#he wants to escape his fictional world and into the real one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 9 months ago

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❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ! ❞

❝ EVERYONE WANTS PROF GETO — IN A WORLD OF BOYS, HE’S A GENTLEMAN ! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part three of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you always had the wrong timing with professor geto -- first you were his student, then his T.A., and now it was the wrong place -- he’s moving to Kyoto. but you had a few weeks together before then -- so can you make them last?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (for real), so much fluff (we've earned it), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student, but age is vague, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, shower sex, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, surprise appearance by someone :)

✧ wc: 12,010 (is anyone surprised?)

✧ other parts: part one | part two | v-day special

Time was the one thing that seemed to always escape you and Suguru — fuck, timing was never your strong suit to begin with—if your late arrival to Suguru’s first class was any indication.

You always ended up too early or too late to places, your entire day spent waiting for an appointment in the middle of the day, and your meeting days often mixed up in your head. And now—

Your relationship had an expiration date before it had even started.

The question you asked when the message from the department head came through hung in the air of his office like a death announcement. And it almost was — the second death of not even the start of what could have been a relationship.

Suguru’s eyes can’t meet yours, brow furrowed as if he had thought hard enough, he could solve the problem of distance with a simple application of an ethical theory — but unfortunately Socrates nor Plato had invented any solutions for instantaneous travel.

So the elephant remained.

“When did you—“

“No,” he’s swallowing, his eyes meeting yours again — desperate, but not the desperation you had both felt a moment ago — the desperation felt in the throes of passion — no, this desperation was the one felt when clinging to sand slipping between your fingers, “let’s not talk about this, not right now,”

“Suguru—“ and his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, his hands slipping around your waist, and each brush of his lips steals away another ounce of sense from you, “we have to talk about—“

“I know we do, I know,” he murmurs between kisses, his fingers cupping your cheek, thumb brushing back and forth against your cheekbone, “but I don’t want to think any more — I just want to be with you. I just want you,” and his voice breaks ever so slightly, and it cracks any reservations you have — just as this man always did, “but if you want to talk, we can talk right—“

And your lips cut off his sentence, only a moment’s pause before he’s melting into your touch again, your hands sliding against his bare chest, his heartbeat racing as fast as yours was — so much so that you wondered if the beating you heard was your own or his.

“Your place or mine?” and he blinks, as you kiss his jaw, a chuckle on your lips, “unless you’d like to fuck me in your office, I’ll have to admit it’s one of the things I’ve thought about,”

And god, all the blood in his body must have fled south in a half second with how much he aches for you, “Now who needs to watch their language?” His words are whispered against your neck, as he leans down to press a sweet kiss there, “what other things have you thought about?” His fingers find your chin, tilting your head until your gaze met his again — dark pools of lust stared back — and your thighs would have pressed together, if his knee wasn’t between them, teasingly rubbing against your far too damp panties.

“Patience, we have time for that,” and his eyes soften ever so slightly, an iota of relief rippling across his features.

“We do?” And it’s a question he needed to ask — had to ask, but that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer to — because he knew it could break him.

“We do,” you pull him into a kiss, your lips sliding against his, “so the question remains, Professor,” you tease, and a shiver runs down his spine, “your place or mine?”

~~~

You end up at his place — the car ride there was relatively short, but far too long — wringing your hands in your lap, so you wouldn’t touch him. Because you know it would only take one touch — one touch for him to pull to the side of the road and pull you across the console and into his lap.

But you wanted to do this right — you needed to do this right. You had both waited long enough — you couldn’t hurry, not when you were both about to cross the finish line. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t toe it. And your fingers brush his outer thigh, and his eyes flicker over to you — a silent warning, and you knew you were playing with fire — the same fire that had burned you both time and time again, but this wasn’t his office. And you weren’t to let a goddamn phone stop you from having what you wanted.

And you wanted him — so bad — and from the way his gaze found yours, tongue flicking across his lips — he wanted you all the same. Your fingers just rested on his thigh, if only to ground yourself — as if touching him was the same as pinching yourself, to remind you that this wasn’t a dream. It was real — this was real.

It only became more real as he pulled into his apartment parking lot. He got out first, opening the door for you, as he offered you his hand, and helped you out, drawing close, too close for your brain to function — his lips brushing against your ear, “that’s for teasing me in the car,” you barely manage to gape at him, before he’s leading you inside, a palm resting on the small of your back, as you sneak a glance at him — cheeks still burning.

He was so beautiful — in every sense of that word. His dark hair fell in waves, strands slipping from his bun, assuredly from your tryst in his office; his lips were curled in a slight smile, as he pulled his keys from his pockets; and even his hands were gorgeous — they were so much bigger than yours, and his long fingers, lovely veins running across the back of his hands.

And you’re finally inside his apartment, as he holds the door open for you — the quiet click of the door makes your heart squeeze, his footsteps against the hardwood still when he’s behind you, his arms slowly curling around your waist. His lips ghost your neck, breath warming your skin, “should we talk first?”

You lean into his touch, your back pressed into his chest, his fingers lightly squeezing your hips, “we should,” and you should, you had to talk about what was going to happen, what this meant, what Kyoto means — but you want to just stay in this moment, you turn to look at him, and your noses brush, “but I don’t want talk right now,”

And his breath hitches, as your lips brush his, “But we will later?” his voice is barely above a whisper, as if even a word muttered above a whisper could break this moment.

“I promise we will,” you murmur, your lips curling, as you turn to face him fully, “but let’s not worry about later right now — there’s only one time that’s important, and that’s right now,”

“Paraphrasing Tolstoy?” He hums, his arms pull you flush to him, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, already rumpled fabric wrinkling further under your touch, “And what do you plan to do to me right now, Princess?”

“Oh I have many ideas,” you lean up and brush your lips against the cut of his jaw, delighting in the shiver you draw from him, “so many ideas, Professor — should I write an outline up?”

“Fuck the outline,” and his lips find yours, his arms curled around you, pressing you flush against him, “I have all I need in my arms right now — I’m sure you’ll give a wonderful oral presentation, now won’t you?” He hums, as his lips part yours a moment, his thumb dragging down your puffy, kiss bitten lips — “I already know you’re an incredible orator,” this fucker knew exactly what to say to make your knees buckle.

“And I know how good you are with your hands,” you guide them to your hips, “able to tear papers and pantyhose apart,” you teased as a tinge of red appeared across his pretty cheekbones, “I’ll expect a new pair by tomorrow,”

“Consider it a promise,” and he’s kissing down your neck now, and you wonder if he can feel your pulse jumping under his touch, “but I can’t promise that I won’t do the same thing again,”

And he’s guiding you to his bedroom, walking backwards, as his teeth nibble at a soft spot of your neck, your fingers finding his jaw to guide him back for another kiss when you pause.

“What is it?” And you’re reaching into your pocket for something, and then reaching into his as well, as he flinches, fingers far too close to a very sensitive spot, and both of your hands emerge with your phones, turning them off before tossing them onto his couch. And he chuckles, “no risks?”

“There’s already far too much risk when it comes to us — call it preemptive measures,” and you’re leaning back into a kiss, his lips curled in a smile, “no landlines right?”

And he laughs, nodding, thumb and forefinger tilting your chin up, “Sure you aren’t a utilitarian at heart?”

“Well, you are certainly the best consequence, now aren’t you?” and he smiles the same smile that doomed you from the start—

“What a coincidence,” he murmurs, as he pulls you into his bedroom, helping you lie back on his bed, just as he imagined far too many times to be anywhere near ethical, — I was going to say the same about you.”

~~~

“Shouldn’t I be making you feel good first—“ Suguru sucks air through his teeth as your pretty lips press a kiss to his sensitive erection through his tenting boxers, a dark patch of his pre-cum visible on the fabric, “please, sweetheart—“

“This is for all the times your email and phone calls blueballed us—“ you smirk, teasing the head with your thumb through the fabric — “and I have to tease you — I mean Professor Geto begging me to suck to him off? Maybe I should make you work for it, write a paper on why you think I should let you cum in my mouth,” and he’s gritting his teeth, cock twitching in his boxers, your words far too effective, “tear it apart until you’re begging for it,” he’s swallowing thickly — and god, he’s so pretty like this, hair splayed out like a halo around his head, cheeks ruddy from his flush, and his chest rising and falling, teeth baring down on his lip, “but I’m much too kind for that,” you’re sliding down his boxers, his cock nearly slapping against his stomach, “and we’ve waited long enough,”

His cock was even gorgeous — truly what was he? Intelligent, kind, funny — and even his naked body was perfect — his cock was flushed red at the tip, black hair neatly trimmed dotted around it, a slight curve that you knew would feel far too good inside your cunt, and pretty veins you couldn’t wait to memorize—

You weren’t his favorite student for nothing after all.

You reach for his cock, smearing the thick beads of pre-cum along his length, kissing the tip, as your fingers slowly gripped the base. He grunts, a sigh leaving his lips, muscles tense as he tries not to rut into your hand and hang on to one iota of self control — and oh, you smirked, you’d do away with that soon enough.

“You think about me in this room, Suguru?” your fingers slowly start to pump him, his head falling back, “did you touch yourself to the thought of this?”

“Fuck, Princess—“ your lips curl.

“Is that a yes?” And you lean down, parting your lips for his length as your tongue traces a teasing trail down his vein, “or a no?” the tip of your tongue lapping at the pre-cum that leaked from his slit, “c’mon, Sugu, not so good to keep your student waiting — maybe I’ll drop the class,”

“I’ve thought about you — you know I have,” the words leave his lips, any hint of self control lost as his length presses against your cheek when you run a thick stripe with the flat of your tongue up his dick, “wanted to fuck you, taste you, make you scream my name—and,” his gaze softens ever so slightly as his only can in the midst of all this passion, “I wanted to wake up with you, make you breakfast, cuddle you—“

And he’s groaning, as you finally wrap your lips around his throbbing cock, tongue swirling around the tip, as his name left his lips in reverence, long fingers finding their way to weave in your hair. Your hand pumped what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. And you know he’s already close by the way his twitching now when his tip nearly brushes against your throat.

“Sweetheart, stop, I’ll—“ but you don’t oblige him, fingers brushing against his balls, before you’re bracing yourself against his thighs, as you suck and lick at his length, until he’s groaning, “where should I—“ and you suck at his tip in reply, and his head falls back, lips parted in a groan, as he cums hard, swallowing every drop as he paints your throat white with his release. He’s panting and twitching as he comes down from his high — deliciously flushed and messy, as his chest falls up and down as he pants, trying and failing to catch the breath you had stolen from him — sucked from his dick undoubtedly.

Eyes lidded as he watches you pull yourself from his cock, a string of spit and cum connecting your lips to his cock, before it drips down your chin, “I may get addicted, Sugu,” and you’re climbing back onto his lap, your lips grazing his still racing pulse, grunting as your clothed cunt rubs against his cock, “gonna have my professor’s cock every night at this rate — maybe I’ll suck you off under your desk next time,” your lips brush against his ear, as he gasps, cock twitching against your needy cunt, “how unethical your cock is compared to the rest of you,” and you’re undoing the buttons on his shirt, until it falls open for you, “wonder what other sounds I can draw from you tonight? Shall we learn together—“

And he flipped you onto your back on the bed, lips curled in a smile — but a smile laced with lust, eyes raking over your body as he began to strip your shirt off your body, “did you forget, Princess? I’m the professor,” and he leans down to kiss your erect tits through your bra, delighting at your gasp, before sucking lightly at your erect nipple through the fabric, “and I still have so much left to teach you,”

He is kissing agonizingly slow up your body, first the valley of your breasts, along your collarbone, and the curve of your neck — until his lips finally find yours again. His tongue traces the seam of your lips before being granted access, tasting your own with a moan you swallow all too eagerly. It’s truly not fair for a kiss to be this good — but again, everything about Suguru Geto was.

“What are you going to be teaching me? Kant? Rawls? Aquinas?” You ask between kisses as his fingers sliding behind you to undo your bra, slipping it from your body, his lips parting from yours, a string of spit connecting your lips to his.

He drags a thumb down your bitten red lips, “No, today's lesson is a bit unorthodox,” and now he’s kissing back down your body this time, tongue dragging over your stomach and belly button, before kissing right above the elastic of your panties. “I’m going to show what I owe you — what I’ve always wanted to owe you—“ a smile playing on his lips, as his legs force your thighs apart, eyes falling onto the wet patch on your underwear with a lust ridden gaze, “and how much I can make you moan my name from it,”

His fingers begin to ghost up your thighs, before he leans down to ghost all too chaste kisses up your inner thighs, pretty hands holding your flesh still even as it shakes under his attention.

“Seems like you enjoyed tasting me almost as much as I did,” he teases, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours, as his finger teased the drenched fabric, thumb rubbing against your clit, drawing a lovely gasp from your lips, “no smart remarks now? You always have so much to say,” and he’s pulling your panties down your thighs, seeing your pretty folds on display for him, glistening with your arousal — your need for him, “don’t tell me all it takes is my face between your thighs to get you to fall quiet,” and his lips curl as your lips pout, only making him chuckle, “don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make sure the only thing you know how to say is my name after this,”

He presses a sweet kiss to your dripping folds, nose brushing against your sweet clit, the tip of his tongue tracing your outer lips teasingly, “thought about this so long, dreamed about this sweet cunt, Princess — tastes and smells better than I ever imagined,” your fingers grasp at the strands of his hair, tugging the hair tie from his messy bun, toes curling into the sheets, “wanna spend all night buried in this pussy,”

And his tongue licks a stripe up your cunt, ghosting over your entrance, before he’s circling your clit again. Moans leave your lips, again and again, lips closing over your clit to suck. Your muscles tense, back arching and your nails digging into his scalp, “barely even started, baby, don’t go cumming just yet,”

“Sugu, please, more,” you whine, looking down at him, eyelashes nearly fluttering.

His lips curl, “How can I say no to my favorite student?” And his fingers spread your sweet folds, your cunt fluttering around nothing, as he gathers your slick on his thick digit, working his way into your tight walls.

You’re gasping at the way his finger sinks knuckle deep into your tight cunt, your insides wet and warm, “your pussy is as talkative as you are,” the lewd squelch of your walls fills the silence, “maybe even more,” as he begins to fuck you in earnest, “think you need more, don’t you, baby?” And he’s adding another finger, the delicious stretch making your mouth fall open at the intrusion of his fingers.

You’re bucking against his touch, thighs shaking as you do, his fingers curling against that spot that has you moaning his name, his dick half hard already just from feeling your walls around his fingers.

You’re so fucking close — the drag of his fingers against your walls, your hips meeting his thrusts, “good girl, you take me so well, can’t wait to sink into you, Princess,” and his lips find your clit again, teeth grazing it teasingly, “s’good for me, baby, you close?” And you’re nodding, walls fluttering around his fingers, and he grunts, “cum for me,”

And you do, your head falling back onto the pillow, as you cum hard, his name on your lips, as your walls squeeze around his fingers. He finger fucks you through your orgasm, tongue lapping up your release, his lips leaving your clit with a pop.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers around your sweet cunt. Your eyes flutter open, watching him lick his lips clean, before he meets your gaze, pressing his fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean, “sweetest thing I ever tasted, baby,”

He’s kissing your thighs, as you come down from your high, teeth grazing the plush flesh of your inner thigh, sucking and pinching, before soothing it with his tongue, “s’good for me,” and he’s slinking back up your body, his hard cock catching on your clit, making both of you groan.

“Please, Suguru, I need you,” your fingers find the back of his neck, threading through his hair, and he smirks.

“Look at my T.A., so needy for her professor,” and your fingers tug at his hair to pull the smirk off his lips, “I’d say you hold all the power in this relationship, Princess,”

“Do I, now?” Your fingers curl around his length, teasing the leaking head with your thumb making him hiss.

And his gaze meets you so earnestly, it nearly makes you melt, a gasp leaving his lips as he cups your cheek, “You could ruin my life, and I would thank you for it, if it was you,”

“Suguru—“

“If you were going to use me, I’d tell you to use me. If you needed me, I’d want you to call me,” he leans down to kiss your forehead, “and If you didn’t love me, I’d love you anyway,” and he doesn’t let you respond, lips brushing against yours, as he gently moves your hand away, and lines himself up, the head of his cock rubbing against your sensitive clit, “are you ready?”

And you’re nodding, a huffed chuckle escaping your lips, “Been ready for far too long — there’s no other electronics around here right?”

He laughs, “No, just you and me,” molten lava stared back at you, a heat seeping into your skin as he guided himself into your fluttering cunt, inch by inch, as his name leaves your lips in a desperate moan that nearly has him cumming right then and there, not to mention how eagerly your pussy swallows his cock whole, “fuck, such a good fucking girl f’me, baby,”

He split you open as he sunk into you, pretty walls stretching around him — delicious pleasure with an undercurrent of pain, soft praises whispered in your ears as he did, setting an agonizingly slow pace, “that’s it, baby, look at you, taking me s’well,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your neck, as you bite your lip, “are you okay?” and he finally bottoms out, stilling as your walls clamp around him, a groan leaving his lips, “so tight, so much better than I could have imagined,”

“Sugu, please, move,” and you didn’t need to say anything more — he starts slow, languid thrusts that drive him deeper into your cunt, his fingers lift your legs up, hooking them around his waist, and you wrap them even tighter, the tip of his cock hitting even fucking deeper, “fuck, Sugu, so deep, so good—”

“You were made for me, just like this cock was made for you,” he grunts, the lewd squelch of your insides, the slapping of your skin against his, “been thinking about this for so long, pretty girl, never wanna leave this cunt,” his vulgar words only made your walls flutter around him, “trying to keep my dick, Princess? Don’t worry, it’s only for you anyway,” he teases, “my pretty girl’s cunt been denied twice — gotta make sure you learn your lesson this time, right?”

And god you were — you were learning his shape, his length, the slight curve he had, every vein that lined his cock, every inch — and you’d be sure to memorize it. Because he may be reaching you this time — a moan leaving your lips as his cock kissed a particularly deep part of your cunt — but the next lesson, you would be sure to pass with flying colors.

“S’close, Sugu, fuck, ngh—“ and he’s nodding, his fingers reach and rub your clit in circles, cock hitting that part of your cunt that has you seeing stars as pleasure rips up your body, as you cum. Your toes curl, fingers grasping at him to pull him impossibly close, His eyes flicker open, watching your cunt squeeze around his cock, a white ring of cum around his base, he fucked you through your orgasm.

His hips begin to stutter, a groan pulled from his lips, “S’good baby, I’m close—where—“

“Inside,” and his dick twitch, “cum for me, Suguru,” and he does, notching himself deep inside you, as he spills his seed inside, thick spurts painting you walls, as he moans your name. His thrusts slow, his lips brushing against yours. And you smile up at him, still dazed, his softening cock still inside you, “well that was very unethical,” a giggle escaped your lips, and his lips curled, as he leaned up to kiss you again.

“And how much more unethical would it be to do it again?” and you hum, as you flip him over onto his back.

“It’s a sunk cost fallacy at this point, think we can get away with it now,” and your lips find his in a hot kiss, your teeth grazing his bottom lip, tugging at it as he pulls away.

“A philosopher and an economist?” he chuckles, his lips grazing your jaw now, murmuring, “I learn more about you every day,”

“I could cite Kant or Butler if you’d prefer—” and he’s grinding his hips under you, a gasp parting your lips, as his cock slides against your soaked cunt, “Sugu—”

His lips curl in that damn smile, and all words fall away, as he kisses you, “I think I would rather listen to my name leave you lips instead, princess.”

~~~

RING. RING. RING.

Fuck. You give a soft groan — a dream again?

A small sigh parts your lips, as reality washes over you. Eyes fluttering open and shut, as sleep pulls at your eyelids still. Your hands reach over to both sides, but find no one as expected, you sigh, rolling over and burying your face in your pillow. It was all soft sheets and shining sunlight — but no Suguru. You kicked your feet up and down, pouting. You thought you were over having those dreams.

But then….why did it smell like him?

“What are you doing?” And you snap up, turning quickly, the comforter sliding down slightly and find Suguru standing in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against his door frame. He looks sinfully good — long hair still thoroughly rumpled from the night before, pretty lips a little kiss bitten red, only a black t-shirt and boxers thrown on, and his obsidian gaze fixed on you.

“What—what are you doing?” And he raises an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that obvious? Watching you,” he chuckles, as your cheeks burn, “can you blame me? I’m enjoying the view,” he teases, as you glance down and see that half the blanket had slid down, exposing your bare chest.

You pull the blanket back on, wrapping it around yourself, “So one night in bed and the ethics fall out the window, huh?”

“Well, you did a good job defenestrating them, didn’t you?” He chuckles, sipping his coffee, “have to take responsibility for your actions — it is your duty,”

“Oh, it’s my duty now?” And he’s climbing back into bed beside you, “and what does this duty entail?” And he hums, as your fingers find the fabric of the front of his shirt and tug him close, before sliding up to wrap around his neck.

“Well, Kant said, it’s not the consequences that matter, but the motives behind the actions,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw, “so what are your motives?”

“My motives are…” you consider your words, as you suppress the moan from his teeth grazing his pulse, and you pout, “you’re distracting me,” and he laughs, the lovely vibration against your skin making you shiver, before he draws back, thumb drawing circles on your palm now, “I want to wake up with you, I want to fall asleep beside you, I want to hear about your days and your night — even ones I spend with you, and I’d say my main motivation is to be with you,” your fingers clasps his thumb, before slowly intertwining your fingers with his, “is that a sufficient answer, Professor Geto?” And he’s silent a moment, a sweep of anxiety rushes across your body, fingers grasping at the sheet hidden under the comforter, as you add, “but Kant would also argue that the behavior is not one done of good will since, even if the consequence is good, it’s not done out of respect for the moral law—“

And his lips find yours, cutting off your ramble mid sentence, letting each sentence, word, and thought burn under his touch, each brush of his lips and his hands — as one palm cupped your cheek, while the other found purchase on your thigh — erased more of your worries, until he finally parts—

“It’s always good, if it’s you that I have as my consequence,” and he erodes the last of your concerns with his words, as his lips find yours again, “I was going to make you breakfast,” he mutters against your lips, meeting and parting again and again, before he’s easing the blanket from your fingers, gaze darkening as he sees you fully. And he’s easing you onto your back, against the plush pillows and sheets, as he kisses a hot trail down your body, before he finds himself between your legs again, tongue darting out to lick his lips, “but I think I may have my meal first.”

~~~

Suguru would have thought it was a dream, if he hadn’t woken first. To wake again in your arms, sunlight filtering through in his bedroom, your arms curled on his front, and your legs entangled, the warmth of your breath heating his skin, and your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

He had to pinch himself to make sure, eyes drifting up to the ceiling to the same fan he had stared at on many sleepless nights with only thoughts of you plaguing his mind, before his gaze fell back to you — only to find you beside him now.

There was no more perfect dream than this, but it wasn’t one, as the back of his fingers caressed your cheek gently, and you stirred only for a moment, a whisper on your tongue, “Sugu,” you murmured, lips parted as your nestled further into his chest, and his body burned with want.

Fuck. He tried to shift his hips away from you — this wasn’t helping his early morning problem — now was it? He really didn’t want a repeat of the hotel bathroom again, but this time, he could take his time — because you both had it. The end of the semester had mostly come and gone — he could wait on grading the papers — if only it meant a few minutes more in bed with you.

You woke up soon enough after he had left bed, hoping to start on the beginnings of breakfast, but he found himself feasting on another meal instead.

“Sugu, please, s’close,” what was it about you that tasted so heavenly? He had spent his life pouring over ethical dilemmas and trying to tackle problems of moral truths, but as he brought you over the edge to your second orgasm, he couldn’t help but wonder if he should have spent his time buried in your cunt instead of books.

He lapped up your release eagerly, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue before running a thick stripe up the length of your cunt, drawing another gasp from you — thighs shaking from pleasure.

“Sugu, please, enough,” and he eases off, chin and lips still sticky with your cum, as his tongue darted out to clean some of it off, wiping the rest off with his arm, “I want you, please,”

And fuck, he could cum just hearing those words from your kiss ruined lips, eyes blown out in lust, and your bare chest rising and falling. He drags his cock over your folds again, “need me again, Princess? Last night not enough for you?” he grunts when he watches your walls clench around nothing, as if to tempt his dick to sink into you.

He bit his lip, it was working.

Eventually, the two of you lie entangled again, a little stickier than before, your faces half an inch apart, and your fingers tracing his jaw.

“I wish we could stay here in this bed forever,” you murmur, and he turns his head to brush his lips against your fingertips, soft kisses pressed to each one, his nose then rubbing against your palm, “no responsibilities, no reality, just us,”

“Sounds like heaven,” he murmurs, words whispered against your skin, “of course I think any place with you is,” except when he can’t touch you, when he can’t kiss you, when he can’t smile at you without his heart aching — but he doesn’t say that, “we should talk shouldn’t we?”

“We should,” your eyes meet his, an ache that only made the ache in him grow, “I don’t want to stop you from going to Kyoto,”

“I would if it was for us, for you,” and your lips curl sadly, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, as if to stop yourself from saying yes, that you’d let him — let him say no, let him keep his old job, let him stay in Tokyo.

“But that’s exactly why I can’t do that, for you — you said you wouldn’t jeopardize my future, and I can’t do that to you too,” you say softly, pressing your forehead to his, “I can’t let you put your career on hold for us, I know you’ve wanted this. You must’ve since you applied,”

“I only applied because I thought we would never—“ he cuts off, lump sitting on his throat, “I don’t want this to end before it’s barely started,”

“Me either,” you say softly, and his lips brush yours — he didn’t want it to end, not now. Not ever.

And then he realizes — it doesn’t have to.

“Then we start there,” he says, as he parts from your lips, words said in the promise of the same breaths you both had just exhaled, “I’m not moving until next semester. We have two months of summer before I’ll be in Kyoto full time, and before you have classes again,” his fingers find yours, intertwining with his, hand engulfing yours, “We’ll live as philosophical presentists,” and you scoff, a smile pulling on your lips.

