swirl at the pit of your stomach. He leans on his elbow and slips his hand between you two. His fingers swirling lazily on your bundle of nerves. Words caught in your throat, please don’t leave me. I can't bare it. “Felipe suggested we just get married and go to Colombia together.” 

Your eyes jolt open and you sobered at that. You turn to look him in the eyes and there’s something there, that look you know. Adoration, hope, pleading? All three, you know it’s all three. What are you pleading for Javi, I can give it to you. “Yeah?” You whisper, achingly close to your second orgasm, you play it cool. You kiss his cheek quickly, “What’d you say?” There it is, eyes welling up and throat tight. He doesn’t seem to notice, he continues his lovely strokes and antagonizing traces on your clit. 

He’s silent until he isn’t. 

“Laughed it off you know—it’s irresponsible—unrealistic. Forget these people don’t know what it’s like back in Laredo.” He says brokenly, he’s close to you too. Your face drops, color drains from your face. You thank the dim lights of the room because you begin to tear. Burying your head into his neck, you whisper harder, to replace that dread that fills you. Oblivious to your reaction he complies with your request. And for a moment it feels so good you nearly forget. He’s removing his fingers from your clit and moving them to grip at your hip bone. Setting a brutal pace into you. And he’s back to kissing you, your eyes screw shut at the reminder that he’s real, he’s with you. That you love him so desperately, so complete, entire and whole you don’t know how you could find anyone else. 

I love you in a place where there’s no space or time. 

“I lo-“

“I never want to leave you.” He cuts before pressing into you hard and the both of you reach your peak. A head light crashing orgasm, his open mouth kisses drag to your ear where he moans, drawing out your momentary bliss. You squeeze around him so tightly, you could practically feel the spend you’re pulling from him. You’re leaking all over him, right to base and down to his balls. His hand on your hip coming up to your clothed breast with a firm as he slowly goes soft inside you. And you see white, keeping your mouth purely for kisses and whimpers, afraid of saying too much. 

Afraid of being too real for him. 

“Housekeeping is going to have a field day in this room.” He chuckles, planting a kiss right on the delicate arch of your cheekbone. So exhausted from it all, the car ride, the sex, the drinking—you giggle back. Hiding all the strange yearning you felt seconds ago.

“I’d quit my job.” Javi drops his head in your neck and grumbles there too. His palm still firmly placed on the swell of your breast through the black fabric. You look down at the sight. “So do you like the dress?”

He lifts his head to look at you, face all red and sweaty. You bring your hands up to trace the slopes and curves on him, how you loved his nose. Your nail traces from his temple to its strong arch to the top of nostrils where it’s soft. He gives you a lazy smirk when your finger finds his cupid's bow. “I’m still inside of you, you know that right?” Your brows shoot up and giggle at your own silly question. The two of you are chuckling and intertwined. Your finger turns to a palm as you cup his cheek in a hold. Just taking a look at him. Suddenly he's shy under your gaze, his eyes diverting from your own. 

As if being loved was too intimate for him. 

“You are the most handsome man I've ever known.” You admit, peering up for a second to kiss him chastly. The timid glance switches and he's back to being cocky ol’ Javi.

“Oh yeah?” He kisses you again, “Hmm… tell me more.”

You thumb his cheek, and he turns his head to the left to kiss his palm. “And I’ve always had this like… really big crush on you.” 

His eyes widened in fake shock. “Really?!” 

“Oh yeah… too bad you didn't like me back then.” You tease.

Javi shakes his head and removes himself from you. Your cunt makes a sound that warms your cheeks and he plops down next to you. “You love to alter the story–making it seem like it was some one sided thing.”

“Wasn't it?” You challenge. It was a mixture. Part of you still believed that it was only you. That you had crushed a bit too hard and he had just been a good friend, the kiss being a moment between two teenagers who were too horny for their own good. Then there was what was closest to the truth, that you had a devastatingly painful crush and that Javi had it too and couldn't conceptualize it because it developed while he was already with someone else. 

“I liked you so much I had to move away.” 

You shake your head in annoyance, sitting up in bed. Your dress falling back over your knees and the sight must be funny because Javier lets out a throaty chuckle at the sight of you. You crane your neck to look into the mirror at the corner of the room. You’re  met with your blowout tussled and your mascara streaked. “Not funny.” You frown and he reaches his arm up to swipe a thumb under your eye, cleaning whatever makeup you had left over. You in turn grip his wrist. “You liked me so much you pretended I didn't exist for six years.” You bite, and that's all it is, bite. His lips quirk and you're so happy the two of you are in a place to make light of it all. 

“I would have been saved from a whole lot of suffering if that were true.”

“You like to suffer.” Shaking your head and placing his hand back down to his chest. You bring your arms over your head to pull the halter of the dress down, stripping yourself nude in one quick pull, tossing the dress to the floor. Mindlessly you tuck yourself under the covers, rolling your neck and tossing your hair over one shoulder. You look back to Javi who has his jaw clenched and an unamused look. “What?”

He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Nothing. If I say what I want to, we'll never get any sleep.”

“We’re on vacation we can afford to lose some.” 

He grumbles a noise of disapproval before stripping himself down and tossing his clothes to the side. He settles in next to you, keeping a safe distance considering from what you saw he was getting a hard on already. “We can't. I have the last meeting early in the morning.”

Mid yawn, “Oh please, we can sleep after your meeting.”

Reaching over to shut off the lamp he mumbles something in Spanish about me being worse than a man. “I’ve got a surprise for you tomorrow.” 

Lips upturning in the dark, you couldn't care to make space. You scooch into him, laying your head right on his chest. “You got me a surprise.”

“Yes.” He says nonchalantly, almost grumpy and god you loved him.

[mysticalmallard]

Summary: Tig messes up and hurts the one he cares about

Word count: 458

Pairing: Tig Trager x OC (can be read as xreader little to no description)

Main Masterlist || Rules and Requests

Swing and a miss

You were drinking with Tig at some random run-down bar just outside of Bakersfield.  

When the next thing you know you are standing in the middle of a huge bar fight. Of course, Tig is right in the middle of it. 

As the fight was calming down you went up to Tig as he was about to take a swing at a boy, no older than 15, as you grabbed his arm, he took a swing at you which connected right in-between your eyes. The impact of the punch made you fall flat on your ass and made you grab your nose frozen in shock.

After this the entire room fell silent, everyone just waiting to see what would happen next. Tig was absolutely horrified at what he had just done. His face immediately paled, and his body failed him, he wanted to run over and hold you, but all he could do was stare at you with a guilt-ridden face. It was left to Juice to pull you up and back onto your feet. after he inspected your, now blood covered, nose and chin he gently corralled you into one of the bathrooms away from prying eyes. 

The moment you were behind the door the bar erupted into loud accusations of whose fault it was, but Tig could not hear any of them he was still in shock. He hit you. He actually just hit you. What has he done? He could not lose you. As he slowly came back to reality everyone else had stopped their arguments and were all just staring at him.  

Chibbs was the first to approach Tig “you alright mate?” 

No words left Tigs mouth he just slowly shook his head with a look of pain on his face. What the fuck was wrong with him why does he mess up everything good in his life?  

