#i should remove when will my life begin? from tangled

[bohemian-rhapsodys]

how the fuck did i get 10h 28m in this playlist 😥 should i tell my psychologist at this point???

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 3

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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: 14K

warnings: period-typical conservative values... bechdel test failure 💔

author's note: i am a liar. this isn't the end. the finale will be the next one... im sorry 😭

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The small candle flickers in the corner of the room, casting faint, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The soft snores of the other maids fill the space around you, their breathing steady, their bodies resting in untroubled sleep. But you are awake. Kneeling at the edge of your thin, rough bed, the worn fabric of your nightdress brushing against your knees, you clasp your hands tightly together in silent prayer.

The small idol of Ethelion rests before you—a crude wooden carving of your making, stained with the blood you shed clumsily cutting into your flesh over and over in the process, no taller than your hand. It’s a far cry from the towering statues of Him that once surrounded you, carved from marble and adorned in gold. Those statues commanded awe, reverence. This one, however, looks small and sad, like the devotion of the people who crafted it was just enough to create something that could barely hold the likeness of a god.

Your hands are trembling, the beads of your prayer bracelet rattling softly with the movement. You take a shaky breath, glancing around the room as if to make sure no one has stirred. The air is stifling, the thick warmth of the shared space pressing down on you like a weight. The scent of sweat and old straw clings to the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of the single candle burning beside you.

How different this is from the temples you once knelt in. The hallowed halls of Ethelion, with their lofty ceilings and polished floors, where incense filled the air and your prayers echoed off the sacred stones. There, the light streamed through stained glass in brilliant colors, casting a holy glow over everything it touched. Here, the room is dim, cramped, and suffocating. The candle’s flicker feels more like a reminder of how small the world has become around you.

You bow your head, trying to steady your breath, the whisper of your prayer barely audible over the steady rise and fall of the other girls' breathing. “Ethelion, guide me,” you murmur, though the words feel strained, thin. “Forgive my wandering heart.”

The idol doesn���t respond, of course. It’s nothing more than carved wood, far removed from the grand images of your god that once surrounded you. Still, you pray. It’s all you know. All you should do. Must do.

The sound of a creaking bedframe startles you, and your heart lurches. You glance over your shoulder to see one of the maids, Sarah, shifting in her sleep. Her face is calm, untroubled by the worries that gnaw at your mind. You envy her.

Biting your lip, you turn back to the idol, lowering your head once more. But the words are harder to find now. Your thoughts are too loud, too tangled, too restless.

How long has it been since you truly felt His presence? Pouring into your veins like sunlight every single time you reached out to Him?

You were supposed to be His chosen one. The vessel through which His light would shine. But that light has dimmed, and you don’t know if it’s because He has abandoned you, or if you have failed Him. Maybe it’s both. Maybe you were never worthy to begin with.

Your fingers curl around the prayer beads, the cool touch of them grounding you, but they feel foreign now. When you were the Saintess, they were a symbol of your connection to Ethelion, a reminder of your place in the world. Now, they’re just relics of a past life—one that feels more distant with each passing day.

“Why did you leave me?” The question slips out before you can stop it, a breathless whisper that hangs in the air, fragile and desperate.

You grit your teeth, trying to suppress the bitterness that rises in your chest. You’re not supposed to question Him. You’re supposed to trust, to believe without doubt, without hesitation. That was your purpose, the sole reason for your existence.

Your hands drop into your lap, the weight of your own thoughts too heavy to hold up anymore.

Is this what your life has become? Praying to a god who's turned away from you, living in the shadows of who you once were? You glance at the idol again, the dim candlelight making it seem even more pathetic, more distant.

There’s no divine presence here. Just you, alone, in the dark.

The flicker of the candle casts long shadows across the small room, its light barely reaching the corners. You can hear the rustle of straw from the other beds as the girls shift in their sleep, unaware of your turmoil. This space is so different from the serene, almost divine solitude of the temple. Here, you’re surrounded by people—by warmth, by the soft murmur of life. But you’ve never felt more isolated.

Being the Saintess had its burdens, but at least you knew where you belonged. You knew your purpose. Now, you’re adrift, clinging to a god who might not even remember you. Who might have never cared to begin with.

But oh, how you love Him. How you ache for Him. Even in this moment, when grief threatens to choke you, the longing in your heart burns brighter. It stings your eyes, your throat. How desperately you want to belong again, to feel His light filling you.

It's you. You're the problem. Not Him.

You close your eyes, pressing your palms together so tightly they ache. If you just pray hard enough—if you just focus—you’ll feel Him again. You’ll find that connection, that sense of peace that once filled your every breath.

Leon's wrong.

You've grown accustomed to hard work, to physical exertion. It's far better than the hollow nothingness that's left in the aftermath of losing the divinity you'd been given. Yes, the job is strenuous. Exhausting. But it keeps you from falling back into the endless spiral of self-doubt. You're not miserable here. You're... content. As content as a person in your situation can be. And that's not nothing.

Besides, it's the best thing that could have happened to you. Compared to the streets, compared to the empty abbey in which you dwelled alone, this is a blessing. You cannot deny that. To be able to bathe and dress and eat is such an immense gift. Ethelion hasn't left your side, not for one second.

...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.

You press your forehead to the cool stone wall beside your bed, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. You thought you could find solace in prayer, in the familiar rhythms of devotion. But no matter how many words you whisper, no matter how tightly you press your hands together, his words keep tearing at the fragile seams of your heart.

The memories rise unbidden. Days spent fasting until your vision blurred, your body trembling under the weight of divine obligation. Nights spent kneeling on cold marble floors, your prayers stretching into the early hours, the ache in your legs a reminder that your suffering was part of the duty. Every blessing you gave, every drop of blood shed from the blade into the mouths of those in need, every prayer you offered, was a part of the divine plan. You had accepted it. You had embraced it. You believed in it.

Leon's whisper sneaks up into your mind, like a snake coiling around your thoughts, And it still wasn't enough.

You shake your head, willing the thoughts away, but they cling to you like thorns. There had been a time when you thought you were content, when you believed your life had purpose. Even after losing your title, even when you were stripped of the robes, the veil, and everything that once defined you, you told yourself you were free.

I can still be of use, you had thought. I can find a way to live the way I used to. Perhaps Ethelion had granted you mercy. Gifted you with a path to follow that didn't lead to complete disgrace, to ruin.

Your eyes sting, but no tears come. You've cried too much already. Instead, you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders, huddling closer to the wall and shutting your eyes tight, clutching the idol tight. It's as close as you'll get to feeling the divine now, a piece of wood cut to look like your God, reduced to a mere object to be held.

You miss the simplicity of being used. The serenity. The fulfillment. You miss knowing that your suffering meant something, that your blood, your body, your soul, served a higher purpose, and that's all you had ever desired. And now, all that seems to be left of you is this empty husk, chasing fragments of memories like fireflies on an endless summer evening.

You glance at the other maids, their forms barely visible under their threadbare blankets, their breaths even and untroubled. They sleep so soundly, unaware of the turmoil that grips you.

You envy them. You envy the clarity of their lives, the ease with which they move through their days. For them, there is no loss of grand purpose, no heavy weight of fallen grace. They scrub floors, they mend clothes, they serve meals—and they rest. They don’t carry the burden of a god’s silence.

You thought you were free when you came here. You thought you had left the life you had in the temple behind. But Leon saw through you, saw the truth you didn’t want to admit to yourself. You haven’t left. Not truly. You’ve simply traded one form of servitude for another. For the sake of feeling whole again.

You wonder if he can see through you. If he can pick apart all the pieces you are trying to hold together. If he can see the cracks in the image you try so hard to project, the invisible scars that have been healed by Ethelion's hand ritual after ritual. But then, he doesn’t even know who you are, not really. Not like he thinks he does.

You don't know who you are, either. You've only been the Saintess, always guided by someone else, fulfilling duties for Ethelion. When the grace flowed through your veins, you were confident, firm. Calm. Resolute in the knowledge that you were the only one who could do what you did. Your mind clear as crystal. Then you lost everything. Or at least, everyone who recognized you. Your place in the world.

That's who Leon knows. He doesn't know anything of you, or the mortal who lived within you. No. He just sees you as the Saintess. Nothing more.

That's why marriage is the only way he can continue his duty as an Oathbreaker. He sees you as holy and elevated above others. And he needs to reconcile himself with what he thinks he failed to do, what he thinks he must fulfill for you, to atone for his sins. You understand. You were made to understand.

When you look at him, you can't help but see an echo of your former self, a kindred spirit bound by duty to your cause. He yearns to honor his promises, to fulfill his responsibilities, just as you once did.

Leon's a good man, with a noble heart. And his devotion is true. But it isn't because he loves you. It's because he pities you.

And you hate it. You hate it because you know you don't deserve this. This kindness. This sympathy. You're nothing but a shadow of what you used to be. A remnant of a time gone by. Your wings have been clipped. Your fate sealed. Yet here he stands, offering to take your broken, battered self in, to care for you, to cherish you, when that loyalty should belong to the new saintess. To the woman who will be able to keep his oaths intact and secure his salvation, who can guarantee his place in Ethelion's heaven.

His presence lingers like smoke from a burning log, impossible to dispel, choking the very breath from your lungs. You don't turn your head, but you know he's there, hovering at the door to the kitchen. A hush falls over the room as the servants freeze, caught between their tasks and this new development.

It isn't appropriate for a noble to be here, wandering the manor's halls uninvited, and yet... Leon seems unperturbed by the breach of social conduct, gazing about as though he were surveying his own grounds.

Finally, the silence is broken by a shuffle of footsteps, and the head maid comes forward, hands clasped together in respectful greeting. She keeps her eyes lowered, avoiding direct contact, but she inclines her head deferentially.

"Sir, how may we be of assistance?"

Leon glances over the room again, as though considering each of you in turn, and heaves a sigh. "I want to speak with her." He gestures toward you without looking at you specifically, focused on the head maid.

Your hands tighten around the cloth you're holding, wrinkling the fabric. He's talking about you, you know it. But your mind still drifts back to the previous night, to the tender expression in his eyes as he offered you everything on a platter, a feast spread out before a starving beggar. Your chest constricts painfully, and you suck in a deep breath, doing your best to calm your racing thoughts.

"Ah..." The head maid hesitates, clearly caught off-guard. "Of course, sir. If I may inquire about the reason?"

"Please don't concern yourself with it."

"Surely there must be some misunderstanding here?" The head maid counters gently, frowning slightly. "If she has done something wrong..."

"...no, that is not the case." Leon interrupts before she finishes speaking, his tone clipped.

He stares directly at you now, a piercing gaze that makes you feel like you're a mouse beneath the paw of a cat, unable to break free. The entire kitchen seems to tense, everyone aware of how out of place and inappropriate this encounter is, waiting for your response.

A shudder runs down your spine, and you fight to suppress the impulse to curl in on yourself protectively, to make yourself as small and invisible as possible. Heat floods into your face, creeping up along the line of your neck to settle under the collar of your simple cotton dress. The fabric feels too tight, too restrictive, pinching your skin uncomfortably, making sweat prickle along your hairline. Your palms are damp, but you don't dare wipe them on your skirt. It's improper to fidget. To let weakness show.

To be seen.

"I apologize," Leon continues after a moment's pause, seeming to recover his composure somewhat, "but there's something private that I'd like to discuss with her. And, uh...alone, please."

Another shiver wracks your frame. Goosebumps erupt over the back of your exposed arms, trailing up the length of your bare forearms. Your stomach roils nervously as all eyes swivel toward you, boring into the back of your skull, drilling holes straight through you. The room feels stifling. Overly hot and overwhelming, as though you're drowning in the heavy air. The taste of ash coats your tongue, and you struggle to swallow around the lump lodged in your throat. You wish you could disappear right now. Melting away and leaving nothing but a faint outline of yourself would be better than enduring the scrutiny of this moment.

The head maid takes a step back, and then another, backing up until she's standing near her colleagues, all of whom stare expectantly at you, waiting, and you can't jog quickly enough towards the door to escape the sudden oppressive atmosphere.

You hear him, quick steps matching yours as you push forward, and he places himself next to you, keeping the pace with effortless strides. The contrast between your hurried walk and his composed saunter is striking; the way his height and his strength tower over your frame, swallowing you whole with an instinctive reflex. But, unlike most men, he doesn't impose it upon you—at least, not intentionally.

"Saintess—"

The old name snaps you out of your momentary daze, and you halt in your steps, stopping to glare at him. "It's Saintess no longer."

For once, he falters, blinking. You imagine he wasn't expecting you to cut him off with such brusqueness, but hearing it used gives you an unpleasant jolt. You'd been called the same title for so long that your name was nothing more than a memory, a fading dream of what you once were. It's difficult to think of yourself as anything other than Saintess—it's hard to believe in what else you could have been in that past, without being granted such sacred gifts.

But now? Now it's something tainted with bitterness. Of what could have been, if your gifts hadn't faded like the last golden rays of sun melting into the ocean.

"Sorry. Forgive me," he murmurs quietly, looking oddly apologetic. And perhaps it's this display of genuine contrition that softens your resolve.

"Why did you seek me? Is this about what happened yesterday?"

It's subtle, but you catch a glimpse of shock in his eyes, the hint of widening in them. He clears his throat and says, "Yes. About that. I had some things I needed to clarify. Some questions."

There's a pause, a beat of silence that drags on, until it's filled with a sort of anticipation, a curious hope. You know the kind—the one that builds up within, swelling, threatening to burst out of confines. You know it well, because that feeling used to drive your prayers, your words murmured in fervent whispers, rising to a crescendo before crashing down, like a wave cresting into foamy seafoam before its ebb. But this is different. What compels him is entirely different.

"Questions? Such as?" You tilt your head curiously, trying to mask the wavering nerves. You're not used to having conversations like this, and even though his company should bring a sense of peace, it only makes your pulse flutter in nervous agitation. It's so strange to be the sole focus of someone else, and while the attention would have been coveted by your old self, now it feels uncomfortable, itchy, like something is crawling over your skin.

He glances around. The hallways are empty and quiet, but you're both alone in public, and he won't voice his thoughts unless you prompt him to. Your mind wanders to how easily he slipped into the background of the manor, hidden among the rows of people going about their day, so natural in the way he navigated the spaces around you.

So unlike how he acts around you.

Then, as if picking up on your mental whirling, he asks, "Are you happy here? Are you comfortable? I don't mean to pry, I'm just concerned that I..." He seems to fumble for words, like a child who lost his footing, then recovers, adding with haste, "I’m sorry my offer made you feel like I was degrading your position. That wasn’t the case at all."

A sigh escapes your lips. The apology brings no sense of relief or ease to your tension-ladened shoulders; rather, it leaves you feeling guilty. The shame of burdening him eats away at your gut, gnawing like a parasite growing into something vile inside you. His words from the day before replay in your ears—of the indignance at the thought of you serving, of you working as a servant.

Is this what this is? Him pitying your plight? Feeling as though it is his responsibility to 'right' your situation? It's a noble notion, but it isn't his to handle.

"You didn't offend me," you admit slowly. A part of you is afraid to meet his gaze, scared to see the pity in it. You have no doubt he means well—you could almost feel the sincerity emanating from his body, the kind that radiates from people who sincerely want the best for others, not out of an ulterior motive. You had encountered this type often, though it was in a more ceremonious setting. "Your intentions were noble."

"I'm glad." He offers a smile. A genuine, relieved one. Something blooms within you at the sight of it.

"...how is it that you’re permitted to stroll the halls as you wish?" You ask, raising your brows. It doesn't pass your notice, the way people would jump to action as soon as Leon walked in.

"Well, the Redfields are all familiar with me. I'm a guest. And not a particularly troublesome one."

"Indeed."

"So..."

His voice trails off, leaving the end of that statement hanging there, unsaid but nonetheless understood. A silence falls between you again. You can't say much about the other occupants, but even you are uneasy around Leon when he has that serious, unreadable expression.

And that's how he usually looks. With a little sadness, a touch of longing in his gaze. Maybe regret. But mostly, he wears this pensive look, as if he's lost in thought, deep in concentration, mulling over the words in his head.

Right now, his face is blank. Completely void of emotion. Just that somber stare, contemplating the situation in front of him. His expression would be unassuming and neutral if not for those troubled eyes, constantly flickering back and forth. It's frustratingly annoying, like he's weighing the options and can't decide which side he wants to go with.

Yet, you're fascinated at the same time. How his lashes flutter delicately, the creases forming between his brows as he ponders. All these little details, all of these signs, he is putting on display. Intentionally or otherwise. He used to be an open book, now it is closed, guarded and locked with no keys. You crave to peer at whatever lies within, but you've already seen glimpses. Fragments, snippets. Moments. Enough to stir your interest, though.

So when you hear him clear his throat, you find yourself glancing back up. Caught staring.

"If I may be so bold..." he begins, his tone betraying nothing. "Why stay here?"

You're taken aback by his frank question. So much for subtly.

"I don't understand..."

"I've learned that retired saintesses choose to become nuns at convents and dedicate their lives to prayer and acts of charity. Which is what I assumed you would have chosen." He crosses his arms, and you note that he has a very strong, muscled physique when the movement makes his arm and chest pop. It's distracting through his clothes, and it's making you very conscious of yourself and the differences between you both, even physically. "But here you are, doing labor that is deemed... less desirable. And I'm confused. Why is that?"

You shrug, averting your gaze. It's a difficult answer to provide, especially when you haven't given yourself the chance to contemplate it yet. But... maybe it's because he asked. It doesn't seem fair to brush him off, not when he's opened himself up so genuinely to you.

"Perhaps I am tired of prayers." That seems to startle Leon, so you continue with renewed bravery. "Is it that bad to want to experience the world, to understand humanity, instead of seclude myself away from it? And I can only do that by walking in their shoes."

The silence stretches out again, but the atmosphere doesn't feel stifling anymore. Instead, you find yourself breathing easier, leaning into the softness of it.

"Come," Leon says suddenly. He holds out his arm and gestures toward the end of the hallway. "Let me walk you to a place better suited for this conversation."

The thought of taking him up on it—of stepping away with him—doesn't horrify you like it would have yesterday. He's somehow more open now, his defenses slightly lower, his words more fluid, more casual. Relaxed. Like you're two old friends meeting for a pleasant stroll, reminiscing on times past. Or maybe just acquaintances getting to know each other better. Either way, it feels nice, and the thought warms your heart.

Something about this feels right. Natural. Almost as though it was meant to be.

And so, you loop your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him guide you out of the narrow passageway and out into the sunshine. The bright morning light blinds you briefly, and you blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the harsh contrast between indoors and outdoors.

Leon guides you towards a row of large stone benches facing the pond at the center of the garden, shielded from view of anyone walking nearby, providing the illusion of privacy. He motions for you to take a seat, and you do, scooting closer towards him as he settles beside you.

There is an indescribable tranquility about the scene before you: the sun shining down on the glistening water, the breeze rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees, the chirping of birds echoing around you. The warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothing envelops you, and you breathe deeply, relishing the fresh air. You've always been captivated by nature; there's an undeniable beauty in simplicity, in things unhindered by manmade restrictions. There's purity and innocence in it too, and you bask in the peacefulness of it all.

And with Leon beside you now, it... almost feels right. As though everything has clicked into place. As though it's meant to be like this. A shared moment. Between equals. Between people who matter to each other. You savor the feeling of normalcy in your veins, warming your cheeks, your stomach fluttering with nerves but also comfort.

This moment—this fleeting moment in time—is perfect.

There is nothing more beautiful than freedom. That much is certain.

