#luis is the white one

[cosmic-walkers]

leon being italian and luis being spanish like ....those are the two most likely and unlikely white euopean people to pair together, it makes them perfect.

who is more catholic out of the two? the only correct answer is luis, whereas leon is an agnostic ex catholic lmao

[sillystringsimpsons]

Hai!! What headcanons do you have for the capos (like Louie, Legs, and Johnny)? (If you don’t wanna share that’s totally fine <:3)

I would love to share! Here's some designs and basic headcanons I made for my AU :)))

If you have any specific questions I'd love to yap :3

Interactions HUGELY appreciated <3

[pikabysss]

My entry for day 8 of Serennedy Pride Week: the finale.

The final hold. Small art plus an ultimate ramble

Watch out! Black and white mild gore and spoilers for Resident Evil 4 2005 (even though I don't think I need to warn for both)

Luis death in Resident Evil 4 (2005)

I was really surprised when Leon rushed to Luis and grabbed his hand. It caught me off guard because I'm not used to the hand grabbing being portrayed so accurately to the american culture like that. I consume a lot of japanese media that prioritize japanese culture. Extensive hand holding in Japan is usually seen as romantic. That's the moment I started really to ship Luis and Leon.

However, with my biased view aside, this scene, even if abrupt, is so well orchestrated in Leon's body language. I could see all the care put in that scene more than any other scene in the game. I watched a war movie when I was younger. A man noticed his brother being shot and went to his side. He grabbed his hand with a strong grip and even went for some kind of kiss (something more like a CPR. It was a multicultural movie, but those men were americans.

Europeans and Americans are just more touchy overall than asians (this is based on my obseravtion of those culture.) So, when Leon strongly gripped Luis' hand, I later thought about that man that lost his brother in that movie. The way he hold his hand just showed how much he cared for him.

What really is special with Leon's personality, is that he acts cold, but he actually really care for human life. He is tourmented when the two cops died, when Krauser dies, when Mike dies... but having to see the death of Luis just before his eyes, just next to him, that's why he gripped strongly to his hand: he wanted to feel that human life until it dropped, make sure that Luis had the most comfortable death he could have had despite it being so unpromptus. Leon offers himself as his last human hold, acting as a family member or a lover for him.

Now, I don't know if you noticed, but after Luis gives his last breath, Leon is visibly frustrated or sad. He backed off, but he kept Luis' hand in his until he needed to let it go, getting too far from him. Leon doesn't do that with Krauser.

This scene is very touching despite being a bit sudden. The way Luis died just like that made me laugh, but the moment after of Leon holding Luis' hand, trying desperately to help, asking him not to talk so he could breath and live for a little while longer.... Leon, not wanting to let go of Luis' hand, all little details that are just so beautifully crafted. Too bad the build-up to it was disappointing. Still, the scene by itself stays beautiful

[leon-on-the-froggy-chair]

im telling yall i feel like Luis would really like those yeehaw ass fringe jackets

you know the ones

[doodlboy]

The flock family photo ✨️

[youssefguedira]

PANTHER PANTHER PANTHER PANTHER PANTHER PANTHER PANTHER PANTHER PANTHER PAN

[bioshzrd]

Heya!

I was just wondering what your Resident Evil gender and sexuality HCs are, if you've got any?

Thank you! :)

I THOUGHT I ANSWERED THIS BUT IT MUST HAVE SLIPPED MY MIND OOPS

this is silly / mostly joking but explanations in tags , also every single character I like is trans in some way shape or form

[hillhouses]

not enjoying the wednesday show from the few moments I’ve been watching while lingering in the kitchen and standing beside the island like a stepdad

[zer0pm]

Imagine both Leon and Luis offering you their jackets when you start shivering.

“You cold?”

“A little bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

You say this with your teeth chattering and it was clear on Leon’s unamused face that he wasn’t buying it. The blonde sighs, hiding a slight smirk before his lips return to his characteristic frown.

“Here,” he says, shrugging out of his thick, fur-lined jacket. In doing so, the strong definition of muscles on his arms and chest came into full display and you couldn’t help but note every sculpted line. Those years of secret government training did wonders for his physique and the tight navy shirt left little to the imagination. Your overactive thoughts nearly run wild when his arms flexed out of his sleeves.

Remembering yourself, you shake your head. “Thanks, but won’t you be freezing?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Leon says with a slight smile, his gentle tone echoing yours when you tried to save face in a surprisingly teasing manner. For as long as you’ve known the blond, he was rarely warm and gentle. His stern, straight-laced demeanor and dry sense of humor often overshadows his kinder, sociable qualities. So to see him so openly considerate was a rare treat. This unexpected side of him stirred feelings inside you that are not at all unwelcome, but you found yourself at a loss for words.

He takes his jacket by the collar and offers it to you with an encouraging look that said that he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. You breathe out an air of defeat, reaching towards him. Against your will, your eyes roamed over the thick veins of his strong forearm and bicep appreciatively, and you tried to recover by quickly looking up. That was a mistake. He was no longer wearing a grin, but the heat within his eyes intensifies when they meet yours. You felt your cheeks burning under his knowing gaze.

Your fingertips (unintentionally) brush against his as you grabbed hold of the faux fur and was about to accept the weight of the clothing in your hands until you felt something warm and heavy drop around your shoulders. It took you by surprise and you look over to your side to see Luis standing next to you- sans leather jacket.

The Spaniard had his signature lopsided smile on his handsome face as he adjusted the stitched leather around you, making sure that it would not fall. It gave you an opportunity to look him over as well. You knew he wore a white-buttoned shirt, but now that he wasn’t wearing his jacket, you can see how nicely the fabric fitted on his frame.

For a man who considers himself the brains of your group, he was impressively cut. While Luis wasn’t as strongly built as Leon, he had a lean, well-defined waist that would have otherwise been hidden from sight with his jacket on. The sleeves of the shirt hugs his long arms nicely and his broad frame tautly stretches the thin creases that ran across the fabric, accentuating the exposed portion of his scarred chest. It became apparent to you then that Luis left the few buttons undone for reasons beyond just visual appeal.

The dark-haired man chuckled beneath his breath as he caught you staring. “Take mine, my friend. I’ve kept it warm- just for you.”

“Luis,” you started, trying to keep a straight face, “aren’t you worried about getting sick?” Your consideration came from a genuine place of concern and it showed in your voice, but you couldn’t argue the relief you felt wrapped inside the warmth provided by his jacket. You thought the leather would do little against the chilly weather, but surprisingly, it felt wonderful on you- most certainly because Luis’ heat formerly occupied it and the thought of you surrounded in said heat made your already feverish blush deepen.

“Y no te preocupes por mí.” He assures confidently. “I grew up in these parts. This weather doesn’t affect me one bit, so I insist.”

The man doesn’t give you an opportunity to respond.

“Unless…” Luis pauses for a second, playfulness glinting in his grey eyes. He then steps closer to your front. The movement forces you to reflexively let go of Leon’s jacket, leaving it to hang in the other man’s hand to allow room for the Spaniard to step in between you. Now only Luis stands in your full view, his eyes locking yours, all while maintaining his charming grin. “We come in close. Like this.”

The devilish man wraps a daring arm around your shoulders, nudging you closer to him but not forceful enough where you couldn’t pull away if you wanted to. You subconsciously didn’t want to and allowed him to bring you in, stopping to where your chests are merely a hair’s breath away from pressing against one another.

“This way we can keep each other warm,” he continues with a wink. “A good idea, ¿sí?”

Your ears pick up an annoyed scoff and you look over Luis’ broad shoulder. Leon stood with arms crossed, his bored eyes casted to the side as if finding something interesting in the distance. He already had his jacket back on, much to your disappointment.

Before you, Luis wears an amused smirk, addressing the blond without looking at him with faux intrigue, his focused gaze still resting entirely on you. “Something funny, Sancho?”

Leon ignores the obvious jab, “Just making mental bets on how long you’ll last before you start running your mouth. So far, I’m leaning towards two minutes.”

This made the Spaniard take a step back to turn his body sideways, arm still resting around you. Luis hums thoughtfully.

“Such harsh words for a squire,” he dismisses the counter with a casual shrug, squeezing your shoulder. At the time, you thought it to be a warm gesture, not once detecting the possessive undertones blatantly on display at the action. “Never underestimate a knight’s resilience. Or his endurance.”

If you had paid attention, you would have noticed the two men glaring at one another. You would have caught Leon’s challenging snarl and Luis’ taunting gaze. But no, you were too busy settling into Luis’ jacket, slipping your arms into the sleeves and zipping it closed around your form.

Ashley’s voice calls out to the three of you, announcing that she found something. Without a second thought, you start stepping towards her direction, separating yourself from Luis’ heat. You missed the frown he wore at your absence and by the time you looked back at him, he had on his usual charming smirk.

“Thanks for the jacket, Luis. I’ll give it back, I promise.” You say graciously, causing his grin to widen to a genuine smile. You then stop before Leon, also offering him a grateful look as you patted his chest. It was meant to be an amicable touch but the contact sent jolts of electricity from your palm to your chest. His body exuded an inviting warmth that made you hesitant to withdraw as you spoke trying to keep your voice level. “And I appreciate the thought, Leon. You’re always so reliable.”

You missed the subtle redness in his cheeks then too, willing yourself to give space and continuing to move to Ashley’s location. Both men are left staring after you, longing evident in the pools of silver and blue. After what seemed like an eternity of tense silence, Luis is the first to speak up.

“Dos minutos, mi culo.” He grumbles, a hint of amused irritation in his thick accented voice.

Leon snorts in turn. “That was generous.”

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For The Night (Part 2) | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 1, Finale!

Summary: After a few too many drinks, Spencer takes you back to your place, and you say something you might regret when you sober up…

Tags: fluff, more pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Words: 2.3k (whoopsie)

|

“Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

“Just for the night?” Morgan laughed, his bright, white smile teasing you two.

“Well, we’ll see how he does and go from there,” you joked. Reid couldn’t help but laugh a little at your comment.

“Well, I intend to impress,” he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, laughing under his breath while looking down at you. Penelope hit Morgan on the shoulder, drawing his attention toward Reid’s little look of love. He just laughed, turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

“Those two are so screwed.”

The night went on as one usually does. Some of the team split off into different games, dancing, or their own little conversations. You and Spencer were of the latter group.

“I can’t explain WHY The Princess Bride is my favorite movie, it just is!” You feigned defensiveness, leaning into the seat behind you, laughing. “Why don’t your profile it out of me,” you smiled at Spencer. He laughed, taking a drink of his club soda.

“Fine,” he set his drink down, turning to you. “I think…” he leaned down, leveling his eyes with yours, glancing between both of your irises. “I think it’s probably because, ever since you were a child, you’ve been escaping with fantasy,” he sat up. “It would be safest to assume you identify with Buttercup, that you long for someone close to you to come sweep you off your feet and solve all your problems,” he narrowed his eyes. You looked gently up at him. “But,” he sighed, leaning back. “Knowing you, I’d say you like Westley,” he smiled. “You grew up less wealthy and have worked your whole life to protect the people you love. It’s a movie that makes you believe there’s hope in the world,” he took a long sip of his drink.

Your jaw hung open in shock. “When did you learn so much about The Princess Bride,” you smiled, leaning your head on your hand.

“Garcia made me watch it,” he shrugged, laughing.

“Okay, fine…” You took a sip of your drink, head spinning a little. “So what’s your favorite movie, then, hm?”

He didn’t hesitate before responding, like he had clearly been wanting to talk about it. “L’age D’or,” he spoke with his hands. “It’s a-a seminal surrealist film that was actually co-written by Salvador Dali,” he smiled wide. “It used Dali’s classic absurd style and shocking imagery to critique the bourgeoisie and the Catholic Church. It, uh, was so controversial, actually, that it led to riots and bans,” he continued on about vignettes and taboos, but you just stared at him with a smile, eyes glazed over with pure adoration. Some time after he went on about Luis Buñuel’s other works, you realized you were absolutely whipped for this nerd.

You must have been off in la-la-land, because Reid got a little closer to you to get your attention. “Are you okay?” You snapped up.

“What, yeah, I’m good,” you smiled, smoothing down your slacks. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you smiled nervously, standing up a little too quickly. You stumbled a little, causing Reid to reach out and steady you with his hands. Morgan noticed.

“Hey, Pretty Girl, how many of those have you had?” He gestured to your glass.

“Probably too many,” you smiled half heartedly, realizing you were likely a little more than tipsy. You also started to notice how tightly Spencer’s hands steadied you. “It’s getting late, anyways, I’ll go call a cab,” you started to reach for your phone, but Spencer stepped in.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Pretty Boy is right,” Morgan added. “Someone should take you home.”

“Guys, Im an adult, I don’t need a babysitter,” you laughed, speech slightly slurred. Yeah, you were definitely drunk.

“It’s fine, I can take her home,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile to Morgan. He turned to you, ignoring Morgan’s small, concerned smirk. “It’s not safe to go home alone while inebriated,” he took his hands off of you, and you noticed how he flexed them a little. Interesting. You would have to analyze that in the morning, maybe when you weren’t so intoxicated. He pulled his crossbody bag over himself and grabbed your hand, leading you from the booth. “I’m still your boyfriend, for the night,” he smiled.

You couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“Okay, okay, whatever, pretty boy,” your hand tightened around his. The nickname felt different, coming from your lips, he thought. Somehow, it seemed like less of a nickname and more of an observation. He shook it off. “I don’t live far from here, we can walk,” you spoke as you both stepped out of the bar, the biting cold air hitting your skin. You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s, his biceps wrapped up nicely by his cotton sweater. You smiled, and, you couldn’t see it, but so did he.

“Sounds good,” he barely squeaked out, just content to be settling into your touch.

The walk was peaceful, passing by a river or a park, street lights illuminating the sidewalk. They cast a warm glow on the night, shining in Spencer’s eyes, glimmering as he glanced down at you stumbling by his side. The breeze was slightly shielded by Spencer’s towering figure. He relished the feeling of your grip, a sense of security he didn’t know he craved. And, for a moment, it really did feel like you two were a couple.

He helped you up the steps to you apartment. “Such a gentleman,” you joked. He laughed lowly.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t eat concrete, but if you’d rather I didn’t-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding~” you slurred out, pulling out your keys. It danced around the lock a few times, since your vision was blurred, but with some help from your temporary boyfriend, the door pushed open and you were met with the warmth of your apartment. You couldn’t help but sigh, throwing yourself down on the couch. Spencer locked the door behind the two of you, watching you kick off your shoes.