“You don’t miss an opportunity to give a lesson, do you?” He gives a wry smile.

“Take the professor out of the classroom—“ and you snort, “what I mean is let’s live in this moment — we could discuss the future and past all day long — but neither exist right now,” and he rests your palm against his cheek, fingers squeezing your own, “but we do, in this moment right now, so why don’t we savor it?”

Your lips can’t help but curl into a smile, “How about instead of a drink you make me breakfast?”

~~~~

Was it possible to get deja vu from an experience you hadn’t had yet?

You step into Suguru’s shower, a distinct sense of deja vu settling over you as you wash yourself, the marks of the night before (and this morning) still littering your body, as if to remind you that it wasn’t a dream.

It better not be, as you pinched yourself again, pressing your hands to your still hot cheeks, sticking your head under the water. God, this shower smelt like him, the scent of his shampoo and soap lingering in the bath, even after he had left. He had showered here this morning, after you had laid in for a bit longer, emerged from the master bath with only a towel around his waist, stray water droplets running down his chest, drenched black strands clinging to his skin. He had stood here, and washed himself — lathering his body, hands drawn up and down his muscles, from his shoulders to his chest to his stomach — lower and lower—

You bit your lip, as you pressed your thighs together.

No, no, if you did that and Suguru caught you, he would never let you live it down. You finish your shower, the squeak of the faucet as you shut the water off, before toweling off. You glanced at your clothes hanging on the towel rack outside the shower, rumpled from the night before, reluctant to pull it back on. Instead, you step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body,

You had a better idea.

~~~

“You have good timing,” Suguru says, smile on his lips, as he folds the omelet, yours he had decided, as with pancakes, his first omelet has not come out as well as this one had, “not late for once,” as he carefully plates the other omelet with some rice as well as miso soup he had made the night before, “I—“

And he turns, words fleeing his mind, assuredly taking his several years of education and teaching with it, as all the blood from his brain floods downward.

You were wearing his button up from last night, the wrinkled fabric draped over your body, falling past your thighs, the buttons mostly done, with a few top buttons unbuttoned far too teasingly — just one more and he could kiss your chest, two and he could—

Fuck.

“What?” You blink, chewing on your lip, “sorry I didn’t want to get back on my clothes from last night, so I stole your shirt, and uh,” your gaze shying away, “your boxers,”

Self control. He had perfect self control — hell, this last year had been an exercise in self control — control from brushing his fingers over your cheek, control from saying anything that pushed the line any further than the two of you had blurred it, control himself from taking you in his office (though he had not controlled himself as more as he was interrupted — twice).

But it was as if the dam had broken, the small cracks formed in the concrete now had compromised the integrity of the barrier and had burst the night before, and now — he rounded the counter, his arms reaching for you — there was no putting the water back in the dam after a flood.

Then again, he was more than happy to get swept away — if it was you.

“Sugu—ummph,” his name was muffled by the namesake’s own lips, swallowing the rest of his syllables along with your breath. His hands rake down your sides, his large hands slipping under your shirt, finding bare skin underneath.

“Nothing but my boxers and shirt?” He kisses your jumping pulse, lips lingering on your neck, as his hands squeeze your hips, “it’s like you knew what I wanted for breakfast, Princess,” fingers toying with the hem of the boxers you stole, “stealing isn’t very ethical,”

“Neither is a professor sleeping with a student,” you said between gasps.

He chuckles, “Well, a fair point, but let me remind you,” his fingers tease the elastic of his boxers you wore, the pads of fingers burning against your skin, as his erection pressed between your ass, drawing a gasp from your lips, “you wanted it,”

“What’s gotten into you?” you murmur, as his hand dips into your boxers, your head pressed against his body, lips parted, as a ribbon of heat spreads like a fire in dry heat.

And he knows exactly what’s gotten into him, his clothes on you, the scent of his soap and shampoo on you, and the way your body just melts under his touch—as your eyes drift to meet his own, looking up with lust scrawled across your features.

“You just look like a dream,” and his body met yours with a practiced ease, as if he had loved you all his life, and not for the first time last night, “one that I’ve had for far too long,” he buried. His face in the crook of your neck, lips pressing careful kisses as if you’d disappear under his touch, “is this real?”

And he doesn’t know why his breath catches at the question, a question he knows the answer to, because he knows you’re real, your warm skin under his touch, the pulse he felt racing under his lips — but he still worried he’d wake up in any second and you wouldn’t be here.

You softly chuckle, pinching his arm, “you feel that?” And he nods, and you turn to face him, leaning up to kiss his lip chastely, “did you feel that?” And he’s nodding, eyes fluttering, before you kiss his neck, teeth grazing his soft skin there, a gasp parting his lips, as you lean back, a smirk pulling on your lips, “and you definitely felt that,” you press your body into his, “this is real, I’m not going anywhere,” and he smiles, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him, “should we have breakfast now?”

His lips curl, his fingers tilting your chin up, as he leans down to kiss you again, “in a minute.”

Because now you both had plenty of those.

~~~

“Where are we going?”

Suguru laughs, you were sure his laugh was in the top five noises that he made — right between him whispering your name in the mornings and the way he groaned when you teased him particularly badly.

His eyes still fixed on the road, flickered to you for a moment while he drove, “The more you ask, the less likely I am to tell you,” and you pout, hiding the smile that creeped on your lips as you crossed your arms.

After the day you two spent, the next day, Suguru had already made plans to take you on a date — only giving you a day or so to prepare. No instructions except to wear layers to keep a little warm.

“You weren’t likely to tell me anyway,” he chuckles, as you glance at him again — it still almost feels forbidden as you did — he had opted for contacts rather than glasses, his hair tied in a bun as usual, lips curled in your favorite smile — you didn’t have to steal glances anymore, these glances were yours to have.

It felt so different from that drive you had taken to the conference — it felt as if you were being suffocated by your feelings, sucking the air you breathed from your lungs as if to stop you from speaking because any word you spoke would only cross that line you couldn’t even toe without drowning. But now, that line wasn’t even blurred, it was gone, washed away by the decision the two of you made — and it couldn’t have been better.

Because now you could do this.

Your fingers rest on the gap of the console, before sliding over, and finding his thigh. His eyes slide over to you, “Need something sweetheart?”

You hum, drawing circles on his thigh, “Wondering if I could convince you to tell me where we’re going with some extra credit?”

“I don’t remember assigning any extra credit, plus you’re not being graded, but even if you were,” you smile, “you’d have at least a B+,”

You gasp, “Suguru!” He laughs, even harder when he spots the pout on your lips, “I think I deserve higher than that,”

He pulls up to a stoplight, fingers finding yours “well maybe you can change my mind tonight,”

“Will we ever get there? Or is it a ‘Waiting for Godot’ situation?” He snorts, as he intertwined his fingers with yours, lifting the back of your hand to his lips and holding it there.

“I promise I’ll never keep you waiting,” and your gaze softens, as he continues to hold your hand as he drives.

You smile, squeezing his hand, “Good, because I think we both have waited long enough.”

~~~

“Is the blindfold necessary?”

“Trust is essential to a relationship,” Suguru replied, his arm around your waist as the other hand held your own, a blindfold tied around your eyes, as he guided you somewhere — the blindfold had come a few minutes before you reached your destination, “don’t you trust me, princess?”

“Oh I don’t know, it depends on whether you’re planning on murdering me and disposing of my body in the ocean,” and he pauses — you can almost see the furrow of his brow, “you may have blindfolded me but I can still smell,” the scent of sea salt carried by the cool breeze tickled at your nose, even as you still walked on pavement approaching the beach, you could faintly hear the distant sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

“I suppose I should have gotten nose and ear plugs for my far too observant girlfriend,” and the title makes your heart squeeze, as his fingers squeeze your hand, before parting, only to brush against your hair as he undoes the blindfold, “well since it’s spoiled already,”

The blindfold falls away, sunlight peeking through a moment, as the world comes into view — a beautiful sandy beach with salty waves parting through the shore, so bright as the sun reflects off the sand, making your eyes squint, only for Suguru to place sunglasses carefully on your face, “You came prepared,” your lips curl, as he tucks the blindfold away, and lifts up a picnic basket, “in more than one way,”

“Well, I thought a picnic on the beach was a nice way to begin today,” and he pulls out a sunhat from his bag as well, placing on top of your head, “don’t worry, I have sunblock as well, in case we need it,”

“You thought of everything, didn’t you?” and you look up at him, the light glinting off his flint eyes like sparks, “and now what’s my job here?”

“Enjoy today, take in the view,” and your fingers brush his cheek, somehow warmer than before.

“Funny, I thought I already was.”

~~~~

“Are you cold?” Suguru murmurs, when he feels you lean on him, a slight shiver against his chest that runs up your spine, and before you can answer, he’s wrapping a blanket around the two of you.

“Mr. Philosopher always has all the answers don’t you?” Another breeze has you moving even closer, as his palm moves to lean towards you, arm brushing against your back.

“Not all the answers,” and he brushes a stray hair behind your ear, as his lips brush against it, “I still don’t know how you became so irresistible,”

“All the ethics, of course,” and he snorts, as he hums, his hand sliding against your cheek, as his lips press against the soft skin beside your ear, “Sugu—”

“Hm?” he leans back to listen so intently, noses brushing, and all the words you have slips off your tongue, every thought flies right out of your head, and all that’s left is the feeling of warmth that comes with being this close.

God, he was unfairly gorgeous — even now, his hair unkempt from the wind as dark locks trickled out of his bun, his skin painted with a pretty flush, and his warm body pressed against you made any thought of being cold evaporate.

“Sweetheart? You okay?” he murmurs, fingers drifting over your cheek, a tilt of his head, and pulls you back from your reverie like the waves pulling more sand back into the ocean.

“I’m okay,” you shake your head, as your fingers rest over his, leaning into his touch, “I just was thinking how perfect this moment was,”

“And what’s so perfect about it?”

“You and me, just,” you bite your lip, “I didn’t think it’d happen,”

“Me either,” he admits, “I don’t ever want to hold you back — I couldn’t stand to be the reason for your unhappiness,”

“I could never see you as that,” and his lips curl, “promise you’ll never leave me?”

“Princess—“

“Just promise,” you murmur, “even if it isn’t real—“

“Who says it isn’t?” His lips brush yours, a heat that swallows your cold, creeping anxieties and burns them to nothing, “I promise, I’ll never leave you,”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,”

“Well, call me a Kantian,” he kisses you again, whispering these words against your lips, “because I intend to keep this promise.”

~~~

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

You chuckle, glancing over your shoulder at Suguru looking perfectly lost as he stood, watching you, hands crossed if only to stop him from taking over.

“For the millionth time, no,” you continue stirring the miso soup you were making, as you tenderized the chicken for the chicken katsu, “just keep me company,” you glance at him, biting your lip as your eyes raked over his outfit — a white shirt tucked under a navy pullover tucked into dark jogger pants, “and you’re already providing eye candy,” you teased.

“Oh, am I?” He raised an eyebrow, and you turned back to the task at hand, as you set the meat tenderizer down, to prepare the chicken to be breaded, and his arms curled around your waist, “and what if I want you to use a little more than your eyes?”

“Suguru, my dinner—“ but he continues, fingers brushing your hair aside, his warm breath turning your blood to molten molasses, “you’re making a habit of interrupting our meals like this.”

“The only thing I want to eat is in my arms,” he kisses your neck, feeling you shiver, “there’s another philosophy — ‘the customer’s always right?’”

You laugh, warmth blooming in his chest at the sound, “this isn’t a restaurant, unless I’m charging you at the end of this,”

“Maybe you should, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” and you hum as he trailed kisses down your neck to your shoulder — he never had a sweet tooth, but you were the only dessert he ever had craved.

“Knowing you, it would also come with a review written in red pen,” and it’s his turn to laugh now, as you lowered the stove temperature on the soup, before turning to face him.

He pulls you flush against him, “I’d hope you’d do better than a B+ this time,” and you glare at him, before your lips curl into a smirk, as you dare closer, your chest now pressed against his.

“This time I will because my annoying prick of a professor is very much able to be persuaded by other methods not available to me at the time,” your lips ghost over his ear, just as your voice used to haunt him in his dreams, “but now, I think he’ll be quite amenable to my work,”

“Don’t you want to earn your accolades?” and your smile is more wicked than the night itself, as you lean up to meet his own.

“Oh I will be earning them,” your lips are so close he could feel the words you spoke as you did — every part of your lips, every flick of your tongue — and then he’s met with your fingers dragging flour over his cheek, “after dinner.”

Suguru gaped at the flour smeared across his cheek, as you turned back around, the click of the burner as you turned it high again, “Was that necessary? You snorted, as you began to season the chicken, as he wiped the offending flour from his cheek.

“Well, was it necessary to give me a 99 on the final paper?”

~~~~

“Well, this is just unfair,” you sat in the middle of a cat cafe — arms crossed and biting back a small smile that threatened to bloom across your lips — the cutest one you had found in the heart of Tokyo that you had reluctantly dragged Suguru.

He wasn’t a fan of cats or dogs, for that matter.

But now, after paying the admission fee, and ordering your drinks, the two of you sat in an enclosure of cats you were far too eager to meet — and perhaps, they could sense it.

“Did you break Kantian principles and lie about hating cats or is the universe playing a prank?” you watch as yet another cat approaches your boyfriend, an entire litter already taking up residence on any available real estate on his body, while you had only a single cat in your lap the entire time, as if it was taking pity on you.

This was no better than when you were a T.A., swarms of students surrounding Suguru, while you were left with barely a soul. Apparently it applied to students and animals, and you felt a small twinge of jealousy — but you weren’t sure if you were more jealous of the cats or him.

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t particularly want one of my own,” he shrugs, as he scratches the newcomer behind the ear, “but maybe you’ve changed my mind,”

“I tend to have that influence,” and his lips curl.

“I have seem to have developed a soft spot for strays,” and you gape at him, as he snorts at your aghast expression, a cat swatting at his bobbing bangs as he shook with laughter, “but you’re my favorite one,”

“I better be,” you grumble, crossing your arms and pouting, before you watched him pet yet another cat that had made itself at home on your boyfriend’s lap. And you pull out your phone to sneak a few pictures.

“I wanted to ask you something actually,” he says as you glanced up from your phone, he bit his lip, a small hint of nerves apparent in his stiff shoulders and shy gaze, “I’m going to Kyoto next week to look for an apartment for when the semester starts,” and your heart sinks a little at the thought — the summer was half over already, and it was far too quick for your liking. The more you wanted time to linger, the more it seemed to escape you, “I wanted to ask if you’d like to come to see apartments with me,”

You blink, you ask softly, “You want me to come?”

He gets up, easing the cats gently out of his lap, as he makes his way to your side. He sits beside you, the cat in your lap, stretching its way between the two of you, as you rub his head.

“I know we said we would see how this would go before the start of the semester, but I know what I want — I think I did from the very start of this,” he says, as his ebony gaze finds yours, “I want to be with you — and I’d like you to come with me to pick out an apartment, because I want it to be somewhere you want to be too—“

And you cut him off with a kiss, arms thrown around his neck — he freezes a moment, before melting into your kiss, his fingers cupping your cheeks, “We’ll have to make sure it’s pet friendly,”

He chuckles, his forehead pressed against yours, “So we’re getting a cat?”

Your fingers find his own as another cat brushes against both of your legs, “That or a poodle.”

~~~

“What did you think of that place?” You ask as you both walk out of another viewing for an apartment, as he looks at the list he made on his phone, “it had good light, it’s close to the university, it’s pretty spacious,” But he’s sighing, as you tilt your head, “Suguru?”

“Sorry, it’s nothing,” he’s shaking his head, “i think we should look for another place,” the same thing he had said for the last three places — he had found something wrong with each of them, but this one seemed different.

“Why?” and he doesn’t answer, and you cling to his arm, a hand on his cheek to guide him to look at you, “Sugu?”

He bites his lip a little, as he rubs the back of his neck, “it’s just far from the station so when you come to visit, it might be a little difficult for you,” and your gaze softens, mouth opening to reply, “I didn’t want to tell you because I know you would tell me not to worry,” and you close your mouth, and he chuckles, “I was right huh?”

“Oh, a man is a smart ethics professor and he thinks he knows everything,” you kiss his lips, “you really don’t have to worry. We’ll make it work,”

“I know, but the round trip on the bullet train is four hours, I don’t want to make you wait longer or waste even a minute of your time together,” he murmurs, as you twirl a dark strand of his hair between your fingers.

“No moment spent getting to you or being with you is a waste,” you smile, fingers smoothing your boyfriend’s furrowed brow, “plus the train gives me time to catch up on my reading — and you’ll be coming to see me too,”

“I know, I just,” he sighs, leaning into your hand resting against his cheek, “I don’t want to ever be a burden,”

“Not to me, it’s not a burden when it’s you,” your fingers find his and bring his knuckles to your lips, “you’re worth every minute,”

“And you’re worth so much more than that,” and you smile against his skin.

“Always have to one up me, don’t you?” And his arm wraps it’s way around your waist, tugging you close.

His lips brush yours again, “Always, when it comes to caring for you.”

~~~

“You found such a perfect hotel room,” you sighed, collapsing onto the pristine (not so pristine now) bed, your feet very sore from all the walking you had done over the last three days, “I’m glad you finally found a place you liked,” and he sits at the edge of the bed, beside you, as he chuckles at the sight of you laid starfished on the bed, “the apartment’s beautiful, close to the university and a station, and it allows pets,”

His fingers find your foot, massaging the sore sole, bringing a low groan from your lips, eyes fluttering shut, “Good thing, otherwise, they’d never let me bring you in,” and your eyes snap open to playfully kick him and he laughs, as he stares at you, fingers ghosting over your ankle.

“What are you staring at?” You tease, and he can’t help the words that escape his lips.

“I love you,” and your breath catches, as your mind struggles to process the words that left his lips, and a chuckle leaves his lips, as he leans over on his elbow to hover over you, “I’ll say it again, as many times as you need to hear it,”

“You will?” your lips curl into a smile, “because I think I would like to hear it again,”

“I love you,” and his lips graze against yours, “I love you,” again, his lips linger a moment longer, “I love you,” again, “I love you—”

And you kiss him this time, your fingers cupping his cheek, sliding to the back of his neck, as your forehead press together, “I love you too,” and he grins down at you, his lips finding yours again and again, pressing you into the comforter, “I love you, Suguru,” you murmur, his fingers skimming your cheek.

“You know you don’t have to say it back—”

“I know,” you scoff, as you pinch his cheek lightly, “I said it because I meant it, I do love you, Suguru — I have for a long time,”

He smirks, “A long time?”

“Shut up,” you pout, and he’s laughing as he showers your face with soft kisses, “nooo, I changed my answer, I don’t know if I love y—” and he’s swallowing your words with another kiss — but this one is languid and deep, a heat that sinks in from his touch, as his body brushes against yours, until he finally parts to allow you both a breath, “not fair,”

“Sorry sweetheart, no changing your answer now,” he runs his fingers through your hair, and you’re pulling him into another soft kiss, before you bury your face in his chest, and he gives a soft sigh, as the two of you cuddle, a small chuckle on his lips.

“What is it?”

“Deja vu,” and you blink, he laughs again, “the last time we were in a hotel together, we weren’t together, but we had these feelings, and now—” his lips find the top of your head, fingers running through your dark locks, “things are so different — it almost feels like a lifetime ago,”

“It wasn’t that long ago, but I’m glad it feels that way,” your nose brushes against the hollow of his throat, “I want us to fill up our present with good memories, so that we don’t have any of those other ones linger,”

“I think we can manage that,” his lips glide against yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, “we should shower,”

“We?” you raise an eyebrow, a heat that sparks and settles over your skin that only stokes brighter and hotter, when his hand runs down your side and squeezes your hip, “Sugu—”

“Should we take a utilitarian approach? The benefits: it’s better for the environment to preserve water, we can stay close to each other as we clean our bodies, and reach the spots that are hard for us ourselves to reach. The costs would be,” his lips ghost your collarbone, “we would take longer thus using more water, we would get messier before we would get cleaner, and we might spend a lot more time in bed after,”

“How is that a cost?” you slip off the bed, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it at him, before pulling down your shorts, as you open the bathroom door, leaning against the door frame, “Are you going to show me the benefits of being my boyfriend?”

~~~

“Suguru,” his name left your lips in broken syllables, as the head of his leaking cock teased your drenched entrance, your hands braced against the shower wall, the cold of the wet glass contrasting with the warmth of his body pressed against your back, “please,”

“Please what, princess?” his lips ghost over your shoulder, licking a water droplet from your neck, as he moves a few wet locks to kiss the skin behind your ear, “You’re going to have to be more specific — I can’t help you, if you don’t tell me what you need — isn’t that the first thing I taught you?”

“No, the first thing you taught me was to never be late,” you gasp as he allows his tip to sink into your needy cunt only a little, before he allows it to slip out, “fuck, Sugu, please, I want your cock,”

“There we go,” his chuckle rumbles against your skin, as he guides his length to your dripping pussy before beginning to sink in, “I told you we would be in here for a while,” his fingers find yours, as he thrusts into you in one smooth movement, his balls pressed flush to your ass, “even your fingertips have become like prunes,” he turns your head to see your lips parted and panting for him, cunt twitching as he drags a thumb down your lips, “but my favorite student doesn’t mind does she?” and you whimper as he pulls his hips back, only to pump back in even harder, a moan leaving your lips, as he holds an arm around you to hold you, as he presses his other palm against the wall, as he starts to fuck you in earnest.

The slaps of your wet skin echoes in the glass walls of the shower, steam from the hot water filling both of your visions, as his tip brushes against your cervix, “S’good, Sugu, so deep,” your walls flutter around his dick.

“Good girl, so perfect f’me, take me so well,” his balls slap against the soft flesh of your ass as he fucks you harder, “been thinking about this for so long, thought about taking you in that hotel room all those nights ago, and it’s better than I could have imagined,” one of his hands finds your breast, tweaking and pinching your nipple, as your walls only pull him in deeper and deeper each time he sinks back in, “perfect little princess cunt made f’me, only for me,”

He’s desperate, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, “Please, I’m close,” your soft cries and moans will be the death of him. He’s turning your head and leaning forward to pull you into a kiss, a sloppy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. His hands squeeze your hips as he rocks against you again and again, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in his ears, until he finally hits that spot that has you seeing stars, pulling you over the edge. You cum, the coil in your stomach snapping as you do, your walls clamping down on his dick, as he notches himself deep and cums — spurting his hot release deep inside, as the two of you moan, lips parting. The quiet water drumming against his back fills the silence along with your soft gasps and his pants. The two of you slump forward in the shower, his arm braced around your middle, as his softened cock slips from inside.

He presses soft kisses to your neck and cheek, whispering quiet praises, “Let’s finish washing up, baby, and I’ll help you into bed,” and you nod, boneless, as you lean against his chest, fingers brushing down his cheek, “are you okay?”

You nod, as you lean up to kiss his lips, “More than, when I’m with you,” and you add with a dreamy smile, “especially when I find out you’ve fantasized about me,” his already flushed cheeks even redder than before, “you’ll have to tell me more about these thoughts,”

“And if I refuse?” he murmurs, the blush kissing his ears now, the pink of his soft skin contrasting against the black of his gauges.

You hum, “I have my ways of making you talk,” and he snorts, as your expression softens, “I love you,”

He turns you gently, finding your lips in another kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck — and he can’t think of a place he’d rather be than with you, “I love you too.”

~~~

“It’ll fly by,” you murmur, as you rake your fingers through his hair — you had convinced him to get a trim a week ago, the dead ends long gone, and all that was left were his gorgeous locks. He still opted for the long hair look — sometimes it was tucked away in a bun, other times it was half up, and even at times, he kept it down, “it’s two weeks, and then I’ll come by to visit you,”

“It’s two weeks too long,” Suguru sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry I had to do—”

You place a finger over his lips, “Don’t apologize for furthering your career with something you’ve always wanted to do,” you cut him off, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I only have one year left of the program, and then after that, we’ll see where we’re at—”

He glances away, “I don’t know where either of us will be — but I know I want us to be together,” he bites his lip, and it only makes you want to kiss him all the more, “if that’s what you want too,”

You pull back only to find his lips again, “You never mince your words do you, Professor?” You can’t help but smile at this man — the man you loved more than you could express in any combination of words.

“Well, I find my most bright students need a more direct approach,” and you laugh, as he’s pressing needy kisses along your jaw, nosing the sensitive skin, “I think you’ll find it’s a tried and true method,”

“Oh yeah, I’ve tried it — it’s very true,” as his lips kiss their way back to yours, “do you mean that? And what did you mean? Do you want us to live together or live in the same city—”

“I would like us to live together, if we are at that point then,” his gaze meets yours, a hint of concern dancing across his ever furrowed brow, “I don’t want to pressure you — so why don’t we discuss that when we get there?”

“Sounds reasonable,” your fingers smoothing his brow, “but for the record,” you kiss the tip of his nose, “I want to live with you too,” and you bite back a grin at the joy that evaporates the hints of worry on his features, “along with our non-negotiable dozen cats and adorable poodle,”

He laughs, an easy smile that pulled on his lips, as it always did with you, “I told you, I don’t take in strays aside from you,” you grab your pillow and hit him with it, as he laughs, “ow, ow, I’m joking! I’m sorry—” and you’re giggling as he rips the pillow from your grasp, only to roll you over onto your back, “it sounds nice — a home with you — waking up next to you, planning our days, spending our evenings,” he murmurs, “feels like a dream,”

You pull him into a kiss — you’ve had many dreams about this man before you — far too many sleepless nights hoping for this reality, only to have it ripped away. But you wouldn’t wake up from this dream, the back of your knuckles grazing his cheek, not ever.

“It won’t be — not for long.”