"How are you finding life outside of the temple?" The question breaks through your haze of contentment, causing you to jerk up and turn your head in surprise.

Leon sits perfectly still beside you, watching you intently, and that pocket of small silence is striking enough for you to be confronted with how a splash of dark ink he is in the midst of the popping colors of the garden.

A long, midnight-black coat sweeps past his knees in a fluid motion, its tailored cut accentuating the figure with sharp, clean lines, the surface gleaming faintly in the light, as if woven with threads of shadow, and its cuffs and lapels are embroidered with fine golden patterns. Beneath the coat, a double-breasted vest, also black but subtly different in texture, wraps snugly around his strong torso. The vest is fastened with polished brass buttons that gleam with a soft, antique sheen, each button precisely aligned. A chain, slender and golden, drapes elegantly from the vest’s pocket, suggesting the presence of a pocket watch. At his throat, an indigo cravat is tied with meticulous care, its silky fabric mirroring the coat’s inner lining, and at its center is a dark jewel gleaming with understated brilliance. The trousers, pressed to perfection, follow the form of his legs with a tailored precision, and gloved hands, encased in supple black leather, complete the ensemble. The suit fits perfectly, and it looks impressive enough for your first guess to be that it is tailor-made. The overall effect is that of a man who commands power, presence, and authority, and the sharpness of his gaze emphasizes this impression even further.

A man dressed to impress, no doubt. For what occasion, you dare not ask. A court function, perhaps? You cannot help but wonder just how many layers there are in the clothing he wears beneath that coat—and how many hands were required to help him into such an elaborate outfit.

It's such a far cry from the white robes he wore as a paladin, with their simpler forms and design, yet it's equally elegant, in its own way.

"...is there something wrong?" Leon asks, catching you staring. He tilts his head to the side, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "Was that the wrong question—"

"No. It's—fine. There's nothing wrong," you interject hastily, averting your eyes from his intense stare. Ogling him like that, out in the open, what is wrong with you! It's so unbecoming, so improper! "Life's... Life has been different. An adjustment, to say the least. I didn't know how to put it for a moment there, but... yes. It's been rather, uh..."

You trail off, your mind drawing a blank, unsure what word you're searching for. The sensation is awkward and unfamiliar, and you worry he might think poorly of your lack of eloquence, but he waits patiently, letting you stumble through it on your own.

Finally, you find your voice again, saying, "I enjoy it. Here, I mean. I came here hoping to gain some experience, learn the ways of humility. It's satisfying to be useful."

His expression grows contemplative, his eyes dark and unfathomable, but he doesn't speak. This close, you can smell the faint scent of perfume on his collar, the sweet aroma mingling with the crisp freshness of soap and dewy linen, mixed with something that's distinctly him, something you can't quite identify but makes your insides twist all the same.

"And before you say anything," you add, feeling a sudden rush of courage, "I know now, yes. That it's just a different path of servitude. But the difference is that I chose this. I could have become a nun as you said. I don't know, I... I guess I just needed some semblance of control. In the absence of Him, I could choose for myself for once."

"I suppose I can understand the feeling." He nods thoughtfully. His voice is gentle, understanding. And you find yourself wishing that he wouldn't act like this towards you—a woman who's just a mere maid. A nobody. "I've had to make that choice in His absence as well. Not exactly similar circumstances, but there are parallels to be drawn."

The admission stuns you momentarily, your lips parting in surprise, but your shock soon morphs into curiosity, and you lean closer, eager to hear more of him. "You're faring way better than me, I'd say, Sir Leon."

He laughs. It's low, rich, and smooth, like silk against your skin, and you nearly shiver. "You don't need to address me like that. Just 'Leon' is fine. My... former role isn't relevant to where I am now."

There's a touch of self-conscious humor to that remark. You've never heard him sound so playful, almost cocky���and certainly not with you—but it's refreshing. Almost comforting. "Of course." You shift in your seat, turning toward him so that your knee brushes against his. It's a small gesture, but it makes his whole leg jerk for some reason. "...may I ask, how are you adjusting?"

"Better, lately." A wistful smile plays about his lips, as if he's reflecting on fond memories. "The years haven't been easy... But they were necessary. They were worth it."

"To get where you are now?" you complete for him, your expression matching his, a mirror. "Why did you choose this new path, if I may inquire?"

For an instant, he freezes, seemingly caught off guard by the question, but he recovers quickly, his face remaining placid save for a brief flash of emotion that passes too quickly for you to decipher it. His gaze turns inward, focused on some point in space beyond you, and he lets out a breath. "That's a... heavy topic. One which I'm not sure we should discuss in public."

"Oh... My apologies," you blurt out, instantly regretting having been so direct. Of course it would be an inappropriate subject of conversation. What were you thinking? A former member of the Church blatantly questioning him about his oathbreaking, of all topics. You drop your gaze in shame. "I'm sorry, I overstepped. We can talk about something else if you wish. Something less personal. Anything. You can—if you want—ask me questions in return."

"Oh, no, please don't apologize," he interjects quickly, gently. His eyes meet yours once more, and although they're still guarded, there's also tenderness and reassurance behind them. "I don't mind sharing this story with you. There just needs to be another time and place for it. Is that alright?"

"...yes, yes, absolutely!" You nod vigorously, surprised at yourself for accepting his offer so eagerly, yet strangely excited about it nonetheless. You never would have expected a former paladin to invite you to talk to him, to spend time together... Though in truth, you hardly know anything about this man before you, other than his past deeds. The thought causes butterflies to flutter in your belly.

Leon chuckles softly at your reaction. "Wonderful."

Then his expression becomes serious again as he surveys your surroundings, pausing for several beats before speaking. When he does, his voice is calm, measured, and careful. "Back to you, then... You've mentioned you chose to do this of your own accord... Do you enjoy doing domestic tasks? Having your own space, your own things?"

"Most of those, I mean, uh... I don't have my own space, but I appreciate the accommodations here, so, yes." You give him a little smile. "Sharing a room doesn't allow for much ownership. About the work... I do enjoy it most days. Sometimes I grow tired but I keep at it. And the staff has taught me a lot, so I don't feel too clumsy. You should have seen me try my first laundry session—"

A cough cuts in, and you stiffen.

Turning around, you catch a group of maids hiding behind the hedge, peeking from their shelter with reddened faces. You wonder if they have been listening in on the two of you. Embarrassing. "...We should return to the main building. Before the gossips begin."

He hesitates briefly before nodding. You notice the tip of his ears redden before he pulls away, leaving your side colder than before, and offers you his arm once more. You loop your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him guide you back onto the cobbled path back towards the house.

His pace is leisurely as he leads you toward the manor proper, guiding you along with ease. Every so often, his gaze darts around, seemingly keeping an eye out for someone approaching. Perhaps he wishes to avoid being seen with you, you think wryly, trying to suppress the hurt that thought gives you. It's not his fault. You both must maintain a certain image. It's only natural for him to not want to be associated with the likes of a servant girl. Still, as you make your way through the hallways, you can't stop yourself from noticing the odd looks you garner from the servants who pass by the two of you, and you wonder why, as he's just escorting you.

You're quick to learn, however, that you were too caught up in the appropriateness of a paladin escorting the saintess that you forgot to consider how it would translate to a noble in a maid's company, no matter her status. It takes a pointedly raised eyebrow from a knight you recognize to bring you to your senses, to realize what might be running through the minds of the household members you walk by.

A noble does not take a maid by the elbow. That's apparently reserved for a lady. And even among that select circle of women, it's for a more private audience.

The gossip has already started, in earnest.

It's not Lord Chris that calls on you later that week after the gossip reaches an all time high, but Dame Jill and Lady Claire, sisters in all but blood.

When you answer their summons, they greet you warmly and immediately whisk you away, leading you through the twisting corridors of the castle until you arrive in the courtyard, where an elaborate picnic is spread out before you. It seems as though they had it all planned out: the plump cushions, the fancy drinks and dishes, the lavish decorations. You relax that this isn't about the etiquette fiasco with Leon for a second, and figure they'll ask you to serve them instead. That you can handle—just don't spill wine on their dresses, and be prepared to pour a refill as they ask.

However, they don't ask you to stand to the side, but join them instead, sitting atop the cushions like equals. It's strange at first, not knowing where to settle down, but after some adjusting and squirming, you find yourself settled comfortably within reach, nibbling on fruit from the extravagant buffet laid out before you while sipping cool chilled juice served in elegant crystal goblets.

It's surreal. Strange and unusual, but not in an uncomfortable way. And yet, you can't shake the feeling that this is some kind of trap, that they must want something from you. You know their intentions are genuine, but your expectations were always that of service. Obedience. Not in the favor of others.

Maybe they sense that, because the topic shifts suddenly and unexpectedly.

"We wanted to have a little girl talk with you," Lady Claire says, picking up a grape from her plate and popping it into her mouth with surprising finesse. She licks the excess juice from her fingertips, her green eyes fixed firmly upon you. "You know, harmless stuff. About the terrifying creature lurking in the horizon and getting closer every day, that you call the what am I doing with my life meltdown. It's a common occurrence around a certain age. I'm sure you're familiar with it."

Although it's phrased like a question, there's an unmistakable ring of amusement in her tone. Amusement at your expense, but it doesn't feel mocking or mean-spirited in nature, only teasing. You're relieved this isn't about Leon, but horrified all the same that all of your anxieties can be summed up with that one sentence.

"I... I've heard of it," you mumble sheepishly.

"Oh Claire," Dame Jill admonishes loudly, throwing a warning glance at her friend, which Lady Claire promptly ignores. "This isn't the time to be making light of it."

"Still, though. The poor girl clearly needs some perspective and advice." The auburn-haired lady shrugs and moves on, not missing a beat, completely nonchalant. "So. Someone from your past appears, and now you find yourself plagued with existential doubts and insecurities. I know this would happen eventually. That's why I told you to aim higher in life before you started out here, but you went and got stubborn anyway. And now look at you."

She smiles as she says this, reaching out to pat your shoulder reassuringly. There's no malice in her voice, not even a hint of mockery; she's genuinely concerned about your welfare and her tone reflects that.

But that doesn't prevent you from flinching away instinctively, cringing internally at the mention of your inflexibility, and at the reminder that you do need guidance in life, especially right now.

And even if they don't know all the details, the Redfield family members are excellent at reading you like a book—already, they've hit pretty much every point with pinpoint accuracy, cutting to the core of your problems with frightening precision, and leaving you feeling raw and exposed underneath their keen scrutiny. It's unnerving how easily these two women managed to discern so much information just by observing your behavior and gauging your reactions, and it leaves you feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

Your eyes flick nervously towards Dame Jill. She hasn't spoken much throughout the entire exchange, simply watching you quietly with a thoughtful expression on her face, but she must notice your unease, because she speaks up at last, breaking her silence.

"You can relax. We're not here to pry into your affairs. And while you should listen to Claire's words—she does have her moments where she actually makes sense—"

"Why would you say it like that—"

"We can also offer you practical advice and assistance. The world can be tough. Especially if you're a woman."

The fact that there was such care despite your comparatively low social standing warms your heart. Like they're really relatives of yours who weren’t frequent donors to your temple and got special visits to you for blessing and healing purposes. If you hadn't gotten to know them better after becoming a maid, you could have mistaken them as real sisters.

The words themselves give you pause, though. You're grateful, yet puzzled too by this unexpected kindness from these two high-born ladies, so foreign to you.

"I do love the little life I've built for myself. Even if it's mundane." You reply slowly, unsure how else to express this unfamiliar emotion bubbling within you. "It may be menial work, but it gives purpose. A sense of accomplishment."

"And what about when you want something more for yourself?" Dame Jill presses, leaning in closer. Her gaze is piercing, almost accusatory, but her tone remains calm, steady, never wavering in its intensity. She wants answers—from you.

But you don't have any.

"I don't know what I want in the first place," you finally confess, turning to look out over the gardens, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain. "I'm just trying to survive in this world. Everything's new to me—having autonomy, being able to decide for myself... I never dared imagine much beyond fulfilling His will, or whatever duties were assigned to me as Saintess. All of this... Sometimes I find myself entertaining the possibilities of certain things now, things I didn't know I could until very recently. And I don't know if I should."

The out of guilt part, you leave out of it. That’s a box of worms you aren’t willing to dump on these poor women.

Lady Claire pipes up immediately, excitement written across her face: "Then go chase them! Go and enjoy life and love and all that fun stuff!"

A sudden wave of anxiety washes over you at the mention of 'love', and you can't help but feel mortified, suddenly realizing that what you meant probably sounded quite different from her interpretation of it.

Thankfully, the young noblewoman doesn't seem aware of your slip-up, continuing enthusiastically with a dreamy expression: "Trust me, you definitely want to start living for yourself before it becomes too late, otherwise you'll end up like some of the old prune lords you see around court."

You try to contain your laughter at the sight of such pure enthusiasm, but fail miserably, letting it burst out. They both join you shortly thereafter, filling the air with melodious peals of laughter as the sun shines brightly overhead. After all that time spent being trapped inside walls all your life, to laugh so freely feels like nothing short of heavenly bliss. And it feels good. Laughter—joyful, unrestrained laughter—is something that's far rarer these days than you would ever admit aloud.

"I wasn't going to talk about this just yet but..." Dame Jill clears her throat, regaining control of herself. She straightens her dress carefully before looking back up at you with a serious expression on her beautiful features. "Leon's offer could very well be the answer you're looking for."

"I..." you start defensively, but Dame Jill raises her hand and silences you before you can finish forming the rest of your protest.

"Hear me out. I'm going to lay it out for you from a strategic and realistic angle. The simple truth of the matter is that you have limited options, given your background and current position in society. You don't have access to power, resources, or wealth. This is the reason why former saintesses stay in the convent—it's safer and easier, compared to facing the real world head on with no experience."

It makes perfect logical sense. Dame Jill is laying out the facts plainly, and even though you may not fully understand all of the nuances involved with regards to the issue of marriage in noble society, you're smart enough to comprehend what she's telling you. Your heart leaps into your throat at the thought of marriage, of Leon... and then promptly drops into your stomach once more.

"In our world, it's unlikely anyone else will ever ask for your hand unless you actively seek a match for yourself, which is why people generally arrange marriages instead. It's a miserable affair for women, because they don't really have a say in who gets picked, or what kind of person that suitor ends up being. But you... I say you've been blessed. To have found someone willing and able to provide for you financially and personally—that's rare as hen's teeth among the nobility. Leon, for all intents and purposes, is a wealthy man, one that isn't difficult to get along with."

That's true, you acknowledge silently, recalling the countless stories you've heard about the brutality of many men, especially high-born ones. If the rumors are to be believed, some wives barely avoided being locked in their rooms by the husbands they never saw, as they were forced to do as told without complaint.

But so were you made to do the same as the Saintess, in a way. You shudder just thinking of it.

Dame Jill pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing, taking in you shrinking into yourself. "What I'm trying to say is... perhaps this could work? Leon's social standing is strong. He carries great weight within Ethelia due to his achievements and is en route to become one of the wealthiest in the kingdom with all the favors he has. And from the way he ignores us when he comes to our house as a guest to tail after you tells me he wouldn't take your independence away in marriage. You'll be able to do whatever you want—visit wherever you please, hire any staff you desire, live wherever you fancy, and be with whomsoever you like. As long as you remain discreet about certain affairs, of course."

The last subtle suggestion about taking a separate lover after marriage is received with a loud snort of displeasure from Lady Claire, but the comment has served to jar you back into awareness.

"Which is to say, you'd be happy with him. From my perspective, that's the best deal any woman can ask for. In fact, it's quite literally out of a fairy tale, to be honest. An agreeable man who cares and will give you whatever you wish for. Wealthy. Great status. Do you not want that?"

Of course you would want that! That much you cannot deny. A happy, comfortable life with stability and freedom is exactly what you dreamt of during your worst hours in the convent. And Leon would be a decent husband. Kind, dutiful... handsome, honorable... you know those aspects already.

"But... At least I have my own freedoms as a commoner who has a job, no matter how small. I'd feel too bad to be financially dependent on him..."

"I went through the exact same thing, so let me tell you," Dame Jill states in a firm voice, raising her chin proudly as she does so, "Even with a dowry, I still depended entirely on my husband's good graces at first. But I managed to gain privileges and my own investments through him, and paid him back with my own income later. The system isn't perfect but it works. You have the luxury of starting on a higher foot than I did, and will undoubtedly earn better terms in marriage because of it. You should take advantage of that. If you use your cards right, you'll become independent from Leon soon enough."

You can see that argument. And you trust Dame Jill knows what she's talking about—she and her betrothed have lived together happily, and she doesn't hold his title and still retains her own surname. That must have taken incredible maneuvering on her part to achieve. She's the living monument of her argument, evidence of it working out if a woman decides to pursue her interests under the rules set forth by noblemen by using those against them. And you suppose that if it worked for her, then perhaps...

And yet, you're still hesitant, unconvinced. "How would you suggest I do that?"

"You can become a patron for artisans and tradesmen, or fund shops with your inheritance." She shrugs lightly. "Invest in enterprises and industries related to Leon's territories—there's so much potential, considering all he controls. Or join a guild to start up a company of your own. I've helped build my family's fortune through my own contributions and activities."

Oh… That would be…

Your mind is spinning at all the possibilities opened up to you by the prospect of marriage—a whirlwind of ideas and options.

Suddenly, your future is filled with exciting prospects and opportunities, whereas before, it had only seemed bleak and dull. A chance to improve upon your life, rather than settle for what you had before. It sounds tempting. So tempting that you're almost inclined to leap at the opportunity and accept it right away because of the sole hope of somehow working your way up to something that belongs to you and yours alone, free of outside influence. Something personal.

You'd be a fool not to consider it—but the idea is just too overwhelming to contemplate fully in a single day. You need time to process everything, to come to terms with how drastically different life would be if you agreed to the proposal. You need to take things slow. Start with the basics first—the practicalities of getting used to spending time around Leon and making sure he truly is what Dame Jill says.

"It's... I don’t know," you murmur softly, looking down at your hands resting atop your lap. They're clasped tightly, holding onto something invisible. Your heart. Perhaps... your hopes and dreams as well... "I wouldn't even know where to begin with any of this. All of these opportunities... What if I ruin everything? I’m not qualified like you ladies."

"All valid concerns. That's why we're here with you today and all the tomorrows to come."

A gentle squeeze to your shoulder from Lady Claire brings your attention back to them, and when you meet their gaze, you find no judgment there. No mocking. Just kindness. Understanding. Love, even.

It makes your chest ache painfully to be on the receiving end of a helping hand when you were the one extending it to others before, and you force yourself to push back the tears that threaten to form at the corner of your eyes.

You can't afford to cry now, not in front of the two people who've given you their support and guidance, who've listened without question as you poured out your fears and frustrations without judging you for expressing your emotions, who've treated you with respect and dignity despite your humble roots.

They've made sure to explain things to you in a way that makes sense—something that you appreciate immensely, since you've had no experience with financial matters outside the scope of charitable donations in service of the temple—and haven't belittled you or looked down on you for your lack of knowledge regarding these topics. You wouldn't have considered this marriage without them in the first place, wouldn't have even known what you could do with said marriage to help build up your own capital. How lucky you are to have met such wonderful women, who are guiding you towards discovering your own agency! You owe them far more than mere thanks.

And Leon... Leon certainly isn't a bad choice of husband at all.

After the day’s work has slowed to its natural ebb, the warmth of the hearth fills the maids’ quarters with a cozy, amber glow, it smells of fresh-baked bread, slightly burnt at the edges, and the faint, lingering scent of rosewater from one of the girls' perfumes. You sit cross-legged on your shared bed, your hands busy with a piece of mending, though your attention is far from the needle and thread.