“You should take your contacts out before you fall asleep,” he put his bag down. “Sleeping with them in can increase your risk of infection up to eight times,” he more than scurried over to your kitchen, filling you up a glass of water.

“Speeence, that’s so much work,” you threw a throw blanket around your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, but I don’t want you coming in to work tomorrow with dry eyes and corneal damage,” he set the glass down on the coffee table, kneeling in front of you. You were so tired, you didn’t notice the nickname. He didn’t seem to, either. “Come on, you need to take them out,” he reached for your arm, taking a hold of your wrist. His voice was gentle, laced with a genuine concern, and his touch was reverent. As you looked down to where his sturdy hands held you, you realized, for a moment, how deeply you cared for him.

He knew alcohol made your inhibitions nonexistent, but he didn’t expect you to start crying. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong,” he grabbed the side of your face, wiping a tear off your cheek. His hands were just so soft, it made you tear up more.

“I-I don’t know,” you sobbed out. You really didn’t know.

“Hey, it’s okay, drink this,” he handed you the glass of water. As you took a sip, he moved his hands to your knees, soothing small circles into them. “Why are you sad?”

You sniffled, looking down at his face. His brows knitted together, eyes beaming up into your own. You could have SWORN you saw his heart beating against his sweater. “Because I love you being my boyfriend, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t,” you were a little embarrassed, but you were drunk, so it barely mattered.

Spencer’s heart rate spiked, and a rosy tint started rising in his face. “You don’t mean that,” he soothed, voice just above a whisper.

“I do,” you looked straight into his eyes. They were glazed over in something you couldn’t describe and probably never would.

“According to research, a-about 63% of people have admitted to saying something they regret while intoxicated,” he reasoned out, holding onto your hand.

“Another study found that 54% of those confessions are things they genuinely feel, Spence,” he realized you clearly weren’t out-of-it enough to not hit him with his own statistics. He couldn’t speak, and he really couldn’t think either. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dancing around your face. His heart jumped up and down as an innocent desire swept through his veins.

Did you really mean that? Was he not the only one who stole small glances in the bullpen? Was he not alone in his heartbreak when watching someone else flirt with you? Surely, this was a symptom of the alcohol. Maybe-

“It’s so hot in here,” you broke the silence, breaking away from him. He swallowed hard, eyes moving hesitantly away from your face.

“I’ll uh, I’ll change your thermostat,” he stood up, moving towards the hall.

“Thank you, Spence,” you lied down, sniffling once more.

He gave up on having you take out your contacts or change your clothes. He just spread another blanket over you, shutting off the lights. He even took the liberty of setting your alarm. Before he left, he heard you mumble a small, “Good night, Spence.”

He smiled, sighing.

“Good night.”

—

“Hey, Pretty Girl, didn’t have too much fun last night, did you?” Morgan laughed. He couldn’t see you rolling your eyes under the sunglasses that shielded you from another migraine.

“Ha-ha,” you set your stuff down. “That’s me laughing at your funny joke.”

“Honestly, I’m shocked you didn’t show up with Boy Genius, this morning,” he crossed his arms. “Leaving together from the bar, going back to your place-“

“Derek, nothing happened,” you huffed. At least, you THOUGHT nothing happened. The events of the last twelve hours were an honest blur.

“Okay, okay, I yield,” he threw up his hands, going back to his own work. You turned to see Spencer walking in at about the same time.

He had replayed your words in his mind about a thousand times, maybe more. Did you really mean it when you said you loved having him as your boyfriend? Maybe you said that to every guy who took you home drunk. He thought going through all the possibilities would make it easier to face you, in the morning. He proved himself wrong.

You pulled off your glasses, standing up. As he sat down at his desk, you leaned over it.

“I wanted to say thank you for last night,” you spoke softly, not out of secret, but out of vulnerability.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he looked up at you, moving some files around his desk.

“I really, really appreciate it,” you spoke apologetically. “I wasn’t too much… trouble, was I?” You smiled nervously. “When i’m inebriated, my inhibitions tend to…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Disappear?” He smiled, laughing a little.

“Yeah…”

“You weren’t any trouble,” he reassured you, voice steady. “Actually, it was,” he smiled. “It was nice.”

“Nice?” you laughed, feeling your headache melt away at his soft voice.

“Being able to take care of you,” he defended playfully. “I don’t usually get to do that; it’s usually the other way around,” he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, looking up at your soft smile. “There was something I wanted to talk about, though…” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Crap, did I do something weird last night? I’m so sorry, if I did, I never-“

“No, no, nothing like that,” he laughed nervously. “You uhm…” he grabbed the back of his neck. He wanted to know if you really felt the same way he did. He wanted to know if you would hold his hand like that while sober. He wanted you. “Would you like to, maybe, get together sometime again?” He squeaked out, smiling shyly. “Maybe, this time, without the alcohol?” You smiled at his offer.

“I absolutely would, Spence,” you giggled out, tapping a nail habitually on the screen dividing your desks. He sighed a sigh of relief.

“Cool,” he pursed his lips together in a smile.

“Cool,” you mirrored him subconsciously.

Maybe it wasn’t just for the night.

(‼️💕THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REQUESTED PART TWO. REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[apoemaday]

All Our Yesterdays

by Jorge Luis Borges tr. Robert Mezey

I need to know who lays claim to my past. Who, of all those I was? The Geneva boy Who learned some Latin hexameters with joy, Lines that the years and decades have erased? That child who searched his father’s library for Exact details, the round-cheeked cherub storms Of the old maps, or else the savage forms That are the panther and the jaguar? Or the one who opened a door and looked upon A man as he lay drawing his last breath, Leaving forever, and kissed in the white dawn The face that stiffens away, the face in death? I am those that are no more. For no good reason I am, in the evening sun, those vanished persons.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free ✨Masterpost✨

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Rating: General audiences, except chapters 10 (which can be skipped) and 15 both of which are 18+/minors DNI.

Status: COMPLETE (40k words)

Synopsis

It is late summer 1939, when you arrive in Paris from New York to begin a year of adventure. A deal struck with your parents to see a little of the world before settling down and marrying your ‘childhood sweetheart’ Stanley.

You soon find yourself with a spirited young English housemate Eloise, enjoying all that the cosmopolitan European city has to offer…. Until a few weeks later when war is declared. In this newly uncertain world, Eloise’s mother dispatches her brother to bring her home. Your plan is to board a ship back to America… but circumstances conspire to leave you possibly trapped in France with no way home. Eloise refuses to leave the country without you, even as you secretly grow attached to her beguiling brother, Benedict, who is everything Stanley is not.

There appears to be only one solution to your dilemma to ensure safe passage out of the country as invasion seems imminent…  but it will mean your life is forever changed, even when the world is free again.

Built from a story outlined and requested by @amillcitygirl

Chapter Links

Chapter 1 : Sous le ciel de Paris

Chapter 2: La Valse de Paris

Chapter 3: C'est Un Gars

Chapter 4: Le Rideau Tombe Avant La Fin

Chapter 5: Sans Y Penser

Chapter 6: J'ai Dansé Avec L'Amour

Chapter 7: Mon Ami M'a Donné

Chapter 8: Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin

Chapter 9: Partance

Chapter 10: Hymne à L'amour (18+ rating, minors DNI)

Chapter 11: Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

Chapter 12: Je T'ai Dans La Peau

Chapter 13: С'est Lui Que Mon Cœur A Choisi

Chapter 14: Un Coin Tout Bleu

Chapter 15: La Vie En Rose (18+ rating, minors DNI)

Epilogue: Peace Ever After

Titles: Fic title taken from the song ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’ By Vera Lynn (1942). Chapter titles will likely all be Edith Piaf songs.

Disclaimer: While I have tried my best to research the time period and the history of events, ultimately, this is a work of fiction and may have some factual inaccuracies. This may be due to the nature of the requested storyline and/or the author's unintended errors. Credits: dividers by @/saradika [x], gif by @/captainbucky-yt [x]

[withonly-sweetheart]

Starry Eyed Singer

You're a scientist, not a singer, but when the newest experiment takes a liking to not only you, but your voice, you might just be the key to finding the rest of them. And although he's stuck behind the confines that keep him away from you, that hide the songs that he knows could have you throwing yourself into the water for him, he won't hurt you. After all, how could he? When you're his starry eyed singer.

a/n: first lets ignore the fact there's only dialogue at the last bit im so tired of this literally its been two whole ass weeks I NEVER GO PAST A DEADLINE IM GONNA TWEAK buuuut i really really like this idea i just think that for a theme, this is short and sweet enough for me! i would definitely want to expand on this as a whole, and i couldn't resist adding a dead dove ending <3 (im a creepy mf ik)

find the bad ending here...

alright now its time for credits

@bunnivievve - this is literally her au. like seriously i took everything from her analysis sheet like i would not be here without you. i salute you fine woman you are the reason i wake up and write siren leon. + thank you sm for ur hc i hope it's fitting to what you were thinking!!! THISSSSS LITERALLY THIS IS WHAT INSPIRED ME SMMM <333

@larvamars - help im sorry for mentioning you but i kinda took the art of leon looming over the scientist in that one piece of urs to heart... yeah... thinkin abt that while writing this really helped <3 so tysm just crediting people where credit is due!!

@sirenhub <- ngl i thought of you while writing this the WHOLE time i was tryna be freaky... get it bc ur name is siren... also the dead dove ending is dedicated to you my love... please drown me to the bottom of the ocean.. <333

@vampiricgf <- KITAA WE'RE TWINNING SO HARD ON THIS ONE... ur au is better than mine i fear but its ok this is a connection i couldn't pass up

(psst. if i didnt mention u in this one artist moots TRUST you're definitely in one of the other three.)

tw: descriptions of loss and grief, reader's mother is dead, luis angst, tiny mention of smut but nun too bad, brother i can't write anything without making it sound like shakespeare and not in a good way...

wc: 7.3k

The pearl of the ocean. He’s watched every wretched person who’s confined him here, with their white coverings and spectacles resting on their too sharp noses, their awkward gait and their irregular size. And not one was interesting enough to keep him intrigued for more than a day.

And then you appeared in his life, a presence uninvited, a treasure undeserving of his touch, not that he would be able to get his fingers on you either way. Your eyes were so lively, restless, sparkling like stars through the clear material that separates you.

If only you could hear him. He was sure just a moment of his voice would be enough to ensure your enrapture, enough to ensnare you like they had caught him off the coast. His colony had warned him enough times of all the dangers the shore brought, yet something brought him back.

You are alike in that sense, hunger consuming you from the inside out, fatal if not for the restraints that were easier for him to hold than you. He can feel your eyes on him as he languidly floats through the somewhat roomy tank they house him in, temporary, of course, but for three months he’s been stuck behind this insufferable, invisible surface that sets the barrier between you both.

A creature of the sea and a creature of the land. He entertains quiet thoughts of you at night, when his dreams should be fitful, longing to be free in the ocean, yet the yearning for you is stronger. He assumes it is mutual, why else would you act the way you do? Enamored, entranced, elated enough to send shoals of fish skittering through his stomach.

But he mistakes fascination for infatuation. 

<><><><>

You cast Luis a sideways glance, a strange haze between you, air infecting what used to come so naturally, seeping into your skin, sealing your lips shut as if your banter was planned and you’re finally speechless.

His fingers flick the lighter lid open, then back, setting a rhythm that should be comfortable enough to make up for your unnatural silence, but it only serves to make things worse. You resist the urge to bristle when he finally speaks.

“You really don’t know why you’re here,” he murmurs, and you would’ve missed it, hidden under the whirring gears vibrating in the ground if not for the fact you’ve been expecting it. 

You scoff. “What do you think?”

“I think that you must’ve done something.” He sighs and leans forward, tense in every aspect except for his mouth, brown butter molding to the cherry of his lips that purse, abandoning the man you knew. “Why leave both of us in here? Alone?”

His tone is suggestive, and you might’ve dismissed it as playful under other circumstances, but you know exactly what he’s doing—making a fool out of you. 

“Tell me,” you insist. Luis leans back, the lamp in the hallway shining through the window, bronzing the copper planes of his face. He links his hands together and rests them palm upward on his forehead, closing his eyes. 

After a few moments of silence, he cracks one of them open, narrowed as soon as he realizes you’re still watching, still waiting for an answer he’s far too reluctant to hand over.

“Impatient, are you?”

“You’re the one who fucked everything up! If you had just listened when I said the radar was, what, three feet off, we could’ve caught it just fine! But no, guess who has to play the hero?” you seethe. You feel your heartbeat thrum under where your fingers lie on your wrist, pulsing like a warning. Back off.

“Are you a senior scientist?” He quirks an eyebrow, challenging you to a fight you’ll surely lose, but when have you ever backed down to him? “I didn’t think as much.”

That pet name irks you enough to spark a retort, one you didn’t even think about before it’s past your lips and hanging in the air between you.

“I’ll rip that badge off your shirt before they get here if you don’t tell me why the fuck we’ve both been stuck in here for three hours!” Your voice is level to an extent, level like you’ve never thought to be calm.

His arms fall down to his knees, elbowing the meat of his thighs, eyes drawn back to you. “Are you always this irritable?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, curving them upward. “Or am I just lucky to be sitting next to a beautiful woman with the temper to match?”

You scowl, unable to summon the grin that you wish would appear in your mind. Seeing that you aren’t as amused at him at his little joke, the smile slips right off his face, and that sullen expression usurps his features.

“They found it,” he admits, albeit quietly, as if he’s afraid someone will hear. “Right after we left.”

“They… did?”

“Mhm,” he confirms, voice low and throaty. His lips part and you lean forward slightly, eager to hear his elaboration. “A new project is underway. Experiment 003. And you’ll be-”

The door swings open, and the white light that bathes you isn’t a good sign. 

<><><><>

You don’t understand the solemn look on Luis’ face. Shouldn’t he be happy for you? You actually got the assignment you had requested, for once, and with what was once thought to be a creature only found in stories. And yet he stands leaning in the doorway to the lab room, gazing at the water.

It’s been two weeks, and not once have you actually seen this supposed creature. You’re starting to think this is all some elaborate joke Luis has crafted to keep your enthusiasm fresh, but he knows that your praise and effort aren’t akin to fruit and vegetables.

“No progress?” he offers weakly, not once making eye contact with you.

“Why don’t you try?” you reply bitterly. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve gotten any quality sleep, and the laboratory’s coffee runs alongside your blood in your veins, which bubbles back up in the raw coffee beans that swirl on your tongue as you await his response.

“Ouch.” Luis pretends to wince, seemingly hurt. “You might hurt my feelings, chiquita.”