~~~~

“Still not awake? You’ll be late if you wake up any later,” a murmured whisper in your ear stirs you awake, words prying you from your unconscious, as you groan softly, limbs and eyes still so heavy with sleep. But you know you have to get up, part ways with your far too warm bed and the tempting grasp of your blanket.

“Don’t wanna wake up yet,” and a laugh rings in your ear, lips pressing soft kisses to your neck, “noooo, please, five more minutes,”

He relents as you stretch your limbs and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you — your thoughts similarly circling the drain — you had a lecture, a presentation, a student council meeting to tend to — not to mention a meeting with your advisor and the department head about your thesis.

You turn and cuddle into his chest, pressing soft kisses along the space where his collarbone and chest meet, you smirk against his skin as he shivers, as he murmurs your name.

“What? I’m trying to wake up,” as you lean up and meet him in a lazy kiss, fingers finding the back of his neck, “what better way than this?”

Today was going to be long, but you supposed it was worth it only to end up here at the end of the day, as you turn and run your fingers through his black locks, “What do you have to do today? First day of a new semester,”

“Two lectures and our meeting later today, and maybe lunch with you?” And your lips curl, as you pull your phone off its charger to check your emails.

“Really? Lunch? You don’t think that wouldn’t rally scandal across campus two members of the student council conferring outside their meetings on the first day of spring semester?” And he laughs, turning to face you, his short black hair fell in messy tangled in front of his forehead, “might be tempting political intrigue, Yuta,”

And your boyfriend only smiles, jet black short locks falling in front of his forehead as his fingers brush your cheek before he leans over to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, “I think we’ll be alright,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “we’ve been pretty lucky, don’t you think?”

It was so simple, it was so easy, and it was so right.

And your phone flashed with a reminder that caught your eye: Meeting with Suguru Geto — the first time you’d see him in several months, the first time since you had broken up, and the first time since he had broken your heart.

And Yuta called your name, his eyes curious, “You okay?” And you only smile, locking your phone and the glaring reminder away, to lean over and kiss your boyfriend.

“More than okay,” as you slowly sit up, “come on, we can’t be late, can we?”

✧ a/n: this has been a long time coming - so when i planned part three with hannah, it was supposed to have three arcs -- this is only one of them lmao - i suppose i was a bit too ambitious with what i thought i could contain in one part. anyway sorry about this ending lmao :) love you - don't worry they will all have a happy ending

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala, @ashhlsstuff, @blue041803, @mwtsxri, @bblgumfairy, @sukunasleftkneecap, @xo-evangeline, @fiannee, @teatreeoilll, @chalametet, @ryukaver, @d1gitalbathh, @saga3ious, @seventhcinema, @satosugucide, @your-l0nely-star, @sokkasmoon, @deegausserr, @hyookka, @oggsyy, @littlebitb, @higuchislut, @ti-mame, @itoshisins, @cerene-dipity, @onionsoop, @sinlillith, @izzythenaive, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon, @enchantedpendant, @serendididy, @soulstealercat, @neuviloved, @simply-a-s1mp, @satorusmochis, @maddietries,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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always-just-red · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! Hope this finds you well. Saw the request and wanted to ask for a Yandere Sylus with player reader. Like Sylus knows Mc is a player and he is a game character. When mc was gone for too long, Sylus gets impatient.

If you can do it, of course. If no, ignore this. Wish you writing ideas and inspiration

Hi! Hope you're well too, anon! Sorry for the long wait on this one, got really stuck with it and wanted to make sure I did it justice-- it was such a cool idea! (Also I know L&D has the microphone feature but I wanted to have fun with the limited communication of the player here, so no it doesn't, actually!! 🥰)

Fourth Wall

Sylus x Player!Reader 🩸

Summary: L&D is getting more and more real with each update. This is a new update... right?

Genre: idk really?? real world player x character

Warnings/Additional tags: yandere themes, player!reader, gender neutral, fourth-wall breaking, non-canon, swearing, mild threat, possessiveness, manipulation, Sylus is a little OOC here (we all know he's a sweetheart really!!)

| Word count: 1.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Your phone lights up with a notification.

Sylus: Are you in a good mood, sweetie? The weather’s nice, so let’s go out.

It makes you smile, even though you’ve seen it before. You haven’t played Love and Deepspace for two weeks or so, and you’re already thinking about how many dailies you’ve missed— more specifically, how many diamonds you’ll be short of going into the next event. You had a couple thousand saved, you think? It’s probably fine.

The truth is, you don’t really have time for it these days. Escaping reality with fiction is fun, but it’s just that: make believe. Reality’s still waiting for you on the other side, and recently? All that escaping has finally caught up to you. You have a real life. Responsibilities. Yay!

But you are in a good mood, and the weather is nice, so you’ll log in for old time’s sake. Your finger hovers over the app, but something makes you hesitate. You’ve got some emails you should probably get back to, first. Oh— and weren’t you supposed to call your friend, too?

Another notification:

Sylus: Take your time, kitten.

A new one? It’s just text on a screen, but you’re reading it— Sylus’s voice in your head—and you just know it’s dripping sarcasm. Before you have any time to dwell on it, your phone lights up with more notifications.

Sylus: I’m going to count to three.

Cute. He’s not actually going to—

Sylus: One…

Oh.

Sylus: Two…

Really?

Sylus: Three.

Ok.

You tap on the app, weirdly motivated by the time pressure given that it’s coming from a man who doesn’t actually exist. He smirks at you knowingly from the kindled moment you’d set as the loading screen, his crimson eyes playful. You’re not particularly patient either, so your fingers drum along the surface of your desk as you wait, your gaze caught between his and the slowly moving loading bar.

Come on… come on… It finally loads, and you enter the game with another apathetic tap. Sylus stands, waiting— a dark figure framed by the otherwise light and dreamy aesthetics of the Destiny Café. You smile to yourself; it’s just gone lunch, and you half expected to find him sprawled in the usual armchair, fast asleep.

He crosses his arms. “The countdown worked, huh? What are you— five?”

You scoff and give his head a flick. He chuckles, running a hand through his hair as though you’d struck him hard enough to ruffle it. It’s kind of cool that you get some unique dialogue when you’ve not logged in for a while, although… have you missed an update or something? The animation feels smoother. More lifelike, now you think about it.

Sylus stares back at you, his lips playing into a subtle smile. His arms are crossed again and he tilts his head like he’s enjoying your scrutiny. “Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks.

Not really. You zoom in with a practiced sweep of your fingers so you can get a better look at him. His eyes flit downwards, over you— equally shameless— and then he’s meeting your gaze as he steps forward, closing the distance. He can’t see you, but you still can’t bring yourself to look away from him, and you’re not really thinking about the animation anymore.

He lifts a finger to poke at the screen, as if he’s caught you daydreaming and wants you back. You poke him, too: a softer, more affectionate boop on the nose. You can’t help laughing to yourself as his face screws up beneath the touch. This game is getting a little too real.

With a sigh, you zoom out so you can set about collecting your daily log-in rewards. Sylus seems fine— standing idly by as your attention drifts about elsewhere. He knows the drill. He can wait. Speaking of waiting… it’s also been a while since you’ve seen the other guys, and you’re struck by a pang of nostalgic fondness. You might as well say hi while you’re here.

You hit the button to change who you want to meet in the café.

It doesn’t do anything.

Weird. You hit it again. Then again— no change.

Sylus is holding his chin as he regards where your finger aimlessly meets the screen. It’s like he’s looking at… the button? “Oh dear,” he sympathises, “that feature appears to have stopped working.”

You don’t really hear him, honestly. You’ve never had a bug like this, and you’re determined to overcome it with sheer, stubborn persistence. Is it your phone? You test the theory by jabbing Sylus’s chest, and he glances down, apparently feeling it. You try the button again. Then six more times.

Sylus wanders closer to you. “You’re hurting my feelings, sweetie. Am I not enough for you?”

Ok but why isn’t this working? You’re still trying the button; your hope has turned to frenzied disbelief.

“Stop.”

A single syllable, concise as a punch and just as effective. You do stop.

Sylus’s voice is lower. Darker. “Good,” he praises, but he doesn’t sound happy. “Someone’s gotten bolder in their absence, it would seem. I do hope you haven’t forgotten to whom you belong, kitten. Although—” his smile is different than before— “I’d be more than happy to provide a… reminder.”

It’s an innocuous word but not the way he says it. Threats are just intimate promises and he toys with the fact like a crow enamoured by something that catches the light. He’s not going to grow tired of it for a long, long time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, sensing you gawping. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? What all… this is?” He indicates the space around him with a wave of his hand. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised the others still haven’t grasped it.” He reconsiders. Smirks. “I misspoke— I’m not surprised.”

Does he mean the game? The other LIs?

“Honestly, kitten,” he continues with a tut and a shake of his head, “you’ve been far from a gracious host. I’m not a plaything, you know. Well…” He’s showing teeth with a sneer. “Not the sort you can throw away, anyhow.”

God, are you really being scolded by a video game character for having other responsibilities? The worst part is that you actually feel bad. You do care about him. You wish you could tell him you care about him.

“Are you even listening?” he sighs.

Shit. Yeah. You can’t say anything he would hear— as far as you know— so you give his hand a poke. He casts his gaze downwards, stretches his fingers with a contemplative flex, then raises his hand so it can be nursed by the other. Is he protecting it from you? Or is he protecting you from it?

“If we’re to keep playing this game of ours, I think it only fair we lay down some rules,” he states. “Firstly—” because it isn’t up for debate— “you will come here every day, just like you used to. I have nothing to do, you see, and if you leave me to my own devices I might just have to find a way into that captivating little world of yours. So I can… investigate what’s keeping you from me.”

Investigate. Another innocuous word he wields like a weapon.

“Secondly,” he continues, nodding towards the broken button on your user interface, “you had better stop seeing the others. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and we wouldn’t want to worry about them connecting any dots, now would we? Besides…” He approaches you again, leaning in close. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re so glad you don’t need to speak. You don’t think you could; if you tried to get words out they’d be unintelligible.

“So,” Sylus drawls, filling your silence, “how about it? Still want to play?”

This time it is a question, but only because he knows your answer. You’re struck by a flash of inspiration, and you communicate in one of the few ways you can— navigating the in-game menus until you can get your message across.

There’s a ping. Sylus retrieves his phone from his pocket, and after a moment of scrolling, he smiles. You can’t see his screen, but you know what he’s looking at: a grumpy crow with an animated bead of sweat and a dispassionate gaze to go with it. That it? it asks.

He still looks far too smug, so you beckon him over with a relax time interaction, watching your character’s hand outstretch on your behalf. He steps forward, linking his fingers with yours, and this animation you know. You tug him closer, except… he doesn’t budge.

His eyes are fixed to where your hands are linked, and he runs a thumb over your skin as though he’s savouring the touch.

Did they change the animation?

“Oh, sweetie,” he sympathises with a click of his tongue. He looks up at you— holds your gaze as he presses a deliberately slow kiss to your wrist. “This is going to be fun.”

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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draconic-desire · 8 months ago

Text

Ad Experimentum

Yandere Dr. Ratio x Reader

Veritas catches you reading one of your dirty books.

Warnings: Implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment, NSFW scenes being read aloud, Dr. Ratio being a dick as always

Within the confines of Veritas’s home, you feel like a mouse in a maze, reduced to a caged animal, always under scrutiny and experimentation.

Escape is impossible. Dr. Ratio has ensured that you’re never out of his reach, even though he acts as if you are the burden and he didn’t kidnap you and imprison you in his home. Sometimes you wonder why he even keeps you; surely he has better things to do than to quip at your inadequacy or lack of genius. But alas, the pretentious prick seems keen on pushing every one of your buttons to see how you tick. You might even call it intimacy if he wasn’t so clinical and judgmental about it all.

Because physical escape is impossible, you’ve turned to escaping within the confines of your own mind.

Books provided the perfect retreat. You’ve since abandoned any non-fiction to focus on fantasy, to worlds that effortlessly whisk you away. Novels that depict true, romantic love, not the twisted ownership you’ve grown used to. Like you’re some pet to be controlled and prodded at, like Pavlov’s dog, waiting and drooling for its master’s hand at the ring of a bell.

So, in your hopes to feel something real, you’ve started to delve into stories that are a bit…spicier.

With the latest read in your hand, your eyes skim hungrily over the pages as the tension between the protagonists builds. The lovers begin to undress each other, the one spreading his partner’s pussy as she grinds into his hand—

Veritas effortlessly plucks the book from your hands, earning a cry of protest. You try to snatch it back, but, with the help of his towering height, he dangles it just out of reach. “What in the heavens is this?”

The way he holds the book between his thumb and pointer finger, as if merely touching it would taint his self-proclaimed perfect set of knowledge, was almost comedic. You would laugh if he wasn’t such a condescending asshole.

Instead, you scowl. “Give it back.”

He merely hums and turns the novel in his hands, inspecting the cover. Licking his thumb, he flips to your bookmarked page and begins reading aloud. “My hand caressed her core as I speared her with two, thick fingers. She moaned and arched into my palm in response, causing my cock to twitch in anticipation. God, I wanted to taste her arousal. Her pussy was perfect, so wet and tight and ready for me to claim, to fuck.”

Embarrassment rages across your cheeks like a burn. You fling yourself at him, pounding your fists against his chest when he lifts the book out of your reach easily. “Stop, just stop.”

Amused, Dr. Ratio continues to narrate the scene in painstaking detail. “I lowered my head, letting my tongue swirl around her clit and rendering her voice to nothing but pitiful mewls. She tasted like heaven, like my own personal feast. I buried my tongue in her, then, and held her hips as she bucked into my mouth, begging for release—”

“I will do anything,” you beg, face in your palms, “just please stop.”

Finally, mercifully, Veritas closes the book and lowers it down enough for you to snatch it back. You cradle it against your chest, heart pounding and palms sweaty with a chaotic blend of shame, anger, and relief that it was over.

“This is what you indulge in while I’m working? Though you are hardly an intellectual exception, I believed you to be above this brain-rotting nonsense, (Y/n).”

In spite of your embarrassment, you boldly meet his golden eyes. “And what do you care? I enjoy it, and it’s not meant for you. Go stick your nose in a dictionary for all I care.”

“At least I’d be learning something,” he sneers in return, looking down his nose at you. He sniffs, tilting his chin up. “What do those books have that I can’t offer you?”

You still, observing his features. Now that the fun of teasing you has worn off, his eyes flare with loathing. With a jolt, you realize it is not aimed at you but at…the book?

Wordlessly, you glance between Dr. Ratio and your novel. Then, a stilted laugh escapes your lips. “Wait.. Are you seriously jealous of a book?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” he scoffs, though you notice his white-knuckled grip against the back of the armchair you were previously lounging in. “I would never stoop so low as to associate myself with that plebeian filth. I simply wanted to ascertain your reaction to it being read aloud.”

You resist the desperate urge to roll your eyes. “Fine, then. Please leave me to my uneducated filth.” You spin around, intent on finding a new place to finish your reading.

“Not so fast.” Veritas is on you quicker than a cobra, large hands gripping both your shoulders. “Perhaps all is not lost. We may yet transform this circumstance into an educational opportunity for you.”

A chill runs down your spine at the heavy touch, and a sudden sense of foreboding warns you to run. You’re all too aware you’re the mouse being fed to the snake in this moment.

Veritas spins you to face him, eyes slowly trailing down your form, as if taking you in with a new perspective. “I believe an experiment is due.”

You go rigid. “I’m sorry?”

“If you’re so intent on reading about all those fantasies in your books, let’s go ahead and put them to the test, shall we?”

At his clear implication, you yelp and make a run for it. In that moment Veritas strikes, fisting your hair with one hand and cupping your chin with the other as he presses your body flush against his own. You can already feel his hard desire digging into your back.

“Here’s my hypothesis,” he purrs in your ear. “I predict that by the end of tonight, you too will be begging for my cum, whether you want to or not.”

His theory, as always, was proven to be correct.

#yandere dr ratio #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere #honaki star rail #hsr dr ratio #hsr drabbles #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio #hsr veritas #veritas x reader #yandere veritas ratio

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rispwr · 1 month ago

Text

she's not me - JK - FF - ONE SHOT (M)

pairings : ex!jk x ex!fem!reader

sypnosis : He said he moved on, but why does your toothbrush still stand next to his, even when he has "someone new" already?

genre : ex2l, cheating, smut, fluff if you squint

content/warnings : oral(male recieving), smut, making out, bitch!oc, oc is not very nice, blowjob, missionary, lingerie, cheating! jk and oc.

disclaimer : this fic is completely fictional, i do not know any of the idols personally nor assuming that this is how they act in real life. this fic is for entertainment purposes only

People think they know what it’s like to have everything. They think it must be easy, having the world at your feet, getting anything you want with a single demand. Well, they’re right. It is easy. Easy, effortless, perfect—just how I like it.

And Jungkook? He was no different.

From the moment he laid eyes on me, he worshipped me. He bought me anything I asked for, made time for me whenever I needed him, and spoiled me in ways even my parents never could. He used to say I was everything he ever wanted, everything he couldn’t resist. But that’s the thing—people always want you until they can’t have all of you. And when Jungkook realized just how much it took to keep me, he broke. He said I was “too much.”

I laughed at him. Too much? He knew who I was from the beginning, knew that I don’t do “less.” I don’t tone it down. I don’t bend for anyone. He thought he could change me, make me softer, more agreeable, more manageable.

Pathetic.

So he left. Said he needed space, that he couldn’t handle my demands anymore. I told him to go, told him I didn’t care. If he couldn’t give me everything, then I didn’t need him. There’s always someone else who can. At least, that’s what I told myself.

Yet here we are—him, in my apartment, like nothing’s changed.

I stand at the foot of my bed, my arms crossed as I watch him pace around the room like he’s trying to convince himself he shouldn’t be here. But he is here. And that says more than any of his excuses ever could.

“You really thought you could move on from me?” I taunt, my voice dripping with amusement. “Please, Jungkook. You know how this works. You always come back.”

He glares at me, his jaw clenched tight. “You think this is funny? You think this is some kind of game, Y/N?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you’re the victim here. You knew exactly what you were getting into from the start. You chose this.”

“You haven’t changed at all,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Still the same spoiled, selfish—”

I cut him off with a smirk. “And yet, here you are.” I take a step closer to him, watching the way his body tenses as I invade his space. “If you really hated me so much, you wouldn’t be here. But we both know why you came.”

He doesn’t answer, but I can see it in his eyes. He’s struggling, caught between the version of himself he wants to be and the one he can’t escape. The one that always finds its way back to me. He’s with someone else now, or at least, that’s what he’s told everyone. He’s “moved on.” He’s “happy.” But if that’s true, why did he come here tonight? Why did he show up at my door, knowing exactly what was going to happen?

Because I still own him. No matter who he’s with, no matter how much he tries to deny it, he’ll always come back to me.

I run my fingers along his jawline, feeling the tension beneath my touch. “You’re still mine, Jungkook. You can lie to yourself all you want, but we both know the truth.”

His breath hitches, and for a moment, he falters. I can see the struggle in his eyes, the fight between wanting to leave and wanting me. But it doesn’t last long. It never does.

Without warning, he grabs me, pulling me closer, his hands rough against my skin. He’s angry, frustrated, but I can feel the need beneath it all. This is what he wants. This is why he’s here. And no matter what he says, I know I’m still in control.

I don’t even have time to smirk before he’s on top of me, his lips crushing mine with a desperation that’s almost laughable. He hates me, or at least, he wants to. But that hate only makes him want me more.

I give in, letting him take what he needs, because this is what I wanted from the start. He thinks he’s the one in control, that he’s the one making the decisions, but the truth is, he’s doing exactly what I want him to.

And then, just as I knew it would happen, the sound of his phone interrupts us.

His body goes rigid, and for a second, I think he’s going to stop, going to pull away and regain whatever shred of dignity he thinks he has left. But he doesn’t. He keeps going, ignoring the buzzing in his pocket as it continues, relentless.

I smirk against his lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “Your girlfriend’s calling.”

He freezes, his breath heavy against my skin. The phone keeps buzzing, the screen lighting up with her name. I glance down at it, the smirk never leaving my face.

“You gonna answer that?”

He doesn’t respond, but I can see the guilt flicker across his expression. It’s almost endearing, how he still tries to pretend like he’s better than this. Like he’s not exactly where he wants to be.

The buzzing stops, and for a moment, there’s silence. But I’m not done yet.

I brush my lips against his ear, my voice soft but biting. “You’ll really always come back, won’t you? No matter how many times you try to run, no matter who you’re with… you’ll always end up here. With me.”

He’s silent, but the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.

The phone buzzes again, and this time, I laugh. A low, mocking sound that cuts through the tension between us.

“You should really answer her, you know. She might start wondering where you are.” I pull away from him completely, walking toward the bed with a casual grace that I know drives him crazy. “Or maybe you’d rather stay here. With me.”

Jungkook doesn’t move at first. He’s still standing there, conflicted, torn between two worlds that are pulling him in opposite directions. I can see it in his eyes—the guilt, the frustration, the longing. He wants to leave. He should leave. But he can’t. He never does.

And that’s the thing about Jungkook. No matter how much he tries to fight it, no matter how many times he tells himself he’s done, he’ll always come back.

Because I’m the one thing he can’t let go of.

I sit down on the bed, crossing one leg over the other as I watch him wrestle with himself. The phone buzzes again, louder this time, as if it’s demanding an answer. But he’s not going to pick it up. He’s not going to leave.

Jungkook’s phone buzzes again. This time, instead of ignoring it, he lets out a frustrated sigh and pulls it out of his pocket. His eyes flicker to the screen, and for a moment, I think he’s going to silence it like before, but then his thumb hovers over the answer button.

Interesting.

He presses it and brings the phone to his ear, his voice changing, softening in a way that makes me roll my eyes.

“Hey, Sewon,” he says, his tone so calm, it’s almost disgusting. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be home tonight… I’m at my mom’s house. She’s sick, so I’m staying over to take care of her.”

I arch a brow, barely able to hold back a laugh. Your mom’s house? Of all the lies he could’ve told, he picked that?

He glances at me while he speaks, and I can’t help but smirk. His lies are so obvious, so transparent. Sewon must be a fool if she buys this.

“I know,” Jungkook continues, running a hand through his hair, trying to sound convincing. “I’ll check in tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

He nods as if she can see him. “Yeah, love you too. Get some rest.”

When he finally hangs up, there’s a brief moment of silence between us. The phone in his hand feels like an invisible weight between the two of us, heavy with the guilt and deceit that’s been left hanging in the air.

And then, just like that, he tosses the phone onto the dresser and turns back to me. His eyes darken, the softness from his voice with Sewon gone in an instant, replaced by the hunger that’s always been there. The one he can never hide when he’s with me.

I laugh quietly, shaking my head as I lean back against the pillows, propping myself up with my elbows. “Your mom’s house?” I mock, biting my lip to keep from outright laughing. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes says everything.

He crosses the room in two quick strides, grabbing me with a possessive force that sends a thrill through my body. He pulls me to him, and before I can say another word, his lips crash against mine.

There’s nothing soft or gentle about the way he kisses me this time. It’s desperate, raw, and full of frustration—everything that’s been simmering between us since the moment he walked through the door.

The kiss deepens, and I feel the heat radiating between us. Jungkook’s hands grip my waist, his fingers digging into my skin, igniting every nerve in my body. I can taste the urgency in his kiss—the need, the desire, the pent-up frustration from the distance we’ve kept between us.

He pulls away just long enough to look me in the eye, and I can see the battle raging inside him. “i shouldn't be here” he says, his voice a low growl. But there’s no conviction behind his words. I can see the truth lurking just beneath the surface.

“you shouldn't..” I reply, my tone dripping with confidence as I pull him closer. “but aren't tired of her?”

With a sudden burst of determination, Jungkook’s hands slide down to the hem of my dress. In one swift motion, he tears it away, the fabric ripping apart like it’s made of paper. The cool air hits my skin, sending chills down my spine, but the thrill of being exposed to him makes me gasp.

My lingerie, black lace and delicate, is now the only thing standing between us. I can see the way his eyes darken, the way his breath hitches as he takes in the sight of me. I can feel his desire, raw and intense, radiating from him.

“God, Y/N,” he breathes, his voice thick with lust. “You drive me insane.”

And just like that, I know this is what he wants—what we both want. The boundaries of our past and present melt away in the heat of the moment, and all that matters is the connection between us, the electric tension that fills the room.

I can’t help but smirk as I lean back, teasingly inviting him to explore what’s beneath my lingerie. “Then stop talking,” I whisper, “and show me just how insane I make you.”

"take this off, please" i whined "desperate that much? all for cock?" he hissed under his breath chuckling "your cock" murmured breathly.

"unbuckle it then. show me how much you're a slut for this cock" he demanded me. ofcourse our sex was always great, no matter what happens he'll always come back to me. i got up on my knees and start unbuckling his belt while keeping eye contact.]

i palm his obviously hard bulge teasing him. "Feel this? It's just for you." he mutters "ofcourse it is" i give him a look "who else is it supposed to be for?" i laugh hysterically, enjoying every moment i'm in control.

I slip his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, exposing him fully. His breath hitches as I continue palming him, watching his reactions with satisfaction. His head tilts back slightly, his jaw clenched in restraint, but I can see how much control I have over him in this moment.

"That’s right,” I purr, my voice low. “No one else can make you feel like this.”

Jungkook lets out a low groan, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer, but I keep the pace slow, teasing him. His frustration is palpable, but that only spurs me on. I love seeing him like this, powerless beneath my touch despite how dominant he tries to be.

"You're enjoying this way too much," he mutters through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing at me.

I laugh softly, leaning in just enough to whisper in his ear. "And you're going to let me, aren’t you?"

For a moment, there’s only the sound of our breathing, the heat between us overwhelming. His hand moves to the strap of my lingerie, tugging at it roughly. “Take it off,” he demands, his voice a growl, filled with need.

I look up at him, my eyes glinting with defiance. “Make me,” I challenge, knowing full well what it’ll do to him.