The other maids bustle around, tidying up their own small spaces, chattering softly about the day’s events. One by one, they settle into the room, their eyes flicking in your direction, and you can feel the weight of their curiosity mounting like the slow build of a storm.

Finally, Maria, one of the bolder girls with sharp green eyes and a wit to match, plops down beside you with a mischievous grin.

“Alright, out with it then!” she teases, nudging your arm. “We’ve all been wondering—what's going on between you and him that both ladies called you out to talk today?”

Your heart skips a beat, though you try to keep your face neutral. “Him?”

Maria rolls her eyes dramatically. “Don’t play coy with us, girl! We’ve seen the way Lord Leon looks at you whenever he visits. Always trailing after you like a lovesick puppy, isn’t he?”

The room erupts in giggles, and the other girls gather closer, abandoning their pretense of work to join the conversation.

“He’s always hanging around,” adds Lila, her voice low and conspiratorial. “And didn’t you two have some private chat the other day?”

“That’s right!” Maria jumps in, eyes twinkling with excitement. “I heard he came looking for you in the kitchen. Just you. Alone. If that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does!”

You try to wave them off, but the girls lean in even closer, their faces alight with the thrill of gossip.

“Come on,” Lila presses, basically dripping with eager curiosity. “Spill it! What’s it like, having a nobleman so interested in you?”

Your pulse quickens, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. The thought of sharing anything about Leon’s marriage proposal feels too intimate, too unreal. How could they possibly understand?

Still, the girls’ eyes are bright with expectation, so you decide to tread carefully. “It’s... nothing like that,” you say softly, hoping to dissuade their excitement. “He’s just being kind.”

Maria snorts, clearly not convinced. “Kind? Please. Nobles don’t come slinking around after maids out of kindness.” She pauses, then leans in even closer, words dropping to a whisper. “If you bat your eyelashes at him the way he likes it, you could end up with a lot more than just kindness.”

You blink furiously, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Lila grins wickedly. “You know what she means. A mistress! Why else would he be following you around like that? It’s the perfect setup! You’d have all the perks of being with a noble without any of the chains. Gold, dresses, fancy gifts—he’d be wrapped around your finger!”

Your stomach twists at the suggestion, a rush of discomfort bubbling beneath the surface. “A... mistress?”

The word feels foreign on your tongue, sour and wrong.

“Stop playing coy,” Maria says, grinning like a fox. “He’s clearly interested in you. And you’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. Do you know how rare it is for a man of his standing to even look at someone like us?”

The other girls murmur their agreement, nodding enthusiastically.

“And think about it,” Lila adds, her tone soft but coaxing, “you wouldn’t have to lift a finger again. No more scrubbing floors, no more serving the ladies of the house. You’d be living the high life, tucked away in some lovely estate with all the luxury you could ever want. All you’d have to do is keep him happy.” Her gaze flickers up and down your form, appraising, before she smirks. "And I bet he won't be too disappointed with that either."

A sudden surge of anger rises in your chest, hot and fierce. It’s as though they’ve reduced Leon’s sincerity to a mere transaction, something cheap and temporary.

You glance around at the eager faces, each girl picturing the life they’ve described, a life of ease and opulence. But all you can think of is Leon—his genuine concern, his careful words, his sincerity when he’d offered you a life beyond this one.

A life as his equal.

You lower your head, focusing on the piece of fabric in your lap, but your voice comes out firmer than expected. “I’m not interested in becoming anyone’s mistress.”

Maria frowns, tilting her head. “Why not? It’s not like he’d marry you, you know.”

Lila nods, shrugging carelessly. Her eyes drift lazily around the cramped room as she speaks. "Let's be real here, honey—we all want to find a good man and live happily ever after, but that's not how the world works. If we're clever enough, we can get the right one to take us to the side and let us play the lady, maybe give us an allowance, but we'll never get to wear their name or inherit any property. Might as well enjoy the benefits of being the other woman. Life's easier that way."

A quiet realization settles over you like a comforting blanket in the midst of the winter of these girls' harsh reality and what they have to live with—Leon’s offer, regardless of whether you want to take him up on it, was a lot more honoring than you'd initially thought, more than it should be, when everyone else sees it as an empty promise, a tease of something better they could never achieve.

Because Leon hadn’t offered you a life in the shadows. He hadn’t looked at you as though you were something to be possessed, something to be kept hidden. He’d offered you a future—a real future, as his equal. And it’s only now, in the face of the maids’ casual suggestion, that you realize just how sincere his proposal had been.

He wasn’t offering you luxury in exchange for secrecy. He wasn’t trying to keep you as some hidden treasure. He was offering you something far more precious than wealth or status—he was offering you respect.

He’d offered you something real.

A soft breath escapes your lips, and the tension in your chest eases ever so slightly. The girls continue to chatter, oblivious to the shift in your thoughts, still wrapped up in their fantasy of you as a nobleman’s mistress.

But you know better now. You know what Leon’s intentions truly are.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to understand what you want too.

The late afternoon sun bathes the garden in a golden light, casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths that wove through the hedges and flower beds. The air carries the crisp, earthy scent of autumn, mingled with the faint fragrance of fading blooms. A gentle rustling of leaves fills the space, stirred by a cool breeze, while distant bird calls echoed from the trees, the atmosphere holding a kind of serene stillness, as if the garden itself was waiting.

In spite of the nerves coiled tightly in your chest, it reminds you of the temple's private prayer garden—your one refuge from the weight of expectations. Here, just like there, you feel a semblance of peace. This space, however, has become something different: a sanctuary from more personal burdens, from the eyes that constantly watched, speculated, and judged your every interaction with Leon.

As you walk, your fingers skimmed the soft petals of the flowers lining the path, a tactile comfort that grounds you as your thoughts swirled. The garden is quiet, save for the faint gurgling of the fountain ahead, where a lone figure sat. Leon.

He's hunched forward, elbows resting on his thighs as he watches the water trickle steadily into the basin below, completely unaware of your presence. His fair hair hangs loose around his face, partially obscuring his features, and he wears simple, unadorned clothing, a far cry from the formal attire you'd grown accustomed to seeing him in during his visits to the manor. His coat is tossed haphazardly over one armrest, vest half-undone, sleeves rolled up messily at the elbow. Even the collar of his shirt hangs open loosely, giving a glimpse of pale skin beneath. The relaxed position belies a sense of agitation and frustration, a sort of restless energy that your offer of wanting to meet him today has caused, no doubt.

This informal state of undress is a refreshing change from his usual perfectionist approach to fashion and is unexpectedly... intimate. That, combined with the way he's dressed himself down, almost in defiance, to meet you in private gives you pause.

You have no idea if he's trying to look as approachable and nonthreatening as possible or is truly so caught up in turmoil about your answer that he's forgotten how appearances make him come across, but you're struck by how attractive he looks at the moment. It's... refreshing to see him like this. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

As if feeling your eyes on him, Leon shifts his attention to where you've paused behind him, spotting you standing in the distance. His posture abruptly straightens before he rises to his feet, greeting you formally, clear and resonant, "Saintess."

"It's not—" you begin, instinctively recoiling at the title and reminder of all the demands that came with it, but stop yourself short. No sense in correcting him anymore. Not when you're so close to figuring out where to go next with him. Not when he looks like he's prepared for the worst. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

He doesn't move.

There's an awkward silence. Then, slowly, reluctantly, you step forward. Your steps get swallowed by the silent garden, into the chatter of the surrounding foliage and ornamental ponds.

Now that you've closed the distance and you're standing only an arm's length apart, Leon stands impossibly tall and imposing in front of you. A shadow draped over you both by the canopy of the willow tree you've met underneath, sheltering you from the rest of the world. His blue eyes are dark like the sky in the moment before dusk, expression severe as you look up to face him properly, trying not to lose courage.

You lead with, "Have you noticed there's not one single lily blooming in the entire estate gardens?"

In the context of your talk, it comes off as an obvious subject change, and Leon picks up on it immediately, quirking up a brow quizzically, then casts a sweeping glance over the greenery instead, as if searching for any hint of the flowers you named. "Now that you mention it..."

"It stood out to me immediately," you confide. "I'm rather fond of lilies, you see. They're my favorite flower."

It sounds a little silly once you've spoken aloud, but a fond, "Ah," escapes his throat. Leon's features soften as he looks upon you again, listening carefully, intent to keep talking if you wish to speak more. There's a ghost of a smile on his mouth, tugging at his lips, like he wants to say something, but holds it in check.

"You'd think I would be able to convince Piers to plant some for me, but he said, first of all it's not your garden to change. Second of all, if you want lilies that much, how about you make your own garden and grow them yourself. Apparently, I was 'obsessed' with them enough to warrant such advice. I didn't have the first idea about caring for flowers, though. It was a bit more challenging than I anticipated, learning how to take care of plants—not too much, not too little sunlight, not too little water, not too many pests... I realized how fortunate I was to have florists or the servants take care of things while I was the saintess. So much to learn!"

Leon makes a noncommittal hum at the back of his throat, looking off to the side pensively, brows coming together as he runs the tip of his tongue against the edge of his lower teeth, deep in thought. You look away when you catch yourself following the motion, staring openly at the soft angle of his jawline. Instead, your gaze flicks to the rows of vibrant roses nearby.

"My gardening efforts... were mediocre at best," you laugh sheepishly.

You recall the sad, shriveling collection of greens you had managed to get from the earth. Dried out and blackened with spots when you should have known better after reading so many books on the topic of cultivating the land and keeping the flora alive and thriving, how the soil felt on your fingertips and hands as you tended to the various kinds of crops. But then you had finally grown some tender stalks and baby blooms, the barest beginnings of buds bursting forth, growing lush and strong—only to promptly die under your care. It wasn't intentional—in fact, you had done everything right, followed all the instructions to the letter—but it was still disappointing nonetheless, to watch as all your hard work withered and faded away before your very eyes.

"Years have passed, and I'm still not particularly great at it. For all the miracles I performed in Ethelion's name, I never did figure out what I did wrong to make my own garden turn out that way." You trail your fingertips lightly over the delicate petals of a rosebush, remembering how the dewdrops had clung to them like gems, sparkling in the sunlight. "Even today, I still haven't quite gotten the hang of it and just help Piers around. Growing my own lilies is out of the question like this. I still want it, that's the whole point of why I started this journey in the first place. But I guess fear of being confronted with the fact that these hands that once brought back many from death's doorstep can't even grow a weed correctly stops me from ever attempting. It's like a lesson in humility."

The wind ruffles Leon's golden hair as he stares off into the distance, thinking intently. He rests his weight on one leg, cocking it out to the side as he props an elbow on his thigh, settling his chin against an upturned palm. Those sharp eyes sweep across the manicured lawns of the estate, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he mulls over your words.

"You're not just talking about lilies, are you?" Leon says quietly, his tone cautious, but thoughtful. You shake your head, chewing on your lip to prevent any further emotional outbursts from betraying your composure.

You let your eyes slide shut and allow yourself a small moment of respite, inhaling deeply through your nose, tasting the fresh fall air as it fills your lungs. "I thought... A new pair of hands helping me out with the lilies would add insult to injury. Humiliating." Your fingers clench involuntarily around a rose stem, and you jerk your hand away sharply before it can snap the fragile thing in half. "After years of relying on Ethelion to supply me with lilies whenever I wanted, I thought this was the only way for me to pride myself on something for a change. Failure upon failure eventually made me realize that perhaps I'm too proud to admit that I don't have things figured out just yet—and am also ashamed to ask for assistance from others, even those that are willing to help me out when I need it. Perhaps that was another reason why I didn't even want to entertain your offer, Leon. Because it felt like giving up."

Opening your eyes again, you see him watching you intently, blue irises focused entirely on yours, attentive to every word that leaves your lips. The sight of it causes warmth to spread throughout your body, causing you to falter for a second, unsure of where to proceed next. You bite down hard on your lip, then, "And... And if... If I couldn't accomplish even something small like this, then what kind of saintess was I? What good would a failed servant of God be as a wife?"

"Goodness knows, you can be a fool, you know that?" Leon snaps without hesitation, brusque and direct. Startled by his reaction, you whip around to face him in surprise—to see his features drawn tight in displeasure. He's frowning down at you, brow creasing, nostrils flared slightly, a muscle twitching in his jawline. "Of course you wouldn't succeed immediately. You were practically a bumbling toddler released into the wild! Trying to expect such growth in a handful of years is plain lunacy. Especially with the insistence to do it without any assistance."

"I—"

"And the worst part? You don't even acknowledge how you've made strides with your limitations!"

You quiet down with the shock of blatantly being scolded by someone as kind and softspoken as Leon—or for the first time in your life, for the matter.

"Let me put it like this," he says, having simmered down. "If you want to grow lilies, you need to let go of this obsession to be some almighty perfect being that must know everything there is to know in the world about lilies before setting out to grow your garden."

You wring your hands together in front of you anxiously, still taken aback by his sudden tirade, and unsure of how else to respond to it. Part of you is annoyed that he took to calling you a fool, albeit accurately so, but the greater portion of yourself is beginning to feel guilty about dismissing Leon's assistance due to your pride. You stay silent and let him finish.

"Marrying me wouldn't make you a failure. As a matter of fact, accepting my aid for the sake of getting to try your hand at creating your own garden doesn't have anything to do with that either." His gaze grows gentler as he fixes you with a firm, meaningful stare. "Even if no lilies grow today or in the next month, all the seeds you're scattering around shall come to fruition soon enough if you keep at it. If there are an extra couple of hands helping out with the watering and weeding, then surely your efforts will be twice as efficient. The goal is ultimately what matters—making your dream become a reality and not be stifled by arbitrary rules that have never existed until now."

Leon's words hit home for you in ways that you didn't expect them to; how did he manage to come to terms with the issues you struggled with so easily?

"Did I do good?" he asks all of a sudden, shattering the moment, a shy grin appearing on his face that transforms his appearance almost instantly. He suddenly seems younger, less experienced, more like the paladin you knew him as years ago. A sweet, sincere boy, struggling between uncertainty and eagerness to do right by you. "Allegories are not my strong suit... Or is it called a metaphor?"

You chuckle weakly, "Yes, you certainly succeeded. More than you know, actually."

Those blue eyes light up in response, his mouth breaking into a broad grin that brightens his entire face and takes your breath away. Your heart does an odd skip in your chest, but before you have a chance to analyze the strange sensation, Leon leans forward eagerly. "Does this mean you'll accept?"

Taking in his expression—eyes wide and hopeful, a slight flush coloring his cheeks—you can't help but smile back with a brief nod.

"Yes?" he insists excitedly, his voice rising in pitch slightly. It's clear he isn't convinced of your answer just yet and wants some sort of verbal affirmation.

"I'd be happy to," you reply before the nervous stutter can give rise to doubts again in his mind about you. At that very instant, a flock of doves rises from the trees above and soars off into the sky, disappearing into the clouds, leaving behind only a trail of white feathers. "If you'll still have--"

"Yes!" He steps towards you quickly and envelops you in a tight embrace without warning. His arms encircle you completely, his warmth radiating through the fabric of your dress. You yelp, startled, but he only pulls you tighter against him and spins you around in the air. You cling to him helplessly, your body pressed firmly against his, and try not to think about how solid he feels underneath your fingertips.

The sudden intimacy sends a thrill through your veins, heat pooling low in your belly and spreading throughout your limbs. Then you hear him exhale loudly in your ear in relief. His hot breath tickles the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine, goosebumps raising along the bare nape of your neck and along your arms underneath the sleeves. All the pent-up anxiety leaves his body at once and you find yourself relaxing in response. For a split-second you forget where you are or who you're with—only that you want to feel more of him against you...

The lightness in Leon's eyes is a rare sight, one you haven't seen since you first crossed paths again. His entire face is illuminated by his beaming grin, so bright it almost makes you forget the chill in the air. You’d said yes, and in that moment, it was as though the world outside the garden ceased to exist. It’s just the two of you, suspended in time—Leon’s arms still wrapped around you, his breath warm on your cheek.

“You won't regret this,” Leon says as he pulls away slightly, his smile never fading.

You nod, too overwhelmed to say anything more. There’s something about the way he says those words, with such sincerity and confidence, that makes your heart swell. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you allow yourself to feel hopeful—hopeful that perhaps this arrangement could bring you both the happiness you’ve been missing.

He holds out his arm to you, a gesture you’ve come to associate with his chivalrous nature, and you take it without hesitation. The warmth of his touch still lingers as he leads you out of the garden, your heart racing, thoughts pleasantly buzzing.

A few days later, you find yourself in a carriage, trundling down the road towards Leon’s estate. The entire journey has been spent in comfortable silence, save for the occasional exchange of smiles or soft remarks about the passing scenery. You lean your head against the window, gazing out at the world beyond as it goes by in a blur of color and motion. In the distance, you spy the familiar sight of the grand cathedral, towering high above all else, its spires reaching upwards into the azure sky. Memories flash before your eyelids: of visiting the structure during the early hours of dawn, as the first rays of light filtered through its stained glass windows—of wandering within its labyrinthine passages and praying quietly in secluded corners—of the comforting scent of incense as it drifted through your robes like smoke through the rafters.

But the pull isn't as strong, or tempting as it once was, a whisper of something ancient that lives inside your ribcage.

You haven’t spoken much about the wedding yet—it hasn't even been half a week since you accepted Leon's offer—but you've already settled on doing a smaller ceremony, consisting only of the Redfields and close associates. Your side of the guest list is virtually non-existent, so you suppose the wedding preparations are going to move pretty fast considering there are not a lot of moving pieces to juggle.

When the manor finally comes into view, you’re momentarily breathless. It’s grander than you imagined, despite being in the borders of the capital and within the vicinity of other lavish estates—a grand sandstone building topped with elaborate gables, a slate tile roof, and ornate wooden trellises encasing balconies decorated with intricately carved fretwork. The lush grounds surrounding the manor appear immaculately groomed, topiary hedges and carefully pruned boxwoods lining the entrance drive, leading up to an imposing iron gate with ornate scrollwork patterns.

You have no idea how his estate in the margravate will compare to this summer home for the social season...

The carriage turns into an ornate stone drive, traveling the length of the courtyard, halting at last beside the entrance. Everything is eerily quiet for a moment, save for the crunching sound of gravel beneath wheels and hooves echoing through the open space. A young footman immediately opens the door and steps aside, and Leon descends gracefully before turning to help you climb down yourself.

You smooth out your skirts once you're on terra firma again, grateful for the moment to compose yourself after such an imposing sight. He offers his arm to you once more, and you wrap your fingers delicately around the crook of his elbow. With his free hand, he gently guides you forward, each step seeming to take longer than the last, until you're crossing through an arched entryway and stepping into an airy atrium.

Your gaze sweeps across the room, drinking in every detail, your nerves returning. The entrance hall is beautifully furnished, but distinctly masculine, with heavy mahogany furniture and a plush Aubusson rug sprawled out across the marble floor. An impressive chandelier hangs overhead, glittering with dozens of flickering candles. Everywhere you look, you're greeted by rich materials and exquisite craftsmanship—carved woodwork framing elegant oil paintings depicting scenes from history, damask wallpaper adorning the walls, polished silver sconces mounted on pillars flanking the staircase bannister...

All the finery makes your heart beat a little faster, and you're struck by the realization of just how different your current situation is compared to yesterday.