A few minutes pass you and juice still haven't left the bathroom. He desperately wants to go in and see if you were okay but he didn’t know if you wanted to be anywhere near him right now...god he feels like shit how could he be so careless around you he should have stayed out of the stupid fight which was over nothing and stayed by your side to make sure you were safe, instead he was he let his petty rage take over him.  

By now everyone was just sat at the bar giving tig a hard time, joking about how much trouble he was going to be in and that they didn’t want to be him... 

Tig was not looking forward to the argument that was sure to unfold the moment you step out of the bathroom he was dead, and he knew it. 

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Chocolate and Pining

Jim Halpert x GN!Reader

PART ONE

[TABLE OF CONTENTS]

Check Table of Contents for entire fic summary and Key!

Summary: The cameras arrive and begin their rotation through the office. What will their shiny lens and intrusive questions uncover?

Warnings: canon-compliant cheating (if you count Pam flirting while engaged)

Author's Note: First post of the new rewrite, and Im kinda glad I only post two chapters of this previously because I went through and changed the entire thing from third person pov to first, to match along with the rest of the xReaders i’ve been writing.

[ ֎” ]

"Alright," You begin, your legs crossed while you tap one hand on your thigh. "What do I even say?" You huff a little laugh, shaking your head. You sat on an uncomfortable grey plastic chair, blinds slightly drawn behind you to block the view of the rest of the office working. You turn around and glance back, looking through the small opening available and noting three different cameras roaming the office and zooming in on people.

"What do we do here?" You repeat the question you're given, turning back toward your own interview camera. "Well, this is Dunder Mifflin, Scranton branch. We're a paper-pushing company." You stop for a moment before the producer behind the camera does a sort of wave as if urging you on. "Uh- well, I'm the receptionist here. I took the job almost a year ago. I transfer calls to the department they need to go to, write notes during our meetings- I'm basically Michael's secretary." You awkwardly laugh, glancing at the wall of the conference room shared with Michael's office as if he could hear through it. You wouldn’t doubt it if someone told you he stood there with his ear pressed to the wall.

"What's the most interesting thing about this job?" You furrow your brows in concern, uncrossing your legs and sitting forward. "Look, I don't know what you guys were expecting when you came here with a whole film crew, but we're a paper company. There's literally nothing interesting about working here."

[ ֎” ]

"What's interesting about working here?" Oscar asks, glancing through the blinds before leaning closer to the camera, waving his hand as he speaks quieter, "Now I'm not one to gossip, but the big thing going around is the office romance right now. And I'm not talking about Kelly and Ryan getting back together for the fifth time." He laughs shortly at his own joke before continuing. "See, Pam is engaged to Roy, he works here in the shipping warehouse downstairs. They've been together for years and they finally have a wedding date set for about a month or so from now.

"However, Jim has the biggest crush on her, everyone can tell. Before Y/N got here, Pam was the receptionist and Jim was always jumping up and going over to her to flirt constantly. Now, some believe the flirting is still going on while their desks are right next to each other, but I think it's gotten tamped down a bit since Pam scheduled a date for the wedding.

"And then there's Y/N. They started here when Pam was finally transferred to sales, and the position opened. They actually became quite close to both Pam and Jim pretty quickly, which makes some sense considering Dwight and Michael basically attacked them their first day here." —

[ ֎” ]

"Attacked Y/N? Please," Dwight scoffed, shaking his head, "I was merely preparing the new employee. If you’re not ready for a surprise stab from a ninja on your first day on the job, then I really don’t think you’re ready for work at all.” Dwight huffs out a breath, crossing his arms. “Besides, Jim made me use the dull blade.” He looks away from the camera in a strop, shrugging his shoulders. “If he hadn’t taken my sharp one I wouldn’t have had to pull out the dull one. I had to put extra force behind the attack for it to do anything, so really it’s Jim’s fault for the bruises.

“Michael? He couldn’t hurt a fly.” Dwight scoffs, then scoffs again for emphasis. “The fact that he tripped and fell that day means nothing, he was merely catching himself from falling with the closest available thing to grab. Which happened to be Y/N’s body, which he then happened to pull down with him. An honest mistake, that.”

[ ֎” ]

— "Now," Oscar continued where he left off with a smirk, "You'd think Jim flirting with Pam, and her egging it on while engaged, should be drama enough for you. But, then you have to figure into the equation that Y/N also likes Jim. I have a pretty good view of the receptionist area when Y/N sits in a certain spot, and I can hear whenever they talk to each other... Sometimes.

"Now I don't know if Jim realized he's a little flirty," Oscar wiggles his fingers with this, "But certainly not as much with them as with Pam. But- man, it's almost painful how hopeful Y/N's voice gets when they talk with Jim. Almost, but mostly just entertaining. And of course, none of the three know about this. It's basically the office soap opera at this point, and no one wants to say anything to disrupt the saga."

Oscar leans back, chuckling to himself before glancing at the camera, "Oh, almost everyone. Don't tell Dwight or Michael either, they're sure to give it away." He pats his leg for a second before smirking, "I'm team Pam. Now don’t look at me that way! I would love for Y/N and Jim to get together, but he’s just too obsessed with Pam! And that woman really needs to get herself a new man, that Roy is a real piece. of. work."

[ ֎” ]

"Team Pam or Y/N?" Phyllis asks, her smile soft as she raises a hand to cover a giggle, "Now I don't like drama, but absolutely team Y/N. Pam is engaged, it's inappropriate."

[ ֎” ]

"Team Pam, all the way." Meredith nods, smirking to the camera. "She was here first. Gotta be loyal to the branch."

[ ֎” ]

"Oh! Team Y/N!" Kelly squeals, wiggling her body in excitement.

[ ֎” ]

Jim sits in the seat, smoothing his pant legs down and sighing. "So, uh, what exactly do I say?" He places his chin in his hand, his fingers tapping restlessly against his bottom lip.

"Anything interesting?" Jim repeats, glancing out the window in the general direction of Pam and Y/N before looking back. "I mean, there's nothing really interesting about this job. Toner prices, how much each piece of paper weighs or costs-" Jim sighs, shaking his head and dropping his hand, "Honestly, the only reason I'm still here at this point is probably my friends. Pam, my desk-mate over there, we've been here for a while together. And then there's Y/N, the relatively new hire. Or, are they new?" Jim tilts his head to think about it, squinting his eyes toward the ceiling. "Has it almost been a year already?"

Jim shrugs, smirking before tapping his leg, "Oh, and also pranking Dwight. Gotta make your own fun here."

"What the- Jim!" Dwight suddenly yells, drawing half the office's attention. The other half continued blandly on with their work, used to their antics it would seem. Jim glances wearily over toward Dwight as he lugs something up from his bottom drawer, placing a plate with yellow jello and a stapler floating inside onto his desk. "What did you do?"

Jim struggles to hold back a laugh, his hand curled in front of his face and chin resting on his palm. Instead, he shrugs, leans back and crosses his arms while trying to maintain a poker face. "Nothing, Dwight. By the way, what happened to your stapler there?"

"You should know, you did it!" He sits there for a moment, glaring at Jim before bounding up, running and calling out, "Michael!"

You were half standing behind your reception desk to get a good look, sniggering to yourself about this prank- it was a good one. You look over to Jim and see him give Pam a high-five, mumbling something to each other before Jim looks in your direction and shoots you a full smile instead of the smirk he had been wearing. You smile back, sitting back down in your chair and scooting up closer to your computer.