The tension between us crackles

His eyes flash with a mix of frustration and desire, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body as he grapples with the control he’s trying to maintain. “You think you can play games with me?” he challenges, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, betraying his eagerness.

With a swift motion, Jungkook grips the strap of my lingerie and pulls it down, exposing my skin to him. The cool air sends a shiver through me, and I let out a soft gasp. His gaze darkens, drinking in the sight before him, and I can’t help but feel empowered by his reaction.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a hint of pride lacing his voice as he watches me, eyes burning with hunger. “Now, let’s see how much you really want this.”

I bite my lip, reveling in the control I have. I shift my weight back on my knees, arching my back just a little, offering him a glimpse of everything he craves. “You want me to beg for it?” I tease, my tone laced with playful challenge.

He chuckles darkly, shaking his head as if to say he’s not going to give in that easily. “I want you to show me, Y/N. Show me how desperate you are.”

With a sly smile, I lean forward, keeping my gaze locked on his as I lower my mouth to his hardness. I let my breath ghost over him, the teasing anticipation making his muscles tense even more.

“Feel this?” I ask, my voice sultry as I glance up at him. “she can never ever make you feel this way”

“uhuh- y-yeah” he retorts, his voice strained.

I laugh softly, enjoying the way my teasing drives him wild. The power shifts back and forth between us, but for now, I hold the reins.

I wrap my hand around him, giving him a few teasing strokes. His eyes widen, and a groan escapes his lips, making my heart race. The rush of power I feel is intoxicating, and I lean in closer, taking him in my mouth slowly, savoring the moment as I begin to work him with my tongue.

“God, Y/N,” he gasps, his hand threading through my hair, encouraging me to take him deeper. I can feel him fighting to maintain control, but the way he pulls me in tells me he’s losing the battle.

I look up at him, watching the way his face twists in pleasure. “You love this,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to let my words hang in the air between us.

“Don’t stop,” he growls, the command wrapped in desperation. “You know I can’t resist you.”

I smile, knowing I’ve pushed him just where I want him. The thrill of our back-and-forth dance adds another layer of heat to the moment, and I relish in the chaos we’ve created.

With renewed determination, I take him deeper again, swirling my tongue around him while my hands continue to work his length. The sounds he makes spur me on, igniting the fire within me, and I can feel my own body responding to the thrill of the moment.

“God, Y/N, i-i'm cumming” he admits, breathless and raw, his eyes wild with need.

I pull away slightly, my lips glistening. “Then don’t. Let go,” I encourage, my voice low and sultry. “I want to see just how far you’ll go for me.”

His breath catches at my words, and I can see the battle within him intensifying. Jungkook's eyes darken with a mix of desire and urgency, the tension crackling between us as I watch him teeter on the edge of control.

“You’re insane,” he mutters, his voice rough. “Do you know that?”

“Maybe,” I tease, a playful smirk on my lips. “But you love it.”

Before I can say anything else, he grips my hair tightly, pulling me back up to meet his gaze. The sudden shift catches me off guard, but there’s a wild glint in his eyes that sends a thrill down my spine.

“I want you, Y/N,” he growls, and it’s a statement, not a request. “Now.”

With that, he shoves me back onto the bed, his hands exploring my body with urgency. The way he caresses me is both rough and tender, his touch igniting every nerve ending as he hungrily takes in the sight of me beneath him. I feel alive, electric under his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with a possessive edge. “So fucking perfect.”

As he leans down to kiss me again, his lips find mine with a fierce hunger. I feel myself melting into him, our bodies pressing together, a collision of heat and desire. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t help but lose myself in the moment, all thoughts of Sewon and the outside world slipping away.

“Please, Jungkook,” I whimper, the need pooling within me, begging for release. “I need you.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine, as if gauging my sincerity. “You really want this?” he asks, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. “After everything?”

I nod, desperation spilling over. “You know I do. You always come back to me, Jungkook. We can’t fight this.”

He grits his teeth, his grip on me tightening. “You’re right. I can’t fight it.”

And just like that, he reclaims his dominance, his lips crashing against mine once more, the kiss deepening as he settles himself between my legs. I feel the heat radiating from him, the raw energy making my heart race faster.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” he murmurs against my lips, his breath mingling with mine. “Let’s give in to what we both want.”

With a swift motion, he pulls my lingerie down, leaving me completely exposed to him. The thrill of vulnerability sends shivers through my body, the anticipation of what’s to come making me dizzy with excitement.

“Jungkook,” I gasp, my heart racing as he moves closer, his warmth enveloping me entirely.

He leans in, kissing down my body, his lips trailing fire across my skin. Each touch ignites a desperate longing within me, pushing me closer to the edge. “You deserve this, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice low and raspy. “You deserve everything.”

His hands explore every inch of me, igniting sensations I’ve only ever dreamed of. The pleasure builds, a wave of heat that makes me writhe beneath him, and I can feel myself teetering on the brink, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

“Jungkook, please,” I plead, my voice trembling with need. “jungkook..please- fuck!! i'm cumming- im cumming”

He looks up at me, his expression a mix of mischief and determination. “go” he commands, his voice deep and commanding, sending another wave of desire coursing through me.

With one swift motion, he positions himself at my entrance, and I can feel the heat radiating from him, the promise of everything I crave.

“wanna cum again?” he asks, searching my eyes for any hesitation.

I nod, my heart pounding. “yes! fuck- yes please!!”

As Jungkook fills me, a gasp escapes my lips, a mix of pleasure and relief washing over me. Every inch of him feels like home, like the part of me I didn’t know I was missing until this very moment. It’s intoxicating, the way he moves, his body melding with mine as if we were always meant to be this way.

He begins to move, slow at first, savoring the moment. Each thrust sends ripples of pleasure coursing through me, and I can feel the tension in my body tightening. My nails dig into his back as I pull him closer, urging him to go deeper, to give me more of what I crave.

“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice strained and filled with desire. “fuck. you're so tight”

I can’t help but smile, the rush of excitement and control coursing through me as he loses himself in the moment. “You like this, huh?” I tease breathlessly, my hips meeting his with every thrust. “You like coming back to me, even after everything.”

He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine, driving me wild. “I can’t help it. You drive me crazy.”

With each movement, the rhythm between us builds, and I can feel the way his body responds to mine, the way he lets go of everything else that exists outside this room.

“More,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath. “I want more, Jungkook. Don’t hold back. fill me up”

His gaze sharpens, and there’s a flicker of something dark in his eyes. “You asked for it,” he warns, but there’s no hesitation as he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming deeper and more urgent.

The world around us fades away, and it’s just the two of us—lost in our own little universe. I feel every sensation magnified, the pleasure building with each movement, spiraling higher and higher until I feel like I might burst.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so fucking perfect. I can’t get enough of you.”

I can feel my walls tightening around him, the pressure building, and I know I’m close. “Jungkook,” I breathe, my voice trembling with need. “I’m going to—”

“Let go,” he urges, his breath hot against my ear. “show me who's making you cum like this.”

His words push me over the edge, and with a cry, I let the pleasure take over. It washes over me in waves, pulling me under until I can hardly breathe, and I can feel him following me, the way his body tenses, the deep groan that escapes his lips echoing in my ears.

“Y/N!” he cries out, and the sound sends another rush of pleasure through me as we both ride the waves of ecstasy together. The connection between us is electric, and I can’t remember ever feeling so alive.

As we both come down from the high, Jungkook collapses beside me, panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with every breath. I turn to him, a smile spreading across my face, knowing that despite everything, we always find our way back to each other.

“See?” I tease, nudging him playfully. “I told you you’d come back.”

He chuckles, looking over at me with that familiar warmth in his eyes. “You make it impossible not to.”

And just like that, the playful banter flows between us, the tension easing as we bask in the afterglow of what we just shared.

But then, the moment is interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing, cutting through the air. Jungkook’s expression shifts, and I can see the annoyance etched on his face as he glances at his phone.

“It’s Sewon,” he says, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at the interruption.

“Shouldn’t you pick it up?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow, trying to gauge his reaction.

He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the screen. “I don’t want to,” he admits, his voice low.

“Then don’t,” I reply, my heart racing at the thought of him choosing me over her, even if just for a moment.

But Jungkook sighs, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. “I have to,” he says reluctantly. “She’ll worry if I don’t.”

“Why should you care?” I shoot back, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You’re here with me, not her.”

“I know,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “But I don’t want to deal with her drama right now.”

“Then don’t,” I urge, my tone softening as I reach out to touch his arm. “Just be here. Be with me.”

He looks torn, glancing back at his phone before finally silencing it. “You’re right,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine. “I’ll deal with her later.”

I smile, feeling a surge of satisfaction. “Good. Now come here.”

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss me softly. “You always know how to get what you want, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I reply, smirking. “It’s what I do best.”

taglists : @crazyovayou @sinfullygay @minghaosimp @pitchblack0309

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stormgardenscurse · 2 months ago

Text

pillow stacks

Summary: Sleeping over with them! Ace’s is longer in honour of his birthday!

Characters: Ace, Vil, Azul, Charming Stranger (that new Gojo-guy in the next halloween event)

Ace

The idea begins when Ace realises how quiet Ramshackle Dorm is at night. Sure, you say that you’re used to it and it’s not a big deal, but a part of Ace feels bad for not realising that no matter how he and Deuce may try to liven up your daily life, you still are, first and foremost, a student displaced in another world.

And with that comes a certain sense of loneliness that Ace can’t stop thinking about. At this point, it’s less pity that he feels for you and more of a desire to hang out with you after your usual hours. He wants you to feel like you have a home in Twisted Wonderland, too. And, well… He’d like to include you in his, by letting you into his personal world, if he has the chance.

…Which is why you’re here now! Doing typical things like a movie marathon, nail painting, and snacking on cup noodles. Ace claims that everyone just needs some TLC once in a while (including him, though you can’t imagine what’s stressing him out), so he’ll even let you do his nails (if you do a bad job Ace will have his revenge by doing your makeup after).

But Ace has always been a best friend who involves you in everything, so the activities up until now haven’t really struck either of you with a sense of ‘something more’ yet. That is, until you guys were fighting over the makeup palette and it stains your shirt - you didn’t bring a spare, so it was left to Ace to give you one of his instead.

That was the moment Ace realised that not only was he dressing you up, but he was doing so in his clothes; just what kind of crazy scenario is that?!

Suffice to say, he couldn’t help but stare as he saw the way one of his baggier shirts looked on your frame. It had to be one of his sleepwears too, which most people wouldn’t see him in - which only makes his thoughts race even further, knowing that this was a side of you that only he would be privy to. And he’d very much keep it like that.

(The next day, Ace just borrows you one of his uniform’s dress-shirts so that you can escape the dorm without looking too suspicious. You get caught regardless because he’d forgotten to retrieve one of his hair pins from you, in the design of a bright red cherry.)

Vil

It’s not often that you get to spend a quiet evening with Vil (or simply a quiet, extended amount of time at all, considering how busy the both of you are). So to summarise the sleepover as therapeutic wouldn’t be too far off.

Vil wastes no time in beginning an elaborate skincare routine, and the two of you watch movies while waiting for your face masks to dry.

You even manage to convince Vil to try one of your favourite games. If it’s for two-players, you’ll quickly get engrossed and experience a bit of drama (just typical, childish arguments about how one of you keep falling off the platforms). If it’s a visual novel or otome type of thing, you finally have the chance to witness what Vil Schoenheit, real-life celebrity and crush of thousands, has to say about romancing a 2D fictional man who is pretty, by the game’s standards, and critique how the storyline goes.

Spoiler: he thinks you just decided to torture him for your entertainment, specifically because you chose an otome where the male leads were all pigeons.

In the case where you played a normal two-player game, Vil will ultimately try and fail to forget about it so that he doesn’t get addicted/distracted by the game in the next few days, but of course, you soon get asked when you’ll next be free to play. He needs to get the ending over with so that he can move on with his life.

Your main souvenir from the sleepover is a new phone wallpaper — which Vil swapped for you when you were still setting up the game on your laptop. It’s a selfie with the two of you together, a far-cry from the usual celebrity and prefect personas you wear in everyday life.

Azul

No one can fathom how you managed to convince Azul to do this. Even with the pretence of this being a study-sleepover, he was generally much too self conscious about how he’s presented to let people witness him unguarded — let alone sleepwear.

Azul’s stuck; he can’t wear anything too tight fitting or hugging his silhouette because he knows he’ll just be too busy stealing glances, checking to see your reaction and overthinking about whether it’s a good one or not. So, instead, Azul wears something baggier (very unlike him), which also covers all his skin.

His plan works pretty well, up until the point where you almost roll off the bed by accident, and while catching you, Azul realises - ears red and face following - that you were leaning your entire weight on him. And your hands are right on his abs.

It’s almost phantom-like how fast the two of you dart away, trying to salvage your dignities. You’re left flustered because his muscles felt unexpectedly defined, while Azul is considering if he should make a contract with you and try to confiscate your memories of the past minute.

The paper that you both were working on is submitted successfully the next day, but Professor Trein notices an embarrassing spelling error on your names.

Just what could’ve caused this kind of mistake anyways? Well… it may have to do with your innocent question of how your names would be written together if you had the same surname instead.

Just yours ‘and Azul Ashengrotto’ together in one line, or separately as you ‘Ashengrotto and Azul Ashengrotto’? Wouldn’t that sound redundant?

Azul had quite enough of your questions after that, scribbling your names and shutting the folder like his life depended on it. He’d forgotten to include your surname, making it look like the former hypothetical above.

Charming Stranger (Pumpkin King, Gojo twst, etc)

For a second, you thought you’d woken up in yet another coffin like the one that brought you to Twisted Wonderland. But you were soon proven wrong as someone cleared their throat next to you, causing you to jump and hit your head against the coffin door in your alarm.

It’s more spacious than you realise, accommodating a man beside you without it feeling too crushed. But judging by the lack of panic on your part about how claustrophobic it is, you assume that this was some sort of odd dream.

An odd dream with a charming-looking stranger. Perhaps you wouldn’t want to wake up just yet.

The stranger welcomes you to his humble abode, mentioning that it’s the first time that anyone has entered here other than himself. That ought to make you quite special, seeing as he doesn’t even feel irritated by the lack of space. Are you perhaps a ghost seeking some warmth? He regrets to inform you that his vessel is equally as cold as the ‘bed’ around you.

He’s also quite enamoured by your nickname for him. ‘It makes it sound like we’re in a romantic tale~ If you do not mind dancing in a graveyard of wilted flowers, then I would be more than happy to share a never-ending waltz with you.’

You bat off his comments, saying you probably won’t meet again after this - only to be taken aback by his smile.

Confident, knowing, and stretched as wide as a jack-o-lantern’s mouth. For a second it finally hits you that he is a type of powerful being, and that if he wanted to, may gain a permanent hold on your soul.

Then, the alarm flees your veins as his expression relaxes, taking your hand to place a parting kiss on your knuckles. Until you meet again…

Like how most dreams evade memory, you’ve already forgotten about this encounter the next time you see this man. His eyes land on you within he crowd of students at the college, and seems delighted that you’re there.

A wink, a finger to his lips. Just wait a little longer, and you can share that waltz he promised you atop his bed.

#ace trappola x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #pumpkin king twst #gojo twisted wonderland #THESE TAGS ARE SO UNSERIOUS ILL EDIT THEM ONCE HIS OFFICIAL NAME IS OUT 😭#twst x reader #twst x you #twisted wonderland imagines #twst headcanons #twst writing #twst reader insert

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watercolorfreckles · 5 months ago

Note

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her.

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip.

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity.

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active.

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking.

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across.

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again.

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…”

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee.

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing.

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection.

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.”

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning.

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper.

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face.

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better.

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot.

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces.

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight.

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

Part 2

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dreamescapeswriting · 7 months ago

Text

Flirting With Fiction ~ BC

⤜WORD COUNT: 0.8K

⤜GENRE: Established relationship, cute, fluff, couples being cute, chan finding out the reader is reading smut

⤜PAIRING: Chan x GN!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - April 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

The sun dipped low, casting a warm, golden glow into Chan's living room as he and you lounged together on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he lazily scrolled through his phone. It had been a day of lazy contentment, filled with shared laughter and easy conversation. But now, as the shadows lengthened, a curious silence fell between the two of you. Which was a little odd since you were usually the type to fill any kind of silence in the air.

If there was one thing Chan knew about you it was that you hated when it was too quiet in the air and you needed to fill it. Chan glanced over at you, his brow furrowing in confusion at your uncharacteristic quietness. He worried something was wrong, maybe something had upset you or maybe he'd done it somehow. Panic built up inside of his chest and he swallowed the lump in his throat, putting his phone down.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, nudging you gently with his elbow. "You've been unusually quiet." He added a soft chuckle on the end to let you know he wasn't being mean about it, Chan didn't want to upset you or make you feel judged for anything but he needed to know you were okay. You jumped slightly, tearing your gaze away from the book you were holding in your hands, you shut it instantly and smiled up at him.

Whenever you opened a book the words danced before your eyes, and you could feel yourself slipping from reality. It was like a siren's call, luring you further into the depths of the world the book was created for you. Books were the one thing in your life that you had always used as an escape in life, the one place you choose to go to when things got tough, or just for fun. You'd read in front of Chan before but never got so lost in the pages as much as you had tonight. The book just had a grip on you, something you couldn't put down.

"Oh, um, nothing," you murmured, attempting to hide the title with a feeble attempt at nonchalance since Chan had already caught you acting suspicious about it.

Chan arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin as he leaned closer to peer at the book, you pulled it to your chest doing your best to hide it from him but it was too late, he'd already caught a glimpse of the title.

"Hmm, 'Forbidden Desires: A Tale of Passion'?" he read aloud, a teasing lilt to his voice, your body heating up as you heard it said in a suggestive way from your boyfriend. Within seconds the book was taken from your grasp and Chan flicked through the pages, his eyes landing on the different highlighted passages you'd done. All in different coloured highlighters, some sentences or paragraphs underlined with small written words next to them.

"Now, what might you be doing with a book like that?" He chuckled softly and you felt your whole body tingle with embarrassment as you attempted to snatch the book away, but he lifted it from your grasp and smirked a little. Chan knew you liked to read but he never would have imagined you liked to read something so steamy and suggestive,

"It's nothing," you insisted, though your protests were weak at best, Chan couldn't help but look through the pages as he kept the book out of your reach.

"Nothing, huh? You sure seemed pretty engrossed in it," he teased, his eyes dancing with amusement. His eyes moved back to the book as he read the passages highlighted in pink and instantly his cheeks began to turn red.

You huffed in mock annoyance, swatting at Chan's hand in a futile attempt to reclaim the book, he stared down at you and you bit down on your lip.

"Fine, you caught me," You admitted with a sheepish grin. "But it's not like I'm reading it for any particular reason." You mumbled a little and Chan raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing at his lips.

"Oh, really? So you just randomly decided to pick up a steamy romance novel?" You rolled her eyes, though there was a sparkle of amusement in your gaze. You picked up books all of the time, spice or no spice but this one just so happened to be one of the spicest books you'd ever had the pleasure of reading.

"Okay, maybe I was looking for a little... escapism," you confessed, your cheeks burning up so hot you were sure you'd be able to cook on them at this point. Chan laughed, finally relenting and handing the book back to you.

"Well, as long as it's keeping you entertained," he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close, you settled back into a comfortable reading position, finding the page you'd been on since you hadn't had time to place a bookmark earlier.

"But next time, maybe just tell me you need some alone time to indulge in your spicy reads." He whispers against your ear, his breath catching on your skin making you shiver.

"Or I can maybe help recreate any scenes you want, it's up to you," He added as you whimpered, snuggling closer to him,

"Deal," You agreed, feeling a warmth spread through you at the easy familiarity of your banter.

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criibibi · 1 month ago

Text

Web Bound

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Next;

Prologue - A Whole New World

Who knew being in a world where heroes and villains became the part of one’s norm. Especially when one day, you get bitten by a radioactive spider and now have powers who in turn you use for the greater good. Of course not without trials and tribulations and what not, having to constantly prove oneself to others, helping grateful (and ungrateful) people, as well as making sure your civilian life doesn’t bleed into vigilantism, and keeping relationships stable. Though despite this stress inducing predicament, you made it work, for years.

You’ve gained and lost many things. You’re aunt and uncle for example. That shit hit real hard for you, left you rageful and bitter. Uncle Ben died because you let a criminal escape which in turn shot him. You wanted that murderer dead, and you got it (accidentally of course), it didn’t make the pain and loss any better. Honestly you only had yourself to blame. Aunt May became your anchor after your loss. Friends and relationships were thrown out the window. Your focus was more on your aunt and vigilantism. Then you lost aunt May.

This hit was just as bad as Uncle Ben’s death. Before you started at a high, discovering your powers, letting that ego hit sky high. That’s how you lost Ben. With May on the other hand, you lost her differently. This time you were too weak, too vulnerable, too naive, too sloppy.

While trying to save others during an attack, she got in the crossfire. There was no coming back for you. You lost the two most important people in your life. All you had left was your mask, because with the final death of May, your civilian life died alongside her.

Then you met Peter Parker. A cute nerd boy you saved once. How Peter came into your life is something you’re grateful for. When you saved him from an attack, he in turn started stalking you- er, your vigilant persona. And then he discovered who you were. He stuck by you through everything, and anything.

He never let your walls deter him. He slowly and painstakingly climbed those walls until you finally let him in. This cute nerd grounded you again. He patched up your wounds, took care of you when you couldn’t, he was your confidant, and eventually he became your best friend. You learned to let people in again, to trust.

Now it was no longer just Spider-woman. You had a civilian identity again. He was there for you when the going was tough. You see, Peter Parker is smart, way too smart, he had big dreams, he was definitely going places. But something about him made you stare at him just a little too long. Peter is a bright man, too bright.

You see, Peter Parker was dealing with depression, and he (just like you) masked his feelings. You of course figured something was off about Peter, but never pushed it. You definitely regret it now. Peter’s flames were snuffed out too quickly. You also couldn't save him.

Losing Peter was the last straw. This life became unbearable. Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and even your best friend Peter Parker were all taken from you. You wonder how the darkness hasn't consumed you.

Uncle Ben taught you that with great power comes great responsibility. Aunt May taught you that your gift should save as many as you can. And Peter Parker taught you, to keep going, to just keep on moving.

You may have lost a lot, but you gain many things. So you kept going, no longer losing yourself completely.

Then a man named Miguel O’Hara, from Earth 928 paid you a visit. Offering you an opportunity of a lifetime. And you took it. Saving other universes from these things called ‘anomalies’. You felt like you had a purpose again, another drive to keep you moving forward. You met other wonderful spiderlings. Young ones, who needed guidance, one that you didn’t have years ago.

So you became one for them, and in turn they taught you many things as well. These kids are bright, just like your Peter. You refuse to let the hurt- your hurt, hurt others.

Then the situation with the Spot occurred. Fighting him had proven to have been unfortunate, causing you to end up somewhere new. Somewhere far away from home. Checking your multiversal Gizmo watch for a semblance of your location only to find out it’s not turning on. Now you’re stuck, in a universe you have no knowledge of, and with a semi unresponsive watch.

“Where is this… Where am I?” you mumbled to yourself, slightly disheveled from the impact of you kissing the ground.

Standing in an unfamiliar environment, you look around to see anything that can help you, only to see gray skies, and a somewhat gloomy city. None of this rings any bells for you, no landscape to jog a memory, nothing.

You didn’t want to walk around aimlessly either, not with you still in your suit. Not until you can get a better understanding of where you are, you stick to the shadows, using rooftops to swing away. But in this polluted city, you can still hear the police sirens echo, and crime being committed causes your spider-senses to tingle. It doesn’t stop you from not helping though.

Stopping on a roof you came across two muggers beating a poor civilian, looting him and running. They got about three steps before both were webbed up and dangling. Hopping down you helped the beaten up man get his stolen items back.

“Th-thank you.” He winced in pain.

“Think nothing of it, here,” handing the poor man his phone, you looked up at the two thugs dangling like an ornament. “I suggest getting treated. You look pretty bad. Also, make sure the men in blues get here, can’t leave these two dangling forever, ya know?”

You watched the man limp away with his phone dialing 911 before turning your attention away. Climbing the walls you reached eye level of the thugs before yoinking their wallets and inspecting their IDs. You had half a mind to stay but then your spider sense tingle and you quickly swung back into the roof, leaving their IDs stuck to the web.

Just as you made it to the roof, flashing red and blue lights made it to the scene. A man steps out of his car, and the same hurt man you saved steps back into the alleyway, directing the policeman.

“Here, this is where they are.”

One of them walks under the dangling men before he notices your figure. He tenses, hands on his gun as he watches your slow movements. You lower the men onto the ground carefully, watching as the policemen glance between you and the criminals. His eye catches the IDs stuck on the web before looking back up. You were gone.

Swinging away you came across a sign that stopped you almost mid swing. There in the sky of this gloomy but bright city, was a light shining its beam on the clouds. And on the clouds it had a symbol that caused your stomach to flip.

It was the batman symbol.

You were so fucked.

----------

Next ;

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dogw1tch · 6 months ago

Text

Escapism 🍂

18+ Minotaur x Gender Neutral Reader

(Size difference, Breeding, reader has afab anatomy)

DogWitch Notes: Thank you guys for the love on my last story! It makes me so happy to know people are enjoying my work :) this one has a little more build up but it might call for multiple chapters?

Summary: The library is off limits after dark but knowledge waits for no one. Besides, reading mythology is much more immersive at night. So immersive, in fact, that the breath on the back of your neck feels very, very real.