“Good.”

“You can insult me all you want,” he says, damn that clever tongue of his, “but you’re pretty cute when you're mad. Makes it hard for me to take you seriously, mi amor.”

“Why are you like this?” you grit out, sweeping the papers off your desk to slam your clipboard down, crisp paper untouched. Can’t take notes on something you’ve never seen.

“Like what?” he asks, tilting his head. “Ever charming?”

“I was thinking something like bipolar,” you groust. “You’re never just one person, are you? What else are you hiding from me?”

He puts his hands up in defense as you stalk towards him, but he waits until you’re a step away to respond. “Hiding? Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muses.

You tilt your head up just as he tilts his head down, and you lock eyes with him, the searing honey dripping from his eyes to yours, cooling quickly enough to create threads of sweet ice connecting you both.

How it feels to long for something you’ll never have.

Your eyes flit to the band on his ring finger.

<><><><>

The cool glass finds your fingertips, aching from restless typing emails back and forth, persisting that you can handle this one. Your encounter with Luis has left you determined to prove you can do it without him, that you’re perfectly capable of ignoring him in the hallways, in the lunchroom, pretending not to hear him call your name across the lab.

But the blue glow dapples your face as you stare into the mirror on your desk, angled towards the picture of you and Luis, acceptance letters crumpled in your hands with your arms over each other’s shoulders, eyes glazed.

One too many drinks that night led to peppering his face with kisses, sliding those glasses off his face, admiring how pretty he looked all tipsy and breathless underneath you, watching all those cocky retorts disappear under your fingers. 

It’s hard to get over someone you’ll never stop seeing, and you’ve got a better chance of being fired than retiring early. Besides, if you love your job, you’ll suffer through anything to keep it, right? Even if that means forcing smiles at his open face.

With no one to console you, a locked door and curtains dressing the windows, you let the tears flow freely, wishing that the water only a few inches away would somehow absorb the tears, make you seem stronger than you really are. Somber music tinkles away to an end in the background, leaving you in obsolete silence that seems to swallow you whole.

A tap on the glass. Suspended motionless just beyond the barrier, electric blue undertones of his skin mesmerizing, highlighting elegant fins and swirling markings. Deep azure pools that lock onto yours, hair framing his face like a snapshot in time.

"Holy shit, shit, shit!" you blurt out loud before you can help it. Your pulse races to life, drinking in every feature you can, drawing an image that will never be up to scale; whoever can put his flowing, inky locks to delicate fins that frame his lithe, powerful frame into words should be standing in your place, because you sure can’t.

You swivel around, hyping yourself up even more at the fact that you’re the first scientist in the building to see him with your own eyes, fingers curled around your clipboard as you shuffle back.

But you’ve dotted your name and scribbled down the date only to jerk your eyes back to the empty space, as if he was never there. Only one piece of evidence remains, and even that flutters down to the depths you cannot see.

An iridescent scale.

<><><><>

Your voice is croaky from even more lack of sleep, hours of waiting by the glass in vain; the frog in your throat leaps out to greet Luis when he saunters over, leaning on his elbow that rests on the table, eyes darting from side to side to confirm what he already knows from ten minutes of absconded silence - you’re alone in the breakroom.

“Well?” he urges, eyes slicing down to check his watch. “Make it quick, mi amor. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.”

My love. How ironic that he still calls you that, it must slip from his mind on days like this. “Isn’t today your rest day-”

“Well?” he repeats, more urgently this time. And under his persistence, you’re less sure of your theory than before.

Your teeth pierce the chapped skin of your bottom lip, cracking it open, savoring the iron tang of blood that flows freely, even though you know it’ll come back to bite you in the ass later. The sting calms you.

“Experiment 003,” you begin, digging your fingernails into your palm for a split second before forcing your wavering hand to push the files towards him. “The mermaid-”

“Merman,” he corrects quickly, before his eyes go slightly wider than before and raises his hands in defense, again, as if his open palms will stop the silent words of hurt that batter his skin from your eyes.

“Merman,” you repeat, continuing, “isn’t really a merman.” 

“What?” Luis’ eyebrows fly up and he claws at the folder, flipping through the papers before staring back up at you in disbelief. “You have no evidence to support this!”

“But I saw him,” you insist, admitting what you had told yourself you weren’t going to reveal to him. How is it that his face still gets your tongue tied in your mouth, coaxing secrets without him even knowing? “And… it displays none of the traits found in the fisherman’s tales.”

“They’re all old men,” he says dismissively, and his nonchalance, once again, only serves to irk you and fuel your need to prove him wrong. “So what if they couldn’t see right?”

“But—”

“No buts,” he says with a tone of finality, and it doesn’t occur to you to speak back this time. The point’s been lost in your first plea, and the honey bees descend from his tongue to spike you everywhere, scorn you for trying to doubt him. “Just get back to work, and don’t bother me anymore, señorita. I have work to do.”

You’ve never been dismissed by him before, so when he sinks into his hands, rubbing circles into your eyes, you don’t move a muscle, wondering if there will be any further instruction.

But he lifts his chin, so slowly that his gaze sears everywhere that it touches until that flame gets put out by the bucket of boiling water bubbling to life in his eyes. That dull demeanor lying over irritation lies bare on his face, soaking through like wet newspaper, ink unintelligible but meaning clear. 

Get out.

<><><><>

It’s hard to find something more consistent than the steady lapping of water, kissing the top of the glass where it connects with your ceiling. You stare into the abyss, willing the creature to appear from its depths, but where the flowing water meets your demands, the being does not.

Your thoughts begin to wander. How exactly had you called it— no, him?

“The subject is male,” you hear Luis’ voice ring in your ear, as if a ghost of a person still standing with you, a shadow of what you hoped could be true. That day, there was no sound in the room except for the steady current of your tears washing your cheeks for the umpteenth time that week.

It’s probably not that. After all, it would take a creature with keen ears and a sharper mind to hear not only through the glass, but to recognize the pain that even the person who causes it cannot identify. But you’re desperate.

So you conjure up the strongest memory you have, one that surpasses all levels of guilt and anger and pain to the highest level of sorrow you’ve ever felt. The night your mother died.

Your eyes stay glued to the simple white cloth adorning her body, cupping her gently like the beings from above have descended to hold her in their heavenly hands, the idea that if you keep your gaze away from her, she’ll long for it once more and return to you.

But as much as you know she loves you, she remains still. And when you drag your reluctant eyes to grace her pale, limp hands, rubbing some warmth into her spindly fingers, fingers that fed you and dressed you. Arms that hugged you when you finished elementary school, kept your grades up with a raise that was never a promise, only an empty threat.

And the eyes that sparkled like yours, now dead. How similar you look to her, even now, hollow cheeks and irises that lose their cheer, wilting flowers like your dress that billows in the wind as you stand with your feet in the sea, grounding yourself against the waves that threaten to pull you away.

Why couldn’t you stay? Why did she abandon you in a cruel, motherless world that you know is common yet feels like a situation that will only ever apply to your pitiful self? Why does nothing last, if only for a fleeting moment in which you light her pyre and watch the flames engulf her until she’s nothing but a pile of ashes.

Before the wind can steal her away with its greedy fingers, you sweep her into a vase.

And that vase will stay in the second wooden shelf, the sturdiest one right above your desk, two inches away from the ledge, pressed against the chipped paint of your wall. You will never let her go. She will always be with you; in one way or another.

You’ll make sure of that.

Guilt isn’t the right word. There is no word to describe the torrents of how disgusted you are at yourself, and if there is, there shouldn’t be. You’ve confined your mother to these lands instead of accepting the peace she deserves.

And suddenly, observing the creature doesn’t seem as important as before. There are more pressing issues at hand, issues that might have something to do with your current lack of luck, as of late.

What you miss as you scamper around the room is the eyes that watch you from the darkness, sharp enough to crackle fire that would burn this whole place to the ground if he wished, but he waits. 

In silence as you hastily grab your bag from the coat rack, abandoning your jacket. He knows you’ll be back from this one action and relaxes his tense body.

As long as you come back.

<><><><>

Aquamarine darkness envelops the far side of the room, if the building you’re in even resembles a room. It must end somewhere, especially since the peacock lights flash back in a rhythmic pattern, always circling back to where you’re planted.

Rooted to the peaty soil that squelches around your rain boots that were required before stepping into… wherever your current location was. Of course, the admin team is never happy with what they have, and apparently one subject to prod and poke wasn’t enough.

So you’re sent in here, to gain more information, the rookie’s always the guinea pig for anything, right? To find the rest of them, if there are any. You’re doubting this idea as a whole theory itself, because what if he’s one of a kind? Special.

But that something gets closer and closer to you. Your eyes have become accustomed to the darkness, adapting to the shapes that spark your vivid imagination, the murky water swirling everywhere the inky mass touches. 

Eight feet and four inches is intimidating enough to scan behind the safety of your reinforced glass walls, bulletproof and all, and you’re not reassured by the idea that although you shouldn’t be scared, you are.

Only once have you seen him through the water, and that was enough to spark your interest. The flame of curiosity burns falsely in your stomach, washed out by the waves of fear. You feel like nothing but a small fish at his intense gaze, a gaze that frightens you, and it must show on your expression.

Within a matter of seconds he backs away, perhaps sensing your discomfort, and you realize that your initial hypothesis must’ve been correct; he can feel others' emotions. You wonder how this works for a creature that cannot communicate, at least not with you.

Something flashes through his eyes, storm clouds and thunder alike, and a low hiss pushes its way through his canine teeth, an attribute you hadn’t noticed until the sound hits your ears.

It is strange, the look on his face, with his hair moist and clinging to his neck as he bobs further away, weaving between the speckles of moss that float from your little island to him, gifts or warnings, you don’t know.

He takes them as warnings, it seems, with his tense, hostile expression that seems to appear from thin air, staring at you tersely, somewhat like a dolphin or a seal at the aquarium before dipping back into the water without a sound, silence filling the area where he was.

And although you’re perfectly aware that your fear has not yet subsided from crashing against your lungs, you admit to yourself that now that he’s gone, you miss the thrill.

Who would’ve thought you’d become so daring, hm?

<><><><>

But wait, it gets worse. You had assumed this was a one time thing, a test run with a temporary guinea pig that happened to be the rookie of the lab, and although you weren’t too happy with the arrangement, you were perfectly content with the idea of admiring him from a distance, especially after such a close encounter.

Yet no one gives you a heads up or a warning before you’re shoved into the same room again, fear licking at your spine as those flashing lights proceed further through the water. And after a while, the initial horror bypasses your system and you grow used to the thick silence hanging in the air, mingling with the musty scent of swamp water.

You don’t know what they’ve fed him this week. Maybe they forgot to clean his tank. Whoever’s in charge of his wellbeing obviously fucked up the one time you take a break to visit friends touring the city, because when you return, rested and fresh, ready to succeed, something’s wrong

You’ve never noticed it before, but there are scales scattered on his neck, a light blue color, tile shaped as if a button longing to be pressed. Those are the northern lights transferred from the sky to the sea, plastered onto him, hanging loosely so his gills can pulse. Open, shut, as you inhale sharply and exhale swiftly.

They light up in assortments of azure, carribean shades of the murky water, yet so much more vibrant. And as if the thrill wasn’t enough to make its fingers around your neck and restrict your breath, holding your silence as if the air would scare him away, he starts to sing.

Vertigo overwhelms your senses the moment his euphonic voice escapes from those lips, marinated on his tongue, deep and resonant. A dizzying feeling that causes you to stumble to your knees, red dots sparkling all along your vision.

And through the haze, you swear you can see him smirk, the corner of his lip twisting upward, as if this was the intended effect, like you’re supposed to feel as if you’re about to throw up and dance and cry and jump for joy, all at once.

Guess what else you were right about?

He’s no merman.

You forget the word, the term to describe the hooks cast into the sea to lure unsuspecting victims, hooks that are merely sweet, velvety tones that are all hollow truths, a desire to be craved and a hunger that can never be satiated.

A warning to be reckoned, to be heard, to be feared.

A siren.

<><><><>

“What the actual fuck?” You restrain your voice to keep yourself from screeching, which you know you would do if you were alone, which you never truly are with the walls that hear everything, along with throwing yourself at him and wrestling him to the floor. 

“You said it yourself, he’s a siren! And you could’ve just died!” Luis’ hands are twisted his hair, madly clutching at their roots, and his concern for you is so profoundly surprising it sparks a laugh from you.

“I was fine, thanks,” you snap back, drumming your fingers on the table as you stare directly at his face, a face that seems crazy to love now. So many times you wonder what could’ve been, and now you’re wasting time sitting here with this fool.

“You. Could’ve. Died.” Luis accentuates each word with the ending sound as a growl, as if his voice will instill some sense of security in you, but you find yourself getting burning as he continues, “How could you even think about doing something so stupid?”

“Me?” Your voice has found a perch high in your vocal range, and it won’t come down. “Whose idea was this in the first place?” You scan his face for any hint of remorse, but there is none, and nothing in his expression offers an answer.

“Mi amor-”

“Stop fucking calling me that! You don’t get to say that like- like we still have something! Do you even know what love is?” Luis’ eyes go stony, a boulder pushed up the wrong side of the hill, and you’re not strong enough to keep it up. 

And it all comes crashing down.

“Love?” A dry chuckle erupts from his mouth, expression conforming to both disbelief and pity, both uncalled for and unwanted. “Excuse me? Of course I know what love is, but it’s a little hard to love someone that’s constantly putting themselves in danger!”

His accent is sinking further and further into his words with his newfound irritation, irritation aimed at you for no apparent reason. Maybe something’s going on at home, but does that give him the authority to take it out on you? Hell no.

You stand, far too loudly, and everyone watches you get ready to make your exit without another word, because what are you meant to say to something like that? Are you so unrecognizable, within less than half a year? How easy is it to leave your old self behind?

The one that clung to him. Is that his problem?

You brush past his chair on the way out, and out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you watch him twist the band on his finger, flicking his fingers back and forth, an absent habit he’s had since your sorority years.

But before you can pass him completely, he glances behind him and rolls his chair back, maneuvering it to avoid your feet. You’re about to tell him to fuck off when he draws his eyes back up, lingering on your lips, and you know what he’s thinking.

“Wait,” he says quietly, voice soft and barely audible, but he’s stopped rolling his chair back to tilt his head up towards you.

“What?” you snap, at first unknowingly but strangely reveling in the way he flinches at your harshness, flitting back to the day he had dismissed your concerns so flagrantly. You justify your actions by determining that he deserves it. His eyes darken again as a frown puckers his lips and the space between his eyebrows. 