The camera swings around closer to Jim, listening more in on their conversation. "How did you even do it?" Pam asks and snickers quietly before straightening up suddenly, grabbing her phone to press to her ear in an attempt to look as if she was doing her work as their boss exits his office.

"Let me see, let me see-" Michael finally lays eyes on the prank, laughing loudly. "Wow, just- wow!" He laughs some more, patting Jim on the back. "This is a creative one, good job Jimbo!" Dwight scoffs, moving to be in Michael's line of sight. Michael jumps slightly as if remembering he's the boss before clearing his throat and looking at Jim. "Oh, but don't do it again."

"Do what again?" Jim asks, playing dumb still and raising his eyebrows at Michael. Michael barks a laugh in return and pats his back again before wandering back into his office, mumbling about jello under his breath. Jim turns toward Dwight with a victorious grin while you stand, carrying your lunch box toward the kitchen. You tap Jim's shoulder twice in passing as if to say good job, and Jim barely has enough time to lift a hand to yours as you gently pull away to continue to your destination.

"Get it out," Dwight demands, standing near Jim and glaring at him.

"Get what out?"

"My stapler!"

"Well, it is your stapler, Dwight." Jim turns back toward his computer, chuckling under his breath.

"Oh, and how am I supposed to get it out?"

"I don't know, eat the jello?" Jim suggests, causing Dwight to scoff loudly as he plops in his chair.

"I can't just eat the jello, Jim. I wrote my name in whiteout on the stapler so everyone would know it's mine." Dwight pauses for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "Unless you knew that, and you'd assume I'd eat this. You're trying to poison me!" Jim sighs loudly, widening his eyes toward the camera before shaking his head.

"Ok, and with that, I'm going to take my lunch." He stands, turning to make his way toward the kitchen.

"If you need something to eat, I have a whole plate of jello right here for you Jim!"

Jim enters the kitchen, watching you press a few buttons on the microwave to heat your lunch. He dons a small private smile before sneaking closer behind you, reaching out and grabbing your sides while calling out a quick, "Boo!"

You jump heavily and yelp, turning around quickly with a hand pressed to your chest, panting out your breaths. "Fuckin- Halpert!" You yell out, smacking his arm before slumping against the counter behind you. Taking a few more breaths as Jim bends over laughing, you call out, "Unfair!"

"Oh? Unfair?" Jim replies, grinning toward you, "This is just payback for that email!"

"Hey, I sent that yesterday!"

"And I just opened it today." Jim grinned, not at all sorry, as you remember the jumpscare chain email you had forwarded to him, hoping to see his reaction.

"Well, that's unfortunate. I wanted to see you jump, I must've missed it." You pouted slightly and Jim's face did a small change, becoming softer and crinkling slightly at the eyes. You don’t seem to notice as you turn toward your food once the microwave beeps.

"Yeah, you were being harried by Michael, something about new shoes?" At which you groan loudly, holding up a finger with an eye roll.

"Don't even get me started on that." You thought back to that same morning when Michael came in with muddy shoes, whining about how he had just bought them even though you could’ve sworn you had seen Michael wearing them for the last half a year. How exactly did time pass in Michael's world, you wondered? And how had they gotten muddied? It wasn’t even raining outside!

"If you need to talk about it, I'm here," Jim said, sounding oddly sincere, but then continued quickly, "Although if the opposite is true I'm also very willing to go into detail about the newest book I just finished of my series."

"Oh? You mean your nerdy novels about swords and dragons?" You reply, raising your eyebrows and smirking at Jim as you stirred your lunch. “Aren’t you supposed to be a jock or something?”

"Don't pretend like you don't love the series, you listen to me ramble about it every week," Jim replied, never losing his smile and never looking away from you. His focus felt like fire on you, and there was nothing you could do to put it out. You weren’t even sure you wanted to. “And it is possible for someone to like sports and reading at the same time.”

"Hmm." You hum, pretending to think about it. It really wasn't a hard choice- while the stories sounded interesting enough by themselves, it was Jim telling them to you that made the whole week worth it. Listening to Jim become so passionate about something he found interesting was almost infectious, you practically waited for these days just to gain inspiration for your own writing. And if you happen to write fanfiction about the stories you've never actually read- well, Jim didn't need to know about that. "Alright, fine, if you insist. So what's new with Salamander and Patterson?"

"It's Sally and Parker," Jim began in disbelief, rolling his eyes fondly as you pick up your lunch, the both of you moving to the break room. You had known that, of course, but watching Jim try to explain for the seventh time why Sally is absolutely not a salamander and is, in fact, more like a snake than anything else just brings a smile to your face and a warm feeling to fill your chest.

You sat down at a chair, thankful for the empty break room as Jim wandered over to the vending machines. He put in some money and roughly pushed a few buttons, complaining all the while about his book characters. He ends up chuckling and shaking his head as he states that he needed to 'start from the beginning.'

A packet of double chocolate chip cookies lands in front of you, and you grin brightly while reaching for the gift. "My favourite, how did you know?" You look up to see Jim looking quickly away, not noticing the red starting to stain his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

"You eat it every week," Jim replies quietly as if that explains it, fetching his own lunch. "Anyway so then Parker-"

It was later in the day, and you sat bored at your desk, a word document pulled up on your computer that was half written with a personal story. Though you weren't actively typing it, instead spinning a pen in your hand as you stare in the direction of the sales associates.

"I honestly don't know what I'm looking for here," Jim speaks lowly, chuckling as he held Pam's hand in both of his, her palm facing upward. He looks up into her eyes as she giggles, shaking her head.

"No, look closer, here," Pam takes one of his hands, taking a finger and tracing a line on her palm as if this would help him read it, "This is the life line. Or- wait, maybe it's the heart line?" Pam giggles again, though misses Jim's almost yearning gaze as he holds her hand a little tighter.

"I don't know what either of those mean, Beesly," Jim replied, his voice low, and Pam finally looked up. Their eyes met and you finally had to look away, the pain in your chest becoming almost too much to bear.

And, almost as if on cue, Roy pushes in the door to the office, walking forward with his hand holding a leather jacket over his shoulder. You glance up quickly, about to start your usual introduction before realizing who it is and clearing your throat loudly, throwing a worried glance toward Jim. He glances over in time, thankfully, yanking his hands back as if burned when spotting Roy turning the corner. It seemed as though Roy hadn't noticed, smiling at his fiance as he approached before leaning down and kissing her forehead.

You watched the pained expression cross Jim's face for just a moment before he managed to school his features into a poker face. You felt for him, honestly. You knew how it felt when the person you liked, well, liked someone else. You just wanted him to be happy above all else, and you knew pining after Pam was not it. If only Pam wouldn't egg it on constantly, maybe he'd have a chance to get over her.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah, let me just pack my things and print out one more file, I'll meet you down there," Pam replied to her fiance, smiling blindingly bright at him before they kiss once more. Roy turned around, passing the reception desk before grabbing a few pieces of candy that you kept out on the top of the desk. He popped one in his mouth before choking dramatically, turning around and coughing a few times before looking directly at you.

"M&Ms? Really? I liked it better when it was Skittles."

"I've never put out Skittles, I like chocolate."