You let out a shaky breath, your grip on Leon's arm tightening as he leads you past a row of elaborately dressed footmen, their hands folded neatly behind their backs and heads bowed politely in greeting. Each of them regards you curiously, observing you with expressions devoid of emotion, as though studying some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. Up ahead, an elderly butler awaits you by the bottommost step, his stoic features arranged into a thin mask of courtesy. When Leon comes closer, however, the man's impassive facade melts into one of genuine respect, his graying eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition.

"Welcome, Your Excellency," he greets with a slight bow. "We've been expecting your return. We've also prepared lodgings for the honored bride-to-be."

Your cheeks grow warm at the use of the title, and you shift nervously from side to side as Leon thanks the old man.

"Can you send Dame Hunnigan for us, please?"

"I believe she is waiting for your arrival," the butler says, dry and monotone. "Will you require any refreshments in the parlor, sir?"

"No, leave us," Leon nods, dismissing the retainer. He then glances down at you and chuckles lightly, leaning over to mutter, "You look like a frightened mouse about to hop out of her clothes."

You press your lips tightly together, avoiding meeting his amused gaze and fixating on the floor instead, mentally berating yourself for acting so ridiculous, but then Leon continues speaking as you ascend the stairs. "Forgive me if I seem smug. That was simply endearing."

His words draw a surprised laugh out of you, the unexpected tease easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "I appreciate you taking the opportunity to poke fun at my expense."

"Always happy to serve," he teases right back without missing a beat, his grin flashing wickedly at you. There's no bite to his teasing, however, merely playfulness.

As you reach the top landing, a young woman approaches you from down the hallway with a calm and composed demeanor, lacking the urgency of the servants below. Her dark hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and she’s dressed in a simple but elegant gown, showing her higher position. She stops before you with a nod of greeting, her gaze respectful but sharp as it flickers between you and Leon.

“Welcome back, my lord,” she says smoothly, steady and professional. “And welcome to you, my lady.”

Leon’s smile remains as he gestures toward her. “This is Dame Ingrid Hunnigan, my house steward. If you require anything at all, do let her know and she will assist you as best she can. Isn’t that so, Hunnigan?"

Her posture is as perfect as a soldier's, and her demeanor is polite and collected, and yet you detect the subtle traces of power beneath. "If it is in my power, then most definitely," she answers dutifully, bowing to you with a flourish. "Please don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything at all, milady. The servants have been instructed to tend to all your needs accordingly."

Something about the way she holds herself—the confident set of her shoulders, the steely determination in her brown gaze—reminds you of Piers. You get the sense that she is fiercely intelligent, but also skilled in diplomacy and management, the kind of person that knows just what to do in every situation.

You return the greeting with a polite nod, feeling a little self-conscious under her watchful gaze. There’s something about the way she carries herself that suggests she knows everything happening within these walls, down to the smallest detail. She’s not just an aide—she’s someone who ensures the manor runs like clockwork.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, feeling an odd sense of relief knowing that there will be someone to help you navigate this unfamiliar place.

“The pleasure is mine,” Hunnigan replies, her lips curving into a small smile. “I must say, we’ve all been looking forward to your arrival. It’s clear how much Lord Leon cares for you."

Her words, though spoken with the utmost professionalism, catch you off guard. You glance at Leon, who shifts slightly, his smile fading into something more reserved, almost embarrassed. There’s a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

“Oh, uh... yes,” he stammers, holding his right shoulder and rolling it around like it's sore and he's trying to stretch it. “I—well, of course, I—”

Hunnigan doesn’t miss a beat. “The staff is already preparing for the wedding, and I’ve made arrangements for you to meet with the dressmaker later this week. If there’s anything else you need, my lady, don’t hesitate to ask.”

For a split second you remember all your previous hesitations, but you push the thought aside almost as quickly.

Leon clears his throat, straightening himself and gesturing down the corridor. "Come, it would be rude not to show you to your rooms."

You allow him to lead the way, following a short distance behind him and Hunnigan as they weave through the corridors. It occurs to you that you've never seen the inside of another nobleman's home, aside from a tour of the palace in the royal capital—even though it shouldn't come as a surprise, given that it's been a while since you stepped foot in the temple. But even in those moments, you were sheltered from much of the actual activity that occurred daily, having private quarters away from the others, except for when you traveled with the Bishop. And even then... it wasn't like you ever came across homes or mansions this beautiful. This was something truly grand—so much space and fine furniture to fill it, the kind that probably had names for. The kind that held history within its walls and decor. The kind of residence that spoke of generations of wealth, privilege, and status.

Though, you can't seem to focus on much, Dame Hunnigan's words about how much Leon cares for you and his weird reaction to it replaying in your head over and over again, like the echo of a bell ringing somewhere in the distance. Did he really talk about you like that to his staff? And why would he...? You mean, of course he should care for you; he asked you to marry him! Still, it stirs up some conflicted feelings within you.

This marriage isn't about love, but there is love in it. Even though that might never go anywhere romantic or sexual. A connection between two people... is still love, regardless of the specifics. You know that's what you've been taught throughout your entire life—that such an agreement is built upon respect, admiration, compassion.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

"Right here," Leon says, coming to a stop in front of a set of double doors as he pushes them open, revealing a vast room decorated in shades of blue and cream. The sun pours in from large windows framed by thick velvet curtains, flooding the space with light and illuminating the plush carpets covering the hardwood floors, creating a soothing ambience.

The centerpiece is undoubtedly the four-poster bed against the wall, complete with drapery falling around the sides and pillows piled atop a silk duvet. Against the adjacent wall stands a small table next to an armchair by a fireplace, a vase filled with freshly picked lilies placed atop the mantel. Off in the corner is another door which presumably leads into the baths. There are several tall bookshelves stuffed with tomes in various languages, spanning from historical texts to philosophy to poetry, and a large oak desk sits adjacent to them. A vanity full of cosmetics is situated nearby, along with a large wardrobe standing in front of a screen decorated with intricate embroidery.

You almost blurt out something about this room being made for half a dozen people rather than one before catching yourself.

"It's connected to my room through that door, so feel free to knock," Leon adds casually, seemingly unaware of how such a statement causes your brain to short circuit for a brief moment.

"Oh," you manage to say as you peer at the imposing piece of furniture near the vanity and swallow thickly. Married couples are often required to share a sleeping chamber, and this arrangement was done for your comfort, no doubt. But it's still intimate to think about how he'll be right next door, accessible to you at all times.

"Is that acceptable?" Leon asks, dipping his chin and raising an eyebrow.

You flush, realizing you hadn't responded, and hastily nod your head, causing him to chuckle lightly as he heads back towards the exit, but doesn't leave, talking to Dame Hunnigan about something in a low tone before he shuts the doors and leaves both of you alone in this new space together.

He lingers there for a moment. You can't see his face as he says, "I wanted to... I wanted to apologize for what Hunnigan said back there. About how much I apparently talk about you whenever I'm back home. I assure you, she's prone to exaggerations sometimes, and there's always gossip running around between the maids in these sorts of places."

"Oh, that." You didn't think Leon would make such a big deal out of it—there are certainly far worse things in the world to worry about—but he seems quite bothered by it. Maybe it's a breach of his privacy? He's clearly not very comfortable with Hunnigan telling you about such matters. "I guess everyone can be chatty," you try to soothe his embarrassment. "She was probably just trying to be hospitable, in her own way."

"Yes... Well... I do care about you, of course. Just, er, well..." Leon trails off awkwardly, suddenly fumbling over his words as he tries to get them out, a light dusting of pink coloring the tips of his ears. "Not that way. Obviously. Which she's insinuating. That would be inappropriate. For us. To... To act in such ways outside of our marital responsibilities. Or inside. Which we don't have to. So, I... I want to make sure that... You know. I have invited you here under honorable intentions only. I hope that this does not put you in any uncomfortable situation. Because I wouldn’t dare feel about you in such a manner."

Despite your better judgment, his sudden rambling and odd choice of phrasing tugs at your heart strings a bit, somewhat in disappointment. Not that you would ever expect such things—you aren't expecting romance or love in this union, and that's not the purpose of this arrangement in the slightest—but there is some sense of rejection upon hearing that the man before you has no desire to pursue anything romantic. In all fairness, you may never have thought about it either if you had remained within the temple, as you dedicated your entire existence to worshiping Ethelion. Until now, at least.

"I know," you reassure him gently with a tentative smile, an inexplicable pit deep in your stomach. "There's no need to be flustered. I'm well aware of what this is, and I appreciate your honesty."

"Good," he sighs in relief, visibly relaxing as the tension leaves his frame. Finally turning around, he flashes a charming smile in response, bright blue irises glinting beneath his lashes in the warm sunlight streaming through the windows. "Would you like to sit with me for tea?"

[matthew-gray-gubler-lover]

a picture-perfect proposal.

Spencer Reid picture-perfect.

Spencer Reid had no idea when he came home from a long case that his new neighbor would be the love of his life. And together they would create the picture-perfect life.

A four-part series.

18+

Fluff. Smut. The Criminal Minds team being the Criminal Minds team. Love story.

This part is going to be a little bit longer and much dirtier than the first part of the story. I'm writing this in a particularly turn on part of my life, and i don't have a man to help me with that so i write. and I hope that I didn't make it too dirty, too raunchy. It does contain a lot of sex. Meeting the team. Spencer and his girlfriend come clean about some things.

masterlist for this story

It's been six months since y/n Met Spencer Reid in her hallway. In that time, they have tried to get used to the fact that he Won't be around very often. It's something that neither one of them enjoys.

In that amount of time, y/n and Spencer have learned to cherish every second that they spend together. So it's not unusual for her to wake up and Spencer's arms on his days off. Still tangled up together after falling asleep after a night of passionate love making. Something that she missed this morning as you woke up and there was no Spencer in your bed despite the fact that it is his day off. It wasn't until you heard the shower running that you realized Spencer had woken up before you and decided to take a shower.

You start to shuffle around in bed a little bit, trying to get more comfortable. But no matter how much you moved, you weren't going to be able to ignore the ache in your center. It's the Ache that only Spencer can relieve. You're not sure why you're missing him so bad after last night, you should be good for a while, but then again, it is Spencer Reid and you can never get enough of him. You hear the shower go off and you can't stop thinking about wet, naked Spencer. Something about that man that does something to you.

Spencer comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. One of your pretty pink ones. It's a sight to see really. (Yes, this is a nod to him as Chip Taylor in the movie 68 Kill. I couldn't help it.)

"Morning beautiful" you heard Spencer say.

" Good morning handsome" you replied.

" I was hoping to make it back into bed before you woke up. I'm sorry. I know how much you love waking up in my arms, and I know that I sure love having you wake up there. I miss you so much when I'm away baby" he says, coming closer to the bed.

"It's OK. I woke up and saw you weren't there and then started missing you. And was afraid that maybe last night was just a dream. But when I heard the shower running, I remembered that you were here. And then there's the fact that I don't sleep naked unless you're here. So." She said with a chuckle.

"Well, yes, there is that. I don't sleep naked unless I'm with you either". Spencer told her, getting closer to the bed. 

"So how are you feeling This morning, sweetie". Spencer asked.

"well I'm feeling um", she said Shifting slightly in the bed. "Horny" She whined.

"Really. Even though I took such good care of you last night." Spencer asked, getting closer to the bed before removing his towel and showing off his full body to her.  That didn't exactly help her current state. That was until he got closer to the bed and got under the covers with her that she finally started to feel relief once he pushed inside.

"Is this what you needed?" He asked. Is He was beginning to move slowly.

"Yes, this is exactly what I needed. Thank you, Spencer." She said as he began to pick up the pace a little bit more. 

"I would say I don't know how you could need more after the night we had, but I understand it because I need you too. So I was really happy to hear that you wanted me."

He Made sweet, gentle love to her three times that morning. There are both so happy that Spencer didn't have a case. They had the whole weekend all to themselves. Unfortunately though, the Reality of life came when Monday morning came along. Spencer's phone started ringing at 8:00 in the morning as he was making love to her once again. Spencer couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice when he heard JJ on the other end of the phone. saying that he had a case.

JJ Understood his disappointment, but only because she thought that he was happy to have some time off.  Catching up on his reading. Get some much-deserved sleep, maybe have a nice meal, sleeping in a bed that wasn't a hotel bed. She had no idea about his girlfriend. No one on the team does at this point, only Luke Alvez. And he kept his promise to Spencer and didn't tell anyone about. Y/N

"OK, JJ I'll be there soon" Spencer said with a sigh, hanging up the phone. he looked at Y/N And she could see the disappointment in his face. 

"Is it a case?" she asked with a sigh. Tucking. her head into his side. 

"Unfortunately, yes. I'm so sorry".

" Hey, it's OK. I knew the consequences of getting involved with the FBI, man. Doesn't make it any easier for me, but".

" Well, the good news is I'll be able to come back. The case is local, so. I won't have to be gone as long. Might still have to stay in a hotel though if it's Too far away from home and Emily doesn't let me come back home. But she might. And then We can still spend the nights together"

" I would like that. I would like that very much. You know, I do miss you terribly when you're gone. I don't know if you miss me as much as I miss". She was cut off with a kiss to the lips. 

"I miss you like crazy". Spencer told her. "I miss you too".

Spencer made his way into the station. And found out what the case was about. He was pretty much just going through the motions at this point, trying to get back home. As a profiler, he knows to try to keep a straight face, a poker face if you will, which should be easy for Spencer Reid, giving that he is from Las Vegas. Today, however, the lovesick boy took over and he lost his poker face. He was looking at a picture of his girlfriend on his phone when Rossi came up behind him.

"Who's that?" Rossi asked.

"Ohh, she's. Um." Spencer tried to come up with a lie. He tried to come up with it quick.

"Is that a girl?" He could hear JJ saying from behind him.

"um, you know what? I think there's something happening, uh, this paperwork over here?" Luke tried to help Spencer.

"What paperwork?  I didn't think there was any paperwork to be done. We don't file paperwork until after the case is done, Luke, you know that". JJ told him.

"Thank you, Luke. You tried. I appreciate it, I really do", Spencer said. With a sigh, setting down his phone.

"This is.y/n She was my new neighbor and now she's my girlfriend".

"Girlfriend?!". Everyone's shrieked Except for Luke.

"How we're just finding out about this? How long has it been?" Prentiss asked.

 "Six months" 

"six months and it is telling us about her now. We have to meet her. Please, we have to meet her. Is this why you sounded so disappointed when I called you about the case? Oh my God, were you in bed with her? OH, did I call you during sex? ". JJ said.

"Yes, I was in bed with her at the time. I had to leave her to come do this case and I've been missing her like crazy. I didn't mean to hurt anyone by not telling you, it's just personal. And the last time I had a girlfriend it didn't work out because she got killed in front of me and I don't know, I guess I just didn't want to jinx it." Spencer explained.

"We understand, reid. It's OK. Would you be alright with us meeting her though? I am throwing a party next week and I think that it would be nice for her to come, and we could all meet her. But only if you're comfortable with it". Rossi asked.

"I would like that. I would like for everyone to get to meet her. I love her so much. I'll ask her if she'd like to meet you. I'm sure she would."

Spencer came home that night and pitched the idea to her about meeting the team. 

"Something happened today. I was looking at a picture of you on my phone. I got so distracted that I didn't notice Rossi coming up behind me and he saw you. Now the whole team knows about you, and they want to meet you."

She was both excited yet nervous at the same time. Excited because she really wanted to meet the people that were so important to him and in his life all the time.

Finally, the night of the party came after three excruciatingly long days. Spencer was all Hers. again.

She stood in her bedroom looking through her dresses. She only really had two nice dresses to wear for such an event. both of them Kind of like cocktail dresses in a way. One with silver and one with a dark blue velvet like dress.

She walked out into the living room and asked Spencer which one he liked better, holding both of them up on hangers.

Spencer looked at her his mouth dropping as she stood there wearing her black lace bra and panties.

"Spencer?". She asked, moving the dresses up and down. 

"Which one do you like?"

 Spencer got up from this chair that he was sitting in. And walked slowly over to her. 

"Can I be honest with you?" He asked, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. 

"Yes, that's what I need right now". 

"I love what you're wearing right now". he whispered to her his lips so close to her right ear.

"Thank you, Spencer. Unfortunately, I can't go to a party with your coworkers wearing this".

" Well, no, you couldn't really do that. You're right about that, but. You asked me which one I like better. But. Yeah. If I have to go with you actually wearing a dress, I'll say the blue one. Then that way we can match". He said, pointing to the. Blue shirt and pants that he was wearing. The sleeves of his shirt rolled back.

"OH my gosh I didn't even notice when I saw you there. So sexy but didn't really. Notice that what you had on was blue. so We are going to be the cute little matching couple."

"Yes, but only if you want to be. If you want to wear the silver one that's fine, but I personally really love the blue one."

"Then the blue one it shall be".

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep my mind off of what you're wearing underneath that dress though." Spencer told her, watching her walk away.

"You can think about it and then you can take it off of me when we get back home tonight". She offered as she walked into the bedroom to finish getting ready.

At this point, Spencer wasn't really sure that he was going to make it to the end of the night. The drive to Rossi's house seemed to pass quickly. It seemed like no time at all before they were pulling up in front of his house, the house that was all full of cars. They were the last ones to get there. 

"Are you ready?" He asked, holding her hand before they got out of the car. 

"I think so, yes. This is a lot of cars, a lot of people. OK, I'm not really Used to crowds". She said Taking a deep breath.

"Don't worry, they're going to love you." Spencer reassured her before giving her a kiss and getting out of the car. Walking over to the other side to open the door for her and help her out.

They got out of the car and began walking up the driveway to Rossi's front door.

 The sound of her black high heels sounding so loud echoing in her head.

Before she knows it. Spencer is ringing the doorbell and JJ is answering the door.

She has no idea who this pretty blonde is wearing a purple dress, but she knows that she could definitely be competition for her.

"Spence hi!" She greeted him with a hug. "Oh my gosh, you must be y/n. OH, you're just as pretty as you were in your picture on Spencer's phone." She said before hugging her.

I'm Jennifer, but all of my friends call me JJ and I know that we're going to be friends, so feel free to call me JJ.

"Come on in, the whole team is waiting to meet you".

 Spencer took her by the hand, walking her through Rossi's spacious living room, through the kitchen and out into the backyard where everyone was.

Her chest began tightening, it beginning to be a little bit difficult for her to breathe as she was becoming overwhelmed with the amount of people that she was seeing. But Spencer's grip on her hand. Made her feel safe. She knew that she was always safe with Spencer.

"Oh my God is this her?!!" She heard another blonde shrieking. As she began running to her.

A blonde wearing a bright pink dress and high heels that were equally as bright. With the big flower on the side of her head. 

"Hi, I'm Penelope Garcia. Oh my God, she's so cute. Spencer, why didn't you ever tell us about her before?" She asked Spencer before pulling his girlfriend into a bear hug.

Before Spencer could answer. Rossi came over.

" So this must be the lovely Y/N I wish that I could say I've heard a lot about you, but I only recently found out about you. But if Reid like shoe, then you must be a wonderful young lady. My name is David Rossi by the way. I'm sorry I forgot to introduce myself."

"Oh, it's OK. Yes, I'm Y/N But I guess you already knew that from Spencer, right? I'm sorry, I'm not good at crowds or at parties. I Don't get out very much."

"No need to apologize or be nervous. As a profiler, I can see that you are nervous and there's no reason to be here. We are all a family, and you are now part of our family."

One by one, the rest of the team introduced themselves and gave her a hug before they sat down to a wonderful meal. Rossi really went all out tonight. As he always does. there was Lasagna. Ravioli. Tortellini. Fettuccine Alfredo.