You had been crouching behind the bookshelf for so long now your legs were starting to loose feeling. Finally, though, the university librarian had finished making his checks and began turning out the lights. He was an anxious looking man in his thirties and you felt a little bad deceiving him like this- after all, it was him that had given you the book in the first place. But the tome was a relic that couldn’t leave the library to be read in your dorm room and you were so desperate to finish it. So, since stealing seemed a bit dramatic, you would have to settle for trespassing. You heard the large wooden door echo closed and dragged yourself from your hiding place, book still clutched to your chest. Your eyes took some time to adjust to the darkness as you dug around in your pocket for your lighter. Slivers of moonlight through the window seemed to die in the shadows of the towering book cases. They looked almost identical to the grand towers of the university in the darkness and the chill in the air gave you the feeling of walking through the streets at night.

Lighter in hand, you slowly navigated the corridors to find your much beloved reading corner and lit the candles you had left there. The little corner of light looked so cozy and you smiled as you gathered yourself up in the blanket you had bought and settled down in the old armchair with your book. The title ‘Portentum Complexus’ was embossed in gold into deep red leather. Much of the writing was still in the original Latin and you had been taking your time to carefully translate. However there were passages written in English, seemingly added by a scholar years later as well as beautiful etched illustrations. From all of these pieces, you had managed to put together a tale of a strange beast, roaming the land to find his lost lover. There had been a great war between worlds and the beast was trying to bring life back to his realm. Though the creature was described as being a hulking monster, triple the size of any man, covered in corse hair, obsidian black horns and pointed hooves; he still had a gentle feel about him. There was a sadness in the Latin passages that didn’t seem to properly translate into English. Perhaps that was why previous scholars hadn’t bothered to do so. But you poured over them, wanting to find the words to understand this creature who everyone, bar the monsters of his realm, was so afraid of. Your heart hurt for him a little; after all, he was looking for his love, he must feel so alone.

So this was how you intended to spend your night, curled up on the moth bitten armchair reading about lamenting fictional creatures. University was certainly the right choice. You flicked to the last English passage you had been studying. The beast had been captured by a human army and, not wishing to harm them by fighting back, had ended up bound by thick ropes in the king’s dungeon.

‘The corse binding bit into his soft flesh as he cried out into the empty corridors. He cried for his love, for his mate. He cried for them to find him in this cold and lonesome maze. His sorrow echoed from the cold stone and surrounded him.’

A sudden noise broke you from your immersion. It sounded like the lowing of cattle, strange since you were in the city centre. It was quickly replaced by the constant groaning of the ancient building before you could pay it much mind. The library was surprisingly noisy at night.

‘The beast cried until his throat was horse and even the reflection of his own voice left him alone. He feared he was to die here in the darkness. He spoke a silent prayer to the gods that his love might be safe. His chest heaved against its restraints as the monster resigned himself to his fate.’

Again came that noise, closer now, and sounding more laboured. You looked around but saw nothing in the darkness. Your mind must be playing tricks, you knew you shouldn’t really be here after all.

‘Movement. Movement in the darkness. The beast stirred and strained to see who approached him. Staring, wide eyed and loving through the bars of his captivity there stood…’

The words cut off back into Latin. You sighed and contemplated packing in for the night, translating seemed a tiresome chore at this hour. But something kept you going, call it intellectual curiosity. You needed to know what happened to the monster you had grown so fond of. Slowly but surely, word by word, you uncovered each sentence.

‘His love. His love had come to rescue him. They picked at the lock and made their way inside. The beast stared in disbelief. After all this time, all this searching, his love had been the one to find him. They approached with caution, unsure whether they recognised their mate after all these years. “Please, do not be afraid my heart, it is me.”’

The voice startled you. You read the words but they seemed to come from behind you. You turned again but again saw nothing but empty corridors through towering shelves. Perhaps your love of escapism had just left you with a very vivid imagination.

‘His love came forward, running their hands over the restrains that bound their lover. With a deft hand and a sharp blade, they began to cut through the rope. The beast sighed in relief as the pressure on his chest was released.’

The back of your neck tingled as a warm gust of air blew through the library. You could not shake the feeling you were being watched now but the story had you too gripped to care.

‘Like felled serpents, the ropes lay limp on the stone floor and the beast rose up from his stupor. He towered above his lover but they were not afraid. They knew he could not hurt them nor anyone else. They were bound together by fate and they would always find their way back to one another.

“My love. My heart. Please, I have craved for you endlessly. Let me hold you and make you mine once more.”’

Without warning you were pulled into a sudden embrace that knocked the air from your lungs. In your confusion, you did not even scream as large hands pulled you bodily from your chair. You were suddenly being held against a wall of corse fur, inhaling the bitter sweet of hay and sweat. You look up to see, towering over you in the candle-kissed half light, a great Minotaur.

He held you flush to his soft, strong chest as though you weighed nothing at all. His breath was hot on your skin and as a rough, black tongue ran up your neck making you shiver. “My mate…” The creature’s voice was low and surrounded you just as fully as his embrace, “How I’ve longed for this.” With one sweep of his arm, the Minotaur sent your books and papers fluttering to the ground. You had to crane your neck to gaze up at him as he placed you down on the desk; his dark eyes bore into you with such deep lust that you couldn’t help a pang of arousal coursing through your body. Nobody had ever looked at you this way. The great beast stood tall over you, taking in your body like he wanted to consume every part. You felt then, something hot and heavy resting next to your thigh. Your face flushed red and you had to look away for a moment, suddenly finding yourself embarrassed as the obscenity of the situation dawned on you. The creatures cock was longer than your thigh and just as thick. It made sense with the rest of his towering form but you were suddenly feeling very exposed under the beast’s hungry glare. He seemed to notice your hesitation and cupped your face in his palm, tilting your head to look at him. “Do you fear me?” Despite it all, you shook your head. Embarrassed? Yes. But not afraid.

“I shall endeavour to be as gentle as I can. You are to bear my calfs after all, it is my duty to treat you well.”

Before his words could register, the creatures head was between your thighs. He had ripped away the fabric there and his thick, rough tongue was lapping at your folds like a man starved. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips as you threw back your head. Your thighs clenched around his head, seemingly spurring him on. His tongue began to push deeper, curling inside you and igniting every nerve in your body. A single finger, large enough that you could wrap your hand around it, began to toy with your clit, rolling in gentle circles as you struggled to hold back wanton moans. He seemed to revel in the sounds you made, thrusting his tongue deeper inside with every whine of pleasure until you were rocking your hips desperately against his snout.

You were sure you were about faint from the overwhelming sensation of it all when the creature finally pulled his head back to see his work. You were a drooling mess against the table, slick and stretched open all for him. Still not open enough to take him inside you. A chuckle echoed above you, as though he had read your panicked look. “No, not here. Once we are home, my love, I will have you completely. But for now…” He picked you up with one hand around your waist, the other positioning his cock beneath you. “For now I have other ways to fill you.”

He began pulling you up his length, fucking in between your thighs and coating himself in your slick. He groaned deeply as he used your body to pleasure himself as if you truly belonged to him alone. You couldn’t help but let out your own whimpers of pleasure as your clit rubbed against his rough skin, getting wetter with every thrust. You found yourself wishing he were inside you, his scent, his growls, it all seemed so right, so familiar and you wanted to belong to this great beast that had captured you. You pressed your thighs together as tight as you could as he man-handled like you were nothing more than a toy made just for him. “That’s it, just like that..” he groaned. The muscles under the creature’s soft belly tightened and you knew he was close. “When we’re home I’m going to keep you full every minute of the day. I’ve spent too long without you. I’m going to hold you on my cock and fill you with my calfs until you’re stretched and moulded to my shape. No one else will be able to have you. You’re mine.” Without warning, he pinned you back to the desk and pressed his engorged tip against your entrance, stretching you around him. He let out a deep, echoing growl as he released inside you, filling you so much that you felt his cum leaking out of you and down your thighs.

The Minotaur didn’t seem satisfied to let this happen. He ran his fingers over your thigh and pushed the residue back inside you, fucking it deep into your stomach. You cried out with each thrust of his fingers, rocking your hips and riding out your waves of pleasure. It felt so good to be full of him.

You stayed there a while as he kissed and lapped at your skin, nuzzling into your neck and plugging you full with his fingers. He mumbled under his breath sweet nothings about how he would take you home, back where you belong. How he would keep you full and satisfied in every way. How you would give him such strong and beautiful young. How life would be so sweet now that his mate had been found. You tried to focus on his words, but they bought such a familiar peace that you found yourself lulled into sleep, breathing him in as you snuggled into his warm fur.

“That’s it my love, rest now. I will find you again soon”

***

It was the librarian who found you in the morning. He had gotten some idea of what was going to happen that night but was honestly surprised by the sheer amount of fluid involved. He tried his best to keep his eyes shut as he threw your blanket over your body and placed you back in your reading chair. The book he had lent you was open on the floor, displaying an etching of the Minotaur and his lover in an intimate embrace. The librarian quickly pushed it shut, not wanting to be anymore invasive into your private life. He thought about waking you, there were so many things he needed to tell you before the creature came back to claim his mate. But for now, you looked so peaceful.

He locked the library door, flipping the sign to closed and letting you get your rest.

DogWitch notes: a part two may be in order if you like??

Part two <3

#monster x reader #monster nsft #monster imagine #nsft #monster smut #monster fucker #minotaur x human #minotaur x reader #monster x human #size difference #smut #minotaur

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lxdymoon0357 · 11 months ago

Note

Hi, Navi! May I request some headcanons for Felix Chamberlain from I have become the hero’s rival with a transmigrator!reader who just wants her favs to be happy and to have a peaceful life too, but somehow gets the magician’s attention anyway? It would be interesting if one of the original male leads had interest in the transmigrator!reader, though it’s all up to you! :)

Felix Chamberlain X Transmigrator! Reader HCs

▼ You were ECSTATIC to be a transmigrator and that to your special manhwa!! You were definitely gonna help Irene, Claudia and Felix and you really wanted to see Irene and Felix's love bloom in front of your eyes and luckily you were a middle-class person and you applied to be Claudia's playmate or something...

▼ You quickly got close with her and Irene and you three were the ICONIC trio!! and you quickly became friends with Felix as well, you'd help Claudia escape the male leads as much as you could by remembering the manhwa!

▼ And you slowly started developing feelings, before it was for him like a fictional character, but now for real....But you were afraid that after this finished, you'd be thrown back into your real world, so you didn't act on your feelings...

▼ You became very close with them and eventually told them about you being from another world, Irene was VERY happy to learn someone was from her world, and you couldn't bother to explain to her how she was also a part of the manhwa, so you went along with it!

▼ Also Irene was mean to end up with Felix, right? Yeah, it's not like the manhwas you read where you might end up with the character when their love interest is RIGHT THERE! But he seemingly never got close with Irene in a romantic path and neither did Irene...and this confused you...

▼ Felix would love to bond with you by asking you how you used to live, what you used to eat, where you lived, what you looked like...and whom you dated, yes he's jealous of them...don't worry...

▼ And soon you confessed and you started dating, it was such a big thing for Irene and Claudia who had been shipping you two since day 1 and Lerase himself was quite happy as he seemed to have taken a liking to you as well...

▼ He would love to hear stories about how you lived, how things are different in your world and whom you hated and loved and liked or some random stories from childhood...He wanted to know what you are like before you came into his arms in this world.

▼ He would have a portrait of you painted on what you looked like before, and he gets a smaller copy on a page and he sleeps with the smaller portrait beside his bed! He can not get over the fact you looked so cute!

▼ Irene and you would often reminisce on how life was before you came here and how much you miss things from back then, but you both are so utterly grateful to be here and be in love with the Chamberlains...Yes, Irene liked Claudia...

▼ Oh btw, Benjamin took a weird liking for you and Lerase apparently didn't like that....and crushed his skull in his bare hands, of-course you didn't see him crush his skull, but you were there during the aftermath and god in your eyes does Felix look hot covered in blood...

▼ Oh you got Irene and Felix and told them how in the original story, Irene and Felix were meant to be together and how they both....yeah...of-course those two looked a bit grossed out and a felt a bit weird, because first, they don't like each other, they like Claudia and you respectively and they can't honestly see themselves together, no matter what you say or do...and you honestly find it funny and bring it to make the two cringe up and look grossed out...

▼ Claudia loves to hear about the pretty dresses and what women can do and can't do in the modern world and how much people wanted her and Irene to get together and sh's happy to hear that

▼ In all honesty, it's a adventure everyday with the trio and you being with them! Double dates, double couples and quadrouple trouble~

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 2 months ago

Text

Cupid doesn’t gamble

Summary: Leon, a mafia boss whose empire dominates all casinos on the west coast, meets a young girl amidst a game of poker. What would happen if he threw all his chips and gambled his love for you?

Warning: Mafia!Boss!Leon x Female!Reader. Eventual smut (I know y’all want this so bad). Slow burn. Romantic. Leon is a gentleman. Characters are 21+ (makes sense for casinos). Researched topics. Mentions of violence. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 6,620

A/N: So, I’d like to start off with saying that being in the Mafia is not okay. Al Capone was NOT a good guy. But, this is fiction. None of this is real so before I get myself canceled (pls don’t) trust that I did my research. I thought of Salvatore by LDR writing this lol.

[II] [III]

“The summer's wild and I've been waiting for you all this time I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me. Summer's hot but I've been cold without you, I was so wrong not to doubt your Medellin, tangerine dreams,” - Salvatore, Lana Del Rey

Poker isn’t just a game of gambling and betting your money away. It’s intimate and personal, in order to win you must read your opponent. Strip each other bare until the other shows a sign of vulnerability, only then will you find a loophole and win.

But nobody seems to understand the arts of chips and card decks. To be given an awful hand and turning the game to your favor is powerful and uplifting. There is great danger with gambling but there are also great rewards.

Leon was a famous man, known for establishing the most successful casinos of, dare I say, the nation. He’s a businessman, driven by the need to make a statement of himself. To hold power over people’s head with a flick of the wrist. He’s ambitious, cunning, but also respectful.

Coming from nothing but rags and the slum, he swore to his parents that he will earn everything he ever wanted in life. To provide for his family, to become one of the richest and notorious men of America. And he did.

He easily became a member of the mafia after being taken under the care of a kind man. When his parents died and he was shunned away by society, he never expected a man from a dangerous world to take him as a child and teach him to become the man that he is today.

And now here he was, engaging himself in a long hour of poker with a rookie player. You’ve never been keen on gambling your savings away, you deterred yourself from gaining the addiction. But, you did like to play every once in a while, especially since the casino you were in was quite lavish, courtesy of the man who built the casino in the first place.

You didn’t know anything about it, you didn’t even know that the man in front of you was the very own man who built his life step by step.

"You're good with your hands," he said in a rich and low tone as he stared at you from across the table.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you moved on forward with the game. You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes as you tried to guess what he was going to move with tonight.

A low, amused chuckle escaped his lips as he continued to watch you analyze him. He knew damn well you had no clue how to play, yet you were trying your best. It's what drew him to you.

He noticed you stealing glances his way as you thought of a plan. *Adorable.* He leaned back into his seat, eyeing you closely as he waited for you to make your next move.

"You're a bad bluffer," he pointed out with a smirk.

“And you’re a talker,” you quipped back with sass. You were silent for a moment before you decided to either go big or go home, “Raise,” you said to him.

Your eyes were glued to him, watching for his reaction. Was he going to fold or call? Either way, you believed you had a better hand than him.

"And you're cocky, too," he returned with a hint of humor in his voice. He raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by your bold move. Even if you didn't know how to play, you had some guts.

He studies you for a moment, his eyes lingering on you before returning to his cards. After a moment of contemplating, he pushes a stack of chips forward, adding to the pot.

"Call. Let's see what you've got," he challenges you with a sly smile.

You turned your cards over, revealing a Diamond Queen and Clover King. You put them down and crossed your arms over your chest as you looked at him with a smirk.

The bet was a high number of money. Probably worth more than your limbs being sold in the black market. But you were here for a reason, to earn some quick money. The man in front of you looked quite wealthy, wealthy and rich men weren’t uncommon in this place but it still made you feel a bit inferior with everyone wanting to show off.

Leon leaned forward, inspecting your cards closely. The smirk on your face said it all. You thought you had a good hand, and he wouldn't deny that you had a decent one. But, it wasn't enough to beat him. He leaned back into his seat once more, his expression unchanging, as he revealed his own cards. A Spade Queen and a Diamond Ace. A straight flush. His eyes met yours, his smirk turning into a cocky grin.

"I'm afraid you've lost this round, darling," he said in a teasing tone.

Your smirk immediately fell as you saw his straight flush. Wow, you lost again. You didn’t even notice him calling you by a pet name. Did you owe this man money now? How did you not see it coming? That bastard was cocky and confident as hell! You should’ve known he had a good hand.

Leon chuckled once again. The look on your face was priceless—a mix of frustration and disbelief.

He loved it.

"Looks like I win again," he said teasingly, gathering up the chips on the table, "And don't worry, darling, you don't owe me anything. Just better luck next time."

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed on you as he smirked. He found your reaction absolutely adorable.

You furrowed your brows confused, you didn’t owe him anything? “Wait, are you serious?” You asked confusedly. He was different from other guys around here. Was he really willing to forget about your loss and even wished you better luck?

Who was this guy? There was something about him, though, that seemed dangerous and suspicious, “Why?”

Leon tilted his head to the side as he observed you, noticing the confusion on your face. You were clearly surprised by his words. It seems like you’re *not* used to men like him.

He chuckled softly at your question. "Why? Because I'm a gentleman," he responds with a smirk.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving your face, "And I'm not in the business of taking money from pretty young girls like yourself. I'm not that heartless."

Your cheeks flared, did he just say you were pretty? You’ve never met a man so… straightforward. You cleared your throat and nibbled on your bottom lip, “Thank you,” you muttered quietly. Leon's gaze softened as he watched your cheeks flush and saw you bite your bottom lip. *Adorable.*

He’s a gentleman, he’s not *that* heartless? You didn’t understand him. He wore expensive clothes and his aura was confident.

“Is there anything else you’d like in return?” You asked as you looked at him, your arms on the table, “I’d feel guilty if you went back home empty handed.”

He leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. "There is... one thing," he replied, his voice low and smooth.

He paused for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your name," he said simply, his smile widening, "I'd like to know your name."

You stared at him for a few moments before you nodded slightly, “Okay,” you muttered. You extended your hand towards him, “My name is Y/n,” you said softly. He was truly a gentleman, wasn’t he? He doesn’t take money from girls and he was respectful. He’s one of a kind.

Leon looked at your hand for a moment before taking it gently in his own. His rough, calloused fingers wrapped around your small, soft hand. He loved the contrast between your skin and his. The way your slender fingers fit perfectly in his grasp.

"Y/n," he repeated quietly, as if he was testing the way the name felt on his tongue. He let out a soft chuckle before bringing your hand to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks flushed even more red when he kissed your knuckles. Did he come out of a book or something?! You’ve never met a man that screamed rich and respectful man. It was attractive. You were a bit speechless. Most guys met wouldn’t even be bothered to know your name and yet, here he was, treating you like a lady. Did he time travel or something?

You didn’t even try to move your hand away, it was like you got stuck in a trance. He was an enigma, who knew your poker opponent was so… you didn’t even know how to describe it. He chuckled softly at your reaction. He wasn't surprised, after all, most men don't have manners these days. Not men like him.

He slowly released your hand, though he couldn't bring himself to completely let go just yet. He continued to hold onto it, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

“Can I know your name too?” You asked a bit hesitantly, you wanted to know but you didn’t want to seem disrespectful. He felt so fancy, like a true gentleman. The kind of man you read in romance books where you could only dream of being treated with such care.

"Of course, darling," he replied in a low tone, his gaze still fixated on your face. He could tell that you were completely taken by him, though he couldn't blame you, most girls were. He could tell that you were captivated by his mannerisms and demeanor. It seemed like you appreciated his old-fashioned actions and chivalry, not that he was surprised. But something told him that you were different than the others. You weren't just after his wealth or status, he could see it in your eyes.

In the game of poker, it was easy to fall and lose. But for some reason, you like playing with him even if it means losing most of the rounds.

You didn’t even notice the two bodyguards approaching him from behind since you didn’t know what his occupation was like. You were strangers. The two bodyguards were ready to jump into action if you tried anything suspicious. But what could you do? You were completely harmless.

As his bodyguards approached from behind, Leon glanced over his shoulder at them. He held up a hand, silently signaling for them to hold off. The bodyguards stood a few feet away, far enough to not listen to your conversation but close enough to jump to him if he got into a dangerous situation. Leon's lips curled into an amused smile as he watched you realize the presence of his bodyguards. They were there to protect him, after all.

"My name is Leon," he finally replied, his voice just above a whisper. "Leon Kennedy."

“Leon,” you repeated, tasting the way it rolled off your tongue. It was a fancy name, suiting him very well.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Kennedy,” you said politely. Leon suppressed a chuckle as you repeated his name, the sound of it on your lips was like music to his ears. It was as if you were singing his name, rather than simply saying it.

He smirked when you called him 'Mister Kennedy,' finding your use of a formal title both amusing and endearing. "Please, call me Leon. 'Mister Kennedy' makes me feel old," he teased, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn’t help the small smile from reaching your lips, just minutes ago he beat you in a game of poker and yet, he didn’t make you feel bad for losing. You nodded at him, “Alright, I won’t.”

Then, one of the two bodyguards approached Leon, leaning down to his ear to whisper, “Sir, your presence is being requested on the tenth floor,” he whispered. Leon's expression, although unchanging, darkened at the bodyguard's words. He knew exactly what it meant for his presence to be "requested" on the tenth floor. But he didn't want to leave just yet. He was enjoying the time he had with you, he was enjoying your company and your sweet demeanor. If only he could stay a little bit longer.

He nodded at the bodyguard, silently signaling that he understood. He looked back at you, his expression softening once again.

"I have business to attend to," he said quietly, a hint of regret in his voice.

“Oh, right, yeah,” you muttered quickly under your breath as you stood up, fixing your outfit that you were wearing, “I shouldn’t take more of your time,” you said softly and politely, “It was nice meeting you, Leon. I hope to play with you in the future.”

Leon looked up at you as you stood up, his gaze following every movement. He could feel his heart skip a beat, he found you truly adorable. He felt a pang of disappointment when you mentioned not taking up more of his time. But he understood, he had responsibilities to take care of.

"The pleasure was all mine, darling," he said quietly, his voice slightly strained. He didn't want you to leave, but he had no choice.

“Sir,” one bodyguard spoke up from behind him, “Should we keep an eye on her?” He asked as the bodyguard’s gaze remained on your form, you were already standing by the bar drinking a damn fountain drink.

It was clear that the bodyguards were good at their job, they wanted to keep Leon safe since he was a mafia boss and enemies could be everywhere. Leon's gaze shifted from yours as he focused on his bodyguard's question. He could sense the slight tension in the air, the bodyguards were always cautious. But that was their job, to protect him at all costs.

He shook his head slightly, "No, that won't be necessary," he replied coldly, "She's harmless," he added, his eyes fixated on you once more.

“Yes sir,” the bodyguard said before the two bodyguards began to escort Leon to the elevator to get to the tenth floor. As Leon walked towards the elevator, escorted by his bodyguards, he couldn't help but glance back one last time, his eyes settling on your form at the bar.

He felt a twinge of something, was it concern? He wasn't sure. The thought of you being approached by someone else made him uneasy. But he had to remind himself that you weren't his responsibility.

He stepped into the elevator, his mind still occupied with thoughts of you.

"Watch her," he muttered to his bodyguards, "make sure no one goes near her."

The bodyguard nodded before stepping out of the elevator and went over to watch from a distance to not scare me off.

He was left with the other bodyguard and as they reached the tenth floor, the doors opened to reveal a very expensive suite, “Ah, Leon,” the voice of a man rang as he approached Leon.

The man was no other than a guy that went by an alias, “Kyle”, for safety reasons, “Glad you could make it,” he was dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, the belt tight around his waist to keep him from flashing anyone. Kyle was a character, that much was clear. Greeting Leon as if they were old friends.

"Cut the pleasantries," Leon replied coolly as he strode past Kyle, into the extravagant suite. Despite his cold exterior, his mind was still occupied by thoughts of you.

Kyle laughed and followed after Leon, “Always cutting to the chase, huh, amigo?” He said the Spanish word in a terrible accent, he didn’t even know Spanish.

Kyle was truly one of a kind but he was an ally to Leon’s mafia. Matter of fact, he provided Leon with the newest weapons from an Italian manufacturer. Illegal weapon trafficking.

“Got some new ladies you might want to see,” he said as he walked in front of Leon, guiding him to his room. As he entered his room, the sheets were messy and two naked women laid on the bed. With a flick of his wrist, the ladies stepped out of the room, giving Leon a wink.

As they entered the room, Leon couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of the naked women on the bed. Was this really necessary?

"I'm not interested," he said bluntly, his cold tone sending a clear message. Despite his outwardly tough demeanor, Leon disliked the lifestyle that Kyle embodied.

Kyle definitely had a typical lifestyle of a play boy, always finding girls to sleep with as he spends money on expensive champagne and clothes. But he was a good provider for the mafia. Kyle was needed; a necessary evil.

But Leon wasn’t a womanizer like that, especially with the way he treated you. Kyle chuckled and shook his head, “Oh, I think you will,” he muttered before I retrieved a box and opened it. Leon's expression changed. The sight of the new weapons in the box piqued his interest.

“Got these new ladies fresh from Rome,” he said, revealing new manufactured guns, “These are in beta testing but their purpose isn’t like regular guns—no. These babies hold up to thrice the ammunition and can fire double bullets at the same time.”

He could already see the potential these guns held. The extra ammunition and the ability to fire double bullets at once could give his men an advantage in a dangerous situation.

"Interesting," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the guns. Despite his dislike for Kyle's lifestyle, Leon had to admit he knew how to source the best weapons.

"How did you get your hands on these?" he asked, his voice now lacking any hostility.

Kyle shrugged and leaned back, “I sent a blueprint last month over to my manufacturer in Italy. Said he’d give it a try. He experimented here and there right before he sent me these prototypes.”