"It doesn't matter what you like, it's for the guests, isn't it? Pam used to put out Skittles and no one complained." He tossed the remaining few pieces onto the floor beside him before walking out of the office. Pam ran up quickly, a worried look on her face.

"I'm so sorry, he must've had a bad day-"

"It's fine, Pam, really." You paste on a smile, annoyed not just at Roy but at Pam for earlier. Pam nodded slowly, her smile regretful as if knowing how you felt before turning around and pressing the last few clicks on her computer to shut it down. She gathered her things in silence, sliding her newly printed paper into a file on her desk. Meanwhile, you stared at your computer screen, not really reading what was there.

"Bye Jim. Bye Y/N, see you tomorrow!" Pam called out, and you replied with a little wave before pressing save on your word document, downloading it to your flash drive. The door to the office hadn't even closed before a new presence was at your desk, leaning over to try and spy on their computer. You looked up to see Jim smirking, looking directly into your eyes.

"Did you close that document just 'cause I came over? Hiding something from me, Y/L/N?" His teasing tone had you smiling against your better judgement, leaning back and crossing your arms.

"Well, I wouldn't want you discovering my master plan. It's a secret for a reason, you know." Jim laughed at your joke, leaning back and taking a handful of M&Ms to pop into his mouth. Watching this, you felt their face deflate just slightly before you hear Jim’s whispers.

"You know, I think I prefer the M&Ms over Skittles any day." He winks, then dumps more from his handful into his mouth, walking back to his desk to finish up his day. You once again couldn't help the small smile that adorned your face in response.

[ ֎” ]

"I've always had a thing for chocolate," You said, shrugging, "I'm the one who sits there all day anyway." You bite your lip for a moment, trying to suppress a smile. "Besides, who cares what Roy thinks? Other people in the office like them, that's all that matters."

[ ֎” ]

"What kind of person do I like?" Jim makes a baffled face, blinking a few times before resituating in his seat. "I don't know why that's relevant, but if I had to choose..." He trails off, his eyes taking on a far-off look, "Someone sweet, smart- someone who laughs at my jokes while also making me laugh. Someone who will help me with my pranks and listen to my ramblings." He looks back up to the camera with a small smile, "Someone with a sweet tooth that I could spoil."

"You coming, Y/L/N?" Jim calls out, the office dark. You're the last two in the building now, it seems, and you glance up from your desk where you're standing to smile at him.

"Oh, I just have a few more papers to print, you go on ahead."

"Don't work too hard, Y/L/N. The effort isn't worth it." You laugh in response, waving him off. You both exchange a quiet goodbye before you wander over to the copier, which was printing multiple copies of what looked like Dwight's face on the 'Scranton Strangler' wanted poster. The camera swings between the pages and back to you, where you only shrug and smirk.

"It'll be funny," Is your only excuse as you take the pages and start hanging them on the pillars of the building around the office, sliding an extra copy into Jim's desk as a memento.

[ksnfangz]

I WISH YOU KNEW ( How much I love you ) | P.S.H

paring : Sunghoon x fem!reader

word count : roughly 3.0k

A/N : This is pretty much just sunghoon missing his ex girlfriend… while thinking about how his childhood fucked up his view of love… ( Also this is just Do it all again but I turned it into an xreader and it’s no longer multi chaptered since i’m discontinuing the series… sorry ) This hasn’t been proof read/edited and sorry if the writing his shit ( what’s new tbh 🥲 )

As he opened the familiar black door the brunette was instantly swarmed with a sense of relaxation as he stepped into the warmth of the small coffee shop.

walking up to the counter he was greeted with a kind smile from the cashier who quickly took his order before going to hand it off to the barista.

A few minutes later his name is called, the brunette carefully grabbing his hot beverage mutters a thank you to the worker.

Moving over toward the bay window where he'd usually find himself sitting, Sunghoon was surprised to see his usual spot occupied by someone .

Though something about the girl seemed familiar, the bucket hat she was wearing hid her eyes as she peacefully read the book resting in her lap. Wired earphones plugged into her ears.

Despite not being able to see her face the yellow sweater she wore looked all too familiar.

It was your favorite sweater. . .

The one you wore on the day you first met, and the same one you wore the day he called things off.

It couldn't be you the boy thought as he seated himself at a table not too far away from the window. Hands shaking as he lifted his drink to his lips letting the hot liquid overflow his taste buds.

Why was he nervous just thinking about you? It's been about 3 months since you guys broke up. You're probably already over him.

The sound of the bell above the door ringing catches Sunghoon's attention, the boy's hopes of talking to l

you faded as the girl in the yellow sweater exits the shop. Sunghoon caught a glimpse of her face.

It wasn't even you.

If you asked Sunghoon the last time he'd heard the words I love you leave his parent's mouths the boy would stare at you and say nothing. Since according to him they never did.

Not during his birthday, Valentine's day, or even when Sunghoon said it first. The only time the park boy had ever heard somewhat caring words come from his parents' mouths was when he was skating on ice.

So in a search for the attention and love he craved when he was younger Sunghoon continued to skate just to earn his parent's approval. Though the older he got the more tired he grew of their lack of attention.

Why couldn't they treat him the same at home or before he even started skating? Why does he have to give 100% every day only to receive a small nod and a forced smile. Did they truly not love him? Or was he just not worthy of their love?

And to this day Sunghoon still wasn't exactly sure about the answer to that question.

Good thing skating wasn't all that bad. It gave him something to do and he was able to keep himself busy. Like an escape from the realities of his life.

It was also the reason he'd met you.

You and Sunghoon met during his 2nd year of college and it was safe to say that you were like a breath of fresh air. Your kind smile, and captivating eyes that turned into crescents as you laughed, and the soft voice that spilled from your plump lips.

Sunghoon had first spotted you at the ice rink while you were teaching a group of younger students to skate to help your friend earn her community service hours. Your hair was covered by a knitted blue hat that matched the gloves shielding your fingers from the cold. Your cheeks and nose tinted a faint pink due to the crisp air.

Sunghoon was surprised to see anyone in the rink since it was usually empty in the afternoon, so he just decided to practice another day since one day off wouldn't hurt.

As he was in the middle of unlacing his skates another pair of united skates stepped into his vision. Followed by a soft tap on his shoulder.

" Excuse me, sir, could you help me tie my skates?" A slightly deep voice asked, causing Sunghoon to look up only to see a young boy with blonde hair staring back at him. He looked to be about 15 or 16 at the most. Sunghoon couldn't help but notice his accent seemed much different. Maybe he's foreign.

" Oh, um sure!" sunghoon says guiding the boy to sit down on the bench before he began tying the boy's skates properly. " There you go." Sunghoon goes to stand but the boy pulls his hand.

" Wait, can you also walk me over to that girl over there, I would go over by myself but I don't wanna fall." The boy says pointing towards the girl who was currently helping two other children stand up.

" is that your teacher?" Sunghoon questions as he adjusts his own skates receiving a nod. " Alright, come on." Sunghoon says holding out his hand to assist the kid as he stepped onto the ice.

" Y/n look I tied my skates all by myself!" The boy shouted holding onto the sunghoon for dear life as he tried not to lose his balance.

" Niki, what are you doing now?" The girl questions skating over to the pair. " You said if I tie my skates properly all by myself I can take you on a date." The boy— Niki says causing sunghoons eyebrows to raise in surprise and your eyes to harden into a, not at all intimidating glare.