Everyone was eating and having a good time. That was until it happened, something that Spencer thought was going to shake his world forever.

Penelope asked the question. "Why haven't you told us about her before now? I'm starting to get very Nervous because the last time you kept something like this from us, something big, you ended up in prison".

Spencer never told his girlfriend that he was in prison.

Everyone at the table gasped, and then the whole place went silent, everyone looking at Spencer. Spencer looked at his girlfriend. She wasn't saying anything, she was just frozen. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him before whispering. "Prison?".

The sadness in her voice, like a dagger through Spencer's heart. 

"Yes, prison I..i" was all Spencer could get out.

"Oh my God, did you not know? Did she not know?" Penelope said quickly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know that you didn't tell her." 

"Can we go to the other room and talk about this?" Spencer asked quickly.

"Yes".

Spencer got up, then pulled out her chair, taking her by the hand. going to Rossi's living room. 

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn't know how to. I didn't do the crime that I was Accused of. I Within Mexico. Trying to get some help from my mom. You know my mom, right? I did tell you about her. And I was accused of murdering the woman that I was buying the medication from, but I didn't do it. It was my nemesis who framed me for murder. And I spent three months in prison. And it was horrible. But I didn't know how to tell you that because I didn't want you to think badly of me or. Think that I was just as bad as your ex-boyfriend. I really do love you and I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to keep it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you. Please forgive me". Spencer explained, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Spencer, I forgive you. I'm not mad at you. I'm hurt. I'm not hurt because you didn't tell me. I'm hurt because you felt like you couldn't tell me. But I understand because there's something that I kept from you to my ex-boyfriend wasn't just lousy in bed, he was a lousy man altogether. He was very abusive. And that's why I had to learn how to fake orgasms because. If I didn't have sex with him. And didn't make him believe that I enjoyed it. He would hit me and threaten to kick me out on the street, and I didn't have anywhere to go. So I just had to keep faking it. Sex was not something that was enjoyable or pleasurable to me. It was a punishment, Until one day when I had enough. And I packed up when he went to work and used every bit of money that I had saved to buy the apartment that was next to you. That was the best day of my life, meeting you and finally knowing that there are good men in this world and I know that you didn't do anything wrong to be put in prison and I'm so sorry."

"I didn't mean to make you have sex with me if you didn't want to. I never meant to.." His words were cut off by. Y/n

"You are fine. I love having sex with you. I never thought that it could be something that I could actually enjoy, but with you, it's everything that people ever said that it was."

"Really?". He asked, holding her hand.

"Yes, really. You're going to keep your promise to me and Make Love to me when we get home, right?"

"Of course, but as long as you want it".

"Spencer, with you, I will always want it".

Spencer kissed her and then they walked back out hand in hand to finish dinner. 

"I'm so sorry". Penelope said. "I didn't know that you didn't know. I didn't know that she didn't know."

" It's OK. It's better that it's out in the open now. We both got a lot of stuff out and it's better this way. We shouldn't keep things from each other, and now we won't. It's fine. Can we continue having dinner now?" 

"Yes, let's eat bon Appetit". Rossi said.

The ride back home seems so much longer than the ride to get there, both of them just wanting to have each other so badly. If Spencer Reid was less of a man, he just would have taken his girlfriend right in the back seat of his car. But Spencer is a romantic and would never do something like that.

The dark blue dress that she was wearing was going to drive Spencer crazy all night long. Well, as long as they are at the party anyway. Spencer really wanted nothing more than to bring her back home and have his way with her. He was so glad when the party was over. Driving a little bit faster than usual because you couldn't wait to get back home and be with y/n.

" Your dress. My God, your dress. You look so beautiful. I know that I keep telling you this, but you just are just so beautiful."

" Thank you, honey."

The dark blue button up that he was wearing, with the sleeves slightly rolled up was driving her just as insane as the dress was driving him.

As soon as they were inside, he couldn't keep his hands off of her. Kissing y/n with passion before His fingers found the zipper of the dress, slowly unzipping it down her back. It's as though he wanted this moment to last forever. she didn't know that a zipper could be undone this slowly. Once the zipper hit the bottom of the track of the dress, he pulled it off of her shoulders, allowing the dress to pull to her feet. He watched the fabric slide down y/n's body as it did. Before looking up to see the Black Lacy underwear set that she was wearing underneath the dress.

" Did you wear this for me?" He asked her before kissing you on the lips.

" Yes, I did." You answered him between kisses.

"y/n Can I ask you something?"

" Of course."

He asked her a question between kisses.

" If I." (kiss) " Was a dessert." (kiss) " What kind of dessert would I be?" (kiss)

" You would be." (kiss)

Spencer's lips now made his way to her neck, kissing the spot that drives her mad.

" You would be." (moan) "My favorite dessert" she moans.

" Good answer" he said, before kissing her on the lips again. " Do you want to know what kind of dessert you would be?"

" Yes."

" You would be". (kiss) Then he Whispered right in her ear. " The desert I couldn't get enough of. The only dessert that I couldn't keep off of my mind. The only dessert that I would lose my mind if I didn't have. The only dessert that I have an insatiable appetite for."

He told her before picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist and carrying her into their bedroom.

" Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to have some of my favorite dessert right now" he told her as he laid her on the bed before pulling down her underwear.

All she could do was Pant in anticipation, waiting for him to touch her.

" So beautiful" he said, before he put his head down and began licking her.

After one lick, he began moaning.

" So delicious. You don't mind if I just help myself to my favorite dessert, do you? He said before taking a suckle on her Clit.

" Ohh God Spencer, yes" she moaned out.

" Yes. Do you mind if I help myself to some of my favorite dessert? You want me to stop?"

" Spencer No, don't stop."

"OK, baby, I won't." He told her before going back down. The pleasure that he was giving to her was something she would never get used to. And would always be something that she craved. She moaned. She ran her fingers through Spencer's hair.

She orgasmed twice just from his mouth. 

"Spencer, please, I need to have you inside of me", she panted out. 

 Spencer wasted no time. He thought he was going to explode before being able to be inside of her. She was so wet and ready for him that he slid in with absolutely no resistance, both of them moaning out at the pleasure.

He moved so slowly inside of her fingers, in her laced with hers as he kissed her lips and neck. After they both Orgasmed together. They both laid in bed, cuddled in each other's arms, still panting, trying to get their breath back from such pleasure. 

"Was that worth the wait?" y/n asked.

"Are you kidding me? That was amazing. Unfortunately, though, we do need to get cleaned up". Spencer said. 

"Well, OK, a shower then?". y/n Suggested.

"A shower I think would be nice".

 His girlfriend reluctantly got herself out of his arms, attempted to leave the bed. But her legs were absolute Jelly.

She almost fell back down. 

Spencer told her "maybe a bath would be better" with a slight chuckle.

"Yeah, I think a bath would be good".

 Spencer kissed her. And went to the bathroom to draw the bath, putting in the vanilla bubble bath, the water steaming up the bathroom before he went back into the bedroom and carried her in. He held her up next to the tub and had her hold on to the side of the tub while he got in before helping her get in and sitting right in front of him. His arms wrapped around her instantly.

All of their secrets out in the open, all of their love known to Spencer's entire team. There was nothing left to hide anymore. There was nothing left to be nervous about. They are in love and plan on staying that way for the rest of their lives. They had a wonderful four days before Spencer was called away on another case. They knew that it was only a matter of time and spent every second that they could together. They truly were the love of each other's lives.

One night, four months after the team had met Her. Spencer lit a bunch of candles in His bedroom.

Before inviting his girlfriend over. Actually, he lit candles up pretty much all over the living room as well. Spencer let her into the apartment, and she walked in gasping at how many candles there were.

"Wow, this is a lot of fire" she said with a smile. 

"Well, I have something really special that I want to say tonight and, uh, I thought candlelight was the best way to ask. Wanted to make it as romantic as possible". He took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. Where she saw all the candles lit and red rose petals. On the bed, in the shape of a heart. He let go of her hand, and when she turned around, there he was, on one knee with a diamond Ring in his hand.

"y/n I love you so much. When I'm not with you I feel like I'm going insane. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life and I would love and be honored if you would be my wife".

 She began crying immediately before saying yes. He slid the ring on her finger and kissed her hand before moving up her body and kissing her on the lips. 

"The beds are ready for us, my beautiful fiancé". He said before kissing her once more. "But only if you want me to Make Love to you right now".

" Spencer Reid, I want nothing more than for you to Make Love to your fiancé. I want nothing more than to have my fiancé inside of me".

 That night, Spencer made love to her in a way that felt different than the other times. It felt like it was the beginning of a new journey, a new chapter for both of them. It truly was a picture-perfect proposal.

Wow, that was a lot of 4552 words. I hope that I didn't make it too boring and I hope to have the next chapter done Faster than I had this one done. But again, being a caregiver doesn't leave me very much time to write. So I brainstorm and then I try to write the best story that I can. Please leave comments, they help keep me motivated.

[xxsabitoxx]

Promise Me

Giyu x Reader

Warning: this story contains angst

A/N: I said I was writing a Giyu angst…so here it is. I put the idea aside to finish my Kishibe fic and well… I wrote this in under an hour, I’m very tired and it isn’t proof read lol so if it’s shit… don’t tell me <3

Word Count: 2k

Sat on top of a grassy hill, light just barely filtering through to the ground, warm air cradling you in its embrace. You felt normal, for once in your life, you could finally rest without worry. “Strange… isn't it?” It was a quiet comment, as if your voice would shatter the illusion…even though it wasn’t an illusion to begin with. “Very much.” His voice was just as warm as the air surrounding you, so different than the one you were used to.

There was no reason for him to hide his emotions behind a sheet of thick ice, ice not even the toughest of picks had been able to break through. Mostly because they were never meant to, that ice was the kind only the sun itself could melt away. That was exactly what it did, removing every inch of the barrier he had built up over the first twenty one years of his life. “It almost feels like I’m dreaming.”

You watched the field below you, long grass swaying in the breeze. It looked inviting, like you could run through it for miles and never get tired. “Yeah… almost as if it’s too good to be true.” Giyu smiled softly, head tilting back to admire the brilliant hues of the setting sun. Painting the sky in an array of pinks and golds. Night was slowly creeping up on the two of you, yet it held no dread.

You no longer feared the setting sun, you welcomed the moon’s gentle embrace. There was nothing lurking within the shadows any longer, you’d forever be free from their grasp. “Me too, if this is a dream I hope it never ends.” You laughed softly, head tilting to admire the man beside you. Battered and bruised with so much left behind, so much that would never come back, you both emerged from the other side victorious.

“This just may be the longest dream I’ve ever experienced.” Your heart skipped, ever so slightly, as a smile crept up his face again. You weren’t used to it, you weren’t used to the warmth it radiated nor the brilliance it held when he smiled without restraint. The way his nose would scrunch softly, the way the corner of his eyes would crinkle. It only took an hour before you found yourself addicted to the look of it. “I rather like it here.” His gaze moved to meet yours.

For a moment, it felt as if time had stopped, as if the world stopped spinning on its axis for just that brief second. You couldn’t quite get over the man beside you, the man you now called your own. “Me too.” A gentle whisper, just as gentle as the breeze that carried it away from you. Everything about your life within the last two months was nothing short of new. A new beginning of sorts.

With that new beginning came new experiences. You’d never known a love like the one you shared now. It was delicate and young, you both had quite a lot to bear, to figure out. But this? It came naturally, no longer any barriers to keep you apart. There was no longer a reason to deny what was clearly there. Every day was a new opportunity, a new day to discover more about the other. Now, you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

You broke your gaze from his, a smile still present on your lips as you scooted closer to him, head coming to rest on his shoulder. “We should travel more, find every beautiful place we can.” Your fingers tangled in his, squeezing gently. “I’d like that. There is a whole world out there waiting for us. Now that we have the time to actually explore it.” His cheek pressed to the top of your head, eyes locked on the way your fingers intertwined with his.

“We could go anywhere we want. Take a boat across the ocean and discover what lies beyond it. Then, when we’re satisfied, once we’ve seen everything we could ever imagine, we return here.” You smiled, cheek squished to his shoulder. “We’d always have a home, so long as we’re together.” He teased softly, yet there was a weight to his words. “Tell me, Giyu…” you started softly, not wanting to pull away from him.

Yet you ached to see his face when you asked this question. “Yes? What is it?” His grip on your fingers tightened slightly, as if one gust of wind would pull you from him. “Are we going to spend the rest of our lives together? Just me and you?” You expected some sort of hesitation, some sort of silence that told you he was thinking about his answer. Instead, he replied without a second of hesitation. “If you’ll let me, I don’t ever intend on leaving your side.”

You pulled away, head lifting from his shoulder to look at him. “I’d never ask you to leave.” It was raw, maybe more serious than you intended for it to come out. Perhaps you only realized that because of the look in his eyes, blue eyes that held such surprise, such love. For a moment you found it hard to keep that gaze, as if the weight of his adoration would suffocate you if you tried to bear it all at once. “Good. Because you’d have a hell of a time keeping me away.”

A smile broke onto your face, one as brilliant as the setting sun behind you. One that made him pause for a moment, engraving each and every centimeter of your face into his memory. He never wanted to stop seeing the smile, he wanted to continue to be the reason you smiled in such a way. It was more intimate than any act of physical love in his book. A smile that was meant for him and him alone.

“I love you.” Slipped past his lips before he could pull it back, three words having a mind of their own as they tumbled helplessly out for you to hear. But maybe it was the words you uttered back that held more gravity, six words that pulled his heart in a million directions before snapping back into a whole. The kind of response he could only dream of getting, the response he didn’t quite feel he was deserving of. But that was something to be worked on.

“I know… I love you, too.”

You’d been aching to say it, quickly losing track of the amount of times where you nearly did. These were things that couldn’t be rushed. Now, you had all the time in the world to feel things out, cherish each moment and do things when the time felt right and not because the chance could get pulled out from under you. Now, though, saying ‘I love you’ now has never felt more right.

You shared a kiss, not your first, but one to remember. You’d engraved every bit of it to your memory. The way his lips felt against your own, soft and warm. The way he tasted, sweet like the honey from the pastry you had shared. The warmth between your bodies, the comfort of the other's presence. The sun fading to your backs, the sky lighting up with one last display of its brilliance before entering its slumber. Every moment of it was something to remember, hold on to and cherish.

Four years have passed since that day. Now, you sat on that very hill again. This time, you were alone. There was no longer a warmth cradling you in its embrace. The grass had long since died, the sky no longer held the brilliance it once did. It was cold, colder than sitting in the snow in the middle of winter with no layers.

Loneliness had never felt so crushing. As if the weight of it would drag you straight through the dirt below you and swallow you whole. Part of you wished it would. “You said I’d have one hell of a time keeping you away.” You laughed without any humor behind it, drawing your knees to your chest, the bark of the tree digging into your back. “You’re such a liar.”

You looked down, the stone was etched beautifully in perfect writing. His name front and center along with his dates. For some reason, it sent bubbling anger straight to your gut. Not anger at him, no you could never hold anything against him. It was physically impossible for you to ever feel badly towards him. No, this anger was directed at everything out of your control.

Just before his twenty-fifth birthday, he’d fallen ill. The kind of ill that you knew deep down you couldn’t come back from, the kind of sickness that pulled life out of you day by day…hour by hour. The kind of sickness that you could do nothing to treat, only try your hardest to make it comfortable. You had spent each and every day by his side, every waking moment holding his hand.

Remembering your travels, laughing about the adventures the two of you had shared. You’d meant every word that you said that day, you’d wanted to see the world. And Giyu did everything in his power to give that to you. You’d traveled to every beautiful place imaginable, even sailed across the ocean to discover the very lands you’d only ever dreamed of. He’d given you the entire world.

“I love you.” Just as gently as you had that day. Just as gently as you had whispered while he took his final breath. Just as gently as you spoke it every day you sat beside him on this hill. Your hand ached for the weight of his, fingers crying for the warmth of his tangled in your own. Crying to forget the coldness they had felt once he was gone, the warmth you’d never get back.

Thinking back on that day, you wish you had stared at him just a little longer, memorized the shade of blue that filled his irises. You wished you’d memorized the tone of his voice, the way his hair felt against your fingers, the soft blush of his skin. Even if you were granted all the time the world had to offer you, it would never be enough. There was no amount of time that would allow you to memorize him.

It was almost laughable, that three months without him felt longer than the four years you’d spent with him. Eventually you’d come to face the reality of your anger, that it wasn’t anger at all. The feelings you harbored were love, love in its purest form. In the end, that’s what grief really was. Love that you’d never be able to put forth, the kind that would forever hang on your shoulders and weigh you down. Always reminding you that it had nowhere to go.

“You’ll wait for me, won’t you? I promise I won’t be much longer.” Your eyes closed, inhaling the cool air through your nose. “It’s only a matter of time, it’ll catch up to me. My twenty-fifth is only a few months away. You’ll wait for me, right?” Your chest felt empty with each breath you took, nothing but an ache reminded you that you were still alive. It was infuriating to you, yet you couldn’t decipher why. Your mind is far too jumbled but unbearably silent at the same time.

“We can travel the world again. I’m not sure what lies beyond this, but I’m sure it’s far prettier than anything we ever saw. Maybe we can get married this time, when we’ll really have all the time in the world. We can enjoy each other with no time limit, for real this time. Giyu, promise me you’ll wait.” You knew no one was listening but that would never stop you from talking. When your death caught up to you, you’d die alone. But that didn’t scare you.

Not in the slightest. Because you knew he’d be there waiting, just as patiently as you had pleaded with him each time you sat beside his grave. Just as you had asked him, just as he promised you before his eyes shut, never to open again. Death was a warm hug, just as warm as the breeze had been that day. Just as warm as his hand had been intertwined with your own.

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 15: Love is... Co-Parenting (Prompt by... me! sorry-not-sorry for being self-indulgent)

wc: 1076 | Rated: T for swearing | cw: None

Tags: Steddie Dads (for my Joanie Munson AU), Valentine's Day Crafts, Co-Parenting Negotiation Tactics, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson

'Eddie vs. Valentine's Day Crafts'

Eddie splutters away, swatting at his face. He can see a speck of red glitter in his periphery, a remnant of his red glitter and heart-shaped confetti-filled afternoon. The offending shimmer is somewhere on his cheek and he needs to get rid of it this instant, or he is going to fucking scream.

He foolishly thought he had already removed all traces of Valentine’s Day crafts from his very being via what felt more like a decontamination scrub-down than a warm shower. Eddie grumbles, thinking about the monumental clean-up effort he endured right through to past dinnertime and his mind turns to the clothes hamper…

A job for Tomorrow Morning Steve, he smiles to himself, blinking and glitter free.

He holds out his hand for one final confirmation that the glitter has been vanquished once and for all.

Only he finds a little pink heart stuck to the middle of his goddamn palm.

“Fuck!” he curses, flailing on the bed and punching his fist into the sheets.

The mattress dips on the other side as a craft supply-free Steve finally joins him. The lucky bastard doesn’t know how good he has it!

“What’s wrong?” Steve chuckles.

Eddie rolls haphazardly onto his side, his legs tangling up in their bedding as he all but shoves his palm into his partner’s face.

“I take it all back,” he rants, “Our little girl is a complete gremlin. A stinky little bean who makes it her life’s mission to make a mess. Look!”

Steve grabs his wrist and moves it back at a (reasonable) distance, squinting without his glasses. He shrugs.

“Wonder where she gets it from?” he quips and Eddie all but yelps with frustration.