“Don’t… just… don’t leave, please…” he stutters, his usual confidence nowhere to be found, struggling with the words before speaking again. “Can we… talk?”

“No, because there’s nothing to talk about. Besides, I have work to do.”

He lets out a small sigh at your response, to the reference of that event, irritation fluctuating in his tone. “Work? You’ve been working for four months, and you’ve found absolutely nothing.” And so the truth slips out, whether branching from his will or against it. This is how he really feels, huh?

"You don't get to tell me that." you mutter. "I'm the one documenting him, not you. You sit in your little room behind the glass, perfectly safe, and not once have you thought about swapping our roles. You don't love me, and I honestly have no idea why you even bother to lie to me about it."

Luis grits his teeth, his irritation and anger clear in his eyes, those eyes that were once pools of admiration sinking into the depths of everything you thought was between you. "What are you talking about? That's not true, I... of course I love you!" Then he rises from his chair, taking a step towards you, as if you’d allowed that.

You step back, pressing against the door. Your fingers creep behind your back to the handle and his eyes flicker to them, to the hand that’s grasping it so tightly it goes whiter than his face as he retreats to the table, pale with horror.

“I wouldn’t… ever hurt you,” he murmurs.

“Then why did you marry her?” you ask, voice soft. It’s a question you’ve been tossing in your mind, a simple game of catch that started grabbing rules from all sorts of games, pickleball and why he chose her, badminton and how you could’ve done better, volleyball in the victory in which his wife revels, and in which you wallow, losing yet another thing you loved.

“Because you said it was temporary!” he grumbles, sliding his teeth over his bottom lip, refusing to make the very same eye contact he was practically begging for an hour ago, in this very meeting room where you would stare at your department head as she provided strict instructions, catching Luis’ fleeting glances at your side profile.

“Isn’t that all we ever were?” you whisper. “Temporary?”

The air shatters between you. Finally, the unspoken truth that you both have carried for so long in your hearts is out, and it feels like a burden has been lifted off your shoulders. You can see it in his expression, however horrified, there’s some form of acceptance. He’s known this for as long as you have.

“What… happened to you? To us?” he asks quietly, looking at you like you’re a stranger, fractured parts of you discarded behind you like a broken mirror, one and the same but reflecting another person.

The door clicks open, squeaking as it swings to show you away, to the exit, finally leaving behind what you thought you could never let go of. But you pause before you leave, entertaining his question. When you have your answer, you don’t hesitate to deliver it.

“Sometimes you lose people. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

<><><><>

As the rerun comes through, cracked on the cheap speaker, fading quickly, you waltz around your room, feeling serene enough in the moment, losing yourself to the melody. How many hours have you wasted soaring through the skies in your office, only to plummet back down like a shot bird when you acknowledge the stack of papers spawning on your desk?

But when the hard day’s stresses melt away to the sway of your hips and your however offkey voice, no one is there to judge you. Luis isn’t chastising you about anything, and it’s good enough for you.

When the chorus swells, you open your mouth and belt out the lyrics, hoping the grainy walls can contain your voice, but the volume seems obnoxious, even for you. That’s when you notice the shadow on the floor towering over you, and you spin around.

Your eyes are glued to his mouth, to the words that are achingly pure and smooth, somehow heard through the glass. Illuminated by the tank lights, ethereal tones blending perfectly with the recording, enhancing it in a way you’d never heard. 

Raw emotion, the longing in his voice, however foreign to you, the curve of his accent, words you’ve never heard. All so new to you, chills racing down your spine, tickling at your back.

And when the song crests, his unearthly high notes soar with a beauty strong enough to bring tears, tears that you have to hold back in case someone were to walk in. When he seals his mouth with a smile—a private, intimate thing that feels like it belongs to you, you’re sufficiently spellbound, the world ceasing to exist.

His eyes flash in the water, flitting behind you, to the rattling of your door, and only after you’ve twisted over your shoulder to verify there’s no one there does he choose to make his exit. You see the corner of his tail flick, you hope in temporary goodbye, before you close your eyes and replay his voice in your head.

Over, and over, and over again, until all you can think about is him. How wonderful would it be if he was real, hm? You see him as an illusion now, you suppose, because how do you ever know something is truly real before you can feel it under your fingertips?

And when the voice is gone, fading from your mind into the echoes of your room, vibrations clamoring to bury the sweet sound that you long for now that it’s not with you anymore, you realize there is something you’ve been doing wrong.

Something that you must fix right away. Someone you’ve kept for far too long, yet another person you’ve lost and tried to bring back.

Your mother.

<><><><>

The ocean is trying to draw you in again, rhythmic waves pooling at your feet, urging you to come sleep in its embrace, take an everlasting nap to the lullaby of the water. But you’re not so easily fooled. You remember all you’ve lost, all you’ve regained, and how you’ve been forced to let everything go.

Not for your gain, but for theirs. You suppose scientific curiosity was not what you were chasing this entire time. Your resignation letters were turned in promptly, along with an anonymous report to the people you knew you could trust to shut down what is undoubtedly an illegal operation.

Will Luis be caught in the crossfire? You’re sure of it, and although you’ll never stop caring for the man you first loved, only shreds of compassion remind, and even those shreds are not enough to bail him out. 

You are far more concerned for the experiment, hope that he survives. If there’s anything you’ve learned during your time at the laboratory, it’s that no matter what branch of government, no one is merciful to anything different.

So you call upon all the gods watching, if there are any, and pray to them for forgiveness. Plead to them for mercy, and spin the lid off the vase that you’ve seen so many times, staring at it absentmindedly while studying, unable to understand a concept without your mother to explain it.

But like with all things and people, you’ve learned to live without her. And you’ve kept her spirit with you for far too long, haunting you in dreams, dreams she shouts your name in, screaming for peace. 

You break those shackles with a gentle toss, keeping the vase cradled in your arms as the ashes pour out into the water. Taking a step back to avoid any sticking with you, you dig your feet back into the dry sand, watching the dark particles disappear into the clear water.

She is free. Your mother is finally free.

A high pitched call returns your initial sob, and you swipe at your face, bleary eyed and trying to get a good look at what it could’ve been. The assumption it could be a dolphin has you reaching behind you for your bag, shuffling through its contents, pictures of you and your mother. You will not abandon those, for memories are precious, you know this well.

But when you bring your eyes back to the sea, you see a humanoid figure in the distance, raising their hand in greeting to you. Tawny hair that reflects the descending sun, a simple white shirt, gloriously unbuttoned, and khaki beige shorts.

You do not recognize him, and so out of fear, you retreat further and further into your backyard, all thoughts of admiring the sunset gone, as the man approaches. You reach for your stuff as you stumble backwards, never taking your eyes off of him and this plays in your favor.

Everything about him is so different, so foreign to you, and when he speaks, his voice is raspy, and you feel like a tourist all over again, in a city where you don’t belong. You don’t deserve this, to be standing here.

You lost him, right? But you could never mistake those eyes.

And now he’s human. There are no scales, no gills, no affront to his identity, one and the same as you, and yet he feels so different. You recognize his eyes, they haven’t changed from their cerulean blue, orbs crafted from the sea itself, forged by Poseidon’s hand, a statue in the hands of the gods, but so much is missing.

The raven feathers of his hair that would’ve looked stunning in the night, now out of place and far too vibrant against the mellow shades slowly darkening, becoming more somber. 

Twinkling lights strung in the space where the muscle stretches as he twists behind him, as if checking the sea, now gone dim and dissolved into the pale, unsullied skin of his neck.

You suppose you should be happy his voice hasn’t changed. With just one word, he lulls you back to him, and you can’t remember thinking of the differences between the experiment you had so vigorously studied and the man standing in front of you, not to be studied, but to be loved.

“Hi.” He reaches up, ruffles the back of his head, as if that will rattle out all the words spinning around in his mind, mirroring your own turmoiled thoughts. 

“Hi.” You mimic his actions, running sharp nails against the side of your scalp, failing to push stray strands away from your face. Through your hair, you peer at him, the sun long gone behind him, and parts of him are hidden again, like you’re hiding pieces of him from your conscious mind, fearing losing him again.

Most mystifying of all was how right it feels to have him standing right in front of you, finally equal, aside from the few inches that he has on you. Those depths of ocean blue lingering in his eyes grounds you, realizing how many times you’ve looked into those same eyes, wondering exactly what he’s thinking of.

Now you can know. And you’re not about to pass up the opportunity and let fear engulf you like you’ve let it usurp your mind so many times before.

"It's still you in there, isn't it?" you ask softly.

He smiles, and your heart skips at the familiar gesture, a smile you’ve unsurprisingly missed. "It is. I wanted to see you again."

"But how? How’d you… do this? And why come back?" You step closer, drinking in each subtle nuance of his new appearance. It’s appropriate for him, nothing too flashy, blending into the background. Aside from that halo of blond hair pressed to his forehead, slick with salt water.

“You freed me,” he says quietly, eyes searching your body, as if he’s trying to ingrain an image of you into his head. You did the same, not too long ago. But there was a need for it then, and no need for it now.

Reaching out tentatively, you trace the contour of his neck, half expecting to feel residual traces of his missing bioluminescence. Only warm skin meets your fingers, and a low sigh from his lips, and now that he’s here, under your touch, you know that he’s real. Not just for your sanity, but in reality, as well.

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say, just to clarify, because you assume the last thing you need is to owe a mythical sea creature. “We’ll call it even since you didn’t eat me.” He barks a soft laugh, a seal-like sound, before lacing your fingers with his onto his cheek, pressing your hand further into his skin.

 "I changed so I could be with you without barriers. So we could truly understand one another." He gazes meaningfully into your eyes. "If you'll have me."

“I don’t even know your name,” you say, breathless, because haven’t you expected all of your loved ones to come back to you just like this, before inevitably accepting it’ll never happen? And now it is.

“My name?” That goddamn smirk, whether he is able to communicate or not, whether he’s human or not, tells you all you need to.

“Hm?”

“Leon.”

“Leon,” you test out, rolling the name on your tongue, causing him to scrunch up his nose.

“What? You do not like it?”

“No, no,” you say, with a chuckle. “It suits you.”

His expression relaxes, frown vanishing as he pulls you closer, leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder as he takes your other hand. A familiar tune thrums through your ear, reaching your brain at supersonic speeds, cruising into your blood. The first song he ever sang for you, and now both the memory and his voice seem so far away compared to this moment.

A single moment. Suspended in time, lovers finally reunited, pair after pair failing like incorrect puzzle pieces until now, you’ve found the one. 

And this time, you’re never letting go.

<><><><>

The stars arrange themselves in Leon’s eyes, constellations spelling out a story as you gaze down at him wholeheartedly, loving him with all your spirit and throwing caution to the wind. 

His gaze flickers from time to time, like if he truly blinks, you’ll be gone with the night breeze, a stray leaf on the sand, misplaced. 

“Did you like being a siren?” Leon’s eyes squeeze shut, head shifting on where it lies in your lap, hand creeping onto your knee.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” he says timidly. “But you showed me more. I didn’t want to hurt people anymore after seeing you.”

“Me?” Your laugh is soft, melodious to his ears, and it soothes a little bit of the ache that has been forming since the day you arrived at the laboratory. “How’d you even find me?”

“Your mother,” he replies, voice soft. “I sensed her, and with her came you. And somehow, my father obliged in my wishes to… abandon my colony.”

“Abandon?” You quirk an eyebrow in concern.

“I can never return,” he says, but his tone is light and airy, unconvincingly so. “But I found that I would give the sea, my family, for you, even if it’s all I’ve ever known. There is nothing left for me there.”

“But you shouldn’t have,” you whisper back. “Give up all that, for me? You could’ve just visited once in a while… I wouldn’t have minded.”

“And yet I would find myself longing for your touch, even on the days that all seemed well, the ocean’s beauty is but a teardrop in comparison to yours.” Ever the charmer.

“You don’t… regret it?” Leon shakes his head.

“How could I? What part of my life would I regret if I gave something up to spending even a fraction of it with you? All those days, from the sun rising to the moon rising, and you were right there, even if you weren’t under my fingers.”

“You were beautiful,” you admit. “But…”

“And I suppose all along,” he continues, “I was truly just bait for my colony. It is better that I have left them, better to leave them safe where they are happy. Where I am now happy, with you, with your beautiful face and pretty voice.”

“Pretty voice?” You flush, hoping you can mask it as an abnormal overheating technique. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Really?”

“You always look so lovely when you sing,” he muses. “Sing a song for me, please?”

You don’t know what brings you to actually do it. Is it the warmth of his hair splayed out on your thighs, or his eager expression as his eyes drag upward, flitting to your lips. You hum a tune and instantly feel at ease, perhaps you should’ve pursued a life of music.

Music. It doesn’t sound as absurd as it did throughout high school and college, when you scorned the same people who have now grown famous for their voices. You saw them as lazy, when you should’ve seen them as talented.

You hold out a note, gazing towards the sea, wondering if your mother is watching you right at this moment. You wonder if she would be content with everything you’ve done in your life, if she’s forgiven you enough to let you have this peace. The peace you once denied her.

Leon’s approval comes in a hum of his own, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hand reaches upward, trailing your cheek before he tilts his head up and you lean forward and kiss him, and the seconds rush by far too quickly before he pulls away, lips already quite red, and the corner of his mouth ticks upward, exposing the pearl white of his grin.

“Just as perfect as the last time,” he murmurs, “my starry eyed singer.”

[idyllcy]

you're the risk, i'm gonna take it

word count: 10k || banner art by @wr0wn

warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood

summary: A duty to protect, not touch

The sky is a bright blue the first time Leon Scott Kennedy catches glance of you in the academy.

You're engaged to the crown prince, title of crown princess ghosting behind you whenever you step from left to right, front and back, and it is a title that carries the most weight in the empire. You have perfect attendance in the empire's only academy, perfect scores on every possible subject, the title of Grandmaster piled alongside a variety of other achievements you've attained despite being so young. Leon wonders if the titles bury you alive. You must be some god-reincarnate if you're capable of accomplishing so much in the time that it took for him to even learn the sword.

He meets you in passing, your steps noble and proud as you pass him in the hallway of the academy, but it takes no genius to immediately realize that your aura is more than developed. It's enough to make Leon grimace and slow slightly, but you pause to blink at him as he walks away. He feels your gaze on his back, but without a calling, he isn't obligated to slow down. He feels only slightly guilty, but as a student in the faction of the royal family, he isn't obligated to greet you despite your status as crown princess. You aren't the empress yet. Keyword, yet.