You looked more like a mad toddler and Sunghoon couldn't help but smile.

" Niki how many times have I been over this... you're too young for me, I don't date children." You remind Niki to frown.

" Hey, you promised! plus it's only a 4-year difference that's better than Jongseob's parents and I turn 18 in a few years." Niki whined. A faint shout of 'Hey!' could be heard from who Sunghoon assumed was Jongseob, but no one looked to acknowledge it..

" You didn't even tie your skates yourself," y/n claims gesturing towards the neatly tied skates as she comes a little closer. " I can tell." the girl adds tiling her head. She was prettier up close, Sunghoon thought.

wait what was he thinking?

" What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm not capable of doing it myself?" Niki gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest.

"Yes Niki, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Whatever... I'm out of here. I won't listen to your accusations, you hear that? Jungwon needs me." Niki says despite Jungwon being across the rink skating alongside Soul.

" Hey sir do you mind helping me over to that boy over there," Niki asks, making y/n burst out into laughter.

" Nevermind I can do it on my own, y'know since I'm independent!" Niki exclaims before attempting to skate away on his own only to fall a few seconds later.

" You didn't see that." The boy says standing back up and wobbling his way over to his friends.

" Sorry about him, he's a bit of a handful." Y/n apologized now, turning her attention to sunghoon who had been staring at her pretty much the whole time.

" Oh, no worries, he seems very dedicated." Sunghoon chuckles, snapping out of his trance as an awkward silence falls over them.

" so, what's your name?" She asks boldly, catching Sunghoon off guard. " Oh um it's Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon." He replies, trying to avert his eyes away from the girls stare.

" Well, it's nice to meet you! I'm Y/n... Y/n L/n." Y/n says and when she smiled Sunghoon knew he was long gone.

That was probably one of the best days of Sunghoons life, or maybe the worst since it led him to where he was now.

Sitting alone in a coffee shop filled with couples and families after having a mini-eternal panic at the thought of seeing you again.

His drink had now turned cold and tasted much more bitter than it did just minutes ago yet he still drank it. Honestly, Sunghoon was a bit annoyed with himself.

Why was he so hung up on some girl when he was the one who ended things? Why is everything affecting him so much?

He didn't notice it at first but as the days went by after their breakup he started becoming more and more aware of how dull his life was without his sunshine ( you ) in it.

There was no one for him to wake up to every morning and fall asleep next to every night.

No one was waiting for him in his apartment after practice and forcing him to watch a new episode of a drama while eating ramen that they made together.

No one was singing obnoxiously loud in the seat next to him as he drove to the mall earning stares from the people in the cars next to them.

No one there for sunghoon to drag into every store that caught his eye.

No one there for sunghoon to argue with about the best ice cream flavors.

No one was there to eat dinner with.

There was just no one there.

And it sucked.

But what really bothered Sunghoon the most was that he'd never had a problem with being alone before meeting you.

Hell, he'd even purposefully turn down friendships just so he could keep to himself only making 3 friends just to keep his parents off his back. So why did it bother him now?

Fuck, Y/n what have you done to me?

" BUT YOU PROMISED YOU'D COME HYUNG!" Niki yelled, causing Y/n to flinch and pop the balloon she was holding. It was December 9th, Niki's 18th birthday.

" come on hyung just come by to say hi at least it's my 18th. I've been waiting for this day since I was 14," Niki says and 14 just so happened to be how old he was when he met you.

" talking about how you've been waiting to be legal to date my ex-girlfriend isn't gonna make me wanna come to your party." Sunghoon complains to Niki, rolling his eyes at his stubbornness. Why did you and Sunghoon have to break up before his birthday?

" You think that's all I've been waiting on? It was a kiddie crush. Okay I've already moved on and honestly you should too." Niki admits, whispering the last part as he walks into his bedroom, locking the door behind him to prevent the girl from hearing more of the conversation.

Sunghoon scoffed, slightly offended by the youngers words. Despite how true they were.

" Who are you to tell me to move on from her? We've only been apart for a few months. It takes time, Niki." Sunghoon explains, it had been 3 months and 5 days to be exact though, he wasn't counting.

"Fine, then what if we make it a duo party? you didn't even let us throw you a party yesterday."

"I don't like celebrating my birthday." Hoon dismissed flatly.

" Well I guess you won't be here to try and stop Theo from asking her out then, y'know he's been flirting with her a lot lately. " Niki lies.

" Niki I'm not falling for your dumb trick Theo and Keeho are practically married there's no way he's into y/n." Sunghoon recalls causing the boy on the phone to whine once again. Keeho snapped his head toward him at the sound of his name.

Sunghoon could hear the sound Niki's feet stomping against the wooden floors. He's such a baby.

" So what if Jake asked her out, would you be okay with it?" Niki questions raising his eyebrows, a smirk making its way into his lips. "Doesn't matter who asks her out, it's none of my business! even if it's. . . jake"

" Hoon, just come to the party so you guys can kiss and make up like you always do. I'm sick of this whole being apart thing getting on my nerves. You two usually only break off for a week or so. I preferred when you guys were all annoying and clingy." Niki states Sunghoon shaking his head.

" You think I don't miss that too ?" Sunghoon mumbles to Niki, unable to hear him. " Listen, Niki, I know you're trying to make things right but, we're better off apart."

I wish we weren't.

Though Niki disagrees he doesn't say it he just responds with a short ok. " Happy Birthday Niki,I hope everything goes how you want it to," Sunghoon says before hanging up. Looking over at Wonyoung, keeho, and Kai who were sitting beside him shamelessly listening to his conversation. Sunghoon already knew what the trio was about to say.

" You should go to the party." keeho blurts

" I'm not going to the party."

" Come on, it's Niki's birthday. You're gonna look like an asshole if you don't go. Y/n definitely won't take you back if you upset her best friend." Wonyoung says looking at an unamused Sunghoon.

" Why does everyone assume I want to get back together with her? I mean I'm the one who ended things, why would I want her back?" Sunghoon groans

" Because you love her... duhhh." kai said as if he were stating the obvious. ( he was )

yeah, but I never told her that

Sunghoon could tell you a lot of choices he'd regretted making in all his 21 years of living. but if he had to choose his biggest regret it'd be not saying those three words that he'd craved all his life.

It was honestly shocking to Sunghoon when Y/n told him she loved him in the middle of one of their movie nights.

Sunghoon remembers how he tried to stutter out his reply and how scared she looked when he struggled to reply. Sunghoon had never heard those words before, nor did he feel he deserved to hear them at all.

He hadn't done anything to earn the three words though he couldn't exactly ignore the way his heart jumped when the words fell from her soft lips.

" It's okay if you're not ready to say it back. I'll be here when you're ready." Y/n reassures her soft tone calming Sunghoons nerves as he tucked his head further into her neck.

But what if he was never ready to say it back? Would she still love him? Was she willing to wait for him? Sunghoon knew deep down that he wasn't worthy of someone's love. Especially not yours.

You deserve someone who could shower you with endless 'I love you's, you didn't deserve to wait for someone like Sunghoon when there were so many other options out there. Like jake. . .

The sexy australian guy who had transferred to l your college and never tried to hide his crush on the you. He was smart, also played soccer and had the personality of a puppy. And when it really comes down to it Sunghoons always wondered why you choose to stay with him.