Steve gently curls up Eddie’s hand in his own and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“I think we should drop her on Robin and Nance’s doorstep,” Eddie continues and scrunches his nose in every attempt to remain focused on complaining, even though his partner begins to massage his tense hand, “The glitter can be their problem. They love crafts!”

“I like my Valentine’s Day cards,” Steve says absentmindedly as he continues his ministrations, now rubbing at the skin typically covered by rings, “Made with love by my favourite munchkin...”

He leans over for a kiss when Eddie spots a red shimmer in his hair – an impossibility that causes him to throw himself onto Steve and dry-sob into his blue sleeping shirt.

“You know the trade-off,” Steve says, his hands moving to his hair with combing movements Eddie shouldn’t find so soothing right now, “I do Christmas crafts, you have Valentine’s Day and Halloween. I can’t help it if I’m better at containing glitter than you.”

Eddie pulls back and glares.

“Fuck you,” he spits with no real heat behind his words because Steve flashes a toothy grin and winks.

“Speaking of cards…” he purrs, taking his hand again and interlocking their fingers, “Where’s my naughty one?”

They both side-eye Steve’s pillow, a year’s old hiding spot for said obscene greeting cards, in unison.

Eddie yanks back his hand and slumps onto his own pillow, “Don’t know what you could possibly be referring to, Stevie.”

Their particular brand of Valentine’s Day celebrations can wait. He needs to renegotiate this whole co-parenting over holiday crafts thing…

“Think you do…” Steve coos, rolling on his side and shimmying closer, enough that he can press himself flush against Eddie’s side.

Eddie screws his eyes shut. It was cold today but of course, Steve runs hot. So hot that he thinks if they took their clothes off…

He can feel Steve’s breath against his ear as he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper, “The one where you say all the things you want to do to me…”

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face, gulping as his very limited willpower quickly crumbles away. He thinks he’ll do anything to get out of this arrangement by Halloween - or god forbid, whatever random celebration Joanie’s preschool conjures up next.

Funny Hat Day? Easter? Favourite Character Day? Impractical-For-Preschool Clothes Day? Make Your Parents Stay Up All Night In A Glitter-Induced Nightmare Realm As They All But Glue Themselves To The Goddman Kitchen Table-Day?

His eyes shoot open at the thought of possible years to come of this – his vision blurred by a small pale dot of paper sticking to his left lashes.

“God damn it!”

He swishes his hand in front of his face again – at least until Steve bats him away, leans in and delicately plucks the rogue heart off. Steve even has the sense to reach for a tissue on the nightstand and squish the paper inside a balled-up clump, hopefully locking it up for good.

“Here,” he offers, sliding his hand under Eddie’s pillow with ease to retrieve a comically large red envelope, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Steve pecks him on the cheek before quickly settling to rest his head on his chest.

“What are you doing?” he asks, dipping his neck to watch Steve snuggle in tight, eyes closed and looking a little bashful.

“Hiding,” he mumbles.

“Did you write me some sappy sonnet, my love?” he asks, tearing the envelope open and filling their quiet bedroom with an abrupt riiip.

“Just... some words,” Steve yawns, as Eddie frees the card and tosses the destroyed envelope onto the floor, “I don’t know, it probably sounds pathetic.”

“Not a chance,” Eddie says, giving the card a once over, his free hand finding its way into Steve’s impossibly soft and fruity-scented locks.

The card features two brown teddy bears, cuddling and cozy as they sit amongst a bed of rose petals. Above are floating glittering red hearts and the words, ‘To my Dearest Husband on Valentine’s Day’.

“Steve,” he sighs, opening the card to a message that spans the whole inside.

“I know you aren't my husband, not technically anyway,” Steve mumbles, peaking through one eye, “But I meant everything I wrote…”

His voice trails off, any grip he has around Eddie’s middle going lax.

“Love you, Steve,” he whispers, “G-get some sleep, hmm?”

Eddie falters in his words, overcome with love for the man wrapped around him (one who is rapidly approaching a state of sleep that leaves him snoring like a jackhammer) as he begins reading about just how much Steve loves walking through life hand-in-hand as they raise their daughter together, confetti hearts and glitter or not.

[kiwiraccoon]

Our Own Story

Read To Me pt. 2

Yunho x reader

Description: Read To Me Pt. 2: “Put the book away, let’s write our own story tonight.” Yunho doesn’t hold back anymore, he’s waited long enough. Your story has been a slow burn, he’s tired of the glances, fluff moments, and boring nights thinking about what if.

Word Count: 1117 (unintentional)

Warnings: MDNI, female pleasuring (not descriptive), borderline smut (first time writer), petnames, dom!yunho x sub!femreader

part one

You set the book on your bedside table letting your need and desire completely take over your mind, you didn’t realize how deprived of touch you were until this very moment. His hands remained in their place, one dangerously slipping underneath the hem of your shorts and the other holding him up by his elbow while his hand softly touched the exposed skin of your stomach. “Yun, what-“

“Shhh baby, don’t ruin our story.” He says the moment our eyes meet, I can see the same desire I feel swimming through his innocent yet dangerous eyes. The heat from his body surrounds my being like a warm blanket, heating me all the way to my very core. We’ve spent so many times laying in the same bed just enjoying each other’s company, it’s all we needed to feel content. Now I know I won’t feel content until his body is connected with mine in a way neither of us have experienced together.

We would be breaking down a wall that would no longer leave us stuck on opposite sides of roommates. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles at my question, “I should be asking you that.” He takes a moment to scoot a little closer, invading my space in an intimate way that sends fire burning through every vein in my body. “Baby, are you sure?”

Not breaking the intense eye contact between us I move to push the blanket away from my skin, removing that wall myself, I refuse to let it get in the way any longer. I never wanted it there in the first place. “Write our story Yun, make the words on the page come to life please.”

He wastes no time in moving his hand from my thigh up my body to the side of my face to hold it tenderly while he leans in to connect our lips. The feeling is so much more than what the stories say. It’s not just fireworks or butterflies, no it’s euphoria, bursts of serotonin, complete and utter happiness, and the perfect amount of ecstasy.

The world around us disappears into nothingness, a void of darkness to swarm us in the moment that we both have been waiting so long for. He craved me almost as much as I craved him, and I would prove that. I move my hand to wrap around his neck, tangling my fingers into his hair to give slight tugs at random times. Our kiss grew stronger with my actions, and when I heard the sound he made my whole body lit on fire.

The flames dance under my skin tickling spots with a needle like feeling to shock my nerves to life. I wouldn’t believe anyone who told me I was alive at this moment, I feel as if my soul is a million miles away in a paradise someone can only dream about.

His hand on my stomach moves up my skin under my shirt more at a pace that leaves whimpers escaping my throat to be swallowed by his kisses. I can feel the electricity building underneath my skin following his touch. It burns like the most beautiful bonfire underneath the perfect sunset of orange and purple skies.

I never believed I would feel the words I had read in so many different versions on pages from various books. But here I was having a book start something I had only dreamed about.

Yunho moves his mouth from mine against the skin of my jaw and down my neck to my collarbone. I can’t begin to explain the sensation I feel from his lip on my skin, it’s like I can see and understand paradise without knowing exactly what it means to me, it feels other worldly but that world isn’t known. I can but cannot explain the complete fulfillment. It makes all the sense in the world but my brain cannot wrap around it.

His hands make pleasure seem as if it wasn’t the easiest thing to bring to myself when in reality any other hands could never, mine absolutely could not. My conscious mind was only on the feelings and sensations he gave me, yet I still failed to realize he had moved his hands lower. One hand holding my side still in a comforting yet strong grasp, exuding dominance with a splash of care and comfort. 

“Tell me how you feel.” I hardly register the words in my broken and fading mind. His voice held a rasp that made my legs squeeze tight around his one hand. Though he wasn’t having it as he used that hand to push my right leg down to the mattress with a firm grasp on my thigh. “Tell me, not show me.”

“Oh god,” was all I breathlessly said, not knowing exactly how to form a sentence. All he had done was kiss and touch me and here I was completely losing my sanity.

His chuckle makes my eyes land on him. He lowers his head to my chest as he chuckles before he looks up and makes direct eye contact with me. The few seconds of silence make my world feel like it’s ready to implode. Who he is now is not the cute puppy I want to squeeze and cuddle for hours on end. No this is a dog, one ready to pounce. “God?” He lets out a small chuckle again. “No, say my name baby.”

He pleases me in a way I’ve never felt before with just his hand making me take in a sharp breath and hold it in. I suck in my lips to bite down on them as I whimper louder than I have tonight. He gives me more and more, pushing my limits and making stars appear behind my closed eyes.

I can feel the pressure building in my core as it tries to break free from its hold, the walls cracking and bending against their will. The second his lips touch my skin again I can feel the walls give in, “Yunho!”

“That’s it baby, that’s my name. Say it again.” And I do a few times letting him know he was the one that caused my undoing that ripped the sounds from my throat and reached my core so easily. 

Seconds pass before my consciousness comes back to me and I pull Yunho closer to me into a cuddling position we both love sleeping in. “Yun?”

“Yeah?” He asks while he tugs me in closer to him.

“What did we just do?”

His chuckles brings a smile to my face, making me dig my face into his chest to hide any embarrassment I feel. “That was only the beginning baby.”

[sierrawitch]

Intuitive Magick: Rebirth Shower

by autumn sierra

I performed this ritual during a trying period of my career path experience. I’d been fired from a previous job—one that didn’t seem to fit for me from the start, but I pushed on since not every experience in life will be just how you’d like it. I fell into a thought process of self-loathing. How could I have lost my job? I should have done everything in my power to work harder, to make money, to meet expectations even if they were unrealistic.

But the reality was that I was losing my spirit. The job had turned me into a drone, a mindless thing meant to type numbers 8 hours a day, then leave to live its own life for 4, before repeating it all over again.

Realizing I’d been punishing myself for something that may have been what fate had intended for me, I knew I needed to escape my own mental prison. I did so with this intuitive ritual cleansing shower.

*This is a simple intuitive ritual. I preplanned nothing. If you feel moved to substitute any herb or action to better fit your practice, please follow your intuition.

What I used

Cedar wood incense for cleansing

Tuning fork for balancing energies

Ash for symbolic smudging

Oil for anointing and moisturizing

Meditation music

Comb

Bar soap and shampoo & conditioner

Bath towel

Self-love tea (raspberry leaf, rose, thyme, bay leaf)

What I did

First, I carried all of my supplies to the bathroom, trying to remain in the moment and remove focus from my negative thoughts. I returned to the kitchen to brew a (very hot) cup of tea and brought that with me as well.

Inside the bathroom, I closed the door, removed my clothes, put on some low frequency meditation music, and lit the incense. The smoke started filling the air as I rang the tuning fork in every corner of the room and then on either side of my head, and at my third eye. I smoke cleansed my body from foot to crown, reflecting on my emotions and the events that brought me to this point.

Gazing at my reflection in the vanity mirror, I slowly combed my hair, working the tangles. Each tangle reminded me of a difficulty I faced in my experience throughout my career, and the frustration of trying to undo the knots matched my frustration in my work.

I then dipped my fingers into the ash and smudged it over my eyes, wiping it down my face as a physical manifestation of the pain in my mind and in my heart, the disappointment and self loathing I had inside me. I smudged the ash over my chest and arms, allowing myself to feel all of the negative energy. I shed a few tears and stepped into the running water of the shower.

Instantly, I blocked the negativity from my mind and focused on the tones of the music. The warm water pelted over my skin, slowly rinsing the ash from my face. I imagined the darkness and sludge of my own emotions melt away with the water as well. When I felt comfortable, I began wiping the rest of the ash away, feeling my heart that the darkness was leaving me. Then I continued with my regular shower routine of washing my hair and then my body, from the head to the feet with intention and focus in every movement.

When all of the dirt and soap was washed away, I turned the shower off and dried myself from the head to the feet, wiping down and away to ensure that all negativity would be shooed from me. I anointed myself with skin-gentle oil on the face, chest, arms, and legs and massaged it into my skin before drinking the cup of tea I brewed earlier. This tea ended my ritual by cleansing my body internally.

I gazed into the mirror once again and reflected on my emotions and thoughts in the moment. My body felt lighter, my mind felt clear, and my heart felt calm. The music echoed off the walls and I memorized my facial features. I saw myself. Nothing less. In that moment, it felt as if my self from only an hour earlier had died, and this fresh self had taken her place. I was ready for a new beginning again.

Edit: I recently performed a second “rebirth” shower ritual after a difficult experience with a loved one. My emotions seemed out of my control, and I ultimately resorted to this method in order to reset and start from scratch, so to speak. At the time, I had no ash on hand. So I showed the physical manifestation of my emotional pain by lightly scratching the skin of my legs, up over my stomach and back, my chest, arms, neck, and face. This left red marks that I used in place of the ash as a symbol to wash away with the water of the shower. 5-10 minutes after the heat from the shower was gone from my skin, the redness of the scratches faded and disappeared. I’ve found that this is a nice substitute if ash isn’t kept on hand.

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Long post and hyperfixation/infodump session incoming:

It's reminiscence time again... A) Life hasn't been great as of now, and B) I saw something pretty cool the other day...

So, there's a free book online called DRAWING FOR NOTHING, which was compiled by an individual named Ziggy Cashmere. It is a book chronicling unmade animated movies, or animated movies that got - more or less - cooked into something else...

The book, so far, has a treasure trove of concept art and stories for ME AND MY SHADOW, FOODFIGHT!, B.O.O.: BUREAU OF OTHERWORLDLY OPERATIONS, THE INCREDIBLE MR. LIMPET, JOE JUMP, DREAMING MACHINE, DRAGON'S LAIR: THE LEGEND, JACK AND BEN, CAPTAIN FANTASTIC AND THE BROWN DIRT COWBOY, and HUCK'S LANDING...

All kinds of animated films from different eras, some that weren't made, some that were re-imagined as something else entirely...

And their work isn't over yet!

The Drawing For Nothing's twitter account is posting all kinds of cool, unearthed stuff...

And the other day, they found some conceptual work for an unmade Disney animated movie called AMERICAN DOG...

Actually, AMERICAN DOG kind of... Was... Made?

This film was to be directed by Chris Sanders for Walt Disney Feature Animation, his sophomore directorial outing following the success of LILO & STITCH. If all had gone according to the plan, this movie would've likely debuted around fall/Thanksgiving 2007-ish, maybe a little earlier. Things were a little more fluid back then, when it seemed like The Walt Disney Company were to lose Pixar after their contract was up. Either way, it was aiming for 2007.

Of course, a lot had changed at Disney Animation after Michael Eisner was essentially ousted as CEO of the wider company. After Bob Iger succeeded Eisner, one of his first big moves was acquiring Pixar for over $7b, in early 2006... And then that move lead to the studio's veterans and founding fathers John Lasseter and Ed Catmull becoming the heads of that studio, on the heels of critically lambasted films like HOME ON THE RANGE and CHICKEN LITTLE.

And they took their way of doing things at Pixar with them, infamously. Chris Sanders was given lots of notes on AMERICAN DOG throughout 2006, until Lasseter took him off the movie at the end of the year. Lasseter had "reasoned" that the movie was "too quirky for its own good", and that Sanders wasn't getting it to where it needed to be. This was a shocking blow to animation fans everywhere, that not only was Sanders removed from his next movie, but that he was also leaving Disney Animation for DreamWorks. (Where he currently is at the moment, in twenty-twenty three!) Yet some suggested, "They're from Pixar, maybe we should trust them?"

Lasseter then had AMERICAN DOG completely re-imagined, working only off of the core concept of a dog TV star going on a cross-country trip with some animal friends, into an entirely new movie called BOLT.

Directors Byron Howard and Chris Williams, both first-timers at the helm of something, brought the film to the finish line for Thanksgiving of 2008 to critical acclaim and even an Oscar nod, but a low final gross at the box office... While it was generally liked, there was a sort-of lingering feeling of what kind of movie AMERICAN DOG would've been. BOLT has often been compared to it, negatively, because visually it's just sort of... There? It looks nice, it's cute, the animal character design is pretty appealing, while WDAS was still working out CG human designs pre-TANGLED. Some of the extras in BOLT are little strange-looking to these eyes, to go off on a tangent.

Anyways, the short version: BOLT's fine, but what could've been... AMERICAN DOG...

There have been other pieces of concept art for AMERICAN DOG that have available to view for years, especially pieces from when the movie was still in development...

So, now... I want to talk about the days when I first came across this project... Around November/December 2004...

At the time, 12-year-old Kyle was beginning to look up upcoming movie slates and such on various movie news websites. Stuff like ComingSoon-dot-net and stuff like that. Box office was reported in many places, not just the usual suspects...

I had already seen THE INCREDIBLES maybe three times in theaters by this point (I saw it *five* times on a big screen total, during its one and only theatrical release), and that movie really rocked my world. It still does. I'm a huge fan of THE INCREDIBLES, and its sequel too. I was endlessly influenced by the movie, and it actually legit excited me at the possibilities of what CG animation could... Even though this was an era of hand-drawn animation being ushered out...

Still, I saw a lot of potential CGI before we got glomped with a ton of kiddie talking animal movies and such within a few years, that kinda cast CG in a more negative light online. It already got so much blame for ending 2D, for merely existing, so the kinds of movies that came out - like a dam burst - around late 2005-2007 certainly didn't help...

Anyways, I wanted to know... What was next???

For Pixar, since it seemed like they were splitting with the Disney Co. at the time, the future was a little less definite. A teaser for CARS was running before THE INCREDIBLES, and after that the plan was for RATATOUILLE to be next... Which it ultimately was. This was back when Jan Pinkava was still directing the movie, before he got taken off of it in early 2005 and replaced by INCREDIBLES director Brad Bird... And a lot of it was changed after that. Back in late 2004, it was simply a movie about a rat "living with" an eccentric famous chef.

Of course, per the original contract that Pixar signed with DizCo (to borrow from Steve Hulett, to save syllables), Pixar couldn't make any sequels to their hit movies. DizCo had those under lock and key if Pixar were to split with them, and they planned on taking advantage of that... DizCo opened up a CG animation studio called Circle 7 Animation, and tasked them to make TOY STORY 3, MONSTERS INC. 2, and FINDING NEMO 2... Quite different ones from the movies we ended up getting. At this stage, TOY STORY 3 might've still been about the whodunit story set at Andy's grandmother's house... Or, it had become the infamous "Buzz Lightyear recalled" story that got the green light.

Other studios had slates of sorts. DreamWorks, in addition to having MADAGASCAR and Aardman's WALLACE & GROMIT movie lined up for 2005, had OVER THE HEDGE and RATROPOLIS (changed to FLUSHED AWAY) on the horizon. They also had multiple SHREK movies lined up, up to five and a direct-to-video origin movie about Puss In Boots. KUNG FU PANDA was entering development at this time, but it wouldn't be announced officially until about a year later, ditto a few other pictures. Donkey made an appearance on the studio's CG animated primetime NBC sitcom FATHER OF THE PRIDE (a real trip of a show), in an episode that aired 9/21/2004, and remarked "But let your kid know that SHREK 3 is coming out in 2006!"

Other stuff was coming, too. Sony was getting OPEN SEASON fired up, I think Imagi was getting started on CAT TALE, there were a bunch of other random movies here and there... Most of them not made, I reckon...

Then there was Disney Animation's future stuff...

CHICKEN LITTLE already had a teaser that I first saw on the spring 2004 BROTHER BEAR DVD, and there was a much faster-paced trailer playing before THE INCREDIBLES (set to R.E.M.'s 'It's The End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)'). Next up were likes of A DAY WITH WILBUR ROBINSON, AMERICAN DOG, RAPUNZEL UNBRAIDED, and FRAIDY CAT I believe was announced as well.