“But I don’t recommend using them yet,” he said as he walked over to stand next to Leon, draping an arm around Leon’s shoulders as if they were best friends.

“Something about them probably not working and backfiring. Blah, blah, blah. You know the nerd stuff,” he said.

Leon's brow furrowed as he heard Kyle's words. Using untested weapons could be risky, especially if they had the potential for a devastating recoil. He pushed Kyle's arm off his shoulders, his expression turning cold again. He wasn't fond of being touched, especially by someone like Kyle.

"Then why show them to me if they might not work?" he asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. He preferred to focus on proven weapons, not experimental ones.

As his arm was pushed off his shoulders, Kyle wasn’t a bit ashamed, “Well, before we proceed with the testing, we needed your approval.”

Then, Kyle grew a bit serious, which only ever happened once a fortnight. He leaned closer to Leon to whisper in his ear, “I’ve heard that there’s been recent suspicious activity up north where the colony is. This is just a precaution because I don’t want anyone stealing my guns.”

Ever since Leon became the new mafia boss, which was years ago, many other bosses have tried to take him down. Even if it meant stealing his resources. Despite his disdain for Kyle, Leon couldn't ignore the serious look on his face. He knew that when Kyle spoke like this, he wasn't messing around.

"Suspicious activity, you say?" he replied, his voice low and calculating. He didn't appreciate being targeted, especially by other mafia bosses, "Any idea who might be behind it?"

He shrugged and shook his head, “No, there’s no idea who it might be but I’ve heard rumors that it’s someone who’s after your territory.”

Kyle sighed and stored the guns away once more, “In any case. Call me up if you change your plan, I’ll send word to Italy to keep producing and testing. Until then,” he said before he patted Leon on the shoulder and walked out of his room saying, “Alright, ladies, who’s ready for some sexy time on the jacuzzi?”

Leon watched as Kyle left the room, rolling his eyes at the man's behavior. Despite Kyle's eccentricities and playboy lifestyle, he couldn't deny that he was an asset to the mafia. As the sound of laughter and splashing water came from the jacuzzi, Leon turned his attention back to the matter at hand. The possibility of someone targeting his territory unsettled him.

With a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts once again drifting to you. He couldn't seem to get you off his mind.

“Do you want to go back to the main floor, Sir?” His bodyguard asked. Leon's eyes went to his bodyguard, and he nodded.

"Yes," he said simply. He had to go back to the main floor. He knew that his bodyguards had been instructed to keep an eye on you, and he was curious to see if you were still there.

As he stepped out of the room, he couldn't help but glance over at the bar. He could see you sitting there, sipping on a Dr. Pepper. Despite the presence of his bodyguard, he took a subtle step closer, watching you from a distance.

Now the three men were watching you, Leon with his two bodyguards behind him. They were no longer on the tenth floor and instead were on the main floor where you were.

“Who is she, boss?” One bodyguard asked. They had seen Leon play with you for a few rounds but they didn’t hear your conversation. Of how he forgave your debt and asked for your name, but they did see him kiss your hand. Leon's gaze never left you, his eyes watching your every move. He could feel the curiosity of his bodyguards, they had clearly noticed his interaction with you.

“Do you know her?” The other bodyguard asked. They still kept professional but their curiosity was high. They’ve never seen Leon talk to a woman before, he’d usually brush them off because he knew they were after his money.

"She's nobody," Leon replied, his voice cold and distant. Even though he had shown you a rare moment of humanity, he didn’t want his bodyguards to think he had a “soft spot”, especially towards a stranger.

"She's just a poker player, that's all," he added, dismissing their curiosity. But his eyes told a different story, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you.

“A terrible one,” one commented, “A Diamond queen and clover king against your straight flush… she’s got confidence.”

“Or maybe she didn’t know. Our boss holds a really good poker face,” the other replied. Which was true, Leon was a damn good poker player but you also didn’t play like a professional. You barely knew what you were doing.

You turned around to get your bag from the stool next to your standing form, seemingly finished with your drink and getting ready to pay for it.

Leon's eyes followed your every movement, his mind racing, "She was a challenge,” he said quietly, his voice betraying a hint of amusement. Despite your lack of skill, he had enjoyed playing with you, it had been surprisingly fun.

As he saw you turn to retrieve your bag, he felt a strange pang in his chest. He didn’t want you to leave yet. He took a step forward, his bodyguards following closely behind him.

You were too busy looking through your bag, pulling out your wallet and counting the bills you had to pay your tab. Would it even be considered a tab if you got non-alcoholic drinks? You didn’t notice Leon returning at all, his bodyguards didn’t say anything. They knew better than to prod at his life choices. If anything, they’d just keep a more careful eye on you to make sure nothing bad happened.

“Hold on—“ you said to the bartender as you counted your coins to give him the exact number of your total.

As you began counting your coins to pay the bartender, he couldn't help but step forward and reach into his pocket, "I'll cover it," he said, his voice firm and commanding. He felt strangely compelled to take care of you, even in this small gesture.

You straightened up at the sound of his voice, your heart jumped and beat quickly as you whipped your head to look at none other than Leon. Always a true gentleman.

“I—“ you said as yoi looked at him and the bartender before you looked back at his blue eyes, “No, it’s okay. I’ve got this,” you said quietly. He’d already forgiven your debt and now he wants to pay for your drinks?

Leon's expression remained stoic as he heard your protest. He didn't expect you to be so modest and determined to pay for your own drinks. But he found it endearing.

"It's not a problem," he replied, his voice firm. He could sense your guilt, but he didn’t want you to feel like a charity case. He genuinely wanted to take care of you, even if it was in small ways. He slid a few bills to the bartender, paying for your drinks and closing the tab before you could argue further.

Your cheeks blushed again as you looked away, you’ve never had anyone take care of you like he has, “You’re too kind,” you muttered in a flustered tone.

He was already breaking his own rules because the bodyguards seemed to have picked up on some details. It wasn’t common for them to see Leon be so… interested in a woman. Much less someone like you but they found it oddly endearing. Secretly cheering for their boss.

Leon was taller than you so you had to look up at him, “Did everything go well with your business?” You asked genuinely. Leon's expression softened slightly as he saw your flushed cheeks and your sincere question. He was unused to caring about someone’s well being, but he found himself wanting to share a bit with you.

"Yes, business went well," he confirmed, his voice remaining cool and collected. But there was a hint of tiredness in his eyes, the stresses of being a mafia boss often taking a toll on him.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calculating but not unkind. "And how have you been?" he asked, surprising himself with his own question.

“Oh, you know,” you faintly shrugged your shoulders as you pointed towards the bar, “I stayed there the whole time. I don’t like wandering on my own. Lots of… creeps out here, y’know?”

But he wasn’t a creep. He was far from it. Leon was a gentleman, a man who knew how to treat women right.

Leon chuckled, a rare sound coming from him, at your straightforward answer. He found it refreshing how honest you were, unlike the fake smiles and flattery he usually received from people.

His eyes swept the casino floor, full of various people, men, and women. He knew you were right about the creeps that roamed around, especially with a pretty face like yours.

"You're right about the creeps," he agreed, his voice low and protective. "A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone."

Your cheeks blushed again when he said you were pretty, why was he so casual with the compliments?! But nevertheless, you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your lips, “Yeah… I was about to leave since it was getting late, actually,” you said as you quickly remembered what you were doing.

“I was going to get an Uber and go back home. I should probably practice my poker skills too,” you said with a small smile. Leon's gaze darkened slightly at the mention of you leaving. He didn't want this night to end, not when he'd enjoyed your company more than he thought he would.

He took a step closer, shortening the distance between you. "An Uber?" he repeated, his voice taking on a hint of disapproval. "With all the creepers out there?"

He paused, seeming to consider something before speaking again. "Let me give you a ride home," he offered, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your eyes widened a bit and your breath hitched when he stepped closer to you and offered you a ride home. You should’ve said no but for some reason, you felt safe in his presence. You slowly nodded your head, feeling like you shouldn’t reject his offer. He’s been kind to you and you wanted to be kind as well, “Only if it’s not a burden.”

“I’d hate to shift your plans for the night. I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” you said with a nervous laugh as you played with your hands.

Leon couldn't help but chuckle at your words and the nervousness in your laugh. You were clearly unused to being cared for like this, but it was almost endearing to see you flustered. He shook his head, his expression serious. "It's not a burden," he reassured you. "And you're not an inconvenience. I wouldn't offer unless I meant it."

He motioned for his bodyguards to follow as he put a hand gently on your lower back, beginning to guide you towards the exit. You gathered your things, which was just your purse, and let him guide you towards the exit. His bodyguards were shocked to say the least. They knew Leon didn’t like to be touched or touch other people but here he was, gently putting his hand on you to guide you out of the building. They were in for a fun ride.

As you made it out and stepped outside, you were met with wind. The wind blew over your form, goosebumps on your skin as you wrapped your arms over your chest to give yourself some heat. Leon noticed your body shiver, the cool night air obviously getting to you. He was so used to suppressing his own physical needs that he had briefly forgotten that you weren’t built for the harsher elements like he was.

"Here," he said gruffly. He removed his black jacket and gently placed it around your shoulders, his fingers lingering for a moment on the fabric.

The black suit jacket was big on you but it was so warm, it even smelled like his cologne and you felt your cheeks flare up. He smelled good, “Thank you,” you said as you looked up at him.

A black car pulled in front of you, it was fancy and the black was matte. No doubt, the latest car. Just how rich was he? One of the bodyguards moved towards the door and opened it for the two of you. Leon nodded in acknowledgement of your thanks, his eyes never leaving yours, "After you," he said, gesturing for you to get into the car first. His voice was gruff, but there was a warm undertone in it.

He waited, standing by the car door, until you climbed in, before he slid into the seat beside you, closing the door behind him. The bodyguards climbed into the front seat, the engine purring softly to life.

No one would’ve believed them if they said that Leon was warm and kind. They’ve seen the type of ruthless man he could be, he was a mafia boss! Hence why the bodyguards were shocked. They’ve never seen him act this way with anyone.

You sat next to Leon, your thighs pressed together and your form still wearing his black suit jacket, “Thank you,” you said before you climbed to sit next to him. You were new to the whole taken care of thing. Leon felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest when you thanked him again. It was as if you weren’t used to being treated like this, but he found himself wanting to give you more. He felt the strange urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you close and away from the world.

He let out a low hum of acknowledgment. "You don’t need to keep thanking me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough.

You softy laughed at his words despite his low and rough voice, “Sorry, force of habit. I’m not used to people being so kind to me. Especially after playing Poker with me,” you replied with a small but genuine smile.

“Most guys would either just get mad at me for beating them or they would humiliate me further for beating me,” you said quietly, your hands laying on your lap as you looked down at them.

Then you glanced back at him, “But you’re different. I think… I like to have you as my opponent… if you’d let me,” but it was more than just Poker, right? It was about connecting, about seeing him again. His expression softened as you spoke again, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "You like having me as your opponent, huh?" he said, his voice holding a hint of amusement.

He reached out, his hand gently resting on top of yours, his touch calloused but surprisingly gentle, "You don’t even know what you’re asking for."

Your breath hitched and you looked down at his hand on top of yours. Even though he’d held your hand and kissed it, you still got flustered.

But he was right. Essentially, you didn’t even know him. You met him today and lost a poker game. But something in you wanted to keep seeing him, you didn’t want to let such a kind man go.

“I can learn,” you whispered. This went beyond poker, even though you spoke about it, hidden words were conveyed. You didn’t know what you were asking for, not knowing he was in the mafia. Leon's smirk grew at your words, a hint of something more behind it. He could hear the double meaning in your words, and it sent a thrill through him. Here you were, this timid, pretty thing, wanting to get to know him better.

His fingers gently squeezed your hand as he spoke, his voice low. "You’re a fast learner, I bet," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

But then his expression darkened slightly, the reality of his world intruding on the moment. He was a mafia boss, and you… you were innocent and pure.

You nodded, “I like learning things. Knowledge is power, is what George Orwell said once,” you muttered. Leon's smirk turned into a half-smile at your mention of George Orwell. This girl was full of surprises. It seemed to him that you were more than just a pretty face working as a pit boss.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if reflexively trying to keep a grip on you. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, he should let you go before you get swept into the dangerous world he lived in.

But something about you was making him greedy. The Mafia Boss never had to worry about letting go before, now, he didn’t want to.

You felt his hand tighten around yours and you didn’t want to let go yet. Once you reached your apartment, you looked at him and leaned towards his face to whisper, “Think it over,” you whispered, your brows furrowing a bit before you let go of his hand and got out of the car.

Leon's eyes widened slightly at your whisper, your unexpected boldness sending a jolt of surprise, and something else through him. You'd just told him to think things over, as if it was a date that you were asking him on. But before he could open his mouth to reply, you had already slipped out of the car, leaving him a bit taken aback.

He stayed sitting in his seat for a beat, his fingers clenching the leather, his eyes fixed on your figure. You were playing with fire, and you didn’t even realize it.

You were about to walk into your apartment when you realized you were still wearing his suit jacket. You quickly ran back towards the car and slipped it the jacket off, giving him an awkward smile, “I, uh…”

“Almost forgot this,” you muttered softly, the pink hue on your cheeks not leaving any time soon. Leon took the jacket in his hands, his gaze lingering on you as you handed it to him. He took in your flushed cheeks, your awkward smile, and it sent a pang through his chest.

He wanted to reach out, to touch your cheek, to do something to keep you from leaving. But instead, he simply folded the jacket over his arm, his fingers tracing the fabric.

"Keep it," he said, his voice rough. "It looks better on you."

Your eyes widened a bit and your lips parted into a small ‘Oh’ when he gave you the jacket once more. To which you slowly took, you didn’t want to be greedy but you loved the way it smelled.

“Thank you,” you whispered sincerely, “For tonight.”

The offer still stood. You were willing to throw yourself down into a fire if it meant getting to know him better. Isn’t that what Poker is about? To understand your opponent? But this wasn’t about Poker anymore.

Leon clenched his jaw as he watched your expression, your sincere thanks only making it harder for him to let you go. Your naivete was like a double-edged sword - it drew him in but also made him hesitant.

But he wasn’t some saint. No, far from it. He was a Mafia Boss, and he wasn’t used to denying himself.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with yours, his voice a rough, quiet murmur. “When can I see you again?”

You stared at him through the window, a bit surprised that he wanted to see you again. You were just some idiot poker player and yet… was he actually considering seeing you again?

You stood there in shock for a few seconds like an absolute idiot before you realized you hadn’t said anything. Your cheeks flushed and you quickly cleared your throat, “Uh—“

He paused, his eyes roaming over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uncertainty. It was a new sight for him, having a woman so clearly out of his world be so... vulnerable.

“You want to see me again?” You asked unsure. Leon’s lips quirked up into a small smirk at your reaction, your surprise and confusion only endearing you to him more. You were just so damn endearing. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze sharp, “Yes, I want to see you again.”

“Well, I’m free this Saturday… if you want to—I dunno—go out…?”

“Saturday it is, then. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

This time, you couldn’t help the smile that reached your lips. Was he truly taking you out on a date? You nodded your head at him, your lips curling up into a genuine smile, “Alright…” you muttered quietly, “I’ll see you then. You know where I live anyway.”

He offered you a ride and now knows where you lived, but somehow, you felt comfortable with him knowing, “Goodnight, Leon.”

You walked backwards, looking at him for as long as possible before eventually turning around to get into your apartment. Leon watched as you retreated back into your apartment, his gaze following your every move. There was a strange flutter in his chest, something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something that he thought he had lost.

When you disappeared from sight, he let out a low, rough exhale, running his hand through his short hair. This was dangerous, getting close to you, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care.

“Goodnight, doll,” he murmured, watching your door close behind you.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #re4 leon #re leon #leon #resident evil leon #re4r leon

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mandalhoerian · 2 months ago

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sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 2

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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: 13K

warnings: none. leon being embarrassing is all... you'll see

disclaimer: Leon has some backwards thinking about "providing and protecting" during the end of the fic. Please keep in mind there's two reasons as to why that is:

1) this is a historical fiction no matter how fantastical it is, so conservative values very much exist

2) it actually isn't gender-based. leon is very much okay with the reader doing whatever she wants. he just has a worshipper mentality when it comes to the reader and sees the real world beneath her, so to speak? he basically has her on a pedestal that nobody is allowed to take her down from. she's god's favorite princess and he wants to treat her as such and her serving others is grating on his nerves (they don't deserve it AND she deserves better is the theme here)

3) get your whimsy on and just enjoy being worshipped damn

note: i meant this as a two-shot but . alas, we're here. i swear the next one is the final one. I SWEAR

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The sound of scrubbing fills the busy kitchen, a rhythmic rasp of bristles against copper. The bucket of soapy water at your side ripples with each jerking movement of your hand, and the cloth slips again, plunging your fingers into the cold water. You wince, pulling back, hands trembling as they fumble over the simple task of cleaning the tarnished pot.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. This should be easy—anyone could scrub a pot, right? Any maid worth her salt would handle this without even thinking. But here you are, elbows deep in water, raw fingers rubbing awkwardly at the stubborn stains, trying to remember how much pressure to apply without ruining the metal. It’s a dance you haven’t quite learned yet, despite the amount of practice in the Redfield household.

The weight of the chore feels unnatural in your hands. Once, they were only meant to offer blessings, outstretched for others to kiss, the soft skin never meant for labor. Now, every slip, every misstep, reminds you of how far you’ve fallen. The holy aura that once clung to you like a second skin feels stripped away, leaving you bare, vulnerable—human in the most unflattering way.

Another sigh, heavier this time, as you scrub harder, muscles protesting. Your fingers ache, the bristles biting into your palms, and you fight the urge to just let the cloth drop. The world wasn’t supposed to feel so gritty, so solid. The faint scent of soap mingles with the cool breeze wafting through the open kitchen window, but it does nothing to lift the fog that wraps around your thoughts.

"You're doing it wrong again."

The sharp correction snaps you out of your reverie, and you look up to see Sarah standing over you, hands on her hips. There’s no cruelty in her eyes, only impatience. She bends down, effortlessly taking the pot from your hands.

"See?" She shows you how to twist the rag in tight circles, moving the cloth firmly around the base. "It’s not about force; it’s about control."

Control. You were once the embodiment of control, the saintess who never faltered, who embodied grace in every breath. But here, in the kitchen, control slips through your fingers like water, and you struggle to even follow the motions.

"I see," you murmur, though the words feel hollow. You watch as Sarah finishes the task in a fraction of the time it took you, setting the gleaming pot down with a nod before bustling off to tend to something else.

Once alone again, you look down at your hands, wrinkled from the water, red and sore from the effort. The delicate touch that once administered blessings now feels clumsy, the softness worn away by the rigors of everyday tasks. Dirt clings beneath your nails, and though it frustrates you, there’s something grounding about it, something... real.

Ethelion’s grace never truly belonged to me, you think. I was only ever a vessel. And when that vessel cracks, the divine cannot stay.

Rising from your crouch, you stretch your aching back. Strange how heavy your body feels now, no longer ethereal, no longer buoyed by the sacred weight of divine purpose. Instead, you are bound by flesh and bone, muscles screaming at every chore.

The day stretches ahead, an endless rhythm of work. There are beds to be made, floors to be swept, linens to fold. Each task pulls you further away from the pedestal you once stood upon, but there’s a quiet solace in the routine, in the steady, simple motions. The other maids chat as they move through their own chores, but you remain mostly silent, your thoughts too tangled to join in.

By mid-afternoon, your feet lead you to the garden, the one place that offers a semblance of peace. The air is lighter here, the scent of lilacs and roses calming in a way that nothing else seems to be. Flowers bloom in delicate clusters, their petals soft against your fingertips as you run your hands through them absently.

"Careful now,” someone calls out. "You don’t want to bruise the petals."

You turn to see Piers, the young gardener, smiling at you as he wipes his hands on his apron. He’s always so gentle with the plants, his fingers coaxing them into life with the same patience he shows with you. There’s dirt smudged across his cheek, his hands stained with earth, but it suits him.

"I wasn’t trying to," you reply, embarrassed by your carelessness. Your touch once healed the wounded, and now you worry about crushing flowers.

"Didn’t say you were," he says, coming closer to kneel beside you. "Just reminding you. These flowers... they’re like people. Handle them too roughly, and they’ll wilt. Handle them too gently, and they’ll never bloom."

There is a meaning in there that makes your skin prickle, an awareness that you wish you could erase. He understands too much, has seen too much. Not many of the Redfield staff know your true identity—the noble family wishes to preserve their secrecy regarding you—but Piers knows. From the day you stepped through the estate gates, he knew.

The afternoon sun shines brightly as the two of you fall into the usual silence, the one you enjoy. As you work together, weeding and trimming the hedges. You try to copy his movements, but you feel clumsy beside him, fumbling over yourself with every touch. The lilies you looked after in the temple were plucked and placed in elegant vases, you only ever stood in their presence in the garden, as the monks cared for the vegetation in the sanctified grounds. The fact that you were chosen to stand for Ethelion, you didn’t touch anything—they touched you, and you felt like the flower, the angel of mercy, the beautiful goddess. The ones that surround you now call for more work to thrive, to grow. It seems that no matter how hard you try, your touch won’t be enough.

You reach to pick a weed and nearly knock over a rosebush, the thorns grazing your hand. The sting feels grounding, in a strange way, and for a moment, you linger in it, letting the pain settle into your skin. It doesn't immediately heal like any other wound used to.

"When will you teach me?" You blurt out, looking over at him. "How to properly help you?"

Piers chuckles softly, carefully correcting your posture with his hands until you get into position. "Soon, little lady. Soon, you'll be good at this, just as you are with everything you set your mind to."

Years after, you're still awkward and at a loss with touch. A lifetime of only coming to contact with fabric and porcelain will do that to you, and you think that he notices as such—the way you flinch at unexpected contact, the way you seem to carry that old elegance that never went away with you in all of your actions, even as you struggle with the physicalities of your new life.

To his credit, he doesn't question it, simply guides you patiently as if it's natural. If the rest of the staff finds it odd, they don't say a thing.

This is another world. A world very different from your life before. People of your standing hug and hold hands, brush against one another. When you first began your training, it felt overwhelming, like being engulfed by a current you didn't know how to fight. Now, it is like the sea itself, ever-present but constant.

"Firm grip," Piers says quietly, putting his own hands over yours to guide the motion as he weeds the soil around the small hedge bushes. "You need to have a light touch, but not too light or it won't be efficient."

You adjust your fingers accordingly, gripping the clump of earth and tugging. It comes loose without resistance, falling into your hand. A smile spreads across your face, your eyes brightening.

"Like this?"

"Yes, perfect," Piers says, nodding encouragingly. The corners of his lips quirk up in the barest hint of a grin. "And don't be afraid to get dirty. Mud is natural and good for the earth, helps the flowers flourish."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you find yourself wishing, for a moment, that life would remain like this. It isn’t comfortable—not in the way the temple had been, with its cushioned chairs and silken sheets, the robes so thick and warm they felt like velvet against your skin. But here, surrounded by flowers, with the wind ruffling through your hair, it feels...right.

Maybe that is why you found yourself returning to the gardens whenever the chance arose, whether it was after completing your daily chores or even on your days off, even if you were sure you wouldn’t learn anything from it. There was a comfort that came with the sun shining down on you as you pruned and picked at the roses, looking forward to the day when you would be knowledgeable enough to plant lilies on your own and care for them how they deserved.

The day passes in quiet rhythm after that, the routine of your tasks blending into the hum of the estate. There’s comfort in the dirt, in the steady, simple work of tending to life, of watching something grow. It’s not grand, it’s not divine, but it feels real, and for now, that’s enough.

As the sun dips below the horizon, you return to your small room in the servants’ quarters. The day’s dirt still clings to your skin, and as you sit at your modest mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection. You’re no longer the saintess, no longer the holy vessel. The person staring back at you is human, grounded in the earth just like the flowers you’ve come to care for.

The soft clink of porcelain and silverware fills the dining hall along with the the quiet hum of conversation between the Redfield family. You stand at the ready, your hands clasped before you, ever attentive to the needs of the table. The crystal carafe of wine glimmers faintly beside you, waiting to be lifted, though your thoughts are far from the task at hand.

"What happened after that?" Lady Claire leans forward, a sly smile on her lips as she gestures animatedly in a very unladylike manner. "You can’t just brush that under the rug! The hero of the kingdom storms into a coronation and attacks the Archbishop? I need details!"

Lord Chris waves his fork dismissively, his mouth full of roasted vegetables. He huffs out a breath, shaking his head as he reaches for his wineglass, "It wasn’t as dramatic as you’re making it sound. Just a bit of a misunderstanding, really."

Lady Claire laughs light and airy as she leans back in her seat. "A misunderstanding that resulted in the knight attacking an esteemed member of the Church of Ethelia? In public. How is that not dramatic?"

You glance toward Chris as you subtly refill his glass, the liquid swirling gently. His features are calm, but there’s a tension around his mouth that suggests he’s holding back more than he’s letting on. You pause, hoping to catch more of the conversation without drawing attention to yourself, your curiosity piqued.

The mental image of Leon doing something as bold as interrupting an event in the capital, let alone something as severe as accosting a highly-respected man of faith is... Unrealistic and highly out of character for him. It seemed too distant from the kind boy who would climb trees to bring down fruits just to make you smile.

The man clears his throat as he cuts into his steak, the knife slicing through the tender meat with ease. "It was more like a minor incident than an attack, honestly. No one was hurt, and the Archbishop has already moved past it."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

It's a great question. Leon wasn't known as someone who made reckless decisions like that—if anything, he was known for following his orders without hesitation, which was what made him an excellent paladin, regardless of what the rest of the clergy thought about him. You had even heard whispers among the priests about his loyalty, his dedication, how he was unfailingly loyal to the temple. He seemed like a steadfast soldier, reliable and sturdy, always steady on his feet no matter what trials Ethelion sent his way.