So, Leon continues on his way, hand on the hilt of his sword unconsciously, knuckles turning white from the grip, only letting it go when Luis points it out.

Huh. How strange.

He tries not to think of it. He'll be your knight one day, and you'll be the empress. The closest he would be able to stand to you would have been that moment in the hallway, and even had he entertained such thoughts, it would have been impossible. You are not allowed to cheat as the future mother of the nation, and he is not allowed to covet the royal family as a future knight. He has not the luxury, yet the sound of your footsteps leave not his mind.

You stay further cemented when rumors of the crown prince's infidelity flutter around the school between the hallways and through even the air. He worries. You seem like you can only handle so much from there, yet you make no move. All the rumors surrounding you dissipate when the truth is revealed, and he finds that even when he spots you at tea with your companions, you react now. If anything, and, dare he say it, you almost look relieved. He tries understanding. Perhaps it is because you are tired of the crown princess training. Or, perhaps you are simply relieved that you no longer have to carry the weight of the world.

He understands not why you are on his mind, but he cares not.

Only when the rumors are proved true does Leon consider changing out of the royal family's legion for your duchy's. He does not appreciate the corruption and foolishness of the crown prince, and if he were to guard with his life of such a careless man, he would be unable to keep his life. He values that still, at the very least. So, he applies for a change, and a chance to enter into a duchy's knighthood. Yours is the hardest to enter, but he does not lack the skill.

His request is turned in and processed, but he requires a final meeting with the emperor to assure his loyalty. So, he is told to wait for his letter, his day passing slowly as he listens to the gossip amongst the knights of how the crown prince was cheating on the crown princess with a commoner girl. Leon ignores it for the most part, but the insults hurled from one person to the next cause him to tune the vast majority of them out. At the very least, they do not seem to be blaming you for the prince's infidelity.

When the emperor calls for an audience with him, he arrives slightly earlier than invited, and he is told to wander around the palace until the emperor is ready. So, he wanders through the portraits and ornaments, glancing at the stained glass in so many of the hallways, wondering if you had ever— why is it you? Does it have to be you? How can it not be the crown prince? Perhaps he is curious of you. Perhaps, just perhaps, he is slightly invested in you. You are quite intriguing, whatever that might mean to him at the time.

When it is time, he arrives at the grand hall, pulling on the door just as you stumble through, the sight of you causing him to blink.

"Sir Leon."

"Princess." He nods back, watching as you rush off, mumbling to yourself, head down.

Ah, he should...

Leon catches up to you, grabbing you by the wrist as your eyes render him breathless.

Shit.

"Are you... alright, princess?" He swallows.

"Yes."

"Positive?" He tries again. You do not seem alright.

"Yes, Sir Leon."

"I... may not know you, but I assure you I am here if you are in need of assistance."

Leon watches as you rush off, and he knows not of what just possessed him, but he knows that he is there if you are in need of him. Why would he be there if you are in need of him? Why would he. He blinks at his hand as your footsteps fade into the corridor. Huh. You're much frailer than he thought you'd be. Even if your aura was somewhat suffocating, you are still smaller than he. He wonders what your ability is.

"Sir Leon?"

"Yes." He nods, stepping into the throne room as the crown prince leaves with the girl.

He shouldn't entertain those thoughts.

The change from the royal family to the dukedom is seen as a downgrade by many of his fellow knights. He's asked if there is a specific reason, but Leon cannot truly name one that does not have to do with you, so he settles with telling everyone that he would much rather serve someone who is so-called pure than someone who has the heart to commit infidelity despite being betrothed to someone. The people in his legion understand for the most part. Luis, though has other ideas, winking at Leon when his new uniform arrives, wiggling his brows as Leon tries out the uniform.

"It's for la princesa, isn't it?" He wiggles his brows, looking from behind Leon as the latter rolls his eyes.

"It is not."

"Most of us can tell, you know?" Luis hums. "You like her."

"That'd be funny." Leon hums, adjusting the buttons and loosening the neck area. "I truly do not. Perhaps it is a knight's sense to guard."

"We of all people know that she is not one who needs guarding." Luis rolls his eyes. "Don't forget how easily she beat Grandmaster Krauser last year in the tournament without even activating aura."

"It does not change that I want to guard the future duke."

Luis wiggles his brows in knowing, and Leon can only sigh.

"There is no way I would join a rank just to approach the young duke."

The first day upon meeting the knights, he's thoroughly chewed out by the general because of the rumors he transferred to court you. He denies it, but he is told to keep his distance nonetheless. Well-regarded knight or not, everyone was equal under the dukedom, and no one was to even dream of having their hands on the future duke. It is their duty to guard, not to touch. The only kind of contact they were allowed to do was one to protect, not to have.

It's drilled through Leon's brain on the first day, and he keeps it in the back of his mind — even when you request that he be your personal guard that same day.

Wait. Huh. What.

"Are you opposed to it?"

Leon blinks down at you, pausing to collect himself, brows furrowing as he thinks over it.

"Is there a reason it is me, princess?"

"Is it wrong to appoint the best knight in the rank as my personal guard? I fear no one quite rivals your swordsmanship out of all my knights."

Leon blinks. He knows not why he hesitates, but he ponders over just what he should listen to. His mind? His heart? That strange emotion that's been driving him up a wall upon meeting you all that while ago? It's incredible, he thinks. He has lost all sense of reason simply because he has met you. Yet, the words of the general force him to stay grounded, mentioning that perhaps it would have more of a misunderstanding if he were to prove himself as a worthy contender to be your personal guard. He can not risk ruining your reputation. It would be cruel of him.

"Perhaps a recommendation from the general himself?" Leon nods. "A recommendation from anyone that is not you, princess. With all due respect. I have vowed to protect your purity until it is time, for it is my duty as one of your knights."

"I see." You tap your cheek. "Then, from my father would suffice?"

"Perhaps."

"I shall let the duke know of my idea."

Leon grows flustered at your bow, telling you to stand up and that as your knight, he deserves not your kind gesture. He is new in the rank, not even an old knight. He deserves not that honor from you, yet you shake your head. You tell him it is nonsense for him to believe that he is not of equal rank as you because you are a noble. You are a knight as well, he remembers. Yet, he is not the grandmaster that you are, so he still does not deserve it.

"If the duke appoints it, you shall listen?"

"Of course, your highness."

Leon watches as you spin on your heel and leave.

Surely, the duke would be opposed to such an idea.

Leon goes back to his day-to-day schedule, adapting and getting along with the rest of the knights, listening as they whisper to each other and him of how dazzling you are, and how there would have been plenty of knights in the rank that had applied in order to get a second look at the young duke. Leon cannot refute their words, as you are attractive, but he does not add fuel to the fire, listening to their rambling instead, hearing of rumors left and right of different people.

"Leon, what are your thoughts? Surely you transferred because you found the young duke attractive?"

"On the contrary, it was because I did not wish to serve a cheating crown prince." He stares at the wooden stein in his hand, at the gold of the beer that haunts him back. "The dukedom was the next best legion."

"Truly not because you covet the young duke?"

"You know, with a face like his, surely seducing the young duke is an easy feat."

"He just has to show up shirtless in front of the princess once!"

Leon does not answer to their words, wondering if you are used to such whispers behind your back. It had always been "the crown prince is so lucky to have such an attractive princess as his betrothed" and never how much you had accomplished. He would not know that idea, but perhaps your role as a woman in this world was similar to him being a commoner in another. But of course, it would be hard to compare the life of a princess to that a commoner, regardless of gender orientation. He has not the luxury, and he is aware that you do not either.

"Leon, I heard the duke is considering having you guard the princess. Tell us all about it, will you?"

The smile on the knight's face is more than enough to convince Leon that such sharing will not be necessary. Besides, it would be hard for the duke to appoint him as knight with his background. It would create baseless and useless rumors around you, and it would hinder the chances of you getting married or engaged to other noblemen. Leon is not someone with a title nor a name, so even if he were to find you lovely, he would be unable to do anything. The difference in status was too jarring.

He is not in your world, and his duty is to guard, not to protect.

When the duke calls him in for a meeting, he can only assume that you have somehow convinced the duke to let him guard you.

"The young duke mentioned it to you, I believe? I have decided to let them proceed with it." The duke nods. "Though, you have the choice to turn down the offer."

"I would not dream of it, duke." Leon bows, and he is dismissed.

He wonders how you did it, but not too much when he knocks and enters your room, standing to the side as you finish tying your tie, tilting your head at Leon as he greets you in the morning.

"Princess."

You are always a sight to behold. The title of heir suits you, and your posture is perfect, elegance and grace radiating off of you, uniform perfect on your body. There is an air that only certain nobles carry, and it is without a doubt that you are one of them. Leon finds that those with such an air are more tolerable than those without. There is a certain education that those who are aware of their position hold. You know perfectly where you stand.

"Good morning, sir." You smile. "Has the duke summoned you?"

"Yes." He nods. He's quite impressed that you managed to convince the duke, but he's also curious what had driven the duke to do such a thing. Perhaps you would let him know—

"I got ambushed two nights ago, you see."

Leon blinks, sure that he has just heard you wrong. "Pardon?"

"An assassin had tried throwing a potion at me. It wasn't much, but it was annoying as is since I had bloodied my nightgown, so I was moved to a single rather than my old room. I miss my roommate terribly, you see."

"I trust you miss Princess Ashley very much." He nods.

"I do."

"Perhaps you should go visit her in the morning?"

"I can not, you see... It would put her in danger. Until I am no longer the crown princess, I can not risk anyone... other than you, of course. But then again, you have become a knight of the house, so you are... to be used? That does not sound quite right."

"My body is to serve you, princess." Leon nods.

"Oh... your words are easy to misunderstand, Sir Leon." Your voice carries mirth when you tell him.

Leon realizes the weight of his words, backing up gently. "I... did not mean that kind of use. My apologies, princess."

"It is nothing. Worry not." You smile.

Leon follows you around the campus, his classes never overlapping with yours, dutifully lingering around you, nodding at you when you have lunch with Ashley and Ada, sat to the side where he can still see you, but having lunch with Luis. He's sure that he needs to keep a sharp eye on you, but all he can seem to hear is Luis talking about how he's grown to be the princess' favorite.

"She quite likes you, eh?"

"I do not know what you're talking about." Leon bites into his meal, giving Luis an unamused stare.

"You're always so mean to me." Luis sighs.

"You insist on teasing me over something that is not reality."

"I fear it is reality, only you do not realize." Leon sighs, taking another bite.

"There is no amusement in tha—"

Ada's voice breaks Leon from his eating. "Leon!"

It's a knight's instinct — to protect. Leon's sword is out almost immediately, the girl is tackled to the ground as Ada stands in front of you, sword held up in front of her as he waits for your order. He does not have time to ponder over whether or not this was a decision of logic. His use to you is to serve. His duty is to protect and not touch. Regardless of who it was, he was not to let any harm come your way.

"Princess?"

"She tried pouring hot water on me."

Leon listens as your footsteps stop next to him.

"What would the crown prince think? If he were to find out that his beloved was out bullying the crown princess?"

The hand on his shoulder indicates for him to let go, and he obeys, stepping off of the girl as she coughs and sputters excuses.

"It was an accident!"

"Quite the opposite." Ashley raises a brow from the table. "Both Dame Ada and I saw you sneak up behind her to pour the water. Perhaps be more discreet if you decide you do not value your life."

"P-princess—"

"Save it. If my foolish brother wishes to squander his position for some commoner girl, then so be it. It is not as though we do not have other siblings." She waves her hand, and the girl rushes off.

You laugh. "I'm fine. Ada reacted quite efficiently. Perhaps you should be my personal knight instead?"

Ada shakes her head. "Unfortunately, I am tied to my current house. I have taken the oath already."

"I see. I forget that you are our senior oftentimes. You will be gone soon."

Leon glances at you as you sit back down, exhaling as you do.

"You make it sound as though I will pass." She rolls her eyes. "Sir Leon, thank you. You're free to return to dine."

"Princess?" He must check on you one final time.

"Please dine, kind knight. I must as well."

"Then, with pleasure."

Leon finds that your day-to-day life is full of harassment attempts. He can no longer count on his hands how many times someone has attempted something to you, and he ponders if this is simply the result of your breaking off of the engagement or the jealousy of the crown prince's partner. From what he has gathered from your tea times with your friends, there isn't much you like about the crown prince. You find him to be someone who is just... your betrothed. You tell the girls that you only look forward to the day that you could perhaps develop a personality of your own outside of the title of crown princess.

You afford not the luxury that a typical noble should, at least not when it comes to your actions.

So, when Leon is sent off with the princess in his arms in a hurry, he's apprehensive to leave you all alone in the garden. If something were to happen to you, then it would be his fault, so he wastes no time in telling the nurse that the princess is poisoned, and leaving her ladies in waiting with her. He makes haste, hopping out a window and rushing down the hall to make sure that you have not fallen. It takes not a genius to know that the goal of isolation was to kill, so he's relieved to find that you've killed three of the four men already. He stabs through the spine of the final one with his sword, and you nod at him for his service. Though, for him, he really did none. You had taken care of the majority of them.

"You got blood on your clothes, princess." Leon fishes out a handkerchief for you, and he watches you try wiping your face before you just huff and tell him to do it for you.

Leon's careful not to press too hard, hand cupping your face while the other wipes gently. He tries ignoring the way you blink up at him with a smile on your face, the unfamiliar feeling of his heart racing in his ears from someone rather than a fight uncomfortable. He worries that his fingers are too calloused for your skin, but you do not complain while he wipes. When he finishes, he pockets the handkerchief, taking a step back as you give him a nod in gratitude.

"Are you alright?"

"I am quite alright. Nothing a little knight training could not handle." Leon watches you stop in your steps. "Dare I say, it was cartharic."

"My apologies for leaving, princess. I shall stay next time."

"Those ladies in waiting could not have taken care of the princess in the time that it took for you to carry her over. I sent you off. It was not your fault."

The guilt still stays, though.

So, even when your engagement is announced as broken off to your family, Leon stays in the corner of your dorm, eyes focused on the window. There is some sort of uncomfortable feeling that he can only describe as instinct, and when the first wave of assassins decide to even step foot into the room, Leon's on their necks. This isn't bloodlust, no. This is some other twisted form of duty, he thinks. He's only protecting you. It has nothing to do with the fact that the guilt of leaving you alone with assassins ate him alive, and that he is somehow trying to compensate for it by letting none of them close to your bed. Someone must have disabled the forcefield while the two of you were away.