I caught glimpses of AMERICAN DOG, and saw this particular action-packed image:

And I was draaaawn in. I was already hyped about how THE INCREDIBLES did such dynamic action, and this piece was reminding me of the scene where the Parr family use a news trailer to weave through Municiberg traffic to find the Omnidroid. I like a good car chase, so this was exciting.

At the time, I was already writing lots of stories about dogs, cats, stuff like that, dogs running away from dogcatchers and such. I was literally writing and picturing all these action sequences because THE INCREDIBLES really lit up my imagination on how action scenes could be done, especially in animation. All the wild angles and camera pans and swoops, it's like I was Incrediblizing everything I was writing at the time, my 12-year-old brain was just sooooo influenced by it. It was a formative film for me, m'kay?

Moving on... I was kind of in-and-out on what was happening with AMERICAN DOG once Chris Sanders was fired from the movie. I had found out that it become BOLT a little before the first trailer debuted, and I remember being down on it. Not to mention, I was going through a lot of other things at the time and I was kind of out of the loop on what was going on. There were some bad vibes going around in the circles too, that BOLT was sure to be bad because it wasn't AMERICAN DOG. It created a sense of "this is what we got instead", like we see a lot nowadays... And I saw the trailer before WALL-E in theaters, and just was not impressed.

The marketing for this movie was so weird. The posters, which pushed a lot of heavy reds, seemed to pass this picture off as "Dog INCREDIBLES". Anyone who has seen BOLT knows that the superhero stuff is literally a TV show he stars in, but the posters and covers really make it seem like it's a super-pets movie or something. And Disney had already done that live-action UNDERDOG movie a year prior. We were kind of at the tail-end of that weird period of Disney's movie output, the remains of the Eisner years and some very strange greenlights... I was starting to see movies in theaters again, following a depressive period where I didn't really go out in public much. And I was kinda softening on BOLT, but I missed it in theaters. I would later get the Blu-ray, as a blind present, around the end of 2009 I wanna say? And I finally gave it a watch, and I really dug it! I still do, actually, even if it is rather standard and workmanlike. Part of me assumes that Disney Animation, after years of critical and/or commercial bombs, were intentionally making something very familiar. Something cute and Disney-like and digestible, a fun little dog movie, as a way to ease back into the swing of things and get audiences to see their movies again.

After all, their last string of movies were... MEET THE ROBINSONS (lost money), CHICKEN LITTLE (made over $100m domestically but barely doubled its budget worldwide, got terrible reception), HOME ON THE RANGE (critical/commercial dud), BROTHER BEAR (critical flop but made its small budget back), and TREASURE PLANET (infamous massive bomb)... Maybe the rationale was, "Let's just make a classically Disney dog movie, but with some stuff that people like about the movies we make at Pixar!" It does feel a little assembled, it does feel like Lasseter using stuff from the movies he directed/oversaw at Pixar, mixing them with some "Disney" elements. The light satire of Hollywood and network television was an extra touch that gives it a little bit more flavor. In a way, I get it... Disney Animation hadn't had a genuine big hit in *years*, and maybe the thought process was "let's just make a straight-up family movie about a dog". Not something a little weirder or wilder, certainly not the utterly gonzo stuff Sanders was coming up with... But maybe, if they had taken a chance on it and kept the budget reasonable, they could've had a bigger hit on their hands? Who the heck knows...

BOLT ended up making around $309m worldwide against its $150m budget (I wonder how much of that came from the thrown-out AMERICAN DOG, since that got *very* far in pre-production), and managed to have spectacular legs in North America after such a blah opening weekend. I guess it's kind of a flop? Underperformer? The Hollywood math changes for each and every movie, it seems. But I think the positive critical reception and Oscar nod were taken into consideration, and so the movie was probably viewed as a stepping stone to the likes of THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG, TANGLED, WINNIE THE POOH, and WRECK-IT RALPH. The so-called "Revival"...

But I would loooooove to visit an alternate universe where AMERICAN DOG *did* happen. And that it was the unhinged Chris Sanders movie it was looking to be. Maybe not an alternate universe where David Stainton is running Disney Animation, by all means he really had to go. Lasseter was not exactly an exemplary replacement, as we'd learn in later years, but someone should've let the movie happen. I think a second Sanders WDAS movie could've not only been a major hit, but it could've down as one of Disney Animation's most interesting and experimental films... Much like his own LILO & STITCH was! And to think John Lasseter despised that movie... It's no wonder Sanders left the dog movie and left the studio, though he did negotiate with Lasseter to keep at least one of the characters from his concept and use it elsewhere... Namely the one-eyed cat who became the main character of his comic, KISKALOO.

Sanders made some really cool movies at DreamWorks. HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON is good stuff, and THE CROODS is a lot of fun. I even enjoyed that live-action CALL OF THE WILD movie he did for 20th Century Studios, with the CG'ed dog... And I'm excited as heck for THE WILD ROBOT, his third DreamWorks movie... But, part of me feels like AMERICAN DOG would've been Chris Sanders at his most Chris Sanders. Something totally uncorked and wild and unlike anything else... Whereas, two of his DreamWorks movies are based on books, and the other was someone else's movie first. He had expressed interest in turning KISKALOO into a feature, and if he gets to do that after WILD ROBOT... At DreamWorks... That would be pretty amazing, honestly. It'd probably be the closest thing we get to what AMERICAN DOG was shaping up to be...

Anyways, I wanted to talk about where I was at with upcoming animation in 2004 as a young, weirdo enthusiast... And just talk about an unmade movie and the director's stuff in general and such. Hope you're having a great holiday!

(And go read DRAWING FOR NOTHING!)

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Breaking Point Pt 4 (Non-Explicit) - Click here for the explicit version

Part 4 of Breaking Point. I implore you not to read this until after working your way through the entirety of Doc's Misadventures beginning, of course with Touch Starved!

Warnings: I removed all the naughty bits, but there's still plenty of kissing and implied sex, use of sex as a coping mechanism, profanity, and dread/guilt

WC: 1,790

The air didn’t smell like pine trees and damp soil as I’d expected. It smelled like nutmeg, and the warmth of that scent felt so right against the chill in the air, softening its bite with memories of simpler times, but it wasn’t the nutmeg that sent the flutter of static rippling pleasantly down my spine. It was the subtle tang of gun oil and ozone from a lifetime of blasterfire, and the undercurrent of some heady spice that I’d never been able to name. It was the gentleness of his touch even as he held himself so painfully taut, waiting for the faintest warning of a regret I was too eager to prove didn’t exist, and I lost myself in that lingering kiss, relishing the moment his hesitation finally began to ease.

His every movement was made with careful intent; the way his hand trailed up my spine to tangle in my hair, how his arm tightening around the small of my back to support me as he subtly curved his body around mine until I found myself arched against him, the slow dance of his lips, now unhindered by reservation and unhurried from some ever-present threat, gradually growing ever so slightly more fervent as he held me like I might vanish at any moment, and I remembered that night so long ago in the Marauder, how precious he’d made me feel as he begged me not to leave.

There was a desperation in his touch, a reverence that stole the air from my lungs. My arm shifted to wrap around his shoulders, searching for the solidity of his strength to cling to, but the other remained caught between us, hand still greedily savoring the hint of stubble along his jaw, the way the muscles in his cheek occasionally bucked for just a moment as his teeth ground to force himself steady, and if his breath caught in the faintest tremble, neither of us brought any attention to it.

Something began to shift, a hunger driving us to hold each other tighter, to kiss deeper, and I found myself cursing the rigid planes of armor between us. Lips stilling against his, I pushed him back just enough to right myself, and he instantly tensed, eyes studying mine with a fear I’d willingly spend my entire life chasing away with whispered promises and gentle touches.

Without letting my gaze fall away from his, I reached up to lightly grasp his forearm. He didn’t fight the way I pulled his hand between us, letting his fingers slip carefully from my hair as he watched me in a bated silence. I held his wrist lightly, letting my other hand pull at the tips of his glove. Something in him seemed to quiet as I eased that first bit of armor free. How long had it been since I’d first done that, when only short words and angry glares were shared between us, and I feared he’d shoot me before ever thinking to touch me like this?

I couldn’t help but marvel at the innate elegance of his hand, in the sweeping length of fingers rife with countless tiny scars and thick calluses despite the protective layer of the GAR-issued gloves, in the pronounced ridges of knuckles marred from being split open too many times; in the gentleness with which he waited, breath trapped in his chest as I brought that hand to my lips, delicately kissing each fingertip with mediated care before nuzzling my cheek against his palm.

He didn’t hesitate before drawing me back against him once more, and I felt the need fueling his every movement, the desperation to feel me against him, to convince himself that I was really there pressing myself into his every touch with an eagerness that should have left my cheeks aflame, but all I could focus on was the thrill of nerves lighting at every whisper of contact, at the heat of his bare skin against mine, fingers just trailing back into my hair.

If he noticed my hand slip under his shoulder bell to release the magnetic clasp, he offered no objection, and I let both it and the glove fall forgotten to the ground behind him. My hands dragged down the surface of his backplate, feeling every divot from some near disaster, each ridge of scuffed paint, and I loathed that heavy plastoid, frustration just teasing at a crease between my brows before I reached for the other bell. He let out a breathy chuckle at how forcefully I accidentally flung it from him, and the skin along my scalp instantly prickled in glee, heart surging at feeling the small smile on his lips as he kissed me.

The covetous look in those piercing eyes as he leaned back nearly robbed my legs of their already tentative grasp on rigidity and sent my heart racing. He delicately drew his hands up to lightly cup my cheeks, thumbs dragging so softly against me I barely felt it, but I didn’t need to; entranced by the warmth in those eyes. With a reverent quiet, we fell into each other, and I found myself struck by the incredible care governing his every movement, the hesitation to ensure I wanted this; that I wanted him.

Some part of me expected to find a cocky smirk curled beneath haughty eyes, but there was no arrogance in the soft lilt of his lips, and what I found in that gorgeous amber only left me quieting for the pure want of joining him in the echo of something I couldn’t yet bring myself to name as I gave myself to him, shameless of stifled noises and whimpered pleas as the forest bared witness to this blissful escape until, spent, we collapsed against each other atop my thoughtlessly discarded blanket.

The sudden stillness was dizzying. We lay tangled in each other numb to the chill of night around us, bodies fighting to catch our breath as the haze of lingering pleasure lulled us into a gentle silence. I nearly mourned the inevitable loss of this intimate quiet, fingers absently slipping through his hair as though to reassure myself that he was still there.

Awakened by the gentle touch, he pushed himself up, eyes almost weary as they met mine. And that gentle silence threatened to turn deafening. Thoughts no longer muted beneath a feral need to feel something more than the wretched hurt that had crippled me for days, I now found myself lost in the sudden reality of what we’d done, and we both froze in the face of it. I made no move to pull away, limbs still where they rested against him, breath held as we both seemed to wait for the other to offer some hint toward thoughts neither had managed to form.

“Hey! Cross!” My heart dropped, eyes widening in a dread mirrored in the tiny gasp that hissed through his clenched teeth as he glanced sharply over his shoulder. “You were supposed to get me up hours ago.” In a rush, he pushed himself to his knees and rapidly snatched his discarded armor.

“Wait here. I’ll distract him.” He whispered attention pointedly locked on pulling the endless pieces of gear back into place as I quickly grabbed my abandoned pants to wrench up my legs. He was already standing, readorned in his full kit by the time I finished pulling the fabric to my waist, and I felt a tendril of fear in the way he refused to look at me.

“Wait!” The barked word escaped on in a barely audible plea as I staggered to push myself to my feet. He didn’t move, shoulders drawn back beneath tightly coiled muscles, but I didn’t know what to say, couldn’t begin to condense the frenzy of emotions into speech. I don’t know what he saw when he glanced tentatively over his shoulder, eyes guarded as that frightfully intense gaze studied me, but I felt helpless beneath it, begging him to understand everything I couldn’t.

Some fraction of that tension eased from him, expression softening only enough for me to question if it was real, but then he turned, long legs devouring the fleeting distance between us as those elegant hands swept up my jaw to cradle my cheeks, and my heart jumped at the burning touch of his lips against mine, the way he gently pulled me closer, and the tenderness in that chaste kiss left me staggering, floating, void of all thought beyond savoring the unspoken promise that lingered long after he finally pulled away.

“There you are! Was startin’ to think somethin’ nabbed yuh!” Wrecker’s voice carried easily through the cool air, and I tucked into the trunk of a nearby tree, blanket crumbled against me as I listened carefully for the sound of retreating footsteps, some clue that it was safe to dart back to cover the Marauder.

“By what?” He snapped, “There’s nothing in these woods bigger than a damn tooka.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I could’a sworn I heard somethin’.” I caught my lips between my teeth as my heart raced.

“It was some kind of bird. I’m surprised you heard it over how loud you were snoring.” They were quiet for a beat, and then Wrecker spoke again, voice dropping.

“Listen… I know things are… hard right now, but yuh still gotta take care of yourself.” My chest tightened at the worry in his gentle words.

“We’re not talking about this, Wrecker.” Crosshair retorted, and I could picture the stubborn way he’d loop his arms over his chest.

“If you’d just talk to her, I bet you’d both feel better.” He pressed quietly.

“Wrecker!” Even I tensed at the violent snarl, but then something clattered softly to the dirt beneath my feet, gleaming in the pale moonlight, and I instantly recognized the small reflector disk. My hand reached out to grab it before slipping out from the cover of the tree and treading swiftly across the short distance to the ramp.

Heart thudding painfully against my chest, I crept down the center isle, shocked to find Hunter’s bed empty though Echo and Tech lay resting peacefully. Did he hear us? Was he waiting in the medbay to confront me? Or had he simply taken to sleeping in the cockpit to grant himself as much distance between us as he could to escape the sound of fits of despair prone to overcome me in the stillness of night?

Unable to pause beneath the flurry of thoughts, I forced myself to keep moving until the door hissed shut behind me. And I froze, trembling as my eyes darted around the small room. Empty. I was alone. Kriff… Kriff, what had I done…

Next Chapter

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[labelleizzy]

Today's writing prompt:

How do you define intimacy?

It's funny how difficult this is for me to wrap words around. Because for me intimacy isn't the same as sex not even remotely. Intimacy is primarily, primarily trust, honesty, feeling safe, and vulnerability. Playfulness is an important component as well, affection and love also.

The funny thing is there's a certain level of intimacy that I am totally fine sharing with strangers. Intellectual and emotional intimacy, is sometimes even easier with strangers. I can share stories at various levels, of things that have happened in my life, things that I think, believe, prioritize.

Physical intimacy to one specific point, which is: I love giving hugs. I even receive compliments regularly, and have started volunteering at pride events, with the free mom hugs organization. I'm really good at putting my whole heart into it, my whole attention, and all of the nonverbal comforting things that go into making a really good hug. And that is important to me. To be good at that.

Here's the thing. What I said at the beginning about trust and honesty and feeling safe. People who don't know me, don't know how to keep me safe.

I would love to be open-hearted and free and welcoming on the dance floor, for example I've been a dancer for decades. But if somebody doesn't know me well enough to know that I have an injured knee, and ankle on the same leg. Twice now in the 8 years I've been doing ecstatic dance, a partner flung me into a spin in a way that was painful because they didn't know me. I don't think it did permanent damage in either case, but I won't dance with either of those people again.

I never did date, or fuck, casually. I came of age, during the AIDS crisis in the '80s. When the meta message from the government and advertising and the news was that sex was so dangerous it could kill you. So you better be sure you can trust your partner and you better protect yourself as best as you can.

And now that we have had a global pandemic of massive scale, I don't even feel that I can kiss people casually. unless I know somebody well enough that I won't give offense by asking if they've tested recently?

I lived with such a profound fear in my early dating life. Not just because of AIDS or other STDs, but because the culture was steeped in fictional characters of disposable women. And I didn't realize it at the time. It's only in looking back that I can see how the chronic condition of fear was fertilized with art with rapey motifs, undergrads who are treated like interchangeable pieces of meat, and it's treated like cause for humor. I rewatched one of those John Hughes movies last year and I couldn't believe how shitty all the women characters were treated. (Not even to get into some of the horrible racist stereotypes)

You know I should probably talk to a therapist about this. And makes it hard to have relationships and to make new friends when I truck this around with me.

Intimacy, huh? This is intimacy, this right here. This is honesty, and trust. And it's because I've cultivated my circle here on Tumblr out of decent people, and people who share my values. I have a reasonably high level of confidence that nobody is going to be mierda on my post. Because I remove those people as I find them.

Anyway, well, thanks for listening. I had a tangle in here *thumps sternum gently* and it's better now.

[bookwormscififan]

I Enjoy the Closeness the Bike Presents

Read on AO3!

A/N: A continuation to 'The Fastest Way Home', because I need more Yancy x Murdock in my life.

Warnings: smut. Honestly, I just wanted to write some smut today.

--

Yancy looked up at Murdock from his position sprawled on the bed with his hands by his head. He watched with hooded eyes and a lazy smile as Murdock removed his gloves, hands moving to shrug off his coat before bunching up the bottom of his shirt, slowly removing his clothes as he kept his eye on Yancy.

“So, you like the bike?” Murdock asked, his voice a low rumble as he crawled onto the bed, settling himself between Yancy’s spread legs and resting his hands on his thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

“I like the bike,” Yancy gasped, already riled up from Murdock’s touches on the road. He bit his lip to hold back a moan as Murdock hummed, one hand sliding up his thigh to rest on his hip, fingers tauntingly close to his aching cock.

“What do you like about the bike?” Murdock asked with a smirk, walking his fingers up to slowly pull down Yancy’s pants, pressing open mouthed kisses to the exposed skin there, other hand still rubbing circles into his thigh, keeping him from squeezing his legs around Murdock.

“I-I like,” Yancy was finding it hard to speak, mind turning to mush as Murdock continued his movements, tangling his hands into the bedsheets by his head. “I like being so close to youse. Holding your waist while we drive, your hands on my side when I drive, I like – fucking hell, Murdock!” he cursed when Murdock licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, pulling back when Yancy bucked his hips.

“Careful, my dear,” Murdock teased, slowly sliding Yancy’s pants down and off his legs, “Getting distracted while driving could be dangerous.” With a teasing snicker, he dove down and kissed with base of Yancy’s cock, teasing his tongue around his entrance before beginning to thrust, hands holding Yancy’s hips down when he tried to rock back onto Murdock’s tongue.

“Murdock, please,” Yancy pleaded, squirming when Murdock pulled away, breath hitching when Murdock slipped a finger into him. “Please fuck me.” He looked at Murdock with hazy eyes, panting as the killer removed his finger and lined himself up.

Murdock held Yancy’s hip with one hand while the other slid under his shirt to squeeze at his chest, slowly pushing in and catching Yancy’s groan in a deep kiss. Yancy’s hands moved from beside his head to hold tightly to Murdock’s wrist, urging him to continue to squeeze his chest as he wrapped his legs around his waist.

“Move,” he ordered breathlessly against Murdock’s lips, biting his bottom lip when Murdock began to slowly thrust in, squeezing his hand in time with his thrusts to overwhelm Yancy in sensation. Yancy flung one hand back to clutch at a pillow as his eyes rolled back, rocking his hips to meet Murdock’s movements.

He gasped when Murdock moved his hand from Yancy’s hip to his cock, slowly stroking in time with his thrusts and squeezes, quickly sending Yancy over the edge, muffling his moans in a kiss as he continued to thrust his hips, fucking Yancy through his high before releasing himself, Yancy rolling his eyes back at the feeling of being filled.