" Why?" Sunghoon asked pausing the movie. You sat up to look at him.

" Why what?"

" Why do you love me?" Sunghoon questions as if he couldn't believe the idea that someone would truly love him. The truth was he didn't.

" I mean everyone usually has a reason. My sister loves me because I take care of her and buy her snacks, my grandma loves me because I help her fix her phone 10 times a week, and my parents... they like me because I skate. So why do you love me?" Sunghoon questions, failing to see how the girls eyes softened as he mentioned his parents.

" I love you because you're you, Sunghoon. Not a skater, or someone who buys me things, helps me fix something, or because you're my boyfriend. You don't always need a reason to love someone, sometimes you just do." Y/n explained but her answer only confused sunghoon more.

Noticing the boys confusion she quickly spoke again

" But that's just how I see it, and that could be completely different from your opinion and that's okay," she adds, toying with Sunghoons fingers.

" wish my parent thought the same way you do." Sunghoon blurts out. " They only love me when my feet are on the ice, as soon as I step off th–they couldn't care less about me," Sunghoon mutters, letting you pull him into a warm hug, your hands softly rubbing the back of Sunghoons hair.

" Well just know that I'll always love you whether there are skates on your feet or not." She declares placing a quick peck on Sunghoons lips.

Oh, how sunghoon wishes he would've said it back.

" Dude you're making me sad... it's a party have fun!" Jay says approaching sunghoon who was currently sitting by himself on the couch in the living room.

" I'm only here because Niki begged me to come, as soon as the cake is cut I'm out," Sunghoon stated, his eyes filtering over the people inside the house, some students from Niki's school and others some of his older friends.

" So you're telling me you haven't been eyeing Y/n and Jake this whole time ?" Jay asks, Sunghoon tensing beside him, of course he has but jay didn't need to know that.

" I didn't even know Jake was here actually but now that you've announced it I think I'll heading out early," Sunghoon claims, starting to stand up to go and find Niki so he could say his goodbyes properly.

" Hoon, you can't keep letting this stuff affect you. We're all friends and I'm not gonna let you throw that away because of a dumb breakup."

" It wasn't dumb, and I'm sick of all of you telling me how to deal with my breakup. You guys weren't the ones in the relationship." Sunghoon sneered, growing tired of everyone's input on his life and coping mechanisms. He knew he wasn't the best at dealing with his emotions and he'd never really gone through a breakup before, but their constant nit-picking wasn't exactly helping him either.

He'd get over y/n eventually, he just needed time, even if he missed her more than he wanted to, that was his business.

And as he watched you laugh and hit Jake's arm, the colorful lights reflecting in your eyes, your smile enhancing the faint dimples on your cheeks he knew that getting over you would probably take him more than a few months.

© KSNFANGZ. please do not plagiarise, repost, copy or translate any of my works!

[damagedintellect]

Dazai Osamu x reader

💌 Reading into the palms of isekai bullshit:

Chapter 2  💌  

Summary: You were no stranger to isekai bullshit. It’s not like you had a problem with it. The genre took over the anime scene for years now but you try to stay away from thinking about how you would handle the situation. The last time you thought about inserting yourself into your favorite show you wrote a 100k word xReader fic for your favorite characters and you didn’t want to spend all your time consumed by the brainrot again. Never again, you promised yourself that was the last time you’d let the devil on your shoulder win. You clicked on chapter 1 to start the adventure over again but when you opened your eyes and saw Dazai O-FUCKING-samu getting choked by Kunikida you honestly hoped it was a dream.  

Notes: Another isekai so I can play around with BSD like dolls.  

💌 Word count: 2,111 💌 <= Previous Chapter | Next Chapter =>

The next morning you woke up alone. Not surprising but it did make you laugh a little. You were still here. You were in fact isekai'ed and you technically slept with Dazai. You got dressed keeping an eye on the door just in case. The clothes provided for you consisted of a white button up, pants and boots similar to Atsushi’s but instead of suspenders and a tie you had a lightweight sweater vest to complete your look. You thought it was cute as you looked in the mirror on your way out the door.

You made it in time to watch Atsushi help Dazai out of the oil drum. A quick stride downstairs and you joined them for Atsushi’s little job chat. You didn’t say much on the way through town, it wasn’t about you right now and if Dazai didn't want to talk about last night you weren't going to bring it up either. Dazai spoke primarily about the job he would help get you both. Sometimes he would glance back at you just to make sure you were still listening. He even winked at you when he was talking about how good of a fit the two of you would be. The man had no right to be this attractive. As Dazai finished talking himself up Kunikida stormed in to set the record straight. Atsushi looked at you “I’m starting to have second thoughts about accepting his help. Maybe I should just look for a job on my own.” 

“Eh, Dazai might seem like a moron but I’d trust him on this one. Think about it, you don’t exactly have the greatest credentials to get a job anyhow.” You shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets. This would be interesting since there's not much you would be able to do. You guess you'd have to shoehorn yourself into the plot as much as possible.

“We have an emergency. A man has taken a hostage and threatened to blow up our office.”

Atsushi tried to protest but Dazai and Kunikida were not having it. You followed along without complaint of course as was your plan from the beginning. If you’re being honest you forgot half of what Junichiro’s speech was about until you heard it right now. Like who was he talking to if not you guys hiding behind the decorative shrubbery. The office workers and hostage had been there for a while. Why wait till right now to say those things. Atsushi was still trying to whimper his way out of helping and Dazai was trying to coax him otherwise. You only nodded along.

“Then there’s only one option.” Dazai said taking a stance with Kunikida following suit. The game of rock, paper, scissors was short and the face Atsushi was making was priceless. Kunikida stood up and approached the “mad bomber” as calmly as he could. “Hey, easy does it kid.”

“Stay away, I only want to see the president! Don’t you try anything funny or I’ll blow this place to bits.”

Kunikida put his hands up slowly and backed away “Okay.”

“I know who you are. You’re Kunikida. You want me to lower my guard so that you can use that annoying ability of yours to stop me. Well that sure ain't happening. Lay on that desk on your hands and knees, and keep both feet above your head- ” as he continued on, you shook with laughter, suppressing the sound at the strange but clearly not well thought order. You saw Dazai side eye you and you whispered “Sorry I know this is bad but the request he was making, how would Kunikida, just never mind. This means you can’t go out there either, Dazai.”

“It would only make him more angry. Oh my whatever shall we do now?”

You both looked at Atsushi “Absolutely not.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“I already know what you’re gonna ask.” 

You sighed “Atsushi we are the only option.” Dazai nodded “You’re not a formal member and the bomber doesn’t know either of you at all.”

Before Dazai could move you were already rummaging through the boxes to grab newspapers. “Listen, you just need to distract him long enough for me to back you up. We got this alright?” you looked at Dazai for confirmation.

You took the words out of Dazai’s mouth but he just shrugged continuing the thought. “Yeah. How bout you put on an act. Make it depressing like you think you’re a real worthless human being. I know you can do it right?”