The first wave of assassins fall, blood on the ground, barely putting up a fight. Leon stares out the window, and it just so happens to be a strategy to exhaust him rather than kill him. Whoever sent these men out must love to assume things about people. It's a shame that his aura fed on blood. The second wave is wiped out, and Leon feels himself sweating through his clothes by the third, the blood already more than annoying to wipe from his face, and when the fourth wave arrives, he decides that it'd be much easier to just plummet them all to their deaths through the window.

The dorm reeks of blood by the time that he is gone, and he's sure to wipe his hands free of the fluid before kneeling by your bed, resting his head on his sword, breathing labored. He's sure the gold of his hair has become brown from blood, and that his skin has become stained with red. Perhaps he would scare you if you were to wake, but he can not keep up appearances in this state. He's exhausted. He would need rest, and it helps not that he is stuck on one knee at the side of your bed with a bloodied sword. He takes the moment to breathe, eyes closing only when he no longer hears the footsteps of people.

He's sure he's a sight to behold right now. Stuck on one knee at the foot of your bed, sword resting on the ground, sweat and blood visible in his hair, eyes closed as his breathing's labored. The sound of thunder outside of your windows adds to the ambiance, and Leon worries that he might scare you, eyes only opening to check that you're still breathing. There has to be at least one more round. He's sure of it. He's just waiting for it to happen. He can not rest until his instincts tell him that you are safe. His duty is to guard. He must spare nothing of himself in order to keep you safe.

When the final assassins attempt to break in, Leon doesn't bother fighting the traditional way, blue eyes glowing in the dark as the blood on him forms a sword. Truly, they do not pay him enough to deal with this. Yet, he endures it all, the blood in the room cleaning itself to form into his sword, the final two assassins halting at the art. Leon allows himself two hits. One for each assassin, and he upholds his words, both of the final men falling to the ground, the red of his sword staining his arms, sword collapsing into the ground when he finishes, the exhaustion finally allowed to slither through his body, kneeling on the ground at the foot of your bed as you stir.

"Did I wake you?" He looks up at you, sure that his eyes look tired.

"Knight, are you alright?" You take the handkerchief on your bedside, motioning for Leon to look up at you, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as he exhales, nuzzling into your hand.

"My duty is to guard, princess. It matters not whether or not I am alright." He whispers. "Though, I thank you for cleaning my face. I can not leave you even for a moment."

"Perhaps I shall assign a second knight? It is exhausting to be like this, no?"

"Just let me rest my eyes once the magicians arrive. I will be alright." He whispers.

"Rest on the couch, my knight."

Leon lets you lead him to couch, following your hands as you have him lay down, blinking slowly at you sitting on the other couch, eyes only daring to close once the magicians restore the forcefield. He's out after that, exhaustion wracking through his bones. He's glad he had decided to stay up this time rather than return to his quarters to rest. The couch is uncomfortable, but when he wakes and the sun peeks past your curtains, he finds that it's not that bad. He had a full night's rest, and it seemed that you had fallen asleep across from him

Even when he wakes and you're resting across from him, your eyes closed, skin warm from the sun's glow, he finds it isn't that bad. He changes out of his clothes, leaving your room after checking the protective field, and he returns, only to find that you're still sprawled out on the couch without a care in the world, nightgown hiked up your thigh as Leon closes his eyes and collects himself. This is a biological response. His duty is to guard, not to touch. So, he calls your name, hand placed on the back of the couch as he watches you stir in your sleep.

"Princess, you'll be late to class." He tries again.

You stir, grimacing as you roll over after catching a look at him.

That's enough to wake you, as Leon takes a step back after you nearly hit him in the chin, and order him out after trying to cover yourself. Your nightgown leaves not much to the imagination, and he follows your order, trying to calm his racing heart outside of your door while you change. This is a biological reaction. This has not to do with the fact that all he has done of late is stick around you and get to know you, and it is not related to the reality that he has gotten to know you rather well and that you are attractive with no betrothed. That is not a factor in why his heart races like this. No. Surely not.

Leon's not supposed to return to the duchy with you, so when the duke summons and makes known that Leon will be returning to the mansion in the east with you, Leon agrees, though apprehensive. He has not much to pack, so he makes do with a singular suitcase, packed before he knocks on the door to your room, let in with a single command from you. He watches as you smooth out your clothes and help the maids, only letting go once your personal maid tells you hands off. You comply, though Leon catches a pout on your lips as he steps next to you.

"Are you all packed, princess?" He steps behind you, glancing at the briefcases.

"Yes." You take one final look at the room, tilting your head at Leon. "And you?"

"I have not many belongings." He nods.

Leon finds that you truly do not do much. You attend classes and linger around his in the afternoon, choosing to stick by Ada instead of him but still glancing his way, making him wonder. Yet, he has not the luxury to think what your stolen glances mean, since even if they were to mean something, he would not be able to act upon your preferences. He has not the luxury, and neither do you. Even if all he can think of is your bare skin and how your lips would taste, he has not— he needs an ice bath. Preferably now, but he truly should not be thinking of you in such a way. His duty is to guard, not to touch.

"You graduate the incoming year, correct?"

Your words break him from his trance, blinking slowly to come back to reality.

"Sir Leon, if you'd like, I can—"

"Yes, princess." He smiles. "My apologies. I've been lost in thought more and more often lately. You were saying?."

"I was just going to say that if you no longer wish to guard me, I can let the duke know to return you to the knight's quarters. I imagine it must be hard guarding me at all times."

"I... it's quite alright, princess. I do nto find that it is a burden. Rather, you make it so that I am comfortable guarding you." Leon assures you. "Though, if you wish to change guards, I am not against such a change."

"I would not dream of it, Sir Leon. I am glad that you do not find me a nuisance. I was worried that night had made you change your mind, you see."

"That would not happen with such ease." He holds his hand out for you, helping you into the carriage as you thank him. "You would not rid of me that easily."

"Oh, how romantic."

Leon can only step in after you, cheeks red with color, staring out the window as your laughter fills the carriage.

Perhaps, but only with you.

Huh. With you? Only with you? What is that supposed to mean? He's your knight, he dares not to have improper thoughts of you. Perhaps he shouldspend time away from you if he dares to have such thoughts. He can not act upon them, and even though he had not accounted for the fact that he could have fallen for you like this, he finds that the warmth on his skin from your touch will never be unwelcome. How sickening of him to even have such unwelcomed thoughts of you. What is the point of coveting him if his duty is to guard? There is no way he would ever get to feel the touch of your skin outside of escorting and protecting.

Yet, it keeps him up at night, the moon in his eyes as he blinks up at it, in the knights' quarters rather than outside your door, unused to being far away from you for so long. He should not know this feeling. He should not understand what it is to covet and like your master, yet he is not immune to it, finding that perhaps this will end terribly for him once you are engaged to another man once again. He has not the choice, nor the luxury. So, he is stuck greeting you in the mornings, following you around and accompanying you to your day-to-day, guarding your door while you take care of the matters of the mansion, stationed to the side when you dine.

He is not your equal, and he fears he never might be in this universe.

"Princess." Leon nods, delivering the papers your father's aide had told you needed double-checking. You have not had a break since your return.

Leon dons a sympathetic smile when you rest your face in your hands.

"Will you go out with me tomorrow?"

"What for?"

"I need to take a walk before I become a pile of paperwork myself." You sigh. "It would be a nice change of pace."

"And not in the garden which you so willfully manage?"

"I want not a breath of air down in the streets while I can still afford it. One day I will be cursed to stay inside at all times. I can go alone if you do not wish to."

"Princess, are you planning on sneaking out?" He raises a brow.

"Perhaps..." You try and change the subject. "Is there a reason you insist on calling me princess? I am the young duke, you are aware?"

"I am, but it changes not that you are a princess until the official title of duke is given to you."

Oh, is that too direct?

"Am I your princess, my knight?"

Guess not.

"Who else would be?"

"Perhaps your lover? You are getting to that age, after all. Have any of the knights caught your eye?"

"It would be improper to court anyone in the same house as I, but it would be concerning to court someone from a house that is not mine. Time will tell." Leon shakes his head. Though, not that he covets someone else. He'd argue that coveting his master is the worst thing.

"I find Dame Ada quite attractive."

"It changes not that she has no interest in anything other than her blade." Leon thinks of all the rumors surrounding the female knights in the royal legion.

"Reasonable. Ugh, I must start considering the noblemen again. Father sent letter to make haste."

Leon finds himself curious of such. Noblemen were always easier to become than noblewomen when you were a commoner. Dare he entertain the thought, perhaps he would be able to... he dares not to complete that thought. It would be blasphemy for him to. He cannot fathom becoming someone of that importance to you as your knight. He might never become someone of that importance to you.

"Princess, what would make a man a nobleman?"

"Noble blood, or someone who holds a title of Grand so and so. Grandmaster knights and Grandmaster mages are both considered nobility under the law." You pause. "Perhaps you should go become the new Grandmaster in the knight tournament later in summer. I'd let you go for that reason."

"And for what reason would I have to become a grandmaster?"

Do you share the same sentiment?

"Oh, my apologies." You laugh, scratching your cheek. "It was just a suggestion. It would be nice to tell my father that I'll decide after the knighting tournament, after all. You made it quite far last time."

"You have the title of grandmaster as well, no?" He tilts his head.

"I do." You hum. "Which is why it would be nice to be guarded by one."

"I see."

No other reason, then.

"Will you reward me if I win?"

"If there is something I can give, then of course. It would only be fair for me to reward my loyal knight, no? Then, I shall arrange for someone to take over your role after tomorrow."

Then Leon believes that he should. After all, if he were to fight a grandmaster and last an adequate amount of time, then he would be given the title as well. He needs to defeat or stay standing, and considering the bloodshed in the arena, it won't be long before he can use his aura on the red. He wonders if it'll scare you. He had only ever dared to use it behind your back. Though, you were never really in a position to warrant him to use it other than the darkness of night that one time.

If he's lucky, he'll fight you.

If he isn't, he'll fight his old legion commander.

If he's truly unlucky, he'll fight someone he's never met before.

Though, that wouldn't be much of a deal.

He follows you out the following day, nodding at you as you hand him skewers from night markets and other treats. You attempt to explain that your version of splurging was having commoner food, but Leon finds that it is a hard sentiment to share. He does not understand, but he does not mind all that much. He keeps you safe, sticking behind you as you kick your legs at the festival. He finds it quite nice. It was a break that was much needed for him as well despite the role of your guard on this excursion.

"Have you considered who to train with?" You tilt your head, tossing your skewer into a bin.

"I have not, princess." Leon shakes his head.

"Shall I train you?"

Leon believes that truly it would be better to say no, but he finds that he has not that ability, agreeing instead. He's sure that he might get distracted or worse, but he finds that you mean it when you say train. Leon doubts Krauser ever trained him this harshly. You train with him, running matching his as you complete paperwork during his breaks, and Leon wonders if he's underestimated you. Perhaps you didn't need him to protect you that night. Had he not been there, you might've wiped them out much quicker than he did.

Yet, he spares no extra thought, catching his breath after a run that he's too tired to think over. He's stuck there breathing and catching his breath all while you lean against the pole to look over the remaining papers of the day. You must be made of steel. Leon can hardly keep up with your training, yet you pass through it with a breeze, having even the energy to do paperwork afterward.

"Princess, do—" He heaves. "do you not tire after the runs?"

"Nothing is as awful as the endurance training I received for the title of crown princess." You finish with the task. "Now, shall we do another lap?"

"Princess." He gasps. "Please let your knight rest."

"One might get the wrong notion at your words, Sir Leon." You hum. "Take a break. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just air." He sits on the stone pathing and falls back, resting on the ground and staring at the sky. He finds that he must receive the title of grandmaster. If he does not, he fears you might end up in a toxic cycle with a man who cares not for you, and as your knight, his duty is to guard you. What better way to guard you from the horrors of others if not by guarding you in every way possible? If your purity is guarded, then you can rest until you graduate.

After you graduate, surely, you shall fall in love with someone and wed.

So, Leon continues with each day of his, enduring your training in the morning and resting at night to the thought of you. He wonders if this is a form of treason — to like one's master. Yet, he dares not to speak up, daring not to do something that could ruin his chances of ever seeing you ever again. Though, the only visible change in himself that he notices by the end of it all is that he has grown larger in stature. If he had been alright for a knight before, then he would have been far better as one now. He has you to thank for that, he supposes.

You leave for the tournament with him.

Leon helps you onto the carriage, listening to you ramble of how the duke was rushing you for marriage, asking if you had plans to respond. You shake your head at him, and Leon settles for talking to you, trying his best to calm his anxiety. The adrenaline would overtake it once at the tournament, but until then, he would be stuck feeling anxious over baseless things. Speaking with you was always a welcome activity for him. However, only with you.

Perhaps he would learn to be more honest with himself.

The ride itself is nothing remarkable, green passing before it returns to the streets of the capital, bustling roads and busy people. The knight tournament was a big event, and it was open to all who wished to come. It was a display of power, and it was an act of variance to the people. Leon knew well that the emperor only hosted these tournaments in order to knight only the strongest of men. Yet, there are still century-old loopholes that could be abused with the right amount of talking. Everything could be learned if you were smart enough.

When he arrives, he is sure to escort you to your lodging before he returns to his own. You follow for the sake of knowing, and Leon takes you there. It is a small upgrade from the previous year, but it would still be better if he were to move up. Your lodging was much nicer than his, so it would only make sense for him to aim for such. After all, even if he were to not do it for himself, he must do it for you.

You had spent so much time taking care of him so it was only fair that he would take care of you in return.

Maybe he did love his own master, but was it such a sin to partake of the tree that nurtures you?

Leon says his goodbyes to you, and he finds that the first handful of days have not too much of an effect on him. It is the same old, blades clashing and metal making sound, clangs of sound in the arena as people are knocked down again and again. It isn't all that new to Leon anymore. You had far more strength than necessary, and you had never once gone easy on him. He lasts a long enough time against you, but there was no guarantee he would in the tournament. The exhaustion from multiple days of battle would wear him down by the final day.

Yet, he ends up in the semifinals with multiple of his old comrades, apologizing gently before he knocks them out one by one, standing in the middle of the arena as one of the final knights left. His breathing is labored by the end, the defeat of seven other knights enough to warrant him to start considering whether he would survive the battle the next day. Yet, he is announced as victor, exhaustion deep in his bones as he looks up to where the grandmasters are seated. They must pick someone now.