When Murdock pulled out, Yancy melted into the bed, gasping for air as he stared blearily at the ceiling, a dazed smile on his face. He giggled when Murdock kissed his cheek, weakly whining as the killer climbed off the bed, sighing when he returned with a cloth to clean them up.

“I should let you drive more often if it will lead to this,” Murdock chuckled, laying down beside Yancy and wrapping his arm around his shoulder when the prisoner curled into his side. “Though maybe getting you so distracted would be unsafe.”

Yancy just giggled, too lost in the high to comprehend what Murdock said, and soon enough he was fast asleep in his arms, head resting on Murdock’s shoulder.

------

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch

[agaymerfry-writing]

Cozy Cabin-A Short Story

"I wish you would leave my life completely," you mutter, driving us to the graveyard. A fitting place for our last meeting, though why chose a grim place I was yet to understand. And why a graveyard so close to your school? Convivence? It didn't matter now. I blankly assumed it was because it was dark, and the sky had not a cloud in it.

We always talked about watching the stars together. I want them to shine without competition, so here we are, wearing all black, though I’m not sure whose clothing is who's. As we cross into the graveyard's garden you ask me the same question that must be on your mind all the time. "Who's gonna be your savior of the week?", handing me a shovel. "Weak?", I shoot back instantly, my mind confused, but my body starts to dig. And dig I did, just to please you.

It was all just to please you.

But the hole was never deep enough, was it dandelion? I was always too close to you, and that's why you neglected me, right? I wasn’t worth the energy? Did you just not have the space to grow?

These thoughts flood my mind as the dirt grew higher, and my arms grew tired of digging, I begin to stargaze, idolizing you in the constellations, for all that you've done for me. Which wasn't much expect my name, Orion. I called for you to look at the pit I dug for two hours. The pit guided by your hand, in my sad, desperate attempt for your genuine care.

But when I realized dirt was falling on me, getting in my throat and weighing me down, I panicked. Clawed at the unstable walls, scared, looking for any way out. I took the first way fate gave me out, but you know this.

I should’ve yelled for a ladder, or just for help, but why should I have believed you bring me something? I saw you moments ago, kicking the dirt onto me, trying to bury me, and my head goes fuzzy.

No, I think to myself, I did yell. I did ask for help. I was brought rope. I stood there confused, but managed to scramble out of that grave through a twisted, rotting, tree root. My hands were damaged from the digging, and the thorns twisting around the roots did not help.

And there you were. And you were there waiting.

Able to help, I’ll never know. Willing too? Not at all.

I stared at you, a flurry of emotions consuming me; confused, anguish, selfishly wanting you to hurt but not baring to do so, though I know the ways in which I climbed out of that hole hurt you. And for hurting you I am sorry, but I needed out of the pit. I still loved you, even after you kicked dirt on me, I know you didn't mean too...

As I grapple with my thoughts and what you had just done, you pull something out from behind your back, have you had it this entire time? A flood of questions came over me, consuming my thoughts-

You handed me a gun.

Loaded with one, singular round.

“Stars die out, do everyone a favor and take yourself out with a bang.”

And just like that, I was shattered. I was chipping, cracks running all along my body, but this? All respect, love, care, compassion, everything I had ever felt for you was gone in a matter of seconds.

Just like that, you were gone. You left me in that graveyard.

As I sat against the tombstone, i held the gun in my hands, staring at it. Wondering why someone I loved would do this to me, tell me to do such a horrible thing, especially when they know I've thought about this before...

Yet suddenly, in the distance, I hear a dog whining. As I slowly scramble to my feet, I make way towards the noise, finding a dog with fur as dark as my thoughts, but eyes, scarred eyes that shine like the stars, no, eyes that shine like mine.

I approach him slowly, not wanting to startle him. Holding out my hand for him to sniff, he turns to run, but can only get a few feet before letting out a whine, and under the moonlight I notice he’s limping. I call out to it, saying I can help it, though I don’t know what I’m doing. But I managed to gain his trust, and under the moon’s light I was able to remove thorns and tangled vines from the dog’s three legs. I called him Karma.

Together, we made our way out of that cursed grave. He lead me to a cabin, something small and out of the way from those who’d hurt us. Together we stayed, and cared for each other, and the world around us, keeping weeds out of our garden.

Until you sent me a letter. How did you get my address? Why are you still trying to contact me? I’ll tell you though, the letters made me laugh, the way your obsessed with me is funny.

“Theres a thousand things i wish i could say to clear the air. but ive told a thousand lies to muddy the water” and “id tell you everything given the chance” are the funniest.

Tell me what? That you didn’t mean to give me a gun? That you liked when I made my hands bleed digging for you? That you’ll change and not abuse me?

Your desperate attempts at getting me back made for great kindling, which is the most I’ve gotten from you, so I suppose a thanks is in order.

But I’ll indulge you and answer your question from that fateful night.

“Who's gonna be your savior of the week?”

No one.

I don’t need a savior, and I don’t need saving.

I just needed help leaving you, realizing digging holes and bleeding wasn’t normal. Only someone sick, twisted, only an abuser who lost their power would think i need saving, that i cant live for myself.

It’s clear to me though, I was the one to bring them light, but they got mad when I burned bright. It matters no more, I live for myself now.

Something did die that night.

Any care I had for you as a person.

And myself. The old version of me who would take your neglect, your abuse.

He is dead and gone. But Riggs?

Riggs shall live on in his place, shining as bright as the stars he once was, but free.

Free from you.

Free to live his life, Karma at his side.

[bearllydruid]

Halsin had to chuckle once Astarion called him out so quickly. The perceptive rogue wasn't wrong at all - not when Halsin thinks on what he had only just said. He did want to pay his respects, but did he see himself staying in the High Forest? No - he could not. "That has not been something I had considered since my youth." Halsin admitted. "And even then, I just wanted to explore. I wanted to see what the world had to offer me. I wanted to smell the salt of the sea's air, feel the wild winds sweep through my hair, I wanted to run and be simple and free. The Underdark clipped my wings, you could say. It seemed so simple then to enmesh myself in my studies and devote myself to my Circle after that. It was....safer than retreating. I spent almost an entire year in my wildshape when I first emerged from the Underdark. No one had missed me, they had never considered looking for me - I could have stayed there for half a century and perhaps never roused any suspicion." Halsin admitted quietly. His scarred lips twitched, pressing together for a moment.

He'd always felt so alone, even when he was surrounded. Astarion had quickly seen through his words, though, into the deeper matter - even after centuries had passed he had never found his footing in choosing for himself. He had been bound by duty and devotion, and it had felt like a choice he had made, but perhaps it had always been Halsin's attempt to find a purpose. Blind hope and youthful ambition had been warped into something else - some vast other tangle that still sat so heavy on his chest. "I never set out to be First Druid." Halsin had not been attracted to power as many seemed to be. It had never been his goal in life. Servitude suited him, when the cause was just. "I had followed my Archdruid into Reithwin, intent on defeating Ketheric Thorm - but I was one of the few survivors to return to the Grove, and I was selected as the next Archdruid. I do not think it was something I was suited for, if I were honest." Bitterly, he thought of Kagha, of the Shadow Druids that had infested his Grove beneath his very nose. No. He had failed them by not seeing the risks that were growing like dangerous thorns in their very sanctuary.

"I do not feel like I had the option for choices even then - I daresay that now, the world feels so vast. Limitless." One strong arm half-wrapped across his torso, the other elbow resting against his arm as he held his chin in thought. "Without a purpose, I....well. It will be like removing all tethers, leaving me unmoored." Halsin gave Astarion his honesty - the man was owed that, if nothing else. "I should have expected you would ask me as well." Halsin said, and the look on his face was open. He wasn't upset, although inside it felt like entirely too much. "Many others my age have put their roots down. They have decided what they wanted - and here, it feels as if life could just begin now."

For two beings with lifespans like they had, it was an interesting prospect. Astarion, if he stayed careful, would carry on in immortality. Halsin, if he was blessed, could one day achieve a Timeless Body, and his life could be near endless as well. "I have been beneath the yoke of responsibility for so long that without it, true actual freedom seems....well. Fanciful. I went from one thing to the next with scarcely enough time to collect my breath, but, once we are free of the threat of the Absolute..." What would Halsin want? "I am far too old to imagine the world as full of promise as in my youth. We both have seen too much for that. Perhaps, though, we can still find the occasional misadventure to make it enjoyable if nothing else." Halsin shrugged one large shoulder and let his other arm relax so that both were crossed. "I must admit, making choices for myself and not for others does not feel natural to me after so long. I do not know if anyone has so quickly seen through me, though." He admitted with a small smile. "It is....interesting, to be seen this way."

Three years. Astarion doesn't wish to diminish the vulnerability and fear Halsin must have felt but he wishes he had only been under Cazador's influence for three years. Neither options were good, he is not thinking that Halsin had it easy, but he wonders what things would be like if he had gotten out far sooner.

"It is overwhelming." Astarion confirms, "For a vampire who had been starved up until I escaped." Well, he doesn't think he has to say what kind of restraint he had to have in order not to rip the nearest pretty little thing's neck out.

Even now, he has to have quite a great deal of strength.

"Still, I am sorry you had to experience those horrors, too."It feels odd to be sincere for once, to have an honest and deep conversation. A part of him wants to run away entirely but there is something calming and grounding about Halsin's presence that keeps him here.

How utterly strange and new for him.

Astarion falls silent as Halsin begins to answer the question. The rogue is a perceptive one, he can tell fairly quickly that Halsin is not speaking of anything he wants to do but rather what might be expected of him.

Honestly, he had assumed the man would want to go back to the grove, he seems very duty bound but maybe he doesn't want that at all. Perhaps he wants a simple life, a life with nature and freedom and whatever the hell it is that druids take so much joy in.

"That doesn't answer the question, darling. I asked you the same thing you asked me - what you want, not what is expected of you." It's a nice change, to deflect and focus on Halsin instead of himself. Besides, it's not as if he's wrong. Halsin really hasn't answered the question.

[stuckinmylittlebubble]

As long as I have you, I’ll never be cold (LH x reader)

Inspired by this outfit - 

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

You were shivering. Standing outside on the upper deck of a mega yacht, barefoot and with only a strapless romper for protection, you were cold and slightly light-headed. But you were happy, probably a little giddy as well from all that champagne. You loved the view of Monaco from here, the lights from the high-rises, looking a little like twinkling stars from a distance. 

You should probably move inside or to the lower deck, where most of the party was but you enjoyed the quieter atmosphere. The music and loud chatter were dimmer from up here and you relished staring into the night sky, the cold wind whipping in your face. 

“There you are,” you turn around, instantly recognising that voice. 

“Here I am.” You smile at Lewis, your fiancé, your feeling of happiness going up another level, being near him. 

He walked towards you, reaching out and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“Hi,” you say, going to peck his lips. You’re not normally one for PDA but you’re happy, for no other reason than being here with the love of your life in the middle of the ocean on a beautiful night. Also, from all that champagne you drank earlier. 

Just as you go to slip your hands under his jacket, knowing you’d make direct contact with his skin, a gush of wind whips your hair onto your face and his. A tangle of his and your hands as you both try to smooth away your hair. A chuckle escapes his lips as he tucks the final loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. 

“It’s a cold night,” you make an obvious statement, “but look how beautiful it is.” You turn around in his arms, leaning your back against him and admire the beauty of the night. He hums in agreement, drawing you closer to him. 

You shiver again, albeit feeling warmer in his arms than you felt 5 minutes ago. 

“That’s it,” he says as he releases you and begins to unbutton his suit jacket. 

“What are you doing? You’re going to be topless!” you whisper-shout, as he removes the jacket. It never bothers you when his topless, his body was sculpted by the Gods, in your opinion. But you were at a party, with lots of guests mulling about. This wasn’t exactly a place one would walk around topless, even if you were a 7-time world champion. 

“I know, like what you see?” he smirks, as he places the jacket around you, gently putting your arms into the sleeves, as if you were a doll he was dressing up. Once he had buttoned up the jacket, he took a step back to admire his work. 

You roll your eyes at him, looking down at your new layer of protection. The jacket felt heavenly, intoxicating you in his smell but the sleeves were so long, your fingers were nowhere to be seen. You had to admit, you did feel warmer though.

“You don’t have a top on, what are people...” you start.

“People don’t usually complain when I have my top off,” he cuts you off, pulling you back into his arms, “you never do. In fact, I recall a few occasions where you were actually begging me to...”

It’s your turn to cut him off, “Yeah, but that’s when we’re alone, in private not on a boat with another 100 people!” You roll up the sleeves, letting your hands rest on his chest, “plus, you’re going to be cold now.”

“That’s okay, as long as I have you to cuddle with, I’ll never be cold,” he says as he kisses your forehead and then captures your lips in a searing kiss. You were definitely not going to be cold after this. 

[terushimooo]

LILY

Purity

“I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure”

Porco x F! Reader

C/w: yandere, noncon/dubcon, unprotected sex, breeding/pregnancy kink, corruption kink (?), implied infidelity/mentioned cucking (if you’ve read the previous parts—which you don’t have to!), porco talks about your brother watching you two fucking, fingering, use of darling and princess (one (1) time each), minor mention of blood, season 4 spoilers

Part one | two | three | four

Calloused hands wipe away streaming tears as you struggle to form even the simplest of sentences.

“I—he,” you lift your eyes, breath rapidly leaving your chest in heavy pants as you stare at your childhood friend—desperately trying to find solace in Porco’s embrace. “It’s not my fault,” you cry, trembling hands balling  tightly into his shirt. “I didn’t wanna Porco, I wouldn’t!”

Porco brings his forehead to rest against yours, hot breath fanning over your skin, shushing your words as piercing eyes never once leave yours.

“I know,” he cooes, honey lacing every syllable. “I know, darling. I know that you would never let anyone touch you like that—never let anyone fill you up with their cum like a fucking whore… would you?”

You wince at his words, a fresh set of tears running down your cheeks as the very liquid he speaks of drips slowly into your panties.

This time, Porco doesn’t reach up to wipe away your tears. This time, Porco just sneers.

You cry out in pain as thick fingers tangle themselves in your hair, head jerking back as Porco painfully sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He asks, lips murmuring against your skin, teeth nipping as he drags his mouth up the length of your throat.”

“Please,” you beg. “I—”

“What would your brother say?” Porco interrupts, his lips drawn tight in a menacing smile.

Soft, pathetic whimpers leave your lips as your hair is fisted painfully in his one hand, while the other drags itself up your bare, trembling thigh.

“What would poor Reiner-nii think after hearing how his sister fucked the whole survey corp? Fucked his best friends—his enemies.”

You’re too shocked to respond, the weight of your actions weighing heavily on your soul. What Porco says isn’t all the truth, but it isn’t all a lie either.

For the first time in your life, you’re afraid.

Truly afraid.

Afraid of what Porco’s heard, what he knows—and most importantly, what he’ll relay to you brother.

Porco’s hand pauses a moment, eyes dropping to your barely clothed cunt, to the thin white panties he found you in when he came to your so-called rescue.

“Porco?” You question under your breath, eyes wide in shock, surprise, and a healthy dose of fear. You’ve never known your brother's best friend to be like this, never seen his eyes hooded with disgust—and yet, with such thinly veiled lust.

“W-what… What are you doing?”

You cringe as Porco smashes his lips against yours, teeth clashing roughl, and the bitter taste of iron dancing briefly on your tastebuds. Muffled cries blend with Porco’s moans as weak fists begin to beat against his chest.

“Please, Porco,” you cry, hot tears continuing to well in your eyes.

Porco thinks you're beautiful like this, helpless and begging for his mercy.

“Please, please don’t do this,” you beg. But your pleas are not meant not for the removal of his touch, or halting of wandering hands pulling and groping at the soft mounds of uncovered flesh. Instead, you pray for understanding. “Please,” you whimper. “Please don’t tell Reiner-nii about what happened…”

Porco can’t stop the wicked grin that stretches taught across his lips.

“Oh?”

It’s like he’s finally being rewarded for his brother's death with the perfect opportunity, with the perfect means to Reiner’s destruction.

“You’re probably right.” Porco states condescendingly. “It’s not me who should tell Reiner. But… How could I keep such a secret from my best friend?”

Porco scoffs at the title, as if Reiner could be anything except the enemy.

He’ll enjoy taking you like this, filling your cunt with his cum, pumping you full of his bastard children. His cock grows hard at the thought, at the way he knows you’ll do anything to keep your secret, to keep him from telling your precious nii-chan about your many… indiscretions.

“You know,” Porco starts, malice already thick on his tongue. “I shouldn’t taint you like this.”

Thick fingers slip beneath the fabric of your undergarments, roughly pawing at your sore and sensitive cunt. Porco’s face scrunches at the scent and feel of another man's seeds dripping from your filthy hole—something he'll quickly correct.

“Yeah,” he mutters to no one but himself, mind swirling with schemes of revenge, with plans to make Reiner’s life nothing but miserable. “I’m the bad guy,” he continues. “Isn’t that right?”

He asks no one but himself, already sure that the answer is no. At least, not yet. Not until you're round with his child, begging for him to fill you night after night—all while your brother watches, knowing he can’t do anything to stop it.

“You’ll do anything for me, right?” Porco’s question seems unnecessary, both of you already knowing the answer. “Anything to keep Reiner from finding out, yeah?

“Anything!” You nod your head in haste, tears blurring your eyes, the need for your brother's approval blinding your already questionable common sense.

“I shouldn’t taint you like this.” Porco groans, thick fingers sliding into your already sopping cunt. You cry out as another finger joins the first two, digits curling painfully against the tender, overstimulated spot inside of your body.

Porco’s thrusts turn harsher—violent.

“I shouldn’t taint you like this.” He repeats, voice turning even more condescending and cruel. He knows now that you're nothing but a whore—but you're his.

His whore.

The future mother of his child—is his children.

“I shouldn’t,” he pants, repeating his mantra as if to convince himself to stop, to not ruin the years of friendship between you two. “I shouldn’t taint you like this.”

Porco’s eyes glaze over as you scream, as you come undone on his fingers. His name spills unceremoniously out of your lips, over and over as you beg to be filled by his throbbing cock.

And who is he to say no?

Porco hoists you up, pinning you up against the wall and pulling his pants down just far enough so that his cock springs free of its confines. As he thrusts himself into your clenching cunt, screams pouring readily from your lips and balls already clenching, he can’t help but repeat what feels like scripture.

You both know full well his words are just a mockery, but still, he can’t stop them from escaping.

“I—I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t taint you like this.” Porco stutters over his words, already feeling his high rapidly approaching. It hasn’t been more than a minute but he can’t help the needy whines leaving his throat. The ones overpowering your heady, wanton moans.

“Not,” he groans painfully, your walls milking him for all he’s worth. “Not when you’re so goddamn fucking pure.”

“Fuck!” He cries out. “Gonna—gonna cum! Gonna knock you up! Gonna fill you up so fucking full you won’t know what to do with it!”

Porco’s pelvis stutters beneath you, his hands digging painfully into your hips as he finds his release within you. You cry out in both pain and pleasure as you feel his hot ropes of cum begin to coat the walls of your cunt.

“Perfect,” he mutters to himself, looking over your spent body with nothing but twisted love and adoration.

Porco’s eyes meet yours in post bliss, happiness seeping out of every pore. The gentle kiss he plants on your lips and the soft words muttered against trembling skin leaves you scrambling to make sense of your situation, of the man still buried deep within your hole.

“Isn’t that right,” he asks you rhetorically. You’re so fucking perfect for me. Aren’t you, princess?”

EVENT MASTERLIST