Lord Chris exhales slowly through his nose as his gaze falls upon his wife. There's a pause, the air heavy with unsaid words, before he responds. "Maybe something just snapped when he saw that Archbishop standing there, acting like everything’s fine after everything he’s seen and been through."

His response is blunt, the words like a punch to your gut. You try to swallow against the dryness in your throat, blinking back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill, biting the inside of your cheek.

An uncomfortable silence settles across the dinner table, broken only by Lady Claire's uneasy chuckle.

You exhale slowly, the sound barely audible, as you reach for the water pitcher. It isn’t until your hand trembles as it hovers over the delicate glass surface that you realize how tense your body is. The truth that he spoke, that slipped through you like poison in bloodstream—

Would Leon attack you the same way he did the Archbishop? The Saintess who sent him off into a war with a prayer and a blessing? Would you, too, end up with his fingers clutching at your clothes, teeth gritting together in a snarl, the words of accusation cutting into you as you stood frozen in place, unable to respond?

"Do you think he’s... dangerous?" Lady Claire asks, stripped off of all her playfulness. "Should we be worried?"

Lord Chris chuckles, though there’s a bitter edge to it. "No, Leon’s not dangerous. Not to us, anyway. He’s just... different. War changes people. It’s not something you can just walk away from without it leaving scars."

Your hands tighten around the stem of the pitcher, steadying your grip. The mention of the Holy War brings a hundred memories rushing back, as fresh as the day they were forged. They wash over you, filling your veins with a rush of sorrow and anger, regret and remorse—

You sent Leon there. Into the midst of that violence and hatred, where men became monsters. Where his blade tasted blood for the first time and changed him forever, like an animal weaned off of milk and discovering a taste for flesh. You did that to him. Did that to all of the righteous paladins and courageous soldiers who died in that field, whose bones now lie in unmarked graves.

Leon would be right to hate you. Ethelion himself should despise you, condemn you. It's why He has let go of you so early into your service.

You don't know why Lord Chris doesn't spit on your face. Why Lady Claire allows you to pour their drinks and serve their meals. How could you ever repent for what you have done to the paladins of this kingdom, their fellow noblemen of faith?

"Enough talk of battle at the dinner table," Dame Jill chides gently, a soothing balm amidst the tension. "We've spent too long dwelling in the dark. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"Right, right," Chris agrees, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that."

The moment between them is tender, so simple yet so intimate that you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding. The way Jill’s hand lingers on Chris’s arm, the way he leans into her touch without even realizing it—it’s a closeness you’ve only ever observed from a distance, a kind of bond you’ve never experienced. You’re not sure you ever will.

"Let's talk about more exciting things," Lady Claire picks up her enthusiasm once more, and as if she's read your mind, she says, "How long do you think is until his marriage to Princess Ashley?"

Chris chokes on his food. So would you if you were in his position.

Jill sighs, a thin smile on her lips as she shoots him a look. "That isn't a conversation we're meant to entertain."

"I don’t think Leon’s worried about marriage right now, Claire," Chris says, though with a hint of amusement. "He’s got enough on his plate without worrying about courting anyone."

"Still," Claire continues, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "I bet every noble lady in the capital is throwing themselves at him right now. A war hero, a noble Margrave, and still single? They’re probably lining up just to get a chance."

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat at the thought. Is that really what’s happening? Is Leon being paraded in front of noble families, their daughters hoping to catch his eye, hoping to be the one he chooses? The idea leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, though you can’t quite place why.

Leon... a Margrave now, a hero of the kingdom, sitting at the top of nobility’s ladder, one step away from being at the king’s side. The image of him standing among lords and ladies, dressed in fine silk and polished armor, feels alien in your mind. You remember him in a different way—so much simpler, much... closer. A heavy feeling settles in your chest.

"Claire, please," Jill interrupts with a chuckle, light but firm. "Leave the poor man alone."

The conversation moves on, but you remain rooted in place, the weight of it all pressing down on you. You steal a glance at Jill and Chris, their easy smiles, their shared glances, and you can’t help but wonder if Leon will find someone like that. Someone who can stand by his side, someone who fits seamlessly into his new world.

Perhaps it's for the best, after the "holy cause" that left him with nothing but a medal of honor and an oathbreaker reputation, the life of a soldier, a faithful paladin cut off from divinity and glory. To have the blessing of Ethelion once again, as a lord, with a beautiful young woman to share the legacy—it's a picture that could only bring envy to anyone's heart.

The manor feels like a gilded cage.

Leon slumps back in his chair, the smooth leather creaking beneath the weight of his armorless body. Before him lies an endless spread of parchment on the grand oak desk in his office—documents stamped with wax seals, crests of various noble families, and inked signatures of men and women he couldn’t care less about.

The words blur together into a maddening jumble, formalities and regulations, reminders of his newfound role as Margrave, a title he’d never wanted but had earned through blood and grit on the battlefield. Now, instead of commanding soldiers, he commands... paper.

The clinking of metal rings from across the room as Dame Ingrid Hunnigan arranges a fresh stack of documents beside him, her presence calm and efficient as always. Her gaze flickers toward him, calculating, and Leon doesn’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes as she notes the papers he has yet to sign. The steady tick of the ornate clock in the corner seems louder than it should.

"My Lord."

Leon looks up, blinking as though he’s surfacing from deep water. “Yes?”

“We’re behind schedule,” she says, ever pragmatic, her gaze flicking briefly to the mountain of paperwork before returning to meet his. “If we’re to have everything in order for your proposal to Princess Ashley, we’ll need to finalize these arrangements by the end of the week.”

Leon freezes, his quill hovering above the paper like a blade suspended in air, droplets of ink forming a dark blot on the parchment beneath. His heart thuds once, hard, against his ribs, and he feels a strange coldness spreading from his chest to his limbs. Proposal. Marriage. Princess Ashley.

It was the logical next step, wasn’t it? The hero of the war, the man who saved the princess, standing beside her as her husband, uniting the people with their fairy-tale ending.

But the thought of it feels like a noose tightening around his throat.

“I’m not marrying her.”

Hunnigan’s sharp intake of breath is almost imperceptible, but Leon catches it. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but he can feel the shift in her—an unspoken surprise. "But—”

He places the quill down with a deliberate slowness, his fingers resting on the desk’s polished surface.

“I won’t marry her,” Leon interrupts, low but firm, as if saying it again will solidify his decision, make it real.

“Sir, I’m not certain you understand the implications. The court is already abuzz with speculation. The king’s council has all but planned the ceremony. If you—”

“No.” Leon’s tone sharpens, the edge of it cutting through the room. His jaw tightens, and he pushes back from the desk, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. The papers, the plans, the obligations—they all feel like chains, tethering him to a world he never wanted to belong to.

Hunnigan doesn’t flinch, though she tracks his every movement, assessing. “Then what will you do? The court demands an answer, and soon.”

“I don’t care about their impatience,” Leon cuts her off, harder than he intends. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, his frustration mounting. “I’ve just returned from war. I’ve barely had time to breathe, and now they want me to walk down the aisle? It’s absurd.”

“You’re not just a soldier anymore,” Ingrid replies evenly. “You’re a noble now, Sir Leon. A Margrave. And with that title comes expectations. Marrying Princess Ashley solidifies your position. It ensures stability.”

Stability. It’s the word that grates against his skin like a thorn. Stability meant confinement. It meant being locked into a life that wasn’t his own, chained to a destiny he didn’t choose. Marrying into the royal family would make him something he never wanted to be.

From the temple to the palace. Still a pawn.

And worse, it would make him someone unrecognizable to himself.

When she only gets irritable silence in return, Hunnigan doubles down, "The people adore you. You saved Princess Ashley. A marriage between you two would unite the noble houses, secure your standing. It’s—"

"I don’t care." The words burst out of him, louder than intended, and the air between them seems to crackle with the tension of it. He meets her look, daring her to challenge him, to push him further into this corner he feels trapped in. "I’m not marrying her. I never promised that. I never wanted that."

"It’s not about what you want, my lord. It’s about what the kingdom needs. What the crown expects from you."

"The crown expects a puppet," Leon mutters, his voice dropping to an icy low. He rises from the chair, the sound of his boots heavy against the floor as he paces the room, his movements sharp, restless. "They dress me up in these fine clothes, give me a title, and expect me to smile and play my part in their little game. I didn’t fight a war to become this."

"You fought a war to protect the kingdom. And this is part of that protection," Hunnigan argues, "You’ve earned the people’s respect. The life of a hero comes with its responsibilities."

"Responsibilities." He almost laughs at that, though there’s nothing humorous about it. His hand drifts to the hilt of his sword—a relic from the battlefield that feels more like a part of him than the heavy mantle of nobility ever will. "You think I don’t know about responsibilities? I’ve seen men die under my command, Hunnigan. I’ve seen villages burn, innocent lives lost. That’s responsibility. This... this is just playing dress-up."

Hunnigan exhales softly, her face softening, just a little. "I understand. I do. But we live in a world where appearances matter just as much as actions. The people need their hero. And they need their princess to stand beside him."

“I’m not going to chain myself to a life I don’t want. I’ve fought for this kingdom, bled for it, nearly died for it. But I’m done letting other people decide my fate.”

She sighs, crossing her arms as she studies him carefully. “And what do you plan to do? Walk away from the nobility entirely? Abandon your responsibilities now that you’ve earned the title?”

Leon meets her gaze, his eyes dark, stormy. “I’ll fulfill my duties as Margrave. But I’ll do it on my terms.”

There’s a long pause, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. Ingrid’s expression softens, just slightly, but her professionalism remains unshaken. “You know this won’t be easy. The court won’t be happy with your decision. They’ll try to pressure you, manipulate you. You’ll be seen as defying tradition.”

“Let them,” Leon replies, pushing himself up from the chair, the tension in his muscles begging for release. “I’ve faced worse things than court gossip.”

Hunnigan watches him for a moment longer before nodding, though the concern doesn’t fade. “Very well. But if you’re going to make a decision like this, you should be prepared for the consequences.”

He nods, feeling a wave of exhaustion settle over him. “I am a walking consequence, Hunnigan."

She turns and leaves him to the silence of the room, her footsteps quiet against the stone floor. The moment she’s gone, Leon exhales deeply, his chest tight and his thoughts swirling in chaos. The paperwork remains unfinished on his desk, an ever-growing mountain of expectations and demands that suffocates him more with every passing minute.

He can’t stay here. Not now.

Grabbing his cloak, Leon moves toward the door, his steps quick and purposeful. Outside, the air feels thick, the walls of the manor closing in on him like a vice. He’s grown used to wide open spaces—the battlefield, the wilderness. Here, in the capital, everything feels too close, too crowded, too suffocating.

This is how you must have felt, he thinks bitterly as he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, his mind drifting to you. Caged in, always watched, always expected to be something more than human.

The streets of the capital stretch before him, bustling with people going about their day—merchants haggling, children running through the alleys, noblewomen in fine dresses gliding down the cobblestone paths. Leon moves through them like a shadow, his presence hidden beneath the cloak, his face obscured from the watchful eyes of guards and passersby.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he’s alone.

He walks with no destination in mind, his boots scuffing against the uneven stones, his thoughts swirling with frustration and longing. The scent of fresh bread drifts through the air from a nearby bakery, mingling with the earthy scent of rain-soaked stone, but none of it grounds him. It only reminds him of the distance between the world he’s in and the world he longs for—the simple, the honest, the free.

His steps carry him further into the city until he reaches the cathedral gates, and he stops, gazing up at the towering spires and stained glass windows. A shudder of recognition courses through his spine as he recalls the last time he was here, the day he knelt at your feet and promised loyalty.

Ethelion may have forsaken him, but this place still calls to him in some strange, primal way—a piece of his past, a connection to his lost faith.

People file in and out of the massive wooden doors, their voices raised in a joyful hum. There is an energy to the crowd that he hadn't noticed before, a buoyant air that sweeps through the throng of worshippers like a tide. Curious, he follows the flow, stepping aside to allow the others to enter as he peers in, watching the mass from the outskirts. The chapel is packed to its gilded seams, everyone cramming into every available space. Every seat is occupied; even the pews on the second story are crammed with devotees, necks straining to catch a glimpse of the spectacle below.

Being on the outside looking in is...strange for him, all his life, he'd been on the inside. An honorary knight, a devoted acolyte, then, a holy warrior tasked with bringing peace back to the world. Now he's on the other side, on the edges. Alone. He should have been in the crowd, standing just beside the Saintess, having a place in line with her.

Now, he's one of the many faces in the crowd. One of the people he had protected with his sword.

At the pulpit stands a new Saintess, clad in shimmering robes of purest white, her mask alight with a silvery glow. The feeling of uncanny valley crawls through him, like the sight is wrong somehow. The figure before him looks the same, the attire, the veil, and even the ethereal glow. However, everything feels off. Where you had held yourself tall and steady with a presence that demanded attention, the current Saintess seems shy, her movements small and uncertain as she addresses the crowd.

Leon's frown deepens as he listens to the girl speak, sweet and lilting, but lacking in the conviction he remembers from your sermons. There's no passion in it, no fervor or fire. Just rote memorization, a pretty puppet reciting lines written by others.

It's not supposed to be like this. He doesn't get the Saintess Cycle, or whatever bullshit it's called that he was informed about right after his outburst.

He had never heard of it before that day. Not even when he’d been sworn in as a paladin. Not when he had stood at your side, thinking you were eternal, untouchable.

The letter sent by the Temple said the Saintess is a vessel—a temporary, ephemeral thing. When she reaches the end of her "cycle," she is retired, replaced by a new, younger girl blessed by Ethelion. It is the way of the divine, they wrote. It’s natural. It’s necessary.

Necessary. The word is poison, burning through him.

The cycle they speak of is cruel, cold. He remembers it again: Once the Saintess matures, her divine grace wanes, and Ethelion selects a new girl, free from worldly knowledge, pure in body and mind.

Pure. That’s what they had valued about you. Not your kindness, not your wisdom, not the way your smile had once lit up entire rooms. Just purity. What do they even mean by that word?

So that’s it then, he thinks bitterly. They’ve stripped you of everything. Reduced you to some… some tool to be replaced when your usefulness runs out.

He can't accept this. He refuses to.

This “cycle” they speak of is nothing but a lie—a grotesque farce designed to keep the chosen girls under their thumb, to strip them of their humanity, their will so they are easier to control, more obedient, self-sacrificing. They want to act as though it’s all part of some divine plan, but Leon knows better. He’s seen the temple’s machinations, the politics woven into their robes, the way they turn divine grace into something transactional.

You were never just a vessel, he tells himself, his jaw tight. You were never just a role to be filled.

He had sworn an oath to protect you, to serve you, and yet, when you needed him most, he had been gone—fighting in wars, chasing glory on blood-soaked battlefields while they took everything from you.

Leon steps back, ready to turn away from the chapel that now feels hollow, stripped of the sanctity it once held, when something catches him—sharp, like the sudden crack of a whip in the still air.

A scent.

It slips through the incense and the stale breath of prayer, weaving between the worshippers like a thread of memory pulled taut. Faint, almost hidden beneath the smoke and ash of the sacred space, but unmistakable. It strikes him like a blade, cutting through the fog of disbelief clouding his mind.

Lilies.

Among the scentless masses, with their simple soaps and the cloying odor of frankincense that clings to the walls—the smell of lilies.

His pulse stutters, a beat skipped in time, before surging back with a violent, thunderous force that shakes him to his core.

It’s your scent.

His breath halts in his throat, suspended, as the world tilts, shifting on its axis as his focus narrows. Someone brushes past him, draped in a nondescript cloak, their head bowed like the rest, just another figure blending into the sea of worshippers.

But his soul screams.

He knows it’s you.

The recognition strikes him so hard he reels with it, body twisting as he turns sharply, every muscle tensing with a frantic energy he can’t control. His eyes dart around, searching, desperate. His heart is slamming against his ribs, each beat like a drum echoing in a cathedral. The scent lingers, tantalizingly close—so close he can taste it, feel it—but the figure is slipping away, vanishing into the faceless crowd, swallowed whole by the masses.

"Wait!" The word rips from his throat, harsh, strangled, louder than intended. Heads turn, whispers hiss, but they are meaningless sounds in a world reduced to the scent of lilies and the figure that’s slipping through his fingers like sand.

"Wait, please!" His yell cracks, raw, frantic. He pushes through the crowd, bodies jostling against him, every step a growing surge of panic that claws at his chest.

The scent fades, thinning like smoke dissipating in the wind, until it’s gone.

Gone.

Leon stumbles to a stop, breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling in time with the wild thrum of his heartbeat. His hands shake, fingers curled into fists at his sides as if he could grasp hold of the memory, keep it alive through sheer will.

But you’re gone.

The world around him fades to a dull hum, the whispers of disapproving worshippers like gnats buzzing in the distance. His vision blurs at the edges, narrowing, tunneling, until all he can see is the space you once occupied. His chest constricts, tightens, the weight of everything—of this moment, of the years lost, of you—crashing down on him with the force of a wave that threatens to drag him under.

No, you’re here.

The thought is dizzying, overwhelming in its certainty. You’re here, in the capital, breathing the same air as him, walking the same streets. The realization hits him like cold water, shocking him awake, filling his lungs with something raw and desperate. His mind spins, thoughts unspooling in a frantic mess he can’t make sense of.

Leon strides into the office, his boots thudding against the polished floor, the sound bouncing off the high, vaulted ceiling. The door swings shut behind him with a muted thud, the energy of his entrance reverberating through the quiet space. Hunnigan barely looks up from her desk, the rustle of paper and the scratching of her quill the only acknowledgment of his presence. The scent of ink, parchment, and faint traces of cedarwood drift through the air—but unable to overpower the lilies at the back of his throat, like a ghost in the chamber.

Without preamble, he blurts out, "Where does one buy lily soap in the capital?"

Hunnigan’s quill freezes mid-stroke, her brows knitting together as she raises her head, her gaze flicking up to meet his with an expression of mild annoyance. Her office is meticulously arranged, papers stacked neatly in front of her, the ink pot perfectly centered on the desk. Leon's sudden intrusion seems to upset the delicate balance of the room.

"My lord?" Her voice carries that familiar undercurrent of impatience, but Leon can see the confusion etched into her features. "Lily soap?"

“Yes," he snaps, pacing before her desk, his movements restless, unsettled. "Soap scented like lilies."

Hunnigan’s stare is blank, clearly trying to piece together the urgency behind his question. She places her quill down carefully, folds her hands in front of her, and straightens her back, as if preparing for some bureaucratic debate.

"I'm afraid I don't—"

In an instant, Leon slams both hands against her desk, rattling the ink pot and causing a cascade of parchment to shift slightly out of place. The sharp bang echoes through the room, and for a second, there is silence, broken only by the rapid rise and fall of Leon's breath. A few sheets of paper flutter down from the pile, but he barely notices.

"Lilies, Hunnigan," Leon grits out, leaning forward, his eyes flashing with a desperation that feels foreign even to him. “Where do they sell lily soap? I need to know, now.”

To her credit, Hunnigan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as blink at his intensity. The edges of her lips tighten, but she meets his frustration with her usual unflinching calm, tilting her head slightly, watching him with that sharp calculation, as if measuring the weight of his demand against her need for propriety. "Lord Leon, it will require time, but if you would like, we will investigate the sources. Such things aren’t kept on record like weapons or grain."

Leon drops into the chair opposite her with a heavy sigh, his hands pressing against his temples as if he can massage away the growing headache pulsing at his skull, but there's a part of him—the rational, disciplined soldier—that knows he can't barrel through this like an enemy barricade.

Hunnigan regards him thoughtfully, studying him as though she’s contemplating his sanity. Finally, she relents with a small nod. "However, at the top of my head, I can tell you that a fragrance like that would most likely be sold at shops that cater to the upper class. Apothecaries, perhaps, though I’ve heard of merchants who specialize in rare oils and soaps for wealthier clientele."

"But no," Leon says, frustration building, "that person... that soap can't have come from somewhere like that. It's too expensive. They're not wealthy, not someone who could afford those kinds of luxuries."

She taps a finger thoughtfully against the edge of her desk, not asking any questions, thankfully. "Commoner households purchase their necessities from street vendors. Most don't have the means to indulge in frivolities, but there are some apothecaries that sell fragrant items for medicinal purposes. Perhaps that’s where it came from."

Leon's mind races, his thoughts jumbling together, ticking off possibilities. He could search the market districts, scour the streets where vendors peddle their wares, but that would take time—too much time. And still, you could be anywhere, hiding among the crowds or nestled in some quiet corner of the capital. He drags a hand through his hair, the rigid set of his jaw flexing.

His thoughts swirl, trying to latch onto something, anything that will give him a lead. And then an idea begins to take shape, unformed at first, but gaining momentum the more he entertains it. He sits up, his eyes sharper, clearer. "Hypothetically, if we were to open a scented soap stall in the market, do you think people would buy it?"

Hunnigan’s brows raise, clearly not expecting the question. "The common folk aren’t exactly known for their fastidiousness when it comes to daily bathing, but soap has been increasing in popularity among the younger generations, particularly young women."

That catches his attention. The market is shifting, changing with the times. And you—you always appreciated those little luxuries, even when you were cloistered away, out of reach. You might not be living among the nobility, but that doesn't mean you wouldn’t still indulge in what small comforts you could.

Leon straightens, the hint of an idea forming. "Good," he murmurs, nodding more to himself than to her. "Then we’ll need to monopolize the market."

Hunnigan watches him with a raised brow, a subtle hint of disbelief in her gaze. "May I ask what exactly brought about this sudden interest in the soap trade? Surely you haven’t returned from the battlefield only to decide you’d like to dabble in perfumeries?"

Her tone is dry, but Leon can hear the underlying curiosity in her words. For a moment, he almost laughs at the absurdity of it all—a knight of the kingdom, scouring the city for lily-scented soap like a man possessed. But the laugh dies in his throat, replaced by the phantom scent of lilies, achingly familiar, almost painful in its clarity.

"I’m looking for someone," he admits, low, quiet, but no less determined. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly as if holding on to his last thread of hope. "And this... this is the only way I can think of to find them."

"Someone," Hunnigan repeats slowly, drawing out the word as if rolling it over her tongue, weighing its significance.

He nods, his jaw clenched.

Hunnigan stares at him for a long moment, and then, without another word, she picks up her quill and begins to write. The scratch of the pen fills the silence as she scribbles down his instructions with the precision and efficiency he’s come to expect from her.

Before she's about to me it to the end of the page, she glances up, the slight furrow of her brow the only indication of the questions that linger in the back of her mind. "Shall I send someone to retrieve these lily soaps for your sampling, or would you prefer to dispose of them immediately?"

"Neither. Send word to the streets that they can only find lily soap in our store in the entire kingdom. Offer them a special gift if they purchase it from us. I want it to reach everyone."

"The entire city, my lord? That will be quite the undertaking."

"If that's what it takes, yes."

She gives a single, decisive nod. "As you wish."

With that, she finishes writing his instruction, rolls up the scroll, and stands, carrying the parchment to the servant waiting outside the doors, whispering instructions to be taken to his household's estate.

He knows this isn’t exactly an ideal plan, that the odds of success are slim, but it's a chance, however small, and he clings to that like a lifeline. Besides, he hasn’t survived this many years on the battlefield, faced monsters and beasts and unspeakable horrors, to lose his nerve now in the face of a soap business.

He can't find you on his own. So, the next best thing is having you come to him.

You sit among the other maids, wooden spoon idly stirring the stew in your bowl, listening to the idle conversations around you. The dining hall of the servants' quarters is loud as usual, the chatter and laughter of the staff filling the room with warmth. A few seats down, Piers and Mark argue about the proper way to clean a fireplace, gesturing wildly with their spoons as they bicker good-naturedly. On the opposite end of the table, the new maid, Nina, sits with Rebecca, listening raptly to a story about Lord Redfield's exploits during a hunting trip.

There's a comfort to it—the familiarity, the routine. After spending years surrounded by the hushed, reverent air of the temple, the chaotic camaraderie of the kitchen staff is almost exhilarating. You sigh, reaching for your goblet as you lean back in your seat, content to listen to the various conversations surrounding you.

"Guess what? The Margrave isn’t marrying the Princess. How crazy is that?"

"Really? Why not," Mark interjects, equally bewildered. "Who wouldn't want to marry a princess?"

Piers shrugs, shoveling a large spoonful of stew into his mouth and continuing. "I guess he wants to be a bachelor."

"Over becoming king one day?"

"This is why you can't trust men to relay information," one of the maids, Angela, says, rolling her eyes. "He's already announced he's looking for a bride. They say he’s broken the hearts of more noble ladies than anyone can count. And the families! Furious, every last one."

A ripple of laughter spreads through the group, the maids delighting in the drama. The bread you’re holding crumbles between your fingers, but you barely notice.

“It's a scandal,” someone else chimes in. “The Princess was practically promised to him, wasn’t she? Now he’s insulted the royal family by turning her down. People should have expected it, he started wreaking havoc as soon as he got back to the capital. Who does he think he is?"

“He’s a war hero, that’s who. He could probably have any noblewoman in the kingdom if he wanted to. Though it seems like none of them are good enough for him.”

You push your bowl away, the food suddenly unappealing, staring down at your hands as if they hold the answers to the growing unease inside.

The Leon they speak of now—a man who breaks hearts, who defies royal expectations—is a stranger to you. But what bothers you more is the memory of him at the cathedral.

The way his eyes had darkened when he looked at the Saintess.

You hadn’t seen him like that before, his expression twisted with anger, with hatred. The shock of it had frozen you in place, and then…you ran. You ran from the cathedral, from the possibility that the man who once looked at you with kindness now only saw betrayal.

And now, sitting here, the moment drowns out the light laughter of your fellow maids. You can’t shake the feeling that the Leon who stood in the cathedral wasn’t just angry—he was looking for you.

But you’re not the Saintess anymore.