Leon ponders if this is some strange sense of invincibility simply because he had chosen you as his master. Yet, he dares not to think it, watching as the grandmasters discuss amongst themselves over who would fight him. You can not fight him, you had mentioned, since you had been his master. You stand on the side, watching the rest of the people discuss, and Krauser is eliminated since Leon had been his pupil. Leon is finally chosen to duel with Sir Albert, but there is little to no chance to win against him. He simply has to outlast the other knights who have also made it so far.

You do not visit him for the time being, so he recuperates in his room, resting well and stretching to remove the soreness, heeding your words on staying hydrated before the battle itself. When he is called, he is notified that the previous knight had lasted a total of forty minutes. Leon is told that in previous years, winners had lasted well over an hour of continuous battle. He lasts forty at most when in battle with you, and he had hardly any faith in himself that he would last longer when battling Sir Albert. He drew the short end of the stick, yet he ponders if he truly did. Out of the final knights, he could not place himself in any position that he could guarantee that he would win.

Yet, even if he were to die in the battle, he must die trying.

Leon bows at the knight as they stand on opposite ends, and he fights. Drilled into his body by your training, he is capable of predicting typical movement based on posture, but he is not prepared for the sheer strength and deceptiveness that his opponent hones. He receives a blow once or twice, and he has little to no time to think over the timer at the speed of his opponent. His blade clashes more times than he can count, ducking and flipping back when there are too many close calls.

Leon learns to stomach the hits, blade no longer enough as he feels his wounds, cuts strewn on both his arms and face, too many close calls for comfort, yet none on his legs. He learns to dodge as he fights, realizing that kicks to the knight's legs mean little to nothing. Leon would have to dodge and duck. When he steps back, the blade is oftentimes thrust at his stomach, so Leon learns to have his blade meet it, twisting it in one motion to force it downwards so he can stumble his opponent.

Once the other knight picks up on this, Leon learns to use different strategies, kicking and spinning, blade an extension of his body as he fights. The blood from his body eventually pools into his blade, aura bright red as his blade rusts the grandmaster's, wondering if he would have the ability to defeat the grandmaster before he would get to activate his aura. There was not one soul who knew not that Sir Albert's ability made his blade unbreakable. He would have to make up his lack of stamina in strength, and he truly only had one chance to do so. Before the grandmaster made his blade unbreakable rather than his body.

It mattered not whether or not Leon had injuries, but it mattered whether or not he could break his opponent's blade. He knows not the time, so it would be in his best interest to do so.

So, Leon focuses all of his energy on a final strike, blood swallowing his opponent's blade, leaving it in pieces as he stumbles backwards, breathing labored as he listens for the blare of his victory. It has been far too long. He has been stuck fighting his opponent for far too long. He is exhausted to the bone, a form of exhaustion that he had only felt once. He despises this exhaustion, yet he must pull forth. He wonders if the blood will be enough, or if he will be stuck riding the effects of his adrenaline in order to win.

He is left exhausted when his opponent simply forms the sword once more from the broken pieces.

He prepares to start again, stumbling back as he breathes, blood rushing to his head as Sir Albert stops to stare up at the time. Time slows for Leon, sure that he is far too exhausted to continue fighting, body weight supported by his blade as he gasps, sure that he is nauseous beyond repair. He feels as though he could empty the contents of his stomach from the past four days just from how awful he feels. He forces himself to focus anyway, eyes glued to the grandmaster as he registers the words.

"One hour and twenty minutes." The grandmaster announces. "In addition, you have broken my blade. Sir Leon, congratulations on winning your battle."

Leon gasps for air, fatigue visible all over his face as he gasps out thanks to the grandmaster, forcing himself up despite the pain in his muscles, bowing at the grandmaster before stumbling to the barracks to lie down. He sits in the back as he watches the next knight step up to the podium, no longer caring. His case was finished, and the grandmaster himself had announced that he won his battle. All that was left was to wait and recover. There was no more he could do.

The final knight of the day fights you, and Leon gets to watch as you spin and dodge, avoiding as many attacks as you could, wearing out your opponent before you consider using your own strength. You had been exhausting to fight simply because you had read your opponent easily. So to watch you battle in such a way was a breath of fresh air. He is capable of predicting most of your movements based on the way you spin off of your blade. In addition, the metal of your blade did not know to rust.

At the fifty-minute mark, Leon watches as you finally switch to the offensive, the knight fighting you far too exhausted to block all of the attacks, falling to his knees from exhaustion as you count down, battle declared finished just short of the one-hour mark. He knows not of the rest of the knights, but the announcer would declare the winner after a short break. Leon finally stands up, stretching as he groans, muscles decompressing as he does. It feels like heaven, and when he stretches further, he finds that he feels much better.

The rest of the knights wait anxiously, uncertain of who would win. Leon had been lucky to know the knight before him's time, but not everyone was fortunate enough to overhear such conversations. There is an eerie sense of calmness that overwhelms him when he waits, heart no longer ringing in his ears as he is gathered with the rest of the knights. When the announcement starts, he holds neither his breath nor his exhaustion. If he wins, then he wins. He must bring victory home to his master — only then would he be able to call himself yours wholeheartedly.

When his name is called, he exhales in relief, collapsing to his knees by the other knights as they cheer, and Leon feels as though he could cry. He has brought it home. He has brought you to safety. His title of grandmaster would protect both you and him from unwarranted trouble, and you would be able to use him as an excuse to not engage with other men of the nobility. He stares up at the gathering of grandmasters, eyes meeting yours as you smile at him, waving gently. He would delude himself into the idea that you are happy that he has won. Just this once, he would let himself be deluded by such useless thoughts.

The medics tend to the knights, Leon's cuts are cleaned, his wounds preserved for the knighting ceremony the next day, and he is sent back to his room for rest. He ponders over whether or not you would come visit, but he knows those are useless thoughts. You would not be able to do such a thing. If you are caught, your purity could be at risk, and he could not guarantee that the adrenaline would not drive him to do something foolish. He dares not to do something you do not wish to do, so it would be best to not put himself in a situation that could result in such. Yet, the universe has other plans.

You show up to his room in the dead of night when he wakes, blinking slowly as he stares at you.

What are you doing here? What if you are caught? He pulls you into the room with a closing of his door, heart racing in his chest. This is not alright. He needs to—

Leon has no time to think, your lips locked on his as he lets out a sound of surprise, scaring you off, causing you to start pulling away, and everything that happens next is all instinct.

Duty be dammed.

Leon chases your lips as you threaten to pull away, hand sliding to the back of your head, eyes half-lidded as he forces you against the bed, lips clashing with yours desperately as he rests you on the bed instead, neck craned down. He engulfs you in himself, your shadows disappearing in the alley as he covers you, his own head dizzy from the taste of you. Sweet as sin, he thinks. You're so sweet, his tongue against yours, smell of your perfume stuck in his lungs as he pulls away only to gasp for air before going back to you. He supposes he only has this chance to kiss you anyway, so he might as well make the most of it. Perhaps in another life, he could have you all to himself, difference in status invisible to the people. Perhaps in another life, he gets to kiss you senseless on the daily, never needing either of you to suffer to such an extent.

He lets you pull away eventually, forehead resting on your collar with an exhale, heartbeat matching yours slowly as he closes his eyes.

He has to apologize.

"I'm sorry." He slurs, breath warm against your shoulder. He should not have done that.

"Don't be."

And Leon believes you.

Leon lays bruised and battered as he has you sit on the bed, getting off of you to control himself, breathing deep as you blink at him. He wants more. He's certain you do too, but he can not give it to you. No, it would be too much. If he gives it to you now, then it would defeat the purpose of the tournament. He shall wait until the title of nobility is given to him, and then he would indulge himself — granted you would let him. He hopes you will. He doubts he will experience this level of devotion with anyone else. He would not let himself.

The moon paints your skin pale, and you stare back at him, breathing labored as you whisper.

"Who will you swear your loyalty to tomorrow?"

Leon hesitates not, blood forming from his hand, red shaping into a sword from his wounds, blinking slowly as he gets on a single knee in front of you, offering a sword of blood. He fears that you will not take it, delicate hands far too soft to touch something so ragged, but he needs you to knight him. He no longer has his blade in order to prevent treason, but he can not let himself be knighted by anyone other than you. He would rather die.

"My knight."

"Knight me, so that the emperor may not do so tomorrow." He whispers. "My loyalties lie with you, not with the king."

"My knight, I cannot—"

"I beg of you." He mumbles. "If you knight me now, the king can not knight me in the morning. You need not to get up, just... please."

You comply, red of his blade staining your hand as you stare, eyes closing as you whisper a prayer to the stars.

Leon stays staring up at you, heart racing in his chest as you stand, blade held out to one shoulder ancient chant whispered under your breath, the room filling with a golden haze as you move the blade to his other shoulder, light engulfing the room as Leon exhales,head collapsing in your lap as his blade trickles into a pool of blood at his feet, head in your lap as he rests his head. If treason would be held over his head, then so be it. He has done what he needs to. He may rest in peace now.

"Thank you."

"What will you tell the emperor?"

"I need not anything else. This was my request." He mumbles. "Stay the night."

"I cannot do that." You push his hair back, and Leon closes his eyes.

"I know."

"The emperor will have you executed for this."

"I'll run off with you." He hums. "Divine intervention. Bribe a priest."

"I can not do that, my knight." Your voice carries mirth. "And the regulations?"

"I will survive." He hums. "Clause twelve states that they are to swear their loyalty to anyone in the royal family. Considering the knowledge that you are still crown princess until the end of the competition, I have sworn my loyalty to the royal family by proxy."

"Ever the sly one, aren't you." Your fingers scratch at his scalp gently, and he hums.

"I have to. It is for you, after all."

"Then, will you have me?"

"Only if you would have me in exchange."

Leon requests that you knight him, glancing at your failed pretending to be unaffected by the emperor's expression. Yet, you step up to him anyway, taking the sword from his hand. He bows his head as he feels the blade on both sides of his shoulder, same golden haze erupting in the colosseum as the night before. Leon ponders if the emperor would truly ask him what his request would be after this. From your words, he was bound to contract to announce that you would no longer be crown princess after this.

When asked, he requests the title of Marquis. He could have been a duke if he truly wished for it, but the title of Marquis often came with no land, and he could spend the rest of his days tending to you while you managed the duchy. He stares the emperor in the eye when asking of so, and he thanks the emperor when he is granted the title. He is granted no land but a residence in the capital, and he thanks the emperor for such an act of generosity. He fakes it, but he is sure he has done an adequate job. The emperor is not doing a much better job at pretending to be thrilled by the knowledge that he has just sworn his loyalty to someone who is soon to no longer part of the royal family.

The emperor hardly hides his displeasure by Leon's choice of loyalty while announcing that you would no longer be crown princess. Some of the citizens realize it right away, but Leon could not care less. His loyalty could not be tied to the royal family, and once off the stage, he spares no extra thought, lifting you in his arms as you yelp. He carries you the whole way despite your complaints, and even when you leave, his only words are congratulatory messages, a smile on Leon's face surely foreign to your eyes. He does not ever recall smiling as brightly at any other thing.

"You smile so brightly, my knight."

"You are free from the shackles of the crown, princess." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. "I am yours at last."

"And if I would not have you?"

"I am at your disposal regardless." He hums.

"What will the people think?"

"Do you care? Must you care? What is there to consider when I am by your side?"

He basks in the light that you shine him in, eyes closed as his heart beats against his chest. There is a sense of peace that he finds he has only with you, quiet humming of him against your skin as he feels the vibration of his voice in his chest, quiet tune hummed aimlessly as the people around him no longer register to him. You. Just you. Only you. There would be no next or if. There would only be you, and he finds that this devotion of his would be for your keeping only. With each breath he takes, all he would know is to be you. From the breath of his life to his bones that will return to dust one day, he shall be yours. That smile of you would mean far more than whatever is to come for him one day. His heart is full. That is all that matters.

"You are right, my knight."

Leon holds onto you, sun in his hair as he smiles up at you, nose pressed to yours, heart racing in his head.

He's finally yours.

[creek-ink]

the ladz

hcs 4- ages/pronouns/preferences

made these a while ago but never posted :P

< more details and random hcs >

Toby:

-22

-does not give 2 fucks abt how he's perceived

- will fuck anything

-hopeless romantic/puppy love typa guy

-has one mean right hook

-smells like sandalwood and those one holiday cider candles

-listens to folk punk or something like that. think amigo the devil

EJ:

-22

-he/it

-silent type

-attached to intelligent and passionate ppl <3

-is bad at sautéing

-not too into music but does enjoy a good campfire song.

-bookworm, fave genre is dystopian

Ben:

-19

-NB (or something)

-swings all the ways

-falls 4 bullies lol

-platinum in all the souls games

-messiest room you've ever seen, the only exception being his desk, which is neat and orderly

-listens to mayhem (yikes)

Jeff:

-24

- c i s

-not into relationships, def only in for a score

-poser

-shops at rue21

-actually insufferable. like no u don't understand he's so annoying.

-collects fun socks

Lui:

-26

-a straight white man 🪦

-not focused/interested in love/relationships

-caffine addict

-rlllyy likes the x files

-befriends stray cats, his favorite being a grey tabby dubbed tabitha.

-loves johnny cash

(lol thxz 4 reading)

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 1 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: part one is here, enjoy! <3

W/C: 3.398

Introduction

"Can you try smiling this time?"

I mumble, holding myself back from rolling my eyes in annoyance. I click my tongue, standing behind Luis, my close friend and cameraman.

"The photo needs to be edited later, for sure. Looks a little off compared to the others." I tell Luis, sending an insult to the man in front of the camera, in English for him to hear.

Even so, Luis and I usually spoke English to each other. It being a language we were both very well versed in.

Jude doesn't even look like he wants to be here, at all. He wouldn't be the only one, that was for sure. 

"That's good enough, Bellingham. You can go." I say, folding my arms up to my chest.

"Finally." He mutters, rolling his eyes, the Brummie accent, which was quite new to me, rolling off his tongue.

He raises his hands, smoothing down his shirt, before nodding at Luis with a smile and leaving, not acknowledging me per usual.

"Douchebag." I mumble, solely for myself to hear, but I notice Luis glancing at me.

"What?" I ask, rolling the papers in my hands into a tube out of boredom. The letters curving with the bend of the paper.

"You two are becoming more insufferable every day." He says, going to wipe his camera lens with a microfiber cloth. He treated his cameras like his actual children.

"Not my fault." I reply through clenched teeth, placing a hand on my hip.

"You spilled an entire americano on his brand new, white kit. On his first day here." He says, recalling the embarrassing and aggravating incident.