You handed Atsushi the newspapers but he still looked worried. Dazai dropped the smile whispering “Trust me, scuffles on this scale are child's play compared to what we normally deal with. You can handle this Atsushi.” He was quaking in his boots as he started his speech. Dazai looked at you and raised an eyebrow. You gave a pointed look at Junichiro “Since Atsushi looks around the same age as the guy it’s better for him to be the one to reason with him. Worst case scenario I’ll just run and throw myself on the bomb. I already don’t have many memories anyways” you don’t look at Dazai’s face you half expected him to make a double suicide offer but you guess you know too much for him to play that card. Atsushi got right in Junichiro’s face making the perfect opening for Kunikida. While everyone was distracted with relief you started to untie Naomi, ushering her to the other side of the room. By the time Dazai started messing with Kunikida you had already walked behind the desk ready to move the bomb to the far corner.

“Now you’ll pay. I swear anyone with supernatural powers is not totally right in the head.” Tanizaki declared pressing the detonator.

Once the bomb started ticking you were already holding it walking towards the corner of the room. You turned curling around the bomb “Thanks for last night, it was great we should do it again sometime!” You smiled at Atsushi as he grabbed the bomb from your arms and pushed you away. Dazai caught you as you stumbled back. The bomb didn’t go off of course and you all stood around Atsushi. Dazai helped you to your feet asking if you were okay and you nodded, fixing your disheveled clothes. It was mostly that your vest got skewed when you got pulled away from the fake bomb.

“Geez you know I figured the kid was stupid but I didn’t expect them both to be suicidal.” Kunikida groaned while Dazai chimed “It seems I’m rubbing off on them. Wouldn’t you agree, Tanizaki?” The redhead peered around Kunikida’s side hesitantly “Sorry, are you okay?”

"Heee?"

You laughed at Atsushi’s confusion as it shifts to clear irritation. “I’m guessing that was the entrance exam?” you turned towards Dazai for confirmation as the president walked in.

“You’re exactly right.” Fukuzawa then explained the rest of the sentiment with Dazai’s plan to get you both into the agency. You leaned on the desk behind you waiting for Atsushi to come to terms with his decision. He was arguing with how violent the job is for him but you pointed out “Way too violent? I don’t think you can say that when you pried me off a bomb to protect everyone.”

He still needed more convincing but you stopped paying attention. Sitting in the closest chair you relaxed into the piece of furniture. Wasn’t your best but wasn’t your worst. Eventually you all went to the cafe downstairs. You got a hot chocolate not really being a fan of coffee and not feeling like tea. You were already tired but it was still only afternoon. You guys still had the whole day ahead of you. 

Junichiro was apologizing to you both but you told him not to sweat it. You made the claim that at some point you realized that he and Naomi were siblings. Naomi didn't even need to be prompted to start molesting her brother. As the siblings did their thing Kunikida came up to talk with you both about upholding the agency’s good name. Meanwhile Dazai was doing the exact opposite by flirting with the hostess. That’s when Atsushi asked what they did before working at the agency.

“Take a guess. It’s a game we play a lot here actually. Newcomer tries to guess his colleagues' former occupations. Think of it as part of training to be a private investigator.”

Atsushi looked at you before you added “I have an unfair advantage so I'll help if you get stumped.” You folded your hands behind your head giving him the lead. He hummed “I want to say Junichiro and Naomi were students?” 

“Whoa you got it. Nice one.”

“How did you figure that one out?”

The siblings looked surprised but they really shouldn’t be. It was so obvious given their age and the fact that one of them was literally in a uniform. Why else would they only be part timers “Not half bad Atsushi. What about Mr. Kunikida?” The aforementioned blonde spat out his coffee. “Nobody cares about what I used to be alright!”

Atsushi tried to focus again “Hmm, an official? Did he have a government job?”

“Almost.” Dazai gave you a nod to fill him in. “Mr. Kunikida used to be a math teacher, if you'd believe it.” 

“I could totally picture that actually.” Atsushi responded flatly. Kunikida was grumbling “It was another life. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“What about me then?” Dazai perked up in his chair.

“What did you do?”

“Yup my job.” Dazai smiled knowing he would have no way of guessing. Atsushi went on a rampage trying to guess it. You just sipped your coco waiting. Debating if it was a good idea to frazzle the brunette by letting him know but you wanted to see his face. Kunikida huffed, betting he didn't actually have an occupation before this.

“Not true, I would never lie about something like this. You've given up right?”

Junichiro’s phone went off, drawing everyone’s attention to the call. It was work, Higuchi to be exact. Dazai tried to wrap it up "Let’s save the guessing game-"

"But (Y/N) didn't get to guess." You laughed as Atsushi interjected immediately on your behalf. "I think I'll pass, it's no fun since I know what the answer is."

“Wait just like that! I thought you said you'd help me.” Atsushi frowned at you as everyone made their way up the stairs. "Yeah I said I'd help but I'm not going to hand you the answer. I'll give you a hint though, you don’t even know this occupation exists." You give him a soft smile sending a cheeky wink to Dazai. You could tell the brunette was a little tense unsure if you'd actually spill the beans. Trusting people was certainly a new endeavor for him. You gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed him.

You didn't want to be gunned down by Higuchi or worse killed by Akutagawa so when Kunikida suggested you tag along you argued that if too many people went it'd draw unwanted attention. Besides that your "ability" would be useless so you might as well stick to your strengths and that was picking up the slack of a certain waste of bandages. While Dazai listened to the wire he placed on Higuchi, you filed a bunch of papers he'd been neglecting. Kunikida was impressed with how fast you picked up his system. It surprised you too but it was either office work or being gunned down. It wasn’t a difficult choice.

Taking a break you passed by Dazai humming his suicide song as Kunikida tried to take his headphones. You placed a hand on his shoulder "I'll handle this, don't worry about him." As the blonde turned to go back to his work Dazai looked up at you raising an eyebrow. "You should probably get going. Higuchi’s going to call Akutagawa any minute now and I doubt you want to carry three bodies back on your own." You crossed your arms casually leaning on the privacy divider.

"I didn't know your palm reading could see the future, what gave me away?"

You hummed stretching "I thought you flashed her palm to me on purpose? I also watched you slip something in her pocket but if that was unintentional it was sheer dumb luck." You shrugged your shoulders waiting for him to get up.

"Are you offering to give me a hand then?"

"I might be but only because I'm tired of filing your reports."

[mysteriaqueen]

A Conversation

Neuvillette has a small favor to ask the Traveler

Tags: gender neutral reader/traveler, implied Zhongchi/Chili/Tartali if you squint, literally just a chill conversation, not beta read

Characters: Neuvillette, Traveler/Reader, Mentioned Wriothesley, Zhongli, Clorinde, Arlecchino, Paimon

~ can be read as xreader where reader is the traveler or as a gen fic~

Word Count: 1497

"Traveler, would you mind if I ask a favor of you?" Neuvillette said, seemingly out of nowhere. Seems he'd decided the next topic of conversation.

The traveler nodded, wondering if this was a Meropide type favor or an Increasing Danger type favor. "Sure, what is it?"

Neuvillette paused for a bit. He didn't quite know how to ask or where to start. He supposed the beginning would do. "You are friends with Childe, yes? I assumed so but from the way you talk about him.... I can't quite tell."

The traveler chuckled a bit. It is fair that someone like Neuvillette would have a hard time knowing for sure, what with how the traveler openly showed annoyance with him. "We're friends. He's a constant pain in my ass, but a welcome one. I choose to let him annoy me."

"I see."