You haven’t been for some time, but he wouldn't know. He couldn’t have known that you’d been stripped of your title, that you’ve been replaced. He must’ve thought the woman he saw was you, still wearing the veil of divinity. And the way he looked at her—looked at you—wasn’t with the softness you remember. No, there was something darker, a disdain so palpable that it tore through every fond memory you had of him.

You swallow, your throat dry, as the image of him at the cathedral burns in your mind. How had it come to this? How had the boy you once knew become a man so consumed by anger, by hatred? You think of the maids' gossip—how he’s rejecting noblewomen, how he’s broken hearts without a second thought—and you can’t help but wonder what he would look like now, staring at someone he loves...

Shuddering, you push the thought aside, trying to shake it from your mind. Maybe you can talk to Lord Chris about it, ask for his guidance in making amends with Leon, or maybe—

"Hey, you okay?"

Mark's question cuts through your spiraling thoughts, and you look up to find the entire table staring at you with varying shades of concern. A flush rises to your cheeks, and you fumble for a response, tripping over your words.

"I, um— yes, I'm alright." You take a steadying breath, immediately going back to stirring your food, knuckles whitening. "It's just—I'm a bit tired. I toured nearly the whole market today but had no luck with the thing I was looking for."

You give him your best attempt at a reassuring smile, but judging by the way he tilts his head at you, he's not buying it. He stares at you for a moment longer, studying you intently, before he gives a shrug and turns away.

Not even a month passes before the report lands on his desk.

The majority of lily soap sales, it seems, have gone to one place—the Redfield estate. The testimonies from shopkeepers speak of a particular maid, one who purchased an absurd amount of the soap. They claim she spent a small fortune, fearful of another shortage. But that isn’t what stands out.

No, it’s the way they described her—mistaken for a noble the moment she entered the shop, all because of the way she carried herself. Poised. Dignified.

Leon leans back in his chair, closing his eyes, and for a moment, he allows himself to breathe. It’s you. It has to be. The fragments of the puzzle are slowly coming together, each piece falling into place with a clarity that tightens something in his chest.

He exhales softly, an excited, expectant grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He’ll keep playing this game, keep pulling at the threads until everything unravels. Until you’re standing right in front of him once more.

Sunlight filters through the large, arched windows of Chris Redfield's office, casting long streaks of gold across the dark mahogany floor, dappling the room in a warm, almost serene glow. Dust motes drift lazily in the beams, like memories swirling in the still air. The crackling fire in the hearth only adds to the warmth, a comforting presence in a room filled with sharp edges—of old swords hung on the walls and the faint tang of oiled leather and metal.

Leon sprawls on a chaise near the window, one leg draped over the other, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his body is a coiled spring, ready to snap into action at any moment. His dark coat hangs loosely on the back of the seat, cravat untied, a few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the faint lines of old scars crisscrossing his chest. There’s a ruggedness to him, an edge that doesn't quite fit in with the refined waistcoat stretching taut against his broad chest. His rolled-up sleeves expose forearms marked with callouses and veins, the map of a warrior’s life etched into his skin.

"How's Claire?" Leon asks, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching the sunlight dance off its surface.

Chris takes a long sip before answering. “She’s well. Busy, as always. The horses are coming along better than expected. She’s hoping to have them ready for sale in a few months, especially with the new barn completed.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking on a more direct approach. “But I don’t think you came here to talk about my sister or the horses. What’s really going on, Leon? Why the sudden visit?”

Leon offers a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can’t an old friend stop by for a drink?”

Chris snorts, his grin broad but skeptical. “Sure, if you consider bribery drinking. I see you didn't disappoint with the bottle of twenty-five-year-old cognac." His amusement fades as quickly as it came, the weight of serious matters creeping into the conversation. "Come on, we both know you have more than a friendly visit on your mind, and if it's business, you've been acting strange about it. So...?"

"You're housing the former Saintess."

Chris's glass stills halfway to his mouth, and he looks sharply at Leon as if he's suddenly grown two heads. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"Where did you hear that?"

Leon huffs, leaning back casually and propping one ankle on the opposite knee, as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell. "Does it matter?"

"Considering it could be a rumor spread by palace spies? Yes."

The question makes him want to tear his hair out. "No palace spies. I did my own investigating."

"Why are you sniffing around her, Leon? If you’ve come here to cause trouble—" Chris's expression darkens, the threat evident as he blatantly starts to glare. "Leave her alone. Don't drag her into whatever scheme you're planning."

Leon bristles at that, his surprise turning to frustration as his fingers tighten around the glass. "Scheme? You think that lowly of me?"

"You come to my home, interrogate me about one of my staff, and expect me to believe it's for innocent reasons? Are you trying to play me for a fool? That won't fly."

"If you must know..." Leon pauses for a beat, letting the tension build before continuing. "I intend to marry her."

For a moment, Chris stares at Leon in stunned silence, a range of emotions flickering across his face—from disbelief to exasperation, finally settling somewhere between exhaustion and resignation. "Are you insane?"

"She deserves better than being a servant, Chris. You and I both know that," Leon shoots back, his grip on the glass tightening to the point where it feels like the whole thing might shatter. "I'm not letting the Saintess be disrespected."

"She deserves peace. That’s what I’m giving her here. She’s living a life of anonymity, away from politics, away from the court. She’s finally free, Leon. You think dragging her back into the spotlight, back into a world that nearly destroyed her, is better?"

"It’s not better if she’s being worked like a peasant. She’s the Saintess. She doesn’t belong here, scrubbing floors and washing dishes."

Chris’s expression hardens. "She’s not the Saintess anymore. She chose this life."

"Did she?" Leon stands abruptly, unable to contain the restless energy burning inside him any longer. He paces to the large windows, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor. Outside, the gardens stretch out in a sea of green, the flowers and foliage swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. His hands press against the cold stone windowsill, knuckles turning pale as his grip tightens. "Or did the temple abandon her, strip her of her title, and toss her into the gutter? She didn’t have a choice, Chris. She was thrown into this because they used her and discarded her when she was no longer useful."

Finally, Chris exhales, the tension in his body deflating as he slumps back into his chair, running a hand over his face. "You don’t understand what you’re asking for. You think you can just walk in here, sweep her off her feet, and everything will be fine? You’re a noble now. If you marry her, you’ll expose her to the same world that's crushing you."

The words strike a chord in Leon. He looks away, running a hand through his hair, jaw tense. You'd be thrust into a world of backstabbing and corruption, of scheming nobility and ambitious opportunists, all vying for your attention and affection—just as he is. The thought makes something twist in his stomach. By trying to give you the life you deserve, he could very well condemn you to the same fate as him. The irony isn’t lost on him.

After a moment, he meets Chris's gaze with equal intensity. "I can keep her safe."

"And marry a maid instead of a princess? What do you think will happen to keeping her safe once the word gets out? They'll tear into her name trying to figure out who she is and where she came from. Every detail of her life will be dissected by the public. There's no going back after that, Leon."

"I've already purchased a title for her. Daughter of an inconsequential Baron in the countryside, far away from court intrigue. I won't hurt her, I swear to you, I won't—"

"What are you going to do if she doesn’t want that? What if she’s content with the life she has now?"

Leon’s breath catches, his chest constricting painfully as the question slams into him with the force of a blow. His mind whirls, memories of you—laughing, serene, unreachable—colliding with the possible image of you now, hands roughened from labor, back bent in servitude.

Leon’s jaw clenches, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He’s never liked being questioned like this, least of all by someone who doesn’t understand the weight of what he feels. It’s not about control or power, it’s about making sure you’re safe. Protected. Cherished. You deserve more than the drudgery of a servant’s life, more than the anonymity of living in the shadows.

“Content isn't enough,” he snaps, sharper than intended. He looks out the window again, following the path the maid and gardener take as they disappear around the corner of the estate. The thought of you, hidden away, your light dimmed by the mundanity of daily life—it's unbearable. “I want her to be happy.”

“Not everyone wants the life we have. Hell, I barely want it sometimes.”

Leon stays silent for a moment, his mind racing. He’s known Chris for years, fought beside him, trusted him with his life on countless battlefields. And yet, at this moment, it feels as though Chris doesn’t understand him at all. How can he not see that you deserve better? That you deserve more than what this world has handed you?

“I can protect her,” Leon repeats, though the words feel hollow now, like he’s trying to convince himself more than Chris. He turns away from the window.

Chris exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, the lines of stress deepening around his eyes.

Leon’s throat tightens, frustration and something deeper clawing at his chest. He knows Chris is right. He knows it. But that doesn’t make it any easier. He wants to protect you, to shelter you from the harshness of the world, to wrap you in the safety and comfort that he can provide. But what if that’s not what you want? What if you’ve already found peace in the simple life you’ve built for yourself here?

Silence stretches between them, uncertainty flooding the room like a heavy mist. For a while, neither speaks, the only sounds are the faint rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds outside. He watches another maid rush to the gardens down below, idling, starting to tend to it, and his mind wanders, consumed by the possibility of what might be. Of you, warm and smiling, dressed in luxurious gowns, wearing jewelry, no longer burdened with hard labor.

"I know you feel for her," Chris states, breaking the silence.

"Of course, I feel for her! She's the Saintess, Chris. She's—" Leon pauses midway through his outburst, catching the glint in his friend's eye and stopping short. He runs a hand over his face, exhaling heavily. "I've sworn loyalty to her. That isn't going to change."

"So, marriage, all for the sake of her station. What if she wants to marry for love? Did you think about that?"

No.

Leon didn't think about that at all.

His brows furrow, his knuckles white as he grips the windowsill, the confession sinking into him with a force. Had he not taken a vow to Ethelion during his first visit to the cathedral, just to protect the Saintess? Then he'll honor it, he's decided, and it isn't only because he's loyal to his word. There's an unmistakable desire inside him, one he doesn't quite know how to quantify, a selfish, possessive urge that wants to wrap you in silk and diamonds and lace and never let you go. He'd marry you to keep you protected and by his side. He would wed you out of devotion to his duty and to you. He would lay his heart at your feet, offer himself, kneel before you, worship you—if he could.

His heart aches at the thought of you being taken away by some faceless somebody who doesn't deserve you. No, the mere idea of it sets every nerve in his body on fire, a deep, unsettled rage stirring in his gut. Who could ever be worthy of something sacred and untouchable as your love?

The imagination cuts him deeper than any knife could, his ribcage can't expand as if a chestplate way too small for him was forcibly wrapped around his torso. The thought is enough to draw a pained noise out of him, a sound more animal than human, a feral, primal part of himself roaring at the notion. He shakes his head as if to clear the vision from his mind, swallows thickly as he stares blankly out of the window, unable to meet the man's gaze. Beneath his boots, the floor feels unsteady, and for a second, he thinks he might topple over, sink to the ground. Instead, he presses his palms against the stone wall beside the window, anchoring himself to something solid.

The truth is that he's in a position to make a difference in your life, to provide security and happiness beyond your wildest dreams. And Leon would use all that he has for you. Everything he owns, all that he possesses—it's all yours, if only you would accept it.

He ends up saying, "She deserves respect. I can give her that," while focusing on the two workers down in the garden to gain back his footing.

Interrupting the conversation is the door creaking open, and the maids enter, carrying trays of refreshments. The soft clink of glass against polished silver fills the space as they move about, placing items on the low table before the fire. Leon remains by the window, facing the crisp autumn air head blowing in from the open windows on, his silhouette bathed in golden sunlight, hands clasped behind his back, his posture taut.

He hears Chris mutter something, dismissing the maids, but one set of footsteps lingers. A single presence. And Leon knows those gentle, deliberate footsteps like the back of his own hand. He stiffens, arms loosening to hang by his sides like a soldier coming to attention, his throat going dry. He doesn't turn, not yet, unwilling or perhaps unable to face what he feels coming.

“Here she is," Chris says with a quiet finality. "You wanted to speak to her, didn't you? Talk then. I'll be right outside. Don't take too long."

With that, he pushes up from the armchair, taking one of the glasses with him and heading towards the door. The door clicks shut behind Chris, the sound of it like the final toll of a bell, sealing his fate. And for a moment, there's nothing, no movement, no words. Just silence.

For a heartbeat, all Leon can do is stand frozen, the world narrowing to that small room, the soft breath of the person standing just a few steps behind him. Your perfume—lilies and a hint of freshly washed linen—drifts towards him, washing over him in an alluring, almost numbing wave. In this instant, it feels as if all the time and distance he's crossed to find you has brought him back to the cathedral, when you were still the Saintess, veiled and untouchable. You seem to surround him, overwhelming his senses, making the past few years vanish, as if he's walked right into a waking dream.

You shift, and he can sense the slightest movement, like an electrical current beneath his skin, drawing his attention and heightening his awareness of your proximity. He turns slowly, the motion almost hesitant, breath catching as he takes in the figure standing near the exit of the room, framed by the shadows close to the walls.

You're not the same as he remembers. You don't wear flowing robes of pristine white or a veil that obscures your features, standing there, awkward and still, a tray balanced delicately in your hands. The clothing doesn't even resemble the uniform of a saintess—or what the servant garb should look like at the estate. Yet, somehow, in this instance, seeing you dressed like this, a demure maid, hits him with a sense of injustice that tears at his heart.

When your gazes collide, he doesn't know where to look. His gaze darts briefly to the floor, to the mahogany paneling, to anywhere that isn’t your face. The vulnerability that grips him is unfamiliar, unsettling, and it leaves him feeling unmoored, as though the ground beneath his feet might give way at any moment.

When he finally musters the courage to look back up and take in your features with all of his heart without being ashamed by it and feeling like he might go blind like he's looking directly at the sun, it’s in time to catch your wide-eyed stare. You’re just as stunned as he is—perhaps more so—as if you've seen a ghost. And then the tray falls from your hands with a clatter, sending the wine splashing across the expensive rug, a red river swirling with gold.

"Oh, I'm—I apologize!" You flinch back, crouching down hastily to gather the tray with trembling hands. You grab at the cloth napkin and dab at the carpet frantically, desperately trying to mop up the spill.

His body reacts faster than his mind does, and he closes the distance in two long strides, falling to his knees in front of you. His hands cup yours, fingers curling gently around yours. You jolt in surprise, shoulders tensing, but don’t pull away.

"It's alright." His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion. He glances at you and sees your brow creasing as you hold his gaze, your eyes bright with unshed tears. "Please."

There's a sudden prickling pressure at the backs of his nose, the threat of tears threatening to break through, and he drops his head, inhaling a steadying breath. Goddamnit. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the swell of emotion to subside.

Your response is softer than the rustle of pages in a book, almost a whisper, barely audible in the silence of the room. "Sir Leon...?"

The sound of his name is both a caress and a dagger, digging into the tender parts of him that have been raw and exposed.

"Saintess." The word slips out on a ragged breath before he can stop it, an involuntary confession. "I've returned to you."

The warmth of your fingers pressing against his startles him the moment you move, and he becomes aware of what he's been doing -- touching you so carelessly. The newfound title and fame couldn't have gotten to his head so badly that he would forget himself now, could it? Leon can't be sure whether he'd really been the type to behave like a reckless fool all along or if his meeting with you just now and seeing your form for the first time after years had broken down the little that remained of the disciplined man.

Heat climbs his throat and settles in his ears—you're not someone who he can put his hands on. Not even a stranger at this point, to him. In the back of his mind, the young boy with the sickly body remembers that he was touched by you, as a child, the day you healed him, the sensation still vivid, even after so many years.

Leon withdraws, shifting to a kneeling position as he clasps his hands together on his thighs. He tilts his chin upward to find you still crouched in the same position as well, with the wet napkin clenched tightly in your hands, holding your gaze fixed on him. Your intense focus, the way you're studying every line of his face, drinking in his appearance—it makes Leon swallow harshly, hoping his cheeks wouldn't color under your unabashed scrutiny.

"You..." You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor as you fix your bonnet, as if unsure you should give shape to the words. "I'm no longer the Saintess. The temple has appointed another."

Something twists in his chest, a dark, twisting ache that's become all too familiar as of late. "You think I don't know that?" He means to sound understanding, patient, but instead, his words come out biting, edged with frustration. He deflates when you blink rapidly at him, startled at the change in his demeanor. "I'm sorry," he breathes, offering a shaky smile, "it's just... it was just a lot to take in."

It's a hell of an understatement, but it seems to satisfy you, at least enough to relax a fraction. Still, he watches as your shoulders rise and fall in a shuddering motion, a soft intake of air escaping you.

"We shouldn't be sitting on the floor."

"Ah, yes!" He scrambles to his feet, extending a hand to help you to yours.

When his fingers brush the back of your palm, he feels that same shock, the hairs on his arm standing on end, like an electrical charge, and it takes all his willpower not to snatch his hand away. Instead, he curls his fingers tighter around you, a reflex, and pulls you to your feet. He keeps you steady as you straighten, your bodies close enough that he swears he can feel the heat radiating off yours, warming him better than the fireplace ever could.

He shouldn't.

He really...

"You've changed."

At the sound of your voice, Leon blinks, returning to the present. It takes him a moment to realize he'd been staring. "What, no 'welcome home'?" The attempt at levity dies on his lips when he sees your expression—earnest, searching—and he swallows hard, forcing a tight smile. "Sorry. Impertinent now, aren't I?"

"No—"

"Come," he gestures towards the couch, "sit with me for a bit. It's been... a long time, hasn't it?"

You hesitate for a beat, uncertainty flashing across your features before you nod slowly, allowing him to lead you to the chaise by the hearth, the same seat Leon vacated.

As you settle, his eyes sweep over you, noting your appearance in excruciating detail. A faded grey dress, loose and modest, the neckline high and unfashionable. Lace cuffs, fraying at the edges. Thick wool stockings visible from the ankles, probably borrowed and a size too big, peeking out from under the hem of your skirt. Hems threadbare. Even now, you make it look lovely. Elegant. He wants to get on his knees.

He clears his throat, pulling his thoughts back to the present. "I wanted to—"

"How did you—"

Your words stumble over each other in a rush, and you stop short, caught halfway through your sentence.

He holds his tongue, waiting for you to finish.

"I'm sorry, please, continue," you bow your head apologetically, embarrassment in the flutter of your lashes.

"No, no, it's okay. Please," he motions for you to speak.

You press your palms flat against your lap, smoothing out your wrinkled skirts, trying to buy yourself a few seconds. "Why, I wondered... why you came to see me. After all these years, after everything?"

Why.

Now that was a loaded question.

"Because I swore a vow, didn't I?" He offers a small grin, but it wavers as he tries to explain. "I mean. To—"

"Are you perhaps here to call me to account for my failure, as a servant of Ethelion?" You ask, shaking, almost on the verge of tears. "For failing all my paladins when I should have protected you?"

You duck your head again, hiding behind the brim of your bonnet. Your gaze dips to the floor, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your skirts. But not before he catches a glimpse of the haunted expression, the torment and regret clear in the line of your mouth, pulled tight with emotion.

Leon slips off of the chaise all too easily, kneeling on the ground before you, his body moving of its own accord, as if drawn in by an irresistible force. He's so close that if he were to try looking down, he could just... rest his forehead on your knees, lean against your legs for support.

"What are you doing?" You start, half rising from your seat as if you're about to bolt, shocked at his boldness, but sit back down when you can't go anywhere with him as a barrier. “Sir Leon! Stop it, you can't—"

But he doesn't. He stays right there, unmoving, not daring to push boundaries. "You never failed anyone," he says earnestly, speaking with a clarity that catches you by surprise. "Not our cause, not me, not any paladin. It wasn't you who sent us to battle, it was those who served the gods, and they... They ordered their own people into a fight for their own glory."

He pauses, glancing up at your teary eyes, the disbelief, and he knows that you won't believe him, that the guilt will cling to you for days or weeks after today. If he's being honest with himself, the grief of losing his comrades may never fully go away, but—you haven't abandoned them. He will make damn sure you never consider yourself complicit in what happened, for as long as he lives.

Your lips quiver, and you tilt your head away from him, as though wanting to shield your face from view. He hates that he can't do anything to assuage your pain, to shoulder some of the burden you're carrying, but he's equally fascinated by this side of you, hidden and vulnerable, that he rarely saw when you were a saintess. He's grateful, too, that you're trusting him enough to see you like this.

You waver, thin and unsteady, as you respond, "And now what do you need? I'm no longer a Saintess who can bless your endeavors. I can’t give you anything."

The way you say it…

The words feel clumsy on his tongue at what you just said, inadequate compared to the burning intensity of what he truly wishes to convey. There’s too much to be said. That he’d never want anything out of you, that he wouldn’t stand you talking about yourself like something to be exploited, that he hates the way you see yourself…

It's tempting, so tempting, to just reach out. To slide his hand between yours, interlacing your fingers like lovers might. To curl his arm around your waist and draw you closer, to pull your smaller frame into him. It would be easy, so easy. But it would also be improper, disrespectful, wrong. And besides, despite what some might think, he knows how to restrain himself. He doesn't allow his hands to follow through with these baseless impulses.

Instead, he sits back on his heels like a dog, folding his hands in front of him. His posture is stiff and formal, mirroring your own, but his heart hammers wildly in his chest, betraying the calm façade he's attempting to maintain.

"I know you're no longer Saintess," he begins carefully. Your breath catches audibly at the title, and he hurriedly continues, "But I swore an oath to you, nonetheless, and I intend to honor it. You're my Saintess. Always will be."

Silence stretches between you, and he averts his gaze, focusing intently on the swell of your knees, afraid that if he looks at you, he'll break. "It's my duty to protect you, if you'll let me. I—" His words falter, caught in his throat as he struggles to speak past the sudden tightness there, "I swear upon Ethelion, I'll never leave your side. No matter what."

The room falls quiet again, save for the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, the soft hiss and pop as the wood splits apart, consuming itself. Outside, the sounds of birds singing in the breeze drift in, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the wind, distant conversations floating upwards from the grounds below. He counts the heartbeats pounding against his ribcage, three... four... five...

"Leon, what..?"

"Please marry me."

The words slip out, almost involuntarily, as though they'd been perched on the tip of his tongue, waiting for an opening to leap free. The silence grows, stretching taut between you, until he can't stand it any longer.

You draw a breath, and he raises his head. There's no mistaking it now — your eyes widen, and your shoulders tense as you sink back into the cushions of the couch. For a split second, the surprise gives way to something approaching fear, and a surge of panic wells up inside him at the sight.

This isn't what he intended — or, rather, not quite. He meant to ease you into the idea, to present his offer gently and smoothly, the proposal rehearsed in his mind countless times before. But his usual composure and decorum have abandoned him today, and now his mouth is running far ahead of his mind.

"Wh...Why?"

Of all the possible responses you could give, that is perhaps the most unexpected one. He stares at you dumbly, utterly thrown, fumbling for an answer. "I would cherish your hand in mine," he answers after a beat, trying to salvage his words, "I would treasure you, more than anyone ever could."

"But why?"

Leon's frustration bubbles to the surface. “This—” he gestures to the simple dress you wear, the apron tied around your waist, the calluses that have begun to form on your hands from hours of labor. “This is beneath you. Bowing down to others, doing their bidding… this isn’t what you’re meant for.”

Something flares behind your eyes—hurt? Anger? Indignation?

Before he can analyze your reaction too deeply, you ask again, more forcefully this time, “Why do you think it’s beneath me? Just because I don’t hold a sword like you or a blessing scepter in my hand doesn’t mean what I do is any less important—"

"It's not like that!" Leon interjects.

"—You think I should be wasting away as an ornament somewhere, is that what I am to you—"

"That's not what I meant! I meant I'd want to provide for you and protect you, and—"

"From what?! What is there to protect me from here?"

He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing the neatly coiffed locks and lets out an aggravated huff. "They don’t deserve you. The people here… they don’t deserve your labor, your effort. You should be served, not serving others.”

He must have said the wrong thing, your brows knit together as you frown, clearly displeased by his statement. Something in the twist of your lips sends a tremor through him, the way the set of your jaw is so determined, so stubborn, even against his arguments. This is the first time he's seeing fire from you instead of light, a display of character beyond the serene saintess façade you had to carry during the days at the cathedral. It makes heat pool in the pit of his belly, something heavy settling in his lungs and he's suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit around doing nothing because—because you still see me as someone divine?" You shake your head, adamant in the words you utter. "I have purpose here! The Redfields have been kind to me, they took me in—"

"But you serve. You still serve."

Your words seem to die at what he says at the very end. Still serve. "I beg your pardon?"

"You bled every single day. Serving in the temple, serving the masses, serving others with a smile on your face, to the point of losing yourself. Used yourself, your strength, your grace, gave up your sleep and food and even your freedom. Your dignity, as the temple tried to mold you to suit whatever they wanted. That's all you knew for years and then just dropped into the world to figure things out by yourself, and went back to what you know best once more. Serve. This time, under a different name. A Saintess. A servant. It's not all that different, you know. And maybe you don't know how else to live. But I'm here to change that for you. To give you a choice."

Something wounded takes over you, like an injured animal struck by surprise before it bolts. A deep chill settles in him at how lost you look, how frightened and unsure, so unguarded and unprepared for him. He doesn't even know if this conversation is making you feel worse or better; maybe his intentions are clearer now, or more nefarious. It hurts either way, but Leon doesn't back down, doesn't look away from you.

The tears begin to fall without warning, trailing hot and wet down your cheeks. Leon's face crumples at the sight, shame washing over him at causing you distress. He reaches up instinctively, wanting to brush them away, but his fingers only graze your skin for a second before you flinch back and turn, covering your face with a hand as you forcibly stand up from the couch and move away from him.

He lets you go, a pang shooting through him as you cross the room. But when you reach the door, your steps hesitate, and his pulse stutters when you glance over your shoulder at him one last time.

"All I ask of you is to think about it," he pleads, not able to hide the note of misery in his voice as he leans toward your direction, hands placed on where you were just resting, fingers sinking into the cushions, "please."

Your lips part as if you're going to say something. You almost speak, almost giving way to your thoughts. Then you shut your mouth and dart forward, yanking the doors open and fleeing the room.

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