"It was just an accident!" I retort, unfolding the papers again. "We could have moved on from that after I apologized, but he's decided to be an asshole about it."

So, who was the insufferable one here?

He doesn't say anything else, an uninterested sigh leaving his lips as he distracts himself with the lens.

I saw Luis as the older brother I never had, but he wasn't even taking my side in the situation.

Traitor.

I huff, turning away and looking around the pitch for some entertainment I could turn into content.

My eyes catch the players of the club warming up a couple meters away.

Easy content, my favorite.

"Can I get a camera?" I nudge Luis, his eyes looking up at mine.

"Should I trust you with one?" He says, voice unsure.

"Yes, just give me the smaller one." I usher, holding my hand out in anticipation.

He sighs again, grabbing the requested camera out of his equipment bag.

"Two hands." He mutters.

I roll my eyes, grabbing the camera with the apparently very necessary, two hands.

"I'll take care of your child." I mock, smile tugging at my lips as I see him get annoyed.

"Chill, I've got it." I add, walking away from him.

I was being serious, of course.

Firstly, I wanted these shots to come out perfectly. Secondly, I didn't want to get killed by him for ruining his precious camera. I had enough enemies in this club already. Losing an ally wasn't on my bingo list this season.

I turn the camera on clumsily, pointing it at the training players as I'm standing behind the goal.

How the hell does a small camera weigh this much? It genuinely felt like a bag of rocks weighing down on my arms.

I try to ignore the heaviness of the camera, filming the individual shooting of the players. Moving the camera when necessary.

I stand there for a moment, before I hear Luis come up to me, finally taking the camera out of my hands.

"How the hell do you even hold these cameras? My arm almost went numb." I say, rubbing my tired arm as I look at him.

"I go to the gym, unlike you- and I'm used to it by now." He replies, focusing on filming.

The urge to say something petty back is interrupted as Camavinga suddenly yells at us, our heads snapping up.

« Tu filmes? » are you filming?

He shouts in French, standing in his position.

I used to whine and complain about having to take French back in school, but now I was genuinely grateful for it. It was very useful now, even though I had forgotten a great chunk of it.

"Want us to?" I shout back in English, ignoring the fact that we are shouting back and forth like maniacs. He nods, giving us a thumbs up.

"Yeah, go ahead." I nudge Luis, making him film again. I grab him, making him take a step back for safety, watching Cama receive the ball and shoot, hitting the net perfectly.

I cheer quietly, not wanting to disturb the audio of the footage as he smiles back at me, walking back to stand and watch the other players.

I have been working in the marketing and PR department at Real Madrid for about two years now. The club and players were generally very nice to work with, which made my job so much better.

It wasn't my permanent job. I had just started my third year of my law degree this new school year, combining online classes with this job. Balancing did get difficult at times, but I liked the fact that it kept me busy and motivated.

"Think we're good to go." Luis says, interrupting my thoughts as he points his camera downward.

"You sure?" I ask, whipping my head around.

"Yeah, the sun is about to melt us and the camera. Come on, let's go inside." He says, grabbing my wrist and dragging me away from the pitch

"If you read this sentence, does it sound like I know what I'm talking about?" I ask Lina, her face scrunching up almost instantly. 

I was confident enough to write this essay on my own, really, but having a friend keep me company made it way more fun. 

"You know I don't like thinking about school. That's in the past for me." She says, her hands coming up in front of her defensively. 

"Come on, please? I'll grab a drink for you in a minute." I beg, placing my hands on her shoulders, shaking her back and forth.

"Make it two."

"Deal."

"Okay, show me." She says, shoving a piece of pineapple into her mouth, grabbing my laptop and leaning forward as I repeat the question. 

She types away for a second, adding a few words before turning to me after reading the sentence again. 

"What are you writing? The damn Magna Carta? What kind of essay is this?" She asks, her eyebrows raised. 

"It's about EU law." I sigh, I liked this subject, it was very interesting, but I couldn't wait to be done with this fifteen page essay. 

"Explains a lot." She says, shoving another piece of fruit into her mouth. Her fork suddenly appearing in front of my face, a piece of watermelon spiced onto it. 

"Thanks." I mutter, biting off the piece of fruit as I hear commotion in the hallways. 

"Get me my drinks, please?" She asks, blinking at me. I roll my eyes, push my laptop back and get up. 

"Let me guess, a lime soda and an orange juice?" 

"You got it." She winks, smiling at me. 

I chuckle at her, looking up as I watch the players pile into the cafeteria. 

"Lunchtime?" I mouth at Lina, she checks the time on her phone, nodding. 

I make my way to the bar, extending my arms up to grab two cups. The feeling of someone's hand on mine catching me off guard as I immediately let go of the cup. Turning around to see Jude right behind me. 

"What are you doing?" I ask, sending him a nasty look. Invading my personal space wasn't enough, now he wants to steal my cup?

"Grabbing a cup?" He retorts in a menacing tone, sending a glare back. 

I look at him, watching him fill his stolen cup with water, before he looks at me again. 

"What?"

"Can you move?" I ask through gritted teeth, motioning to him how he's basically entrapping me in between the counter and himself. 

He looks at me for a second as if to provoke me more, finally stepping away when I sigh. 

I scoff, rolling my eyes and extend my arm to grab another cup apart from the one I already had. 

I give him another nasty look, before filling both cups up and finally leaving his vicinity. 

"Don't spill it on anyone." He says, mocking tone clear as day. 

I turn again, fighting the urge to throw the precious orange juice into his annoying face before sighing and walking away. 

"Hope he chokes on his water." I mutter, finally putting the two cups down on the table, in front of Lina. 

"What was that back there? Another one of your tantrums?"

"No, his tantrum after he couldn't grab another cup, other than the one my hand was already on."

She chuckles, and I send her a slight glare, trying to delve back into my essay. 

I was maybe halfway through already, having to hand it in next week. I might have procrastinated a little, but one thing about me was that I'll always get it done on time. No matter what. 

Though, as I keep reading the word vomit I had written, I feel a wave of annoyance flow through me. I grunt, putting my face flat on the table. 

Two more years, then I could finally do my specialization. Two more years. 

"What's gotten into her?" I hear, recognizing Luis' voice. Then I hear a shift of the chair across from me as he sits down with- probably a tray of food. 

"Essay." I hear Lina mumble, a hum coming from Luis in acknowledgment.

"Are you still not done with that essay? You got it assigned like three weeks ago." He says in a nagging tone. 

I groan, remembering that I said that I wouldn't procrastinate this school year. Past me definitely hated the present me, and for sure hated future me even more if I kept this up. 

I raise my head, huffing before sitting up straight.  I blink a couple times to clear my vision and start to vigorously type again. 

"Have you guys seen the final edit for tomorrow's match?" Luis says, covering his full mouth with his hand. 

"No, who approved it?" I ask confused, glancing at the both of them and returning my gaze to my screen.

"Valeria did." He says. I look at him for a moment, scrunching my eyebrows together. 

"Not surprised." I mutter, taking a sip of my coffee. 

"Speaking of the devil." Lina says, and my eyes immediately dart around the room to find the devil in question. 

She's staring right at our table, making a beeline towards us as the clicks of her heels get louder and louder. 

Please don't sit here. 

She gives us a painfully fake smile, swinging the iPad in her hand back and forth. 

"Have you guys seen the edit I approved?"

Not even a hello?

"No, we haven't." Lina answers, and I stare at Valeria as she unfortunately sits across from me. 

She chuckles, practically shoving the IPad in our faces, showing off the edit. 

"It's perfect, isn't it?" She chuckles again, and I fight the urge to cover my ears instead of hearing her ear deafening, high-pitched laughter. 

"It's alright." I say, giving her a smile. My opinion really didn't matter to her anyway, the least I could do was pretend to like it. 

She nods, suddenly looking directly at me, glancing down at my laptop. 

"Still working on school? Can't even think of how someone like you can balance it with this busy job." She says, smile pulling at her lips. 

I raise my brows, looking at Lina and Luis for confirmation of what I had just heard her say. 

They give me the same 'what the fuck' look, and I look back at Valeria, giving her a fake smile. 

"I'm sure you couldn't think of it, Valeria." I say, keeping my retort minimal, I had to keep it professional, unlike her. 

She looks at me, no words are exchanged further as an almost minute long silence follows. 

She finally decides to leave after, sending both Luis and Lina a wave, doing her best to ignore me further. 

"She's so weird. Always on my ass about something." I mutter, starting to type again. 

"Don't think she's gotten over the fact that you were chosen to travel with the team this season." Lina says, patting my shoulder. 

"Well, too bad for her. Like I've got time for her petty conversations."

If I was being honest; I couldn't stand being within five meters of her. And with the amount of meetings we had together, made life a little more difficult than I would've liked. 

"Besides, you're coming with me. Why isn't she on your ass as well?" I ask Luis, seeing him shrug. 

"Because I'm handsome?" He smirks, starting to flex his arms. 

"She's annoying, but she doesn't have a vision problem." I hear Lina say, the both of us bursting out in laughter. Luis looking at us with the most defeated look ever, making us laugh even louder.

"Okay, alright, sorry. You're very handsome, we're just having a little fun. I promise." I say patting his hand, holding back more laughter as I dab away moisture from my eyes. 

I finish typing my current chapter after calming down, observing the text, and double saving the document before turning my laptop off. I look around for a second, seeing the players and staff chat and laugh together. The buzzing of my phone redirecting my attention back to our table. 

"y/n- your phone." Lina says, grabbing it to hand it to me. 

I grab it after thanking her, reading the caller ID. 

"Oh, it's my dad." I mutter. "I'll be back in a minute." I say, standing up to walk out of the cafeteria. I look around for a moment, then slide my finger to the right to pick up the call. 

"Dad?"

"y/n, how's work going?" He says, the sound of a paper shredder in the background almost sabotaging my understanding of his sentence. 

"Good, we're having lunch. How about you?" I reply, leaning against the wall. 

"Same old. I called to tell you- I'm not having dinner at home tonight. Ask Carmen to make something you want to eat." 

I hold back a sigh, closing my eyes in annoyance. He'd been working a lot since I was little, day and night. It had paid off very well. We had a big house and a beautiful backyard. He owned a law firm, in a nice area of the city and had a lot of clients.

His firm was also the legal representative of the club, being very close with President Pérez and manager Ancelotti themselves and other higher ups. 

Of course, I was still thankful, I never had to worry about necessities like food and clothes, they were always provided for me on a silver spoon. 

"Alright dad. See you tonight, love you." 

I hang up, shoving my phone into my back pocket, and walk back into the cafeteria.

"I'm going back to the office." I tell Lina and Luis, them looking up at me in concern. 

"Why? Did something happen?" Luis asks, fixing his dark, curly hair.  

"No, I just want to make sure everything is perfect for tomorrow." I force a smile, trying to cover up the fact that my mood was definitely ruined after that phone call. 

I grab my laptop, holding it in between my arm and chest as I start making my way out of the cafeteria. 

Not before I'm stopped by someone calling out to me. 

"y/n!" I hear, looking up and seeing Vini call me over, Rodrygo and sadly, Jude standing next to him. 

How did this communication even work?

I raise a brow, walking over to them. 

"What's with that face? Trouble with your boyfriend?" Vini says in Spanish, greeting me with a hug. 

"It's nothing like that! It was just my dad." I deny, laughing at him. My smile totally disappearing from my face when I make accidental eye contact with an irritated looking Jude next to Vini.

"Right, how's your dad? He hasn't been around lately." Rodrygo asks, greeting me as well. 

"Busy- you know how he is..." I reply, swatting my hand. "I'll try to convince him to visit." I smile. 

"Will you be coming with us to tomorrow's match?" Vini asks. 

"Oh yeah, I'll be joining you on all the matches this season. You guys got lucky this time." I joke, giving him a little wink. 

The two Brazilian men laugh, Vini patting my shoulder as I excuse myself to go up. 

I twist the key in the door lock, opening the front door to my house. The smell of spices and sauces filling up my nostrils. I scramble to take my shoes off, throwing my bag onto the floor and making a beeline to the kitchen area. 

"Aunty Carmen!" I exclaim, hugging her tightly. 

"Oh my girl!" She coos, squeezing me even tighter. 

"I missed you so much." I say, planting a kiss on her soft cheek, letting go of her. 

"Me too. Come on, get cleaned up and we'll have dinner." She says warmly, going back to stirring the food. 

Aunty Carmen was the lady who had been cooking for me and my dad since I was a child. Her food was finger-licking good, and I don't think I could ever survive without it. 

She'd partially raised me, alongside my biological aunt, whom I lived in the UK with for a couple of years. 

I had begged my dad to not send me to a boarding school, so he'd decided to send me off to live with my aunt, and made me attend an international school instead. A place, consisting of cultures and languages I always craved to be surrounded with becoming my second home. 

"When is your dad coming?"

"Oh no, my dad isn't coming for dinner." I explain, pulling out two spoons and two forks out of the cabinet and walking over to the dinner table. 

"He wasn't home last time either, why?"

"Too busy. You know how he is." I mumble, filling her glass with water. 

"I'm sorry, my girl." 

"It's fine- I'm used to it by now. You're here tonight at least." I beam, starting to dig into the food. 

"Aunty, you never disappoint!" I exclaim, shoving another spoonful of food into my mouth.

"Slow down! It's not going to run away from you." She fusses, taking a bite of the food herself. 

A comfortable silence falls in between us, the sound of our utensils clattering against the plates and bowls accompanied by the occasional comment about the taste of the food. 

I join her in cleaning up the table, placing the rinsed dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and putting  the leftovers into the fridge. 

"If you look closely, you can see the food I made for the rest of the week. Make sure you close the lids well, so it can stay fresh." She says, drying her wet hands on a kitchen towel. 

"Thank you." I say, giving her another hug. 

"Oh, you're leaving already?" I ask, watching her grab her handbag. It was a pretty brown bag, a birthday present from me a couple years ago. 

"I do sweetie. Take care of yourself." She says, pulling me into a hug. 

"-and lock your doors, don't open them for anyone." 

"You know I'm not a child anymore. I'm twenty already! Besides, we have security cameras everywhere." I complain, folding my arms up to my chest. 

"You've grown up too fast." She says, pinching the fat of my cheek, making me whine at the pain. 

I sigh, a little sad as she opens the front door and walks out. I wave one more time, closing the door behind her and locking it as she had instructed. 

My dad had keys to get in when I went to bed anyway. 

I decide to get ready for bed, turning on the now full dishwasher, and going up to my room. Hoping everything will go smoothly as planned tomorrow.