Neuvillette took a moment to ponder the implications of your words along with the complexity of human relationships. He considered Wriothesley and the melusines who often stuck stickers in different places. It did annoy Wriothesley to peal the stickers off but he still cared for them and about them. Neuvillette supposed Wriothesley found it a bit endearing as well. He was certainly amused to hear about it. Perhaps that's what's happening between those two. Although to a more intense degree, it seems. But that was not the point of asking that.

"If it does so happen that you see him again before I do, please apologize on my behalf. For whatever reason, the Oratrice Mecanique D'analyse Cardinale falsely accused him of a crime and I had to subdue him, injuring him in the process. All because he was accused of a crime he did not commit. I do feel bad that such a thing happened."

The traveler looks at Neuvillette, the sincerety in his gaze almost comical. While there is an attempt not to laugh, a sound does escape the odd expression on their face. The noise causes Neuvillette to look over and promptly become perplexed by the sight.

"Traveler?"

"Pfffft- Okay, okay, sorry. There's no need to apologize. At all." It was clear the traveler was still holding back giggles.

"But-"

"Listen. It was Childe's own fault for attacking the Meka. To be fair, he'd come to Fontaine because he'd been a bad mood and wanted a little vacation. So, being falsely accused of a crime what started when he was no older than 10 and still in Snezhnaya probably wasn't the best thing for him. If I had to guess, that was the reason he decided he was going to do some thing as stupid as disrupt the court proceedings."

He nods along, frowning a bit. "I see. But I still don't understand how an apology is now warranted here," he says, looking over at his companion.

"Yeah, well, that's because you don't know Tartaglia. He's... strange. And to be honest, I doubt he's mad about it. I'd assume his first reaction upon regaining consciousness was 'Archons above, that Neuvillette guy is strong! Who knew the Chief Justice of Fontaine packed such a punch?! It's a shame I didn't get to have a real fight with him. Now that would've been worth my while.'"

Neuvillette looks straight ahead and blinks. Then he looks over at the traveler and blinks. The traveler is completely serious. This, along with the quality of the impression leaves the Iudex a bit more than a bit shocked.

"Really?"

"Really."

Huh. Neuvillette is rather stumped, once again looking straight ahead. He better understands why the traveler sees no need to apologize but he still thinks-

"Oh, and that's not all," the traveler says with a sigh.

"Oh?" The sigh stirred a bit of concern in the hydro dragon as he watch his companion's face.

"Yeah. I doubt he even saw it as a slight. He doesn't really dwell on small things." The traveler had considered the possibility of him reacting more similarly to the way he reacted with Zhongli, but chose not to mention that. "But, Childe being Childe, if you bring it up he probably won't say he forgives you unless you fight him for real. So, if you apologize to him, he'll use it as way to try and get a fight with you. You saw how he was perfectly fine with the trial if it meant he got to fight Clorinde, right?"

Oh. The Iudex's face scrunched up, looking at nothing in particular as he considered all the information. He had been there, when Childe requested to fight with the champion duelist amidst the trial. He'd also heard he'd gotten to spar with her prior. In that case, perhaps it was better to keep any apologies to himself. As the Chief Justice, even engaging in a friendly spar could be taken many different ways, let alone an all out fight. And he had no interesting in fighting the youngest Harbinger either.

The traveler could see the wheels turning in Neuvillette's head.

"Yeah, so like I said, best not to say anything at all. I was prepared to have to knock him down right then and if I did, the most I would've done is ensure he was okay and recovered properly afterwards. Which, he did by the way. I saw him the day before me and Paimon showed up with Arlecchino. He's doing just fine."

"Well that is good news. Thank you for the advice, and the explanation."

"No problem. Childe's a weird person. He's a little difficult to understand."

The conversation fell into a comfortable lull. Neither party was in a rush to find a new topic of conversation. Then, there was a snicker.

"Actually, if you really do want to apologize, I suppose there is another person you can talk to," the traveler said, amusement in their tone. "If it's that important to you."

The Iudex raised an eyebrow as he picked up on his companion's smile. "And who might that be?"

"Well, now that I think about it, I can pass an apology to his younger siblings, seeing as being locked up and all the other shenanigans probably delayed them getting to see him again," the traveler said, thinking out loud before turning to Neuvillette. "But, you could apologize to Zhongli."

"Excuse me?"

It did take a lot out Teyvat's Witness not to bust out laughing on the spot. But keeping it together for the sake of the bit was important.

"The two are very close friends and Zhongli would likely forgive you without telling the battle hungry freak. He'd probably also like to apologize for the ruckus Childe caused in the courtroom. I'm sure he's very disappointed. Sounds like a win-win to me."

Neuvillette looked at the traveler incredulously, an eye twitching. "You are expecting me to not only have a casual conversation with Deus Auri but to apologize to him? To-"

The traveler was laughing now, properly unable to hold back. Doubled over, arms wrapped around the stomach and everything, holding out a hand for Neuvillette to stop.

"I'm- Ahaha- I'm sorry, I'm sorry- ehehehehe-" One wheeze later and the traveler uprighted, standing straight still with one arm holding tight as the other wiped an almost-tear. "I'm sorry. Just a joke. Not serious. Sorry. I wasn't expecting you to take that so seriously."

Immediately disarmed, the Chief Justice relaxed. A small smile slipped onto his face watching the traveler's jubilance. Perhaps it was contagious. Or, perhaps he known all along deep down that it was a joke and simply played along.

"I'm glad to see you've not lost your sense, Traveler." "Haha. Yeah. Zhongli probably wouldn't like that either. I don't know if you noticed, but he just narrowly avoided you in Chenyu Vale."

Neuvillette raised and eyebrow. This was news to him. "Is that so?"

Nodding, the traveler finally calms down. "Yeah, seemed like an unfortunate coincidence to the others but me and Paimon realized it. Shame really, the two of you would get on well if not for the circumstances."

"I see. Well, it seems he has his best interests at heart. In any case, do pass along my sincerest apologies to his family, should you see them."

The traveler nodded. "Sure. You know, funny thing. The reason I know that's what he'd do is mainly because of Zhongli. Well, also because he's a battle hungry freak, but mainly because of what went down in Liyue."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he said the exact same thing about Zhongli after he found out that Zhongli's the Geo Archon. Told me he'd never forgive his lies unless they had a full on fight, no holding back. Of course, Zhongli's never gonna go for that but it doesn't really matter."

"He really does crave to fight the strong," Neuvillette mused.

"Yeah. You'd think he'd stop sparring with me when he loses every time and yet he assumes a spar will always be his birthday gift. What a bozo."

Neuvillette chuckles. "Yes, I suppose that is one way to put it."

Yet another natural lull. The traveler considered the start of root of the conversation. It seems it was more a Paimon type favor after all.

woahhhhh i wrote something for genshin. look at me go! this idea has been rolling around in my head for too too long now so I finally wrote this and got it out.

WAIT HOW DID THIS END UP ALMOST 1.5K WORDS??? WHAT??? I KNEW THIS WAS LONGER THAN INTENDED AT FIRST BUT DAMN

this will likely be editted and used for my genshin OC fic (The Traveler's Journal) it won't be the same because I purposefully wrote the traveler to be a bit close to i assume they'd be in game, rather than based on me like I do for TTJ. plus, no AAVE lol.

oh and for anyone who doesn't get it, it's a paimon type favor because the traveler to explain something